If the title of this sacred Hindu poem were
paraphrased, it would read:
The Holy Song of God Himself, who, at the beginning of Kali yuga or the
dark age, descended upon earth to aid and instruct
GITA means song, and BHAGAVAD is one of the names of
The composition of this poem is attributed to Vyasa
and, as he is also said to have given the Vedas to men, a discussion about
dates would not be profitable and can well stand over until some other
occasion.
The Bhagavad-Gita
is a portion of the Mahabharata,
the great epic of
The scene of the battle is laid on the plain called
"Kurukshetra," a strip of land near
In one aspect history gives us merely the small or
great occurrences of man's progress; but in another, any one great historical
epoch will give us a picture of the evolution in man, in the mass, of any
corresponding faculty of the Individual Soul. So we see, here and there,
Western minds wondering why such a highly tuned metaphysical discussion should
be "disfigured by a warfare of savages." Such is the materializing
influence of Western culture that it is hardly able to admit any higher meaning
in a portion of the poem which confessedly it has not yet come to fully
understand.
Before the Upanishads can be properly rendered, the
Indian psychological system must be understood; and even when its existence is
admitted, the English speaking person will meet the great difficulty arising
from an absence of words in that language which correspond to the ideas so
frequently found in the Sanskrit. Thus we have to wait until a new set of words
has been born to express the new ideas not yet existing in the civilization of
the West.
The location of the plain on which this battle was
fought is important, as well as are also the very rivers and mountains by which
it is bounded. And as equally needful to be understood, or at least guessed at,
are the names of the respective princes. The very place in the Mahabharata in which this episode
is inserted has deep significance, and we cannot afford to ignore anything
whatever that is connected with the events. If we merely imagine that Vyasa or
Although the Bhagavad-Gita
is a small work, there have been written upon it, among the
Hindus, more commentaries than those upon the Revelation of
I do not intend to go into those commentaries, because
on the one hand I am not a Sanskrit scholar, and on the other it would not tend
to great profit. Many of them are fanciful, some unwarrantable; and those that
are of value can be consulted by anyone anxious to pursue that line of inquiry.
What I propose here to myself and to all who may read these papers is to study
the Bhagavad-Gita by
the light of that spiritual lamp -- be it small or great -- which the Supreme
Soul will feed and increase within us if we attend to its behests and
diligently inquire after it. Such at least is the promise by
- - - - -
In the few introductory lines with which I took up
this subject, it was stated that not being a Sanskrit scholar I did not intend
to go into the commentaries upon the poem in that language. The great mass of
those commentaries have looked at the dialogue from various standpoints. Many
later Hindu students have not gone beyond the explanations made by
Sankaracharya, and nearly all refuse to do more than transliterate the names of
the different personages referred to in the first chapter.
But there is the highest authority for reading this
poem between the lines. The Vedas themselves say that what we see of them is
only "the disclosed Veda," and that one should strive to get above
this disclosed word. It is
here clearly implied that the undisclosed Vedas must be hidden or contained in
that which is apparent to the outer senses. Did we not have this privilege,
then surely would we be reduced to obtaining true knowledge solely from the
facts of experience as suffered by the mortal frame, and fall into the gross
error of the materialists who claim that mind is only an effect produced by the
physical brain-molecules coming into motion. We would also have to follow the
canonical rule, that conscience is a safe guide only when it is regulated by an
external law such as the law of the church, or of the Brahmanical caste. But we
very well know that within the material, apparent -- or disclosed -- man,
exists the real one who is
undisclosed.
