Some Philosophy of The Hermetics

[Rev.Reverence]

SOME

PHILOSOPHY

OF THE

HERMETICS

^{ISSUED BY AUTHORITY OP THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA}

There are some who will see and seeing will perceive,

others hearing will understand.

B. R. BAUMGAKDT & CO.

PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS,

LOS ANGELES, CAL.

COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY D. P. HATCH

OF

LOS ANGELES, CAL.

Alt rights reserved.

LOS ANGELES, CAL.:

B. R. BAUMGARDT & CO.

231 W. FIRST ST.

NEW YORK:

RAPHYSICAL PUBLISHING COMPANY

465 FIFTH AVE.

CONTENTS:

0)PREFACE

1)HERMETICS

2)PHILOSOPHY

3)FAITH

4)CONCENTRATION

5)PRACTICE

6)MEMORY

7)IMAGINATION

8)THE BOOK OF REVELATION

9)PRIDE AND PHILOSOPHY

10)WHO ARE THE CRANKS?

11)ONE DAY

12)SECRET GRIEF

13)COLD DESPAIR

14)BEAUTY ART POWER

15)SPIRITS AND DEVILS

16)DEATH WHAT OF IT?

17)NATURE'S JEST

18)YOUR FRIEND

19)THE ONE THING

20)THE DEVIL

21)THE PAIRS

22)ADONAI

23)MAGIC

0)PREFACE.

Nature has a way of concealing and

revealing. She tells half her story out in

the sunshine in a loud voice, and the other

half in whispers underground.

She is coy like a coquette, and stern like

a judge. She excites curiosity in the

student, and dread in the debauchee.

She holds the man of science to her

breast, but is dumb to the lover of pleasure.

She scorns the victim of priestcraft and

repudiates the supernatural. The Sage

takes his cue from his mother; like Nature,

he conceals and reveals. He who would

see other than the smiling, scowling face

of Hermes must search the dark places

by the light of his own candle ; Hermes

locks the gate between the outer and inner

Temple; and he, only, enters the latter,

who has the pass word and the key.

In reading this book please notice how

the essays vary in style ; some of them

falling into a weird rhapsody, others laconic

and plain The Mystic will understand the

reason of the difference, while another will

peruse only the words.

The barbaric splendor of Nature reveals

truth and law as surely as does her terrible

logic. She speaks in poetry and in prose.

Facts are rarely ever naked, but often not

only draped but masked. The occult eye

sees straight to the heart of a fact, while

the normal lens dwells on the habiliments.

Enough has been said save this Man

inevitably cometh unto his own.

1)THE HERMETICS.

Wlio were they ? What are they ? They

were those who could speak or keep silent.

They are those who whisper or shout. They

believe in silver and gold. " If speech is

silver silence is gold." They believe in the

conservation of energy, and its transforma-

tion. They believe in the Unit and in the

many the special and the general. They

have found the Philosopher's stone the

elixir of life. They catch glimpses of Eldo-

rado the promised land. They know time

and realize eternity. They comprehend

distance and space. They circumscribe the

square with the circle, and death with life.

They teach an eternity of being, and an

endless variety of form. They wed involu-

tion to evolution, and yesterday to tomor-

row. They insist on object as the mirror

of subject, and consciousness as the child of

the two. They hold that Nirvana is poise

a motionless motion the paradox of

being.

To find the Hermetic out of Thibet is to

discover him next door. He is as likely to

be in broadcloth as in adept's robe and as

possible in London as in Benares. He is

rare. Gold is not picked up without stoop-

ing, nor the fountain head discovered with-

out searching. Swine are about and pearls

are treasured.

Enough, save this The false implies the

true. Chaos, order. The word, secrecy.

" The one thing, many."

2)PHILOSOPHY.

With your heart filled with emotions,

your head stormy with thought; with your

back on the years behind you, facing the

years ahead you, a man, stand trembling

with the consciousness of self, and wonder

what next.

Philosophy ! ah me ! Philosophy ! When

the heart beats to the tune of love, or your

brain throbs with a master-passion Philoso-

phy ! you plunge headlong into life as the

comet into space-living-living-living-only

living.

Philosophy ! What need have you ? Your

blood surges up to your heart and on to your

head you feel, you think Philosophy !

Life is for life, you say Philosophy ! but-

but-you hav'nt it-life, only a shiver of it-

only a thrill of it.

Philosophy brings it-life. She is beauti-

ful she carries a cup in her hand it is

gold; she begs you to drink and live. She is

your hand-maiden Philosophy the cup is

pure metal the drink is elixir life. As

man, you are mortal; you have stood in the

sunshine so long you are blind. As man,

you are drunk with a drop of pure life;

you have listened so long to the seas, you

are deaf. Philosophy brings you the cup and

you drink, and you open your eyes; she waits

and you listen and hear what what do

you see do you hear?

