Notice: I have written in other languages, many interesting articles that you
can read translated in English in this
link.

ANNIE BESANT'S SPIRITUAL QUEST NARRATED BY FRANZ HARTMANN

(In this text, Franz Hartmann recounts the different stages Annie Besant went through in her search for Truth; and I added green subtitles.)



ANNIE BESANT

Because the theosophical movement is spreading more and more every day wherever the English language is spoken and, despite all the reluctance of the press, is also beginning to take root in Germany, our readers will be pleased to learn something more about Mrs. Annie Besant’s experiences, who now actually stands at the head of this movement in Europe.

The following sketch is taken from her recently published autobiography, “Through Storm to Peace,” and a description of her spiritual development, external personal experiences being of interest only insofar as they had a decisive influence on this inner development.

--oOo--

 
If a famous fencing master is seen defeating all opponents, everyone seeks to learn his art; to see how he covers himself and parries this and that blow, so that he can imitate him if the need arises.

For a similar reason, it is also useful to know the life of someone who has achieved something spiritually great. The good example helps more than the theory.

The goal towards which Annie Besant has striven since early youth was the knowledge of the truth. Like most people in our age of outward exploration and inward atrophy, she sought truth on the outside, seeking it here and there, in this system and that, this church and that, clergy and atheism, and sought in vain until finally knowledge arose out of her own feeling of truth in her heart and the star of “Theosophy” shone in her, which dispelled the clouds of doubt, brightened the night of ignorance, calmed the storm of craving for knowledge and brought her the long-awaited peace whom she fought for a long time.


Annie Wood (Mrs. Besant) was born on 1 October 1847 in London. Her parents were of Irish descent. Even in her earliest youth she was an ideally designed nature; the world of spirits was open to her mind’s eye, and the realm of the ideal was her favorite abode.

There, she dreamed of the good and the beautiful and the true and the splendor of existence, until the brutality of life came upon her and ushered her with a rough hand into that “reality” which, at the bottom, is nothing but an illusion.




Besant was initially very religious

Her mind was highly religious, but she took the matter seriously and didn’t want to seem anything else, other than what she actually was. Her reason would not allow her to believe blindly in the opinions of ecclesiastical authorities; she wanted proof.

The god of the churches was the kind of god you can talk to, who has his servants and officials and is at least accessible to the clergy. He had to be definable, one had to be able to find out something specific about him; where he lives, how he lives, what his natural history is, his inclinations, peculiarities, hobbies, etc.

The teachings of the theologians gave her no satisfaction. Although everyone knew something special to tell about God, everyone wanted to know him more or less from books and from hearsay; one ascribed this quality to him, the other that quality, but of the fact that God, as he is supposed to have said himself, the truth is, nobody seemed to know about it, or at least didn't understand it.

Desperate, she plunged into the depths of philosophy. She researched Kant, Schopenhauer, Spencer, Huxley, Tyndall, etc.; but even “the rule of insufficient reason” could not still the urging of her heart. In spite of all denial of the will to live, she could find no other life; the unconscious, despite the best theories, did not come out of its unconscious and so it did her no good, indeed, even the categorical imperative inspired her little edification.

Just as little as a theological church god who goes for a morning walk in paradise in his dressing gown and while away the time teasing Adam and Eve with an apple tree, she could not be satisfied with the philosophical discovery that the god worshipped by men is nothing more than cosmic space, or that something higher can be produced from the low, a something from nothing, a man can be produced from an ape; and, moreover, reason told her that if man had come forth from the ape, since in the end everything must return to its origin, it would be his highest destiny to become an ape again.

The idea underlying her whole existence was in the feeling of sacrificing herself for something greater than she was. But where was this higher to be found, and what was its nature?

As we see, she made the mistake of wanting to base her belief on knowledge instead of knowledge on belief, a mistake that every reasonable man makes, as long as he confuses “belief” with “my opinion” and wants to substitute an alien theory for his own feelings.

The true faith, i.e., that mystical power which springs from one’s own sense of truth is a thing little known in orthodoxy. There is a lot of talk about “belief in God,” but this means belief in dogmas and ecclesiastical hypotheses.

When belief in God (the truth) is inconsistent with the opinions of the Church, one shows him the door and retains his orthodoxy. As we shall see later, Mrs. Besant was to experience this for herself.


Educated in the English church system, she learned early on the dogmas of the same and became enthusiastic about it. The Fathers of the Church, the Epistles of Polycarpus, Ignatius, and Clement, the Confessions of St. Augustine, &c., were her favorite books, and she dreamed of a great, universal, truly Catholic Church, to the service of which she might be wholly devoted.

The Roman Catholic Church, too, with its celebrations, pomp, music and ceremonies, exercised their spirit and excited her imagination.

She regretted not being born in an age when she could have been martyred for the Church; she flagellated herself, prayed and fasted.

Her idea of ​​Christ was the center around which all her feelings and thoughts revolved, it seemed to her that her devotion to him must be powerful enough to pull him down from his hiding place in heaven. She wanted to do everything in her power to show her gratitude to him for his great love and for the salvation of mankind.