This valuable privilege of looking for the inner
sense, while not straining after impossible meanings in the text, is permitted
to all sincere students of any holy scriptures, Christian or Pagan. And in the
poem itself,
Nor should the Western student of the poem be deterred
from any attempt to get at the real meaning by the attitude of the Brahmins,
who hold that only Brahmins can be told this real meaning, and, because
But as our minds work very much upon suggestion or
clues and might, in the absence of any hints as to where those clues are
placed, be liable to altogether overlook the point, we must bear in mind the
existence among the Aryans of a psychological system that gives substance and
impulse to utterances declared by many Orientalists to be folly unworthy of
attention from a man of the nineteenth century civilization. Nor need we be
repulsed from our task because of a small acquaintance with that Aryan
psychology. The moment we are aware of its existence in the poem, our inner
self is ready to help the outer man to grasp after it; and in the noble pursuit
of these great philosophical and moral truths, which is only our eternal
endeavor to realize them as a part of our being, we can patiently wait for a
perfect knowledge of the anatomy and functions of the inner man.
Western Sanskritists have translated many important
words into the very lowest of their real meanings, being drawn away from the
true by the incomplete Western psychological and spiritual knowledge, or have
mixed them up hopelessly. Such words as karma
and dharma are not
understood. Dharma means law, and is generally turned into duty, or said to refer merely to some
rule depending upon human convention, whereas it means an inherent property of
the faculties or of the whole man, or even of anything in the cosmos. Thus it
is said that it is the duty, or dharma, of fire to burn. It always will burn
and thus do its whole duty, having no consciousness, while man alone has the
power to retard his "journey to the heart of the Sun," by refusing to
perform his properly appointed and plainly evident dharma. So again, when we
read in the Bhagavad-Gita that
those who depart this life "in the bright half of the moon, in the six
months of the sun's northern course," will go to eternal salvation, while
others, "who depart in the gloomy night of the moon's dark season while
the sun is in the southern half of his path," ascend for a time to the
moon's region, to be reborn on this earth, our Orientalists tell us this is
sheer folly, and we are unable to contradict them. But if we know that the
Aryans, with a comprehensive knowledge of the vast and never inharmonious
correspondence reigning throughout the macrocosm, in speaking thus meant to
admit that the human being may be or not in a state of development in strict
conformity to the bright or dark moon, the verse becomes clear. The
materialistic critic will take the verse in the fourth chapter, which says that
"he who eats of the ambrosia left from a sacrifice passes into the supreme
spirit," and ask us how the eating of the remnants of a burnt offering can
confer salvation. When, however, we know that Man is the altar and the
sacrifice, and that this ambrosia is
the perfection of spiritual cultivation
which he eats or incorporates into his being, the Aryan is
vindicated and we are saved from despair.
A strange similarity on one point may be noticed
between our poem and the old Hebrew record. The Jews were prepared by certain
experiences to enter into the promised land, but were unable to do so until
they had engaged in mighty conflicts with Hivites, Jebusites, Perizzites, and
Amalekites. Here we find that the very opening verse signalizes a war. The old,
blind king Dhritarashtra asks his prime minister to tell him what these
opposing forces of Pandus and Kurus have been doing assembled as they are
resolved upon war. So too the Jews assembled upon the borders of the promised
land, resolved on conflict, and sustained in their resolve by the declarations
of their God who had brought them out of the darkness of Egypt, carried on the
fight.
Dhritarashtra is blind, because the body, as such, is
blind in every way.
Someone has said -- Goethe I think -- that the old
pagan religions taught man to look up, to aspire continually toward the greatness
which was really his to achieve, and thus led him to regard himself as but
little less, potentially, than a god; while the attitude of man under the
Christian system is one of humility, of bowed head and lowered eyes, in the
presence of his God. In approaching the "jealous God" of the Mosaic
dispensation, it is not permissible to assume an erect position. This change of
attitude becomes necessary as soon as we postulate a Deity who is outside and
beyond us. And yet it is not due to the Christian scriptures in themselves, but
solely to the wrong interpretation given them by priests and churches, and
easily believed by a weak humanity that needs a support beyond itself on which
to lean.