Yourself in the sun, in the sea your-

self in the sky, in the air yourself in the

winds, in the stars yourself in the depths,

in the heights yourself in the distance

yourself nearer home yourself in the open

yourself in the closed yourself in the

seen and unseen yourself everywhere;

yourself in her eyes Philosophy's eyes

yourself in her voice Philosophy's voice

yourself in the speech of the beasts, in the

song of the birds, the rustling of leaves; in

nothing, in something, in naught and in all;

in negative, positive, neither and both; in

you and in other, in other and you.

Life! inward and outward, receding ad-

vancing, coming and going Life ! Feeling

is feeling thinking is thinking Life!

Sleeping is sleeping waking is waking

Life ! Living is living dying is dying

Life!

Open the windows and breathe the fresh

air open the windows and look at the sky

open the windows and feel the soft rain

breathe breathe breathe full to the chest

breathe.

I've traveled the spaces by thinking I've

mounted the zenith by wishing I've floated

in air by a longing I've melted in mist

when a dreaming I have flashed in the fire

by desiring I have blended in water by

looking I have entered a soul by aspiring.

I am many or one I am one or the many.

Each day is mine own not anothers; each

day is all days, all days are each day.

I floated in blood in the veins of a bird,

and beat in his heart to the tune of his wings ;

I sucked at the breast of a flower and dripped

in the honey of bees; I spun the fine silk of

a web, and tied up the knots of a snare; I

have lain in the arms of a cloud and turned

up my face to the sky; I died and entered

the tomb, and rotted away in a corpse; I

crawled through the pores of the earth in the

succulent bodies of worms, and buried myself

in the mire to shiver with cold in a stone.

Ah ! Life and Philosophy ! Wisdom and

Life!

Do you ask me the reason of all, I give

you the reason of none; do you ask me the

reason of none, I give you the wisdom of all.

You burn with desire and you thrill;

then dip in the blood of yourself and write

on the parchment a scroll, and read in the

letters the words, and read in the words the

command, and in the command the design,

and in the design, the beginning and end;

and living you read, and reading you live;

and cease to be mortal, but soar as a god.

If ever the bush is on fire harken for

language and hear; something is speaking

listen and listen something is shining

the bush is on fire.

3)FAITH.

We will present the subject of faith in a

secondary aspect, and show you how to

make out of it a mighty lever towards

accomplishing results. We advise you

to be alert, and in a certain sense skep-

tical in all save the principle upon which

you found your premise.

Take as a starting point yourself, for it is

not necessary to travel far from home in

order to find a subject on which to work.

Believing in your existence, a priori, and

resting upon the fundamental consciousness

of the Ego, suppose you branch out into

a series of unusual experiments as to what

the possibilities of that Ego are.

Most people find certain dominant tend-

encies uppermost, and are entirely satisfied

to develop and live by them, never striving

to discover hidden mines within themselves

along lines where they have not taken the

trouble to penetrate.

If you see a leaf floating on the wave at

sea, you have some reason to think that

land is near. May it not be possible that

some indication as small as a leaf, floats

round on the sea of your being, and you

have failed to draw any conclusion from it.

The mariner discovers the bit of green, and

makes for the shore ; you discover the sign

of unseen things and sail out into deeper

waters.

The lesson we would teach is this, observe

the signs, no matter how insignificant ; let

them create in you a sort of conditional

faith ; follow them up and see what you will

discover.

The scientist is well used to this condi-

tional faith ; it is not absolute faith, but a

suspension of judgment, an abandonment of

prejudice, and a simple research based upon

indications. When the miner strikes a sign

of color, a certain faith is developed in him;

it is conditional of course ; it is based on

possibility, not on probability. It is quite a

different thing from a man's faith in gravi-

tation or repulsion. It is what might be

called a blind faith ; and the only excuse for

its being is that in time, it will develop into

a certainty or fall through altogether, in

other words prove itself.

Suppose for instance, you find at some

one time, that you have seen clairvoyantly,

treat that as the leaf on the sea of your

being ; follow it up, and be not astonished

if you land on the shore of an unknown

country. Your faith which was suf-

ficient to lead you to explore, has brought

you a certainty which translates itself into

an added power.

The reason that we insist on a conditional

faith such as the scientist has, is this; if you

blindly follow signs, so swallowed up in

your belief that you are incapacitated to

reason, or to think, or to bear disappoint-

ment, you will become fanatical, and lose

your discrimination and power of judgment.

There is a faith that is prepared for

either success or failure ; it is a kind of half

belief in a thing, still strong enough to lead

one to honest, unbiased investigation about

it. It is the proper faith for one who inves-

tigates spiritualistic, psychic and sleight-of-

hand phenomena ; a watchful, fair, consider-

ate faith which weighs the pros and cons in

an investigation, and allows no undue influ-

ence to be brought to bear either for or

against the result sought.