Though she felt it inwardly, she did not understand it intellectually then, that Christ (the God-man) knows no other sacrifice other than the merging of the earthly spirit in her, and no other surrender than the utter disappearance of man in his selfhood, and in himself becomes the God-man.

Like thousands of others, she wanted to be a servant and helper of God, but not to become God; she did not know that man becomes God, when divinity is recognized in him, and that no one can truly serve God without knowing Him.


Through her daily study of the Bible she became acquainted with the contradictions contained in it, which no one could explain to her, because everyone she asked knew only the external sense and not the spiritual meaning of these symbols.

Then the period of doubt began. She was shocked at herself to find she could no longer believe that the prophet Jonah was in the belly of the whale for three days and that Joshua made the sun stand still.

She went from one prelate to another for advice.

"Credo quia absurdum!" [I believe because it is absurd!] was the Catholic’s reply.

"Vade retro Satan as!" [Get thee behind me, Satan!] cried the Protestant, shuddering.

In vain did she try to nip her heretical doubts in the bud, to lock up reason in the chamber of dogmatism; the soul struggling to know the truth was too powerful within her to silence her voice.

She was already seriously considering becoming a nun when, in 1867, she met a young evangelical “cleric” named Frank Besant, who fell in love with her and coerced her into a promise of marriage.

Partly as a result of persuasion from her parents, partly to keep the promise once made, she acquiesced and the marriage took place. The main motivation for this association was the idea that she could do much more good alongside a “minister of God” than in any other position, and her relatives encouraged her in this opinion.

But she found herself disappointed. The ideal she had hoped to attain did not at all correspond to the reality she found. The “godly servant of God” proved to be a pious sneak, a hypocrite who hid common lusts and passions under the mask of godliness and whose only concern was to keep up appearances.

In her husband she had hoped to attain the outward image of the divine Saviour, in his transfigured form, but instead, getting that one creep who knew how to talk unctuously and spit in the face of the truth, a man who mistreated her and deeply offended her sensitivity with his tactlessness, and her position was the less enviable, as under the laws then prevailing in England (which were later abolished by Mrs Besant's influence), the wife had no legal right over her husband, could not have property of her own, but with all what she was and had, like a domestic animal, was her husband’s absolute property.


The best part of any delusion is the disappointment; from every idol which disintegrates into itself, a new knowledge arises.

Since she had got to know the false Christianity in all its perversity, she listened to the voice of reason again and renounced it.

Despite all her husband’s persuasions and violent measures, she made no secret of her conversion, and since a Protestant priest cannot very well have a wife who is known to be a heretic without damaging his reputation, he decided to consent to a divorce.





Besant becomes an atheist and social activist

Now a period of deprivation began for her. Poverty and hunger, which she had not previously known from her own experience, were her daily guests, and she got by with the work of her hands as best she could.

The “Christ” whom the Church had created and who was a servant of the Church, disappeared from her imagination, and in his place came love for humanity. From then on her whole effort was directed towards being useful to her fellow men, the lot of the poor and oppressed, to spread enlightenment and to find a satisfactory solution to social questions.

These endeavors brought her into contact with the well-known “atheist” Charles Bradlaugh (each sect calls anyone an atheist who does not believe in the God who is the result of their system’s self-reflection), the apostle of the Enlightenment whose perseverance and energy owes much to the cause of the Enlightenment in England, which is admitted even by those who disagree with his views.

A sincere friendship ensued, and soon Mrs. Besant found herself at the forefront of the socialist movement. She was the head of the “Freethinkers” and became an employee of the newspaper “The National Reformer” founded by the same in London.

What tenacity Bradlaugh displayed in bringing the cause of liberty of thought into orthodox England, and how he finally triumphed, how he, five times elected to Parliament, was refused five times to take his seat there on the pretense that he could not be sworn as an “atheist”; how he swore himself and was thrown out and came again; how the theologians spared no means of destroying him morally by slanders, and bankrupting him financially by lawsuits, and how he finally won the victory, is well known.

Mrs. Besant took an honest part in this persecution. The burning of heretics had gone out of fashion, and so she was spared the fire, but quite a few of her public lectures had the windows smashed by a bigoted rabble.

After such lectures she often walked through a threatening, noisy, screaming, club-wielding crowd, but was never seriously injured; for at their approach the ranks of her pursuers opened; Struck by their eyes, the screamers fell back.

So the “atheist” fought for the truth and the light, fought by herself and outwardly through word and writing, until even the lowest strata of the population got a glimmer of recognition of the unity of the human race, which makes the social position of the lower classes in England more tolerable than we find in other countries, so that England is referred to by many as “the only free country in Europe.”





Hartmann's Reflections

If we were experienced in verse-making, we would include a translation of Abu Ben Adhem’s poem here for better understanding.

One night he saw an angel standing in front of his bed, writing on a golden tablet. He asked him what he was writing, and the angel told him that on this tablet would be inscribed the names of those who love God.

“And is my name included?” Abu asked.

“No!” replied the angel.

Then Abu Ben Adhem said: “Write my name on the tablet on which those who love mankind are written.”