The Aryans, holding that man in his essence is God, naturally looked up to him
and referred everything to him. They therefore attributed to the material of
the body no power of sight or feeling. And so Dhritarashtra, who is material existence, in which thirst
for its renewal inheres, is blind.
The eye cannot see nor the ear hear, of themselves. In
the Upanishads the pupil is asked: "What is the sight of the eye, and the
hearing of the ear?" replying that these powers reside solely with inner
organs of the soul, using the material body as the means for experiencing the phenomena
of material life. Without the presence of this indwelling, informing, hearing
and seeing power -- or being -- this collection of particles now deified as body is dead or blind.
These philosophers were not behind our nineteenth
century. Boscovich, the Italian, Faraday, Fiske and other moderns, have
concluded that we cannot even see or know the matter of which these bodies and the different
substances about us are made up, and that the ultimate resolution is not into
atoms finely divided, but into "points of dynamic force"; and
therefore, we cannot know a piece of iron, we only know the phenomena it produces. This position
is an ancient Aryan one, with another added -- that the real perceiver of those
phenomena is the Self.
It is only by an acceptance of this philosophy that we
will ever comprehend the facts of nature which our science is so laboriously
noting and classifying. But that science ignores a large mass of phenomena well
known to spiritualists here and to ascetics in
In those instances the thing happened without
knowledge or effort on the part of the medium, who was a passive agent. But the
Eastern ascetic, possessing the power of disappearing, is a person who has
meditated upon the real basis of what we know as "form," with the
doctrine ever in view, as stated by Boscovich and Faraday, that these phenomena
are not realities per se, and adding that all must be referred to the Self. And
so we find Patanjali in his compilation of yoga aphorisms stating the matter.
In his twenty-first aphorism Book III, he says that the ascetic being aware
that form, as such, is nothing, can cause himself to disappear (3) It is not difficult to explain this as a species of
hypnotism or psychologizing performed by the ascetic. But such sort of
explaining is only the modern method of getting out of a difficulty by stating
it over again in new terms. Not until it is admitted that the Self eternally
persists, and is always unmodified, will any real knowledge be acquired by us
respecting these matters. In this Patanjali is very clear in his seventeenth aphorism,
Book IV, where he says: "The modifications of the mental state are always
known, because the presiding spirit is not modified."
We must admit the blindness of Dhritarashtra, as body,
and that our consciousness and ability to know anything whatever of the
modifications going on in the organism, are due to the "presiding
spirit."
So this old, blind rajah is that part of man which,
containing the principle of thirst for existence, holds material life. The
At first it flows down unperceived by us, through the
spiritual spheres, coming at last into what we call matter, where it manifests
itself but yet remains unseen, until at last it flows into the sea -- or death
-- to be drawn up again by the sun -- or the karma of reincarnation. The plain
is sacred because it is the "temple of the Holy Ghost." Kurukshetra
should then read: "The body which is acquired by karmna." So the king
does not ask what this body itself has been doing, but what have the followers
of material existence, that is the entire host of lower elements in man by
which he is attached to physical life, and the followers of Pandu, that is the
entire set of spiritual faculties, been doing on this sacred plain.
It follows then that the enumeration of generals and
commanders gone into by the prime minister in reply to the king must be a
catalogue of all the lower and higher faculties in man, containing also, in the
names adopted, clues to powers of our being only at present dimly guessed at in
the West or included in such vague terms as brain and mind. We find these
generals given their appropriate places upon either side, and see also that
they have assigned to them various distinctive weapons, which in many cases are
flourished or exhibited in the preliminary movements, so that our attention may
be drawn to them.
- - - - -
Salutation to
We now have discovered that the poem is not disfigured
by this account of a conflict that begins in the first chapter; to be then
dropped while the two great actors retire to their chariot for a discussion.