This is strictly the scientific faith, and

it is the first essential in the mind of the

student of Philosophy. It should be laid

down as an axiom by all beginners in the

pursuit of knowledge, that our desiring or

not desiring a thing to be, cuts no figure in

the investigation. Truth does not arrange

herself to suit us, but forces us to conform

to her.

If we enter the study of Philosophy with

certain fixed ideas of what we would like to

have, and of how we wish the Universe to be

conducted, we are pretty apt to abandon the

pursuit when we come to find out that Truth

does not cut her clothes after a pattern of

our own designing. Truth is safe enough

and we can not improve upon her. It is our

business to pursue her, and catch and hold

some aspect of her if possible, otherwise we

had better return to our delusions.

To find Truth we must use the scientific

method, which is always founded upon a

temporary faith ; a premise assumed for the

time being, as a test of the possibility of the

solution of the problem. This is not the

supreme faith which is founded upon the

principle of being, and must be the rock

upon which we build up any lasting struc-

ture. It is the shifting faith which can be

abandoned, as we find the object upon which

it is fixed useful or not ; but we do insist

that when you start out to explore yourself,

and to discover the latent possibilities within

you, that you do as Columbus did, who

hoped to find a new Continent, which up to

the day when the first sign of land appeared,

was to him and the whole of Europe an

image and a dream.

4)CONCENTRATION.

We urged you in the last talk to go on a

voyage of discovery in yourself, and see if

some waking potentiality was awaiting

development. In this paper we desire to

insist on the use of concentration to this effect.

You who think you know how to concen-

trate, will find on attempt at a sustained

effort how difficult it is, and how weak you

are.

Look back and see how many things you

have begun, how many good resolutions you

have made, and how much you have

attempted and failed to complete.

Youth climbs up the ladder of his own

hopes and scans the prospect ; he expects

to do every thing, to conquer every thing ;

he levels mountains of opposition in his

own mind. He figures on becoming king

of opportunity and creating it at his own

bidding. Notice him ten years later sitting

at the foot of the ladder of his dreams. He

has spent his summers and his winters, his

springs and his autumns in dabbling.

First an attempt at this and then at

that, tasting here and there of everything

and nourished by nothing. He starts

down a road to view an object, and

slips off into a byway to view something

else. He gets to singing a new tune and

forgets the first stanza of the old one. He

knows people and forgets their names, or he

knows their names and forgets their faces.

He is forever experimenting and never

finishing ; he rests half way up the moun-

tain and a positive climax is something that

he knows nothing about.

Look over your life and see what you

have done. You have dipped into books,

but they never dipped into you. You have

studied human nature and been cheated a

hundred times. You have kissed a friend,

and then another without reading the heart

of the first. You came to the realm of

Philosophy, and wandered around in a maze;

you plucked a leaf and threw it away ; you

inhaled the perfume of a flower and passed

on; you gathered a bouquet and tossed it

into the stream ; you dabbled your feet in

the water, and washed your face in the dew ;

and then, you entered the front door of a

church and passed out at the rear.

You tickled the wings of cupid, and he

flew away, and sitting down on a grave you

sighed ; and the next week, you danced.

Such your life. Now you come to our doors

and knock ; and we say to you, from behind

the lock, "Can you look at the point

of a pin and look and look. Can you

rest on a premise, and think and think

up to the conclusion can you pile up

facts on facts to the pinnacle of a principle

can you study on one line to the very end of

the question can you act on your conclu-

sion as against the world can you resist

straying to the right and left when you have

started towards a place or condition can

you keep on aiming with the same stone at

the same spot till you hit it can you stay

fixed in any pursuit any length of time, or

are you a child?"

Start out with yourself and follow the leaf

on the wave of your sea; follow follow

concentrate and follow, by the blind faith

of science, some sign in yourself till its value

be disclosed. Be like the dog that gives

chase, and is bound to be in at the death or

the capture.

We tell you now, at the very inception of

the study ot Philosophy, that you must have

two kinds of faith; one absolute, the other

secondary and changeable; also concentra-

tion; without these it is useless to go on.

To cultivate concentration you must prac-

tice. Cultivate that bull-dog tenacity to hold

on to a thing till you know what it is, if you

have once decided to grapple with it.

Look into yourself and see if your past

indicates concentration ; if not, begin.

5)PRACTICE.

There is something truly pathetic in the

lives of those who preach and do not practice;

who revel in the generalities of Philosophy

as a sort of intellectual tonic, and are at the

same time too lazy to try the formulas and

hold fast to that which is good.

I desire you to avoid a method of prac-

tice that is backed by habit. To take

stated times to become good (say Sundays), is

not at all after the manner of our system;

and if you continually pursue this means,

you will grow as fixed as a rock crystal.