The angel disappeared and when he came again the next night, Abu’s name was written on the tablet of those who love God, obanan.


The name “atheist” is a swear word used to mislead thoughtless people. God is the truth, and none is an atheist but one who does not want to know or denies the truth.

But this includes precisely those who constantly misuse the word “God.” No one can say there is no God unless they can define the word “God,” and a definable God ceases to be God, all in all, and ubiquitous.

No one but God can recognize the Deity, and in the recognition of God all limitations, all ideas cease. God is in all, but we cannot comprehend the infinite with our limited minds; we can only feel its existence, and this feeling of goodness in us is called divine love.

Clear knowledge arises from this feeling only when the idea of limitation in man ceases, when the “self” has become nothing and divinity recognizes itself in the humanity of men.

Rückert says:

“You must feel the reason from which your existence swells. You will destroy it if you want to dig it up.”
(The Wisdom of the Brahmins.)

This truth, which in the end everyone must learn to know if they want to know themselves, Mrs. Besant also had to experience in herself. The breast of the "atheist" was always filled with a love for humanity, which manifested itself in everything she strived for and did.

There was no talk of consolation in a better “hereafter,” of no immortal life for mortal man after he died, but it was about improving the lot of people in this life, out of a herd of animals, each eating up the other, to make people willing to support each other according to the law of humanity. Their god was nothing but truth, their goddess the love of humanity.

When asked:

“Why should we seek the truth and do good if there is no immortal life in which to receive our reward?”

She replied:

“There is no reason why you should lead a noble life, when you find full bliss in an ignoble one. No one can enjoy happiness beyond his ability to attain it. A book may be of great interest to a human, but a dog will prefer a bone. Those who are only interested in their petty self cannot think freely. If we love the truth not for its own sake, but merely for the personal benefits it can bring us.

If we do not find happiness in living a noble life, making humanity happy, spreading light, and leaving the world in a better condition than that in which we found it when we entered, so have we we have no right to call ourselves 'freethinkers.' We have seen a glimpse of the truth, and we consider their possession to be better than anything else, and demand no other reward.

We want to preach the gospel of truth until the clergy have sighed and the dawn brings the good news of the rejoicing people whom the knowledge of the truth has set free.”


But what is the truth whose gospel the social reformers want to proclaim to mankind?

Defending human rights, knowing how to obtain them.

But in order to really recognize the rights of people and their duties towards one another, one must above all know what man is basically, where he and his rights and duties, his suffering and deprivation come from, what the goal of mankind is persecuted as a whole, etc.

And ignorance of these things frustrates all attempts by our do-gooders to establish a lasting state of happiness among men. The deeper causes of suffering are hidden from them, their sight is limited to the superficial, their means are therefore only external, and the results which they obtain are swept away like houses of cards by the next gale.

All communities are based on a common purpose, the attainment of which is the purpose of social union. Surely human society does not exist to have a sadder and more uncertain existence than when everyone is left to their own devices; for in that case social association would be an evil, and human society would be like a herd of cattle, each of which has a shepherd and protector only in order to be exploited and eventually eaten up by it.

Men do not unite for the purpose of making one another miserable, but to give each an opportunity to obtain the advantages of life through mutual cooperation, and to give each individual an opportunity to enjoy them so far as this is compatible with the rights of others is.

Every right is conditional on the fulfillment of a duty. But all rights and duties have as their original basis the supreme and eternal law of the spirit in nature, and as their ultimate purpose the return to this law of unity from the multiplicity of its phenomena.

All legislation relating to the rights and duties of man, if it is to be just, must have man’s ultimate and supreme destiny as its end. It is therefore urgently to be desired that the legislators become acquainted with this provision, and this is only possible when the erroneous views about human nature have given way to higher knowledge, and if this is lacking, at least to a more truth-based theory or view.

Only when man knows his true nature can he know what ideals are to be realized for him and what he is still lacking in order to realize them.

Were the existence of the essential human being limited to the existence of his transitory appearance limited in time and space; if he contained nothing spiritual, sublime, infinite, he would not be able to sense, feel or imagine any sublime, eternal and immortal ideals, and even if he had this ability, which is basically an impossibility because only like can approach, feel and comprehend like, he would be all the more unhappy if he were a finite being in the midst of infinite and for him unattainable ideals.

If life itself were the purpose of life, it would have no purpose. Life is change, change is movement. Everything that changes moves towards a certain goal, which can be nothing other than either the realization of the highest ideal being, or the annihilation of being. There is no middle way, because a movement without a goal is foolishness.

Certainly mankind is not purposefully moving towards annihilation; otherwise the desire for progress and improvement would not stir in every individual.

Progress moves towards the realization of existence in its highest potency; but this existence can only be one, all-encompassing and infinite, and the attainment of this one infinite existence, this “knowledge of God,” is the highest destiny of man, and his eternal goal, where he finds rest, even if this goal, which is common to most people, still seems incomprehensible, incomprehensible and impossible today.