This description of forces, and the first effect on Arjuna of his survey, show
us that we are now to learn from
In the Sanskrit, the first chapter is called
"Arjuna-Vishada," which in English means, "The despair and
despondency of Arjuna." Some have called it "The Survey of
Army"; but while truly an army is surveyed, that is not the essential
meaning intended. It is the result of the survey we are to consider; and that
result upon Arjuna who is the person most interested -- the one who is the
chief questioner and beneficiary throughout the whole action of the poem -- is
despondency.
The cause of this despondency is to be
inquired into.
Arjuna, in the flush of determination, and before any
analysis of either the consequences to himself or to others who might become
involved, entered the conflict, after having chosen Krishna as his charioteer.
The forces are drawn up in line of battle, and he rides out to survey them. At
once he sees ranged against him relatives of every class, in their turn
preparing to destroy others, their relatives, friends and acquaintances as well
as Arjuna's, who are enlisted on his side. Turning to Krishna, he says that he
cannot engage in such a war, that he perceives only evil omens, and that even
if the opposers, being ignorant, may be willing to fight with such dreadful
consequences in view, he cannot do so, but must give up the battle ere it is
begun. Thereupon:
Arjuna, whose heart was troubled with grief, let fall his bow and
arrows, and sat down on the bench of his chariot.
Every student of occultism, theosophy or true religion
-- all being the one thing -- will go through Arjuna's experiences. Attracted
by the beauty or other seductive quality, for him, of this study, he enters
upon the prosecution of it, and soon discovers that he arouses two sets of
forces. One of them consists of all his friends and relations who do not view
life as he does, who are wedded to the "established order," and think
him a fool for devoting any attention to anything else; while the general mass
of his acquaintances and those whom he meets in the world instinctively array
themselves against one who is thus starting upon a crusade that begins with his
own follies and faults, but must end in a condemnation of theirs, if only by
the force of example. The other opponents are far more difficult to meet,
because they have their camp and base of action upon the astral and other
hidden planes; they are all his lower tendencies and faculties, that up to this
time have been in the sole service of material life. By the mere force of moral
gravity, they fly to the other side, where they assist his living friends and
relatives in their struggle against him. They have more efficiency in producing
despondency than anything else. In the poem, it is referred to in the words
addressed by Arjuna to
I am not able to stand; for my understanding, as it were turneth round,
and I behold inauspicious omens on all sides.
All of us are brought to this study by our own request
made to our higher self, who is
"After all, it is no use; I cannot win; if I did,
the gain would be nothing; I can see no great or lasting result to be attained,
for all, all, is impermanent."
This dreadful feeling is sure in each case to supervene,
and we might as well be prepared for it. We cannot always live on the
enthusiasm of heavenly joys. The rosy hue of dawn does not reach round the
world; it chases darkness. Let us be prepared for it, not only at the first
stage, but all along in our progress to the holy seat; for it comes at each
pause; at that slight pause when we are about to begin another breath, to take
another step, to pass into another condition.
And here it is wise, turning to the 18th, and last,
chapter of the poem, to read the words of the immortal master of life:
From a confidence in thine own self-sufficiency thou mayest think that
thou wilt not fight. Such is a fallacious determination, for the principles of thy nature will compel thee.
Being confined to actions by the duties of thy natural calling, thou wilt involuntarily do that from necessity,
which thou wantest through ignorance to avoid.
In this,
In another chapter, the institution of caste is more
particularly referred to, and there we will have occasion to go into that
subject with more detail.
As stated in the last paper, the substratum, or
support, for the whole cosmos, is the presiding spirit, and all the various
changes in life, whether of a material nature or solely in mental states, are
cognizable because the presiding spirit within is not modifiable. Were it
otherwise, then we would have no memory, for with each passing event, we,
becoming merged in it, could not remember anything, that is, we would see no
changes. There must therefore be something eternally persisting, which is the
witness and perceiver of every passing change, itself unchangeable. All
objects, and all states of what Western philosophers call mind, are
modifications, for in order to be seen or known by us, there must be some
change, either partial or total, from a precedent state. The perceiver of these
changes is the inner man -- Arjuna-Krishna.