Life is your business, all kinds of life;

rustling among men, eating drinking

sleeping just as Christ did; and the best

time for you to practice, is all the time.

I who give you these instructions, know

what life is from its pleasures to its agonies;

from its feasts to its graveyards ; and the

more of a Philosopher I am, the more do I

know of its fulness. So when I tell you to

practice, I mean that you are to stay where

you are and practice.

The great need of the world is the living

Philosopher. Cloisters are out of date.

Monasteries are old fashioned ; they belong

to the middle ages.

People must clash with each other in

order to live ; must feel each other's pulse,

and jostle shoulder to shoulder; they must

mingle magnetism, I might say, and give

and take. In this rush, this hurry, is the

time to try your cult and test its value.

If you hide a diamond in a box, it loses

all its power to be saucy and throw back the

sun's rays to the sun; in fact it forgets after

a while that it is a diamond at all, and be-

comes as sullen as a cold pebble. If you

have anything good, you must find it out;

and you never can do that by shutting your-

self up in an occult room and imagining.

Do not mistake us; we told you to con-

centrate, and contemplate the point of a pin,

but not forever. While a certain amount

of daily retirement into "your closet" is

good, just as rest is necessary after exercise,

too much of it is bad. Learn to concentrate

and act too; this is practice of the best kind.

Have a purpose, a means, a way, and ACT

on it. Having a theory and getting no fact

out of it, is like having a friend who will

never embrace you.

Concentration and action should go to-

gether. To be sure, you should reverse and

retire into yourself when the occasion de-

mands, but never periodically and to order.

Learn to do it when you have need of it (and

you can tell that) but do not do it because

you have arranged to.

We preach practice from morning until

night; all the time, everywhere. Your

Philosophy should stick to you closer than

the hairs of your head, and should put in an

appearance on every occasion. If it is good

for great things, it is good for little things.

This does not mean that you are to be like

the self-conscious Christian who can never

get rid of his sense of responsibility; on the

contrary, it assures you the best that there

is in life. It shows you how to extract the

most honey from the flower, the grestest

beauty from the landscape, and the truest

love out of a fellow mortal. It is also a sort

of accident policy, it bestows on you a weekly

allowance in case of something unfortunate

and unforeseen ; and if you die, it pays up to

the last penny those whom you have left

behind.

It is practical, practical, practical, and if

what you are getting is not, you hav'nt the

right thing. Practice at all times, and when-

ever you fail in making the application, you

are that far short of grasping the situation.

6)MEMORY.

When you go down into the shadowy

place where the sun's rays can not come,

you are reconciled to the gloom because you

remember. What is it that you remember ?

That the sun still shines. You know very

well that not a ray can penetrate where you

are ; that as far as you are concerned, for

the time being, the Giver of Life the Con-

soler the Sun might as well be put out.

It is a dark place gloom gloom gloom

every where, and along with the gloom,

dampness and chill. But what of it your

memory serves you well you recall the

splendor outside the half hour ago when

you basked in heat and color all the tints

that the sun brings out all the brilliancy

and instead of a realization, you substi-

tute a memory.

In your pursuit of Philosophy, understand

that your path will not be all sunshine.

Philosophy does not undertake to supply

glory and glitter, nor does it guarantee you

a freedom from shadows and tears. Philo-

sophy does not undertake to change nature;

it gives you no seven-leagued boots with

which to stride over the land no sandals

like those of Pallas Athene, nor wings of a

Mercury. Philosophy lets Dame Nature

alone so far as changing her is concerned ;

in fact she is very self-willed and like all

feminine things, has her own way ; but here

is a secret Philosophy deals with nature

somewhat as a good husband does with

a stubborn spouse ; Philosophy manages

nature through her own attributes. A

natural attribute by the way, is memory.

Philosophy knowing this, brings it to bear

at the right time, and reaps the reward.

Philosophy has much tact, just as a wise

husband has.

To use art in remembering, is an essen-

tial towards Philosophic life. To be a good

forgetter, is as necessary as to be a good

recaller. There is nothing more uncomfort-

able and out of place, than to have some-

thing that you have put under the sod,

protrude its head at the wrong time. When

you bury, bury deep, and do not dig up the

thing unless you want it.

Some memories are bores, just like some

people ; they stay and stay out of pure

viciousness, and the more you curse them

the more staying power they show. A

Philosopher will never allow this ; he knows

that he can get rid of one memory by sub-

stituting another, just as you would shove

an impertinent person out of a chair and

put another in his place. As you can forget

by a sort of substitution, you can remem-

ber by a mental suggestion.