Every man approaches the realization of the Eternal Ideal, or in other words, his own divine self-knowledge, to the degree that he is able to feel and comprehend the presence within him of these highest and common ideals, and his happiness depends on the self-awareness of these ideals in his nature. A knowledge that extends to the big and whole makes him happier than a knowledge that is limited to a single object, however detailed it may be.

An all-encompassing love makes him happier than a passion extended to a single form or being; for him omnipotence is infinitely greater than limited ability; an infinite freedom loftier than the freedom of a chained dog, going only as far as its chain goes.

Man can only realize all these infinite ideals within himself when he recognizes humanity as a whole within himself. So long as he imagines himself to be an individual or separate being limited to his physical appearance, he can only enjoy limited ideals; only when he recognizes humanity as a whole within himself are all ideals of humanity his property.

This realization of unity, not only in the whole human race, but in everything, is the basis for the exercise of all rights and duties, based on the operation of the law of eternal justice (karma), which can only be one and universal, otherwise it contradicts itself. A right contrary to general justice is a wrong; A law which only takes individuals or classes into account is defective because it does not recognize the unity of the whole and the equal rights of all its phenomena before the eternal law of the whole, and therefore cannot realize any universal but only limited ideals.

Legislation for the benefit of some or certain classes necessarily involves disadvantages for others, but since in reality there are no “others,” since all beings in nature are only different manifestations of a single entity, not differing from each other in their original nature, so every injustice that is committed against individual phenomena of this kind falls back on the whole and thus also on the authors of the whole.

Just as when the whole organism is poisoned, all the individual parts suffer. Under such circumstances, however, the coming together of human society has failed in its purpose of providing its members, and indeed everyone, with the means to live as happily as possible.

But man’s striving to be happy is solely because he loves himself, and his love is high or low according to what he considers or recognizes as his self. Even the highest “selfless” love for God is basically self-love, since God is the highest existence for man and man can only feel and enjoy his own existence and not that of another.

Divine love is therefore divine self-love, the self-knowledge of God in everything, which is realized in the individual human being. But he who does not know this divine, one Universal itself, or does not feel its existence, only knows the personal deceptive “self,” which is an illusion brought about by the peculiarity of appearance.

As love of the true self is the basis of the highest knowledge, thus love of the false self is the cause of all evil and all folly.

Anyone who considers himself to be a special existence separate from all other beings has not the slightest reason to find his own happiness in the happiness of others. He only knows “himself,” he is there only for “himself”.

Life becomes for him the scene of a struggle of everyone against all, a struggle for existence in which the stronger wins, and the end result of this struggle would be the annihilation of society, the remnant of a monster that has devoured all beings; if not in the inmost soul of every rational man, albeit without his being intellectually conscious of it, slumbered the spark of higher reason, that divine self-consciousness, the development of which is the purpose of all true religion; but which cannot and must not be promoted by the sects, since otherwise it would put an end to the egoism of these sects and would abolish their individual specialness with its special aspirations.




Besant becomes materialistic

In her heart Mrs. Besant was deeply religious, a saint such as one seldom finds, but her mind could not find its way in her feelings, materialism had laid its cuckoo eggs in this nest.

Truth was alive in her heart, but her mind abounded with theories of “force and matter” and the supposed omnipotence of dead matter which creates life; of “scientific” opinions, which arise from external observation and a logic based on it, but not from the knowledge of the truth.

Mrs. Besant was a personal friend of Ludwig Büchner, Haeckel and other materialists. But their “materialism” was not that of our beer house philosophers and traveling salesman.

She says in relation to this as follows:

“There are two different kinds of ‘materialism.’ We have the materialism of the West, which doesn’t care about the whole world, but only about its own self. He cares nothing for mankind, but only for his own benefit, personal pleasure, personal lust; he cares not for the human race nor for the future, but only for himself and the present. He says: “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we will be dead.”

Neither I nor my acquaintances have anything to do with this materialism. It is the materialism of the beast which destroys the glory of human existence and belongs only to the selfish and therefore the degenerate.

The higher materialism is that which teaches that the life of the individual ends in death, but recognizes the life of mankind as a whole, for which he should live, and to which everything that is good and noble in him should serve.”

 
That such ideal materialism, however far removed from bestial materialism, cannot satisfy the perfectionist heart, Mrs. Besant must have felt in her heart.

The unctuous gossip of our world philosophers, who for want of something better will console us with the fact that posterity will remember us, has no temptation for us either, and sounds like an appeal to our vanity.

What do I care if posterity speaks of me or not when I am no more and know nothing of posterity’s talk?

At the end of one’s day, to be lost in nothing, to be unaware of the good which one has created, is a bad consolation for man. But like every thinking person, Mrs. Besant saw well that existence cannot be its own reason, that this is not the culmination of all wisdom, that man can be given his temporary life, which resembles that of the mayfly, comfortably or bearable, and that the suffering of mankind must have a deeper cause than a failed national economy.



Besant becomes a theosophist

She says:

“Since 1866 I became more and more convinced that my philosophy was insufficient and that life and soul were more than I thought.