This leads us to the conviction that there must be a
universal presiding spirit, the producer as well as the spectator, of all this
collection of animate and inanimate things. The philosophy taught by
This Self
must be recognized as being within, pondered over, and as much as possible
understood, if we are to gain any true knowledge.
We have thus quickly, and perhaps in an inadequate
way, come down to a consideration of Arjuna as composed of all these generals
and heroes enumerated in this chapter, and who are, as we said, the various
powers, passions and qualities included in the Western terms "brain and
mind."
Modern physical, mental and psychological sciences
have as yet but scratched the surface of that which they are engaged in
examining. Physical science confessedly is empiric, knowing but the very
outposts of the laws of nature; and our psychology is in a worse state. The
latter has less chance for arriving at the truth than physical science, because
scientists are proceeding to a gradual demonstration of natural laws by careful
examination of facts easily observable, but psychology is a something which
demands the pursuit of another method than that of science, or those now
observed.
It would avail nothing at present to specify the Aryan
nomenclature for all the sheaths -- as they call them -- that envelop the soul,
because we as yet have not acquired the necessary ideas. Of what use is it to
say that certain impressions reside in the Anandamaya
sheath. But there is such an one, whether we call it by that name
or by any other. We can, however, believe that the soul, in order to at last
reach the objective plane where its experience is gained, places upon itself,
one after the other, various sheaths, each having its peculiar property and
function. The mere physical brain is thus seen to be only the material organ
first used by the real percipient in receiving or conveying ideas and
perceptions; and so with all the other organs, they are only the special seats
for centralizing the power of the real man in order to experience the
modifications of nature at that particular spot.
Who is the sufferer from this despondency?
It is our false personality as distinguished from
Krishna -- the higher self -- which is oppressed by the immediate resistance
offered by all the lower part of our nature, and by those persons with whom we
are most closely connected, as soon as we begin to draw them away from all old
habits, and to present a new style of thinking for their consideration.
For Arjuna, sinking down upon the seat of that chariot
which is his body, fell back upon his own nature and found therein the elements
of search and courage, as well as those previous ones of gloom which arise
first, being nearer the natural man. Reliance and pressure upon our own inner
nature, in moments of darkness, are sure to be answered by the voice of
The first consequences of the despondency are to make us feel that the battle we have invited
ought not to be carried on, and we then are almost overwhelmed with the desire
to give it up. Some do give it up, to begin it again, in a succeeding life,
while others like Arjuna listen to the voice of
"Thus, in the Upanishads, in the holy Bhagavad-Gita, in the science of
the Supreme Spirit, in the Book of Devotion, in the colloquy between the Holy
Krishna and Arjuna, stands the first chapter by name:
"THE DESPONDENCY OF ARJUNA."
Salutation to the god of battles, to the charioteer,
to him who disposeth the forces aright, who leadeth us on to victory, with whom
alone success is certain: that he may guide us to where the never-dying light
shineth: Om!
- - - -
Salutation to the prowess of
THE FIRST ABYSS
The first chapter is ended. In one aspect, the Bhagavad-Gita is a personal book.
It is for each man; and it is in that way we have so far considered it. Some
have called it obscure, and others a book which deals solely with the great
principles of nature; with only great questions of cosmogony; with difficult
and bewildering questions relating to the first cause; and still others think
it is contradictory and vague. But this first scene in the great colloquy is
plain. It has the din of arms, the movement of battalions and the disposition
of forces with their generals. No one need feel any hesitation now, for we are
face to face with ourselves. The weak man, or he who does not care for truth no
matter where it leads, had better shut the book now. Unless he can go on
reading the poem with the fixed intention of applying it to himself, it will do
him no good whatever. He may say, however, that he will read it for what it may
seem to contain, but if he reads to the end of time and does not fairly regard
this first lecture, his knowledge gained further on will be no knowledge. It is
indeed the book of the great mystery; but that problem was never solved for anyone; it must be settled and
solved by each one for himself.