When down in the shadow, recall some-

thing a star, a diamond, or a friend's

eyes ; and see how quickly the place will

glow as if a sun had been born, with

dropped lids it is the same. There is a

flash and a shimmer in the fire of memory

which radiates in the now, if you desire it.

Let us carry this lesson farther. Physi-

cal darkness is but one phase ; there is a

mental and a spiritual blackness which

tongue can not speak of, nor pen portray.

Even in this dungeon of dungeons memory

can send a straight ray, and turn black to

white, night to day. When you recall the

sun, at the time shadows enshroud you,

with that recollection comes the conscious-

ness that the sun is a fixed fact that it ex-

ists, and that shadows can not extinguish

it ; this makes you safe ; safe in your mind,

safe in your heart ; you wrap the mantle

of darkness about you, and laugh in the

face of the night for the sun IS. You

have remembered.

When any trouble gloom mood, en-

folds you in a cloud, remember that the

sun /5, and the rays are warm, love warm,

and they shine somewhere even in your

recollection, and with the remembering

will come a flash like that of Jupiter on

Olympus like that of a friend's eyes

and black will turn to white and night

to day.

This is the office of memory. Memory

is your servant, if you can only realize it,

memory is your slave, and all slaves impose

upon their masters when allowed.

Put impertinent memories to sleep ; wake

up the right one at the right time ; and

cheat Dame Nature into believing that she

has conquered Philosoph}^.

7)IMAGINATION.

To imagine something is to call up an

image in the mind by the will. This is vol-

untary imagination. Involuntary imagina-

tion (which is a bad thing always) is that

state where the image or images come of

their own accord, oftentimes as unwelcome,

vulgar or wicked guests.

Most lewd, vile, uncanny people are tools

of the imagination. Images which seem to

be like conscious entities, persist in dwelling

in, and dominating the untrained tenant

of an abused brain, and do incalculable

mischief to him and those with whom he

associates.

Imagination is man's greatest friend and

his greatest enemy; if you control him he

will serve you; and no artist can paint pic-

tures as beautiful as his. Command him to

sketch the sea, the sky, the stars, the unseen

and seen wonders of earth and heaven, and

he will produce instantaneous results. He

will decorate your castle for you and place

you in it; he will create an interior environ-

ment that will so overpower your soul that

crude outer surroundings will cease to

trouble you.

Imagination controlled by the will, is the

one thing to be desired. On the other hand,

involuntary imagination, that creature which

like a snake slips into your sanctuary in the

dark and conceals itself to coil and sting

when you are totally unable to combat it, is

to be abhorred and dreaded. Not that he is

forever ugly the serpent has an unrivaled

grace, and is a marvel in color not that,

but he is unreliable, treacherous and poison-

ous; he may not sting, but if he does the

antidote is hard to find. Worse than that,

he is eternally reproducing himself; he

brings forth a brood, or rather like the worm,

the more you divide him the more alive he

becomes; each piece of him in its turn ma-

turing and producing.

He turns your mind into a nest, and wal-

lows in it as the swine wallow in the sty. He

loves luxury and splendor as does the har-

lot; and his beauty, when it glitters has all

the fascination of a lewd woman.

The true sage controls his imagination

somewhat as he does his memory, putting it

out as he would extinguish a lamp, or light-

ing it as he would kindle a fire. The true

sage can build himself an air castle that

floats in a cloud, and frescoe it with the pic-

tures of angels. He can conjure forms of

grandeur that outrival nature's own work;

and create storms, the thunders of which

will drown the voice of Jupiter. He can tint

the rose and perfume the lily; still further,

he can create the NEW, and build palaces

that no architect before him has conceived,

and design landscapes that as yet, are

strangers to the brush. The sage but wills

and his servant, the imagination, does.

On the contrary, he who is unwise, is the

coward lackey of his Master Imagination.

He grovels at his feet, and hides his head,

and stops his ears against the horrors thrust

upon him. He fears the dark, and dreads

being alone. He is tortured about his health,

and magnifies every twinge of pain into the

death agony. All symptoms are to him as

fatal ; he sleeps in his own coffin every night,

and is resurrected from the grave every

morning. His dreams are all warnings and

prognosticate some future weal or woe.

His animal instincts run riot, while he is

fettered and bound; his progeny haunt him

like bad children, and lean on him for sup-

port. The air is peopled with his loathe-

some offspring, and they follow him where-

ever he goes.

This fate is inevitable to him who allows

his imagination to go rampant. In time,

his will falls to sleep and he becomes like

one in fever the prey to uncanny dreams

or like the brandy-soaked victim who is ever

terrified at the reptiles which his diseased

fancy brings forth.

Take your imagination in hand, and hold

it as you would a pair of horses ; do not

let it break, but pull on the bit even

though it foams and writhes. To have

your imagination run with you, is to have

it bring you up any where either throwing

you upon the rocks or landing you in the

gutter.