Psychology made great strides and hypnotism pointed to unexpected surprises in human consciousness. He proved that the thinking power is at its highest activity when the brain, which according to scientific views should be the generator of thoughts, is in an unconscious state. I experimented myself, and obtained surprising results, and in 1889 I resolved to find what I was looking for at all costs.

One evening I was sitting alone after sunset; I was filled with a mighty but almost hopeless longing to solve the human riddle. Then I heard a voice, which later became the holiest sound on earth for me, and which commanded me to hope that salvation was near.

A fortnight later Mr. Stead (editor of the Review of Reviews) came to me and gave me two thick books, the contents of which he asked me to report on. It was two volumes of the Secret Doctrine edited by H.P. Blavatsky.
 
I started reading and got more and more excited with each page. Everything was so clear, so deep and yet so understandable, as if I had known it for a long time. I was dazzled by the light which shone from the whole; little by little my brain assimilated the explanations presented and I grasped the truth through intuition. Now I knew the fight was over, I had found the truth.”
(Autobiography, p. 340)


From that time Mrs. Besant began a new life. She became acquainted with H. P. Blavatsky. Like me and everyone who ever got to know H.P. Blavatsky, she soon realized that all the suspicions thrown at her sprang from ignorance, envy and self-conceit, and the result was an intimate friendship with her.

On May 10, 1889 Mrs. Besant became a member of the “Theosophical Society” and has been at the forefront of this movement since the death of H.P. Blavatsky.

Indeed, no better “successor” could have been found for H.P. Blavatsky than Mrs. Besant, who by clarity of thought, wonderful eloquence and will power, but above all by purity of heart, firmness of character and kindness, ranks first where she speaks, the hearers are carried away by her words, imbued with the spirit of truth; wherever she appears, joy enters the house, since her constant companion is unassuming charity.

In Mrs. Besant’s devotion to Theosophy, a severance occurred in her relations both with Bradlaugh and with the Freethinker Party in England, since these freethinkers still could not think freely enough to hear truths which they had not already come to terms with.

Mrs. Besant has been accused of “frequent changing of opinions,” but the rising from all sorts of opinions into the light of true knowledge is not a changing of opinion. Where knowledge begins, all mere opinions end.

She herself says of the satisfaction she gained from this:

“I have found in Theosophy everything I expected and much more. I’m sure of myself now. I know from my own experience that the soul exists and that not my body but my soul is my own Self.

I know that I can leave my body at my leisure and associate disembodied with those living people who teach me, and upon my re-entry into the body impress those teachings on my physical memory and recall them. I know that I am still a beginner in such matters, and also that consciousness, instead of being dependent on the brain, is all the more active as it is free from material bonds.

I know that the Sages (Adepts) of whom H.P. Blavatsky spoke really exist and possess knowledge and powers, compared with which all our science and mastery of natural forces is but child’s play.

I have learned all this and much more, and this knowledge is available to all who can pay the entrance fee. This entrance fee is nothing but a willingness to give all to attain spiritual truth, and to devote whatever truth one has attained to the service of mankind, keeping none of it for oneself.”



And so, we have tried in the above to give a picture of the spiritual development of the person who is now at the forefront of the Theosophical movement in Europe, and it only remains for us to express the wish that the “Theosophical Society” which they represent, does not lose sight of the true purpose of their existence.

This purpose is not to bring new knowledge to the world, but to form a nucleus in which the universally accepted theoretical truths of the unity of mankind, and the mutual rights and duties arising therefrom, are put into practice.

The redemption of the human race will not spring from human ingenuity, its Redeemer does not dwell in the head but in the heart. But if the knowledge of truth is to be born in the heart, it must be illuminated by the light of the intellect.

What prevents this enlightenment is people’s wrong worldview regarding God, man and nature. Therefore the Sages of the East have put before us a better world-view for our testing, and the propagation of that world-view is the aim which Mrs. Besant has set for herself, as is that of the author of the Lotusblüten [Franz Hartmann].


(Lotusblüten 3, no. 19, April 1893, p.242-274) 






NOTE

Unfortunately, Annie Besant also had a huge flaw: she was very influenced, and she allowed herself to be completely manipulated by several charlatans (the main one being Charles Leadbeater) and under his "guidance" she did tremendous damage to the Theosophical Society.







MEMORIES OF BLAVATSKY BY GEORGE MEAD

  


George Robert Stow Mead was Blavatsky's last secretary, and when she died in 1891, he wrote the following text as a posthumous tribute to her.



THE LAST TWO YEARS

I had previously stayed at 17, Lansdowne Road [the house where Blavatsky was staying], during my vacations, but it was not until the beginning of August, 1889, that I came to work permanently with H.P.B. She was away in Jersey then, and the copy and proofs of Lucifer were being busily transmitted backwards and forwards to the accompaniment of an infinity of characteristic notes and telegrams.

I had only time to review two books before a pressing telegram came from H.P.B., and I started for Jersey. What a warm greeting there was in the porch of that honeysuckle-covered house, and what a fuss to have everything comfortable for the new comer!


It has often been a surprise to me that the chief of the accusations and slanders brought against H.P.B. have been those of fraud and concealment, and I can only account for it by the fact that those who make such accusations (save the Coulomb woman), have never known her.