No doubt it was for this reason that Vyasa, to whom
the poem is attributed, placed this conflict, in which the principal characters
are Arjuna and
It does not appear in the Bhagavad-Gita that
We take up the gage over and over, life after life, in
experience after experience, never completely defeated if we always look to
The palace of maya is this body of illusion, built up
around us by desire. In our last birth we had all the advice given in this
poem, and walking today through the palace, which sometimes seems so lovely, we
now and then have reminiscences from the past. Sometimes we stoutly take up the
fight; but surely, if we have listened to the guide aright, we will compel
ourselves at last to carry it out until finished.
In coming to the conclusion of this first chapter, we
reach the first abyss. It
is not the great abyss, albeit it may seem to us, in our experience, to be the
greatest. We are now vis-a-vis our own despair, and doubt its companion. Many a
student of theosophy has in our own sight reached this point -- all true
students do. Like a little child who first ventures from the parent's side, we
are affrighted at what seems new to us, and dropping our weapons attempt to get
away; but, in the pursuit of theosophy it is not possi ible to go back.
Because the abyss is behind us.
There is in nature a law that operates in every
department whether moral or physical, and which may now be called that of
undulation and then that of inhibition; while at other times it reappears as
vibration, and still again as attraction and repulsion, but all these changes
are only apparent because at bottom it is the same. Among vegetables it causes
the sap to flow up the tree in one way and will not permit it to return in the
same direction. In our own blood circulation we find the blood propelled from
the heart, and that nature has provided little valves which will not permit it
to return to the heart by the way it came, but by the way provided. Medical and
anatomical science are not quite sure what it is that causes the blood to pass
these valves; whether it is pressure from behind communicated by the heart, or
the pressure by atmosphere from without which gently squeezes, as it were, the
blood upon its way. But the occultist does not find himself limited by these
empirical deductions. He goes at once to the center and declares that the
impulse is from the heart
and that that organ receives its impulse from the great astral heart or the
akasa, which has been said by all mystics to have a double motion, or alternate
vibration -- the systole and diastole of nature.
So in this sense the valve in the circulation
represents the abyss behind us that we cannot repass. We are in the great
general circulation and compelled, whether we like it or not, to obey its
forward impulse.
This place of dejection of Arjuna is also the same
thing as is mentioned in Light on the
Path as the silence after the storm. In tropical countries this
silence is very apparent. After the storm has burst and passed, there is a
quietness when the earth and the trees seem to have momentarily ceased making
their familiar, manifold noises. They are obeying the general law and beginning
the process of assimilation.
And in the astral world it is just the same. When one
enters there for the first time, a great silence falls, during which the
regulated soul is imbibing its surroundings and becoming accustomed to them. It
says nothing but waits quietly until it has become in vibration precisely the
same as the plane in which it is; when that is accomplished then it can speak
properly, make itself understood, and likewise understand. But the unregulated
soul flies to that plane of the astral world in a disturbed state, hurries to
speak before it is able to do so intelligibly and as a consequence is not
understood, while it increases its own confusion and makes it less likely that
it will soon come to understand. People are attracted to the astral plane; they
hear of its wonders and astonishments and like a child with a new toy in sight
they hurry to grasp it. They refuse to learn its philosophy because that seems
dry and difficult. So they plunge in, and as Murdhna Joti said in a former
article in this magazine, they then "swim in it and cut capers like a boy
in a pool of water."
But for the earnest student and true disciple the
matter is serious. He has vowed to have the truth at whatever cost, willing to
go wherever she leads -- even if it be to death.
So
We should not fail to observe at this point, that when
Arjuna threw down his bow and arrows, the flying of missiles had already begun.