Every one has imagination in some form.

The power to call up images, is in all

normal human minds, and the power to

bid them leave is there also.

The sage can free his mind of either

unpleasant memories or undesired imagin-

ation, by an effort of pure will or by a

substitution. It is just as easy to substi-

tute one imagination for another as one

memory for another.

The power to conjure is a ready power

and easy to handle; ghosts, hobgoblins,

saints and sinners will come at a wave of

the magic wand, and if you did but know

it, at another wave they will disappear.

Evil imagination leads to suspicion,

this (as a rule) is a bad tenant. To be

forever suspecting, is to go through life as

some people go through a kitchen, sniffing

right and left for bad smells ; searching

out hidden corners with an eye for finding

fault; weighing all commodities with a

pair of test scales, under pretext of detect-

ing theft; or like one who steals into

places at unsuspected times on the lookout

for scandal ; listening at key-holes, prowl-

ing like a cat at night, peeping into

windows, over-hauling coat-pockets, rum-

maging desk drawers, talking in ambiguous

phrases, dealing in hints, implying every-

thing and saying next to nothing.

All this is the fruit of an ungoverned

imagination ; and in its train come jealousy

and envy a hideous pair who trample on

hearts and reputations, and mark their

trail with a stream of blood.

Catch your imagination while you can,

and wither it with a glance of your eye;

otherwise it will curse you and in cursing

you, will curse the world.

8)THE BOOK OF REVELATION.

It is not the Koran, nor the Bible, nor

the Tripitaka. It is not the sky with its

glittering pattern of stars, nor objective

nature as manifested in the sea, the

mountains, the rocks nor the rivers. It is

not hidden in the debris of the past, nor

written upon the tombs of Egyptian Kings.

It is not stamped upon tables of stone, nor

will it come in handwriting upon the wall.

No savant will search it out for you in

some concealed vellum covered thickly

with hieroglyphics ; nor will some priest

of the future reveal it to you, taken down

from the mouth of an angel.

To go far to find it will be to waste your

time. To wait to have it come to you, will

be as fruitless as the waiting for an impos-

sible Judgment Day.

The Book of Revelation exists, neverthe-

less, and its pages can be counted by

hundreds. It is in many volumes, bound

in skins finer than that of the sheep or the

chamois. Its letters are written in the

three fundamental colors intershaded by

many tints ; some of them flash fire, and

some are wet with tears. It is fully illust-

rated with pictures in pigment mixed with

blood, and in etchings of black and white.

The scenes are humorous, grotesque, be-

wildering, sad, ecstatic, divine.

"And where is this book," you ask; I

answer, "Look within, read yourself, and

behold the revelation"

The skin covers enfolding each volume

inclose a life of your being the fine skin

covers the tale is your own sorrowful,

happy story which never ends, but has se-

quel after sequel eternally. The letters pick

out the emotions, in dark or light, in blood

or fire. The blank pages are your dream-

less sleeping hours; and each sentence points

the moral like the finger of fate.

It is the Book of Mystery the record of

the dead and the living its initial letters

speak beginnings and the closing word of

every page its endings. You can read this

book from first to last, or backward from last

to first. It reveals, reveals, reveals. The

more yon read, the more you learn. No two

pages are alike; no two scenes are the same,

yet one flowers out of the other as naturally

as the rose from the bud.

It is an inspired book; inspired by Mother

Nature, by the Priest of Friendship, by the

God of Love, by the King of Evil.

It contains prophesies innumerable and

warnings without number. Its sallies of wit

conceal an element of sadness; its snatches

of pathos, a strain of gladness. In the read-

ing, your eyes travel between the lines, and

up and down and right and left. The words

form into things and the things become

alive; even the thoughts march on in file, a

long procession holding volume to volume,

as an army spans a river and binds land to

land.

This book was used at your christening,

and will be brought forth at your funeral.

It is given to you for a plaything in your

cradle and will be folded in your hands in

your coffin. It is your Sacred Book your

Bible your Bhagavat your Ritual. It

encases your prayers and your psalms.

Alas ! it embodies your evil thoughts and

your woes.

Each letter casts a shadow, and the bright-

est throws the blackest. It is illuminated

with its own light, and the color of the glow

varies with the turning of the pages. It is

written in hieroglyphics which you alone

can understand and even you puzzle over

the letters, when naught but the dictionary

of objectivity can help.

Study the world, that you may find its

final interpretation.

9)PRIDE AND PHILOSOPHY.

It is not strange that pride is the usual

vice of all young Philosophers. By young

Philosophers I mean those just beginning

the pursuit of a genuine system. The

first result of ardent and earnest investiga-

tion is an increase of power, and with power

comes pride. A consciousness of strength

makes one teem with self-respect, or in other

words an emotion which the vulgar call

conceit.