According to my experience, she was ever over-trustful of others and quite prodigal in her frankness. As an instance, no sooner had I arrived than she gave me the run of all her papers, and set me to work on a pile of correspondence that would otherwise have remained unanswered till doomsday; for if she detested anything, it was answering letters.

I then was initiated into the mysteries of Lucifer, and soon had my hands full with transmission of directions, alterations, and counter-directions to Bertram Keightley, who was then Sub-editor, for in those days H.P.B. would not let one word go into Lucifer until she had seen and re-seen it, and she added to and cut up the proofs until the last moment.


One day, shortly after my arrival, H.P.B. came into my room unexpectedly with a manuscript and handed it to me, saying, “Read that, old man, and tell me what you think of it”. It was the MS. of the third part of The Voice of the Silence, and while I read she sat and smoked her cigarettes, tapping her foot on the floor, as was often her habit.

I read on, forgetting her presence in the beauty and sublimity of the theme until she broke in upon my silence with, “Well?”.

I told her it was the grandest thing in all our theosophical literature, and tried, contrary to my habit, to convey in words some of the enthusiasm that I felt. But even then H.P.B. was not content with her work, and expressed the greatest apprehension that she had failed to do justice to the original in her translation, and could hardly be persuaded that she had done well.

This was one of her chief characteristics. Never was she confident of her own literary work, and cheerfully listened to all criticisms, even from persons who should have remained silent. Strangely enough she was always most timorous of her best articles and works and most confident of her polemical writings.


When we returned to Lansdowne Road, one of those changes, so familiar to those who have worked with H.P.B., occurred, and both Dr. Archibald Keightley and Bertram Keightley left for abroad, the former on a voyage round the world, the latter to lecture in the United States. And so their duties came mostly to me, and I gradually began to see a great deal of her alone at her work owing to the necessity of the case.

Let me see if I can give some idea of how the work was done. To begin with there was Lucifer, of which she was then sole editor. In the first place H.P.B. never read an MS., she required to see it in proof and then mostly “averaged” its contents.

What she was particular about was the length of the copy, and she used to laboriously count the number of words in each paper, and would never be persuaded of the accuracy of my count when I in my turn “averaged” the length.

If I suggested that mine was the most expeditious method, she would proceed to t ill me some home truths about Oxford and Cambridge education, and I often thought she used to continue her primitive methods of arithmetical computation on purpose to cure me of my impatience and my confidence in ray own superiority.

Another great thin was the arranging of the different articles. In those days she would never entrust this to any other hand, and the measuring of everything was a painful operation.

Getting Lucifer through the press was invariably a rush, for she generally wrote her leader the last thing and, having been used to it, considered the printers, if anybody, were to blame if it did not appear in time. But all that was soon changed when Annie Besant became co-editor and H.P.B. found that it was not necessary to do everything herself.


Then there was the correspondence, voluminous enough in all conscience, from all parts of the world and from “all sorts and conditions of men” and women truly.

H.P.B. was very laconic, sometimes even epigrammatic, in her directions as to answering it, and gradually became even more silent, so that I had often to risk her displeasure in pressing for a reply or in trying to persuade her to answer some letter of great importance herself.

It was comparatively easy to get the morning mail in safe keeping, but letters arriving by later posts were a difficulty; for H.P.B. sternly refused all access to her room and, to make up for this, used to carefully put away the important letters in hiding places so as to give them to me later, while she left the rest to their fate.

The plan was not a good one; for she mostly forgot her hiding-place and I often could not rescue the rest of the waifs and strays from among her MS. at all, for she would let no one touch the work she was actually engaged upon, and so they had to go, to be answered when finally unearthed at some distant date. But gradually too we found out better methods, and latterly I have not had to play so many games of hide and seek.


The first hour in the morning after breakfast during those two years will ever remain with me a pleasant recollection. Everything was so unconventional. I used to sit on the arm of her great armchair and obediently smoke the cigarette she offered, while she opened the letters, told me what she wanted done and signed diplomas and certificates, the latter under great pressure, however, for she detested such mechanical work.

It was exciting and instructive too, for in our large Society there were always crises of more or less gravity. The many disputes came to her for settlement, and the many attacks had to be met and counteracted by her. So it was that I learnt much of human character and of the inner working of the Society and how the life of it depended upon her.

Many an evidence too had I of her prodigal generosity, and many a gift did I transmit to a poor Theosophist or employ for theosophical purposes under strict promise of secrecy, although she thereby frequently came to the bottom of her “stocking".


Though H.P.B. left much of her correspondence to me, still it was not without a distinct supervision, for she would suddenly call for a reply that had not yet gone out or for the copy of an old letter, without any warning, and if there were any mistakes, the lecture I received was not reassuring to my discomforture. One thing she was always impressing upon me, and this was to develope a sense of the “fitness of things”, and she was merciless if this law of harmony were broken, leaving no loop-hole of escape, and listening to no excuse, with her over-powering reason and knowledge, which in spite of its apparently disconnected expression, always went home; although, indeed, the minute afterward, she was again the affectionate friend and elder brother, shall I even say, comrade, as she alone knew how to be.