We cannot say that when the philosophical discourse began between these two the
opposing forces declared a truce until the mighty heroes should give the
signal, because there is nowhere any verse that would authorize it, and we also
can read in the accompanying books that all the paraphernalia of war had been
brought onto the field and that the enemy would not desist, no matter what
Arjuna might do. Now there is a meaning here, which is also a part of the great
abyss the son of Pandu saw behind him, and which every one of us also sees.
We enter upon this great path of action in occultism
mentally disposed towards final victory. This mental attitude instantly throws
all the parts of our being into agitation, during which the tendencies which
are by nature antipathetic to each other separate and range themselves upon opposite
sides. This creates great distress, with oftentimes wandering of the mind, and
adds additional terror to our dark despair. We may then sink down and declare
that we will fly to a forest -- or as they did once in
At this point of our progress we should examine our motive and desire.
It has been said in some theosophical writings of the
present day, that a "spiritualized will" ought to be cultivated. As
terms are of the highest importance we ought to be careful how we use them, for
in the inner life they represent either genuine, regulated forces, or useless
and abortive things that lead to nothing but confusion. This term
"spiritualized will" leads to error, because in fact it has no
existence. The mistake has grown out of the constant dwelling on
"will" and "forces" needed for the production of phenomena,
as something the disciple should strive to obtain -- whether so confessed or
not -- while the real motive power is lost sight of. It is very essential that
we should clearly understand this, for if we make the blunder of attributing to
will or to any other
faculty an action which it does not have, or of placing it in a plane to which
it does not belong, we at once remove ourselves far from the real knowledge,
since all action on this plane is by mind alone.
The old Hermetic statement is: "Behind will stands desire," and it is true.
Will is a pure, colorless force which is moved into action by desire. If desire does not give a
direction, the will is motionless; and just as desire indicates, so the will
proceeds to execute.
But as there are countless wills of sentient beings
constantly plying to and fro in our sphere, and must be at all times in some
manner acting upon one another, the question arises: What is that sort of
knowledge which shows how to use the will so that the effect of counteracting
wills may not be felt? That knowledge is lost among the generality of men and
is only instinctive here and there in the world as a matter of karmic result,
giving us examples of men whose will seems to lead them on to success, as Jay
Gould and others.
Furthermore, men of the world are not desiring to see
results which shall be in accord with the general will of nature, because they
are wanting this and that for their own benefit. Their desire, then, no matter
how strong, is limited or nullified: (1) by lack of knowledge of how to
counteract other wills; (2) by being in opposition to the general will of
nature without the other power of being able to act strongly in opposition to
that too.
So it follows -- as we see in practice in life -- that men obtain only a portion of that which they
desire.
The question next arises: Can a man go against the
general will of nature and escape destruction, and also be able to desire
wickedly with knowledge, and accomplish, through will, what he wishes?
Such a man can do all of these -- except to escape
destruction. That is sure to come, no matter at how remote a period.
He acquires extraordinary knowledge, enabling him to
use powers for selfish purposes during immense periods of time, but at last the
insidious effects of the opposition to the general true will makes itself felt
and he is destroyed forever.
This fact is the origin of the destruction-of-worlds
myths, and of those myths of combats such as between
For in other ages, as is to again occur in ages to
come, these wickedly desiring people, having great knowledge, increase to an
enormous extent and threaten the stability of the world. Then the adherents of
the good law can no longer quietly work on humanity, but come out in force, and
a fight ensues in which the black magicians are always destroyed, because the
good adepts possess not only equal knowledge with the bad ones, but have in
addition the great assistance of the general will of nature which is not in
control of the others, and so it is inevitable that the good should triumph
always. This assistance is also the heritage of every true student, and may be
invoked by the real disciple when he has arrived at and passed the first abyss.
"And when the Great King of Glory saw the
Heavenly Treasure of the Wheel, he sprinkled it with water and said: 'Roll
onward, O my Lord, the Wheel! O my Lord, go forth and overcome!'"