To be a few inches higher than your fel-

low-men on the ladder, enables you to look

down upon them, and alas ! to despise

them. We condemn self-respect, pride, self-

love and self-pity, because to respect your-

self is, to a great extent, to be satisfied; and

to be satisfied in this sense of self-admira-

tion, is to check all further advancement

along the line of consciousness.

A respect of self is simply another way

of being proud of self, and this entire sen-

timent should be replaced by a something

which puts the contemplation of self, in the

petting, coddling, comforting way, entirely

out of your thought.

Pursue a thing for its own sake beauty

art health happiness, and in the pur-

suit after the ideal self-respect will be killed.

Do not be alarmed, there is no danger of

your going wrong in this; the object of

your pursuit will save you from degrada-

tion. When you are on the chase, no one

can hurt you by enticements or allurements.

You will not stop to lie or to steal or to do

vulgar acts. You have no time to call

names or, in any manner, to lower your

moral standard.

Other people will honor your concentra-

tion and the results produced by it. You

have no need to contemplate yourself, or

pay homage to your own soul.

Pride is an uncomfortable thing to have

about one ; it pricks like a paper of pins ; it

is easily knocked over, and it falls like lead,

and in the overturning makes a noise and

attracts everybody's attention. A haughty,

self-respecting person is ever sensitive lest

his pride shall be hurt, and challenges the

world with his satisfied gaze ; which world,

proceeds immediately upon the challenge to

knock him down.

It is not in the least strange that the

young Philosopher is proud, because an in-

creased sense of power makes one superior,

and being strong, he takes delight in mani-

festing this consciousness. There are two

reasons for this ; one is that he sees the

littleness of his fellow-man as he never did

before (this is right), and the other reason is

that he is not yet himself sufficiently in

love with the object of his pursuit (say

truth) to rise above this enervating con-

sciousness of self (this is wrong). We

find ourselves only in something outside,

never in dwelling on self emotionally. To

dwell on self in this way is to sap your own

life. This has nothing to do with self-con-

templation intellectually, which is desir-

able. We prohibit emotional self-contem-

plation only.

Pride is an emotion, a feeling ; self-respect

explains itself in its name. It is a warming

up of self to self, an admiration of self for

self, a gloating over, a feeding upon self.

This is one of the greatest evils.

When the young man came to Christ and

informed him in a self-complacent way, that

he had kept all the Commandments from

his youth up, the Master requested him to

sell all that he had and follow him ; mean-

ing, that in pursuit of the Ideal he should

forget his own goodness.

Do not mistake us. Your final object is

to find yourself, but you never can do it by

self-admiration. As you never have seen

your own face except in a mirror, you never

can behold yourself except in another.

When you gaze into the eyes of a friend you

find a little image of yourself imbedded

there. To find the beauty of the subject,

you must gaze at the object.

Pore over self, look into self, analyze self,

dissect self; but never shed one tear upon

the soil of your own soul; if you do, some-

thing rank and poisonous will grow with

roots so deep, that it will take your whole

Unit of Force to pull it out.

The true Philosopher does not carry his

pride with him long. Before he enters the

narrow path he is stripped naked and his

pride falls first. He is allowed nothing

heavy about him, and pride is heavy; he

has to run, for he is after something which

eludes and evades him. His eye must be

steadily fixed on the object or it will escape

him ; and self-respect would be a fatal encum-

brance. He becomes so in earnest in view-

ing himself in the thing that he is after

that he forgets himself altogether; this

proves that one who would save his life must

lose it in the life of another.

The first sorrow that comes to the young

Philosopher is the fall of his pride; when it

has been broken he becomes a servant ; and

that to the very ones upon whom he for-

merly looked down. " He that is first shall

be last." He stoops to conquer, and when

he again holds up his head, it is for the pur-

pose of seeing better, rather than that of

looking over the hats of people.

The object of this Philosophy is to gain

Power; not that we may come down on

others with crushing blows, but that we may

give them a lift upward. You might stiffen

your back till you walked like a heathen

king, but as your strut becomes intensified

your line of equipoise might be overlooked

and your next position would be that of a

fool in the dirt.

Save your energy for the race; you are

supposed to be after something and very

much in earnest. Other people will see

you running and possibly they will start in

too, just for the running's sake, and later

on they may find an object to chase.

If you have a vestige of pride left, if your

self-respect still lingers; if your self-love

whimpers and whines, get rid of them all.

They will block your way where ever you

turn; and as long as you harbor these

vices you will get no where. Your haughty

looks will set others to laughing; and you

will freeze yourself. Before you go farther

strangle your pride, lest it get too heavy for

you and throw you down.

10)WHO ARE OUR CRANKS?