One of the greatest proofs to me of H.P.B.’s extraordinary gifts and ability, if proof were needed in the face of the manifest sincerity of her life-work, was the way in which she wrote her articles and books.

I knew every book she had in her small library, and yet day after day she would produce quantities of MS. abounding in quotations, which were seldom inaccurate.

I remember almost the last day she sat at her desk, going into her room to query two Greek words in a quotation, and telling her they were inaccurate. Now though H.P.B. cculd in her early years speak modern Greek and had been taught ancient Greek by her grandmother, she had long forgotten it for all purposes of accuracy, and the correction of the words I objected to required precise scholarship.

“Where did you get it from, H.P.B.?” I asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know, my dear”, was her somewhat discouraging rejoinder, “I saw it!” adding that she was certain that she was right, for now she remembered when she wrote the particular passage referred to.

However, I persuaded her that there was some mistake, and finally she said, “Well, of course you are a great Greek pundit, I know, but you’re not going to sit upon me always. I’ll try if I can see it again, and now get out”, meaning that she wanted to go on with her work, or at any rate had had enough of me.

About two minutes afterwards, she called me in again and presented me with a scrap of paper on which she had written the two words quite correctly, saying, “ Well, I suppose you’ll be a greater pundit than ever after this I”.

The above is one instance out of many, but it will little profit to narrate them, for they mean nothing to anyone but the eye-witness, and the public is quite content with its own infallibility of judgment and prefers to remain myopic.


In the evenings, H.P.B. liked to have the household round her, and tried her best to force us to abandon work for a couple of hours. She herself played her eternal game of solitaire, which she very occasionally varied with a game of dummy whist.

Many have questioned why H.P.B. always “made her cards” in the evening, and those of us who have learned by experience that H.P.B. did nothing without a reason, deduced logically that there was also reason in the cards. The evening was the time for anecdotes, for hints on occultism, for an infinity of useful information.

There was, however, no order about it, and no one could count on hearing this or that, or getting an answer to a question. We had to wait for the opportunity, and never regretted the waiting when the opportunity came.

When we moved to our present Headquarters, many things were changed. Looking back it now seems almost as if H.P.B. had got things in training for leaving us at any moment, though apparently preparations were being made in which she herself and her continued residence with us were the principal factors.

Ever since she went to Brighton in the early part of last year she has suffered most cruelly in her physical body, and been unable to work as she used to. But we always lived in great expectations of restitution to at any rate her normal state of health.

At Lansdowne Road she used always to be pleased to receive visitors, and nearly every evening they came in to see her. But in Avenue Road she gradually began to isolate herself more and more, so that often she would not receive even the members of the household in the evening unless she especially sent for them.

Then again, she was strangely quiet latterly, rarely showing the great energy that was her peculiar characteristic. Still the same indomitable will was there, though her body was worn out, for she worked on at her desk even when she ought to have been in bed, or in her coffin.

The very night before she left us, she insisted on going into her working room and playing her cards. It was indeed a last and supreme effort of will, for she was so weak that she could hardly speak or hold up her head. And thus the influenza claimed its greatest victim. Such at least is the opinion of one who regards it as his chiefest honour to have been the last of H.P.B.’s Private Secretaries.

(Lucifer, June 1891, pp. 295-299; In Memory of HPB, pp. 31-35)








MEMORIES OF BLAVATSKY BY HERBERT BURROWS

 


Herbert Burrows  was one of Blavatsky's students, and when she died in 1891 he wrote the following text as a posthumous tribute to her; I added subtitles in green.



WHAT SHE IS TO ME

Two years ago Annie Besant and I saw H.P.B. for the first time, and now it is not many days since I stood by her lily-covered coffin and took my last lingering look at the personality of the marvellous woman who had revolutionised the lives of my colleague and myself. Two years are but little as men count time, but these two have been so pregnant with soullife that the old days before them seem ages away.

If it be true that life should be counted by epochs of the mind, then life, from the day that I first clasped H.P.B.’s hand to the moment when, majestic in her death sleep, I helped to wreathe around her body the palms from that far-off East which she loved so well, was richer, fuller, longer to me than a generation of the outward turmoil which has its little day and then is gone.




His first encounter with Blavatsky

I went to her a materialist, she left me a Theosophist, and between these two there is a great gulf fixed. Over that gulf she bridged the way. She was my spiritual mother, and never had child a more loving, a more patient, a more tender guide.

It was in the old Lansdowne Road days. Beset with problems of life and mind that our materialism could not solve, dwelling intellectually on what are now to us the inhospitable shores of agnosticism.

Annie Besant and I ever craved more light. We had read the Occult World, and in bye-gone years we had heard —who had not ?— of the strange woman whose life seemed to be a contradiction of our most cherished theories, but as yet the philosophy of the book was to us but assertion, the life of the woman a career which we had no means of examining.

Sceptical, critical, trained by long years of public controversy to demand the most rigid scientific proof of things which were outside our experience, Theosophy was to us an unknown, and, as it then seemed, an impossible land.

And yet it fascinated, for it promised much, and with talking, with reading, the fascination grew. With the fascination also grew the desire to know, and so, on an ever-to-be remembered evening, with a letter of introduction from Mr. W.T. Stead, then editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, as our passport, we found ourselves face to face, in the drawing room of 17, Lansdowne Road, with the woman whom we afterwards learned to know and to love as the most wonderful woman of her time.

I was not foolish enough to look for miracles, I did not expect to see Madame Blavatsky float, nor did I crave for materialised teacups, but I did want to hear about Theosophy, and I did not hear much.

She whom we were there to see was a stout, unwieldy lady, playing Russian “Patience”, and keeping up a stream of conversation on nearly every subject except the one which was just then nearest our minds.

No attempt at proselyting, no attempt to “fix” us, (we were not hypnotised !) but all tiie while the wonderful eyes were flashing light, and, in spite of the bodily infirmity which was even then painfully apparent, there was a reserve of power which gave the impression that we were seeing, not the real woman, but only the surface character of some one who had endured much, and who knew much.

I tried to keep an open impartial mind, and I believe I succeeded. I was genuinely anxious to learn, but I was critical and on the watch for the slightest attempt at hoodwinking.

When I afterwards discovered something of H.P.B.’s extraordinary insight, I was not surprised to find that she had gauged accurately and unerringly my mental attitude on this my first visit, and it is an attitude which she never really discouraged.

If those who talk so foolishly about her magnetising people could but know how she continually impressed upon us the absolute duty of proving all things and holding fast only to that which is good!




Herbert becomes Blavatsky's student and describes his teacher

To go once was to go again, and so it came that after a few visits I began to see light. I caught glimpses of a lofty morality, of a selfsacrificing zeal, of a coherent philosophy of life, of a clear and definite science of man and his relation to a spiritual universe. These it was which attracted me — not phenomena, for I saw none.

For the first time in my mental history I had found a teacher who could pick up the loose threads of my thought and satisfactorily weave them together, and the unerring skill, the vast knowledge, the loving patience of that teacher grew on me hour by hour.

Quickly I learned that the so-called charlatan and trickster was a noble soul, whose every day was spent in unselfish work, whose whole life was pure and simple as a child's, who counted never the cost of pain or toil if these could advance the great cause to which her every energy was consecrated.

Open as the day to a certain point, she was the incarnation of kindness — silent as the grave if need be, she was sternness personified at the least sign of faithlessness to the work which was her life.

Grateful, so grateful for every affectionate attention, careless, so careless of all that concerned herself, she bound us to her, not simply as wise teacher, but as loving friend.

Once I was broken down through long bodily and mental strain and the wheels of my life ran so heavily that they nearly stopped. Through it all her solicitude was untiring and one special proof of it that she gave, too personal to mention here, would have been thought of, perhaps, but by one in a million.

Perfect —no; faults— yes; the one thing she would hate most of all would be the indiscriminate praise of her personality. But when I have said that she was sometimes impetuous as a whirlwind, a very cyclone when she was really roused, I have told nearly all. And I have often thought it was more than possible that some of these outbursts were assumed for a special object. Lately they had almost vanished.

Her enemies sometimes said she was rough and rude. We who knew her, knew that a more unconventional woman, in the very realest sense of the word, never lived. Her absolute indifference to all outward forms was a true indifference based upon her inner spiritual knowledge of the verities of the universe.

Sitting by her when strangers came, as they did come from every corner of the earth, I have often watched with the keenest amusement their wonder at seeing a woman who always said what she thought.

Given a prince and she would probably shock him, given a poor man and he would have her last shilling and her kindliest word.

How meagre all this is I know full well. Of the real H.P.B. we only caught occasional glimpses, and so necessarily we are thrown back on that human side of her life which appeals most to the human in us. Of her vast and profound knowledge this is not the time to speak, and if it were, how could one speak?

Only its ripples ever reached us, but those would make an ordinary ocean. Probably we shall never know all the why and the wherefore of her recent incarnation.


In 1889 Annie Besant and I were with her in France at the Forest of Fontainebleau, and while there she went over with us in manuscript part of the Voice of the Silence. Looking back on that time, I remember that the passages over which she was most impressive were those which describe the toilsome ascent of the pilgrimsoul.

In the copy of the book which she gave me and which will never eave me, she has written, “To Herbert Burrows, my old friend in another and better incarnation, from his ever-loving H.P.B.”

It may be that in those words lie part of the key to the life that we knew.

Be that as it may, the real key for us is to be found in the example of her self-sacrificing devotion to her work. This is the note which was struck in the hearts of the hushed crowd who but yesterday gathered for the last time round the body of their loved teacher.

That body has vanished from our sight, but the work remains. No great thought can ever die, no great effort for humanity can ever cease, but thought and effort can be accelerated by faithful service for mankind.

More than ever now is that service needed, and they who would read aright the lesson of H.P.B.’s life will give that service unstintingly, ungrudgingly, if need be to the bitter end.

(Lucifer, June 1891, pp. 299-302; In Memory of HPB, pp. 35-38)