What are cranks ? Who are they ? These

questions are easily answered. First let me

say, that there are all degrees of cranks,

from absolute to comparative ; that they

range from a fool to a knave and from a king

down to a peasant. Let me add also, that

they are dangerous every one of them, from

the highest to the lowest. A crank is an

unbalanced person; by this we do not mean

insane, but one whose consciousness is

clouded; he wears a veil and does not see

straight ; he is cross eyed and intrinsically

evil.

A person may be ignorant and not be a

crank ; he may see but a short distance but

his vision will be correct as far as it goes .

He will not have a mountain-top sweep, but

he can make out a horse or a dog as truly

as could Lord Bacon. Ignorance and short-

sightedness do not mean crankism.

A crank has crooked sight ; no matter

what he sees nor how far, everything is out

of gear, distorted. To be seen properly even

a small thing should be consistent with

itself and to the one who sees. A crank's

vision is out of focus; not only his physical

vision, but his mental and psychical vision

as well.

The mass of humanity have a vast deal of

common sense. Selfishness develops this

very early. The great body of mankind

adjust themselves to their environment

without knowing why. They avoid spectacles

and steer clear of oculists. They have a

sort of horse understanding which enables

them to find a stable and fodder. Selfish-

ness is the cause of this, but it is a proper

selfishness and of a different kind from that

of the crank.

If the crank is not born an Egoist he very

soon becomes one, for it is almost invariably

the love of notoriety that leads him into

eccentricities. He longs for some sort of

fame, any sort. The idea of the love of

truth for itself has never entered his

head. His first ambition is to be looked up

to. He begins by becoming odd, and thus

attracts notice. There is so much of the

fakir about him, that he grows more eccen-

tric as people stare. If he gets a following,

he begins to believe in himself and finally

concludes that he is inspired ; having no

balance, but only love of fame, he does more

and more absurd things until the world

hisses him down.

His disciples become contaminated with

his unholy magnetism, and become lesser

cranks themselves, rushing with their

erratic Master to destruction.

There are religious, scientific, artistic,

scholastic, dogmatic cranks ; cranks of both

sexes; cranks among the rich and the poor.

They run after all sorts of absurdities which

have no basis of reason. They like conceal-

ment and mystery; they hate the light of

the sun and sense. Alas ! a vast proportion

are women, whose little minds dabble right

and left in mysterious cults, that they may

have hobbies and fads. They bring greater

cranks to their drawing rooms to lecture

them on X plus nothing, and that they may

drink in words as a toper swallows rum.

They ask no questions other than, " Is it

new?" "Is it strange? " They never once

inquire u On what is it based?" "Is it

sound? " They abhor logic, evidence and

facts ; they adore theories, dreams and asser

tions. They love one who will state to them

something in positive tones with divine

authority. They delight in being hypno-

tized by fools more foolish than themselves.

They glory in the Kingdom of Fooldom and

long to dwell there forever.

Talk to them in plain Saxon, and they

accuse you of being rough; present them a

syllogism and they dub you as dry; preach

to them plain facts, and they call you com-

mon ; give them experience and they banish

you at once. They desire and promulgate

hypotheses and theories; they stand with

each foot on an assertion and shake their

fists at reason.

You will find the crank on nearly every

street of every city in America, to say noth-

ing of Europe and the Holy East. But the

Arch Crank is rarer; and like the Chief

Devil is slippery and evasive. He is around

though, and he has one quality that the

ordinary crank has not wickedness; his

very crankiness is abnormal self-interest

and sin. Beware of the others, but very

much of him ; he is horned and hoofed and

clawed. He can hurt you with his head or

his feet or his hands, even with his eyes.

In fact, His Majesty the Prince of Evil, is

a crank, if crookedness means anything.

You ask anxiously, "How shall we recog-

nize those who are truly clairvoyant and

honest ? " By one simple rule a common

sense seeker after synthetic truth for truth's

sake is never a crank. If he is in earnest,

fame and notoriety are side issues. He is so

serious that he forgets to pose; he is not sit-

ting for his photograph, he is engaged in

living. Life is his object, not position; he

may appear cranky at times, and exceed-

ingly absurd, but his motive, if he let you

see it, will clear his name. The would-be

Sage often seems like a fool, but to look the

crank and to be one, are vastly different.

" Are there no honest cranks? " you ask.

Yes, a few. They are the great specialists,

who have scarcely any power of generaliza-

tion; they accomplish something in one

particular line, but their vision is narrow ;

they see straight ahead, but they cannot look

out at the sides. They have a defect of vis-

ion which the doctors find hard to cure.

The all-round Sage has eyes peering to

all points of the compass. Try to "evolute "

eyes ; the more eyes you have, the less of a

crank you will be.

11)ONE DAY.

In the dark we dream of the dawn and

youth divine youth starry-eyed. We

pray for the morning and the flash a sky

warm with the bud of passion a form soft-

limbed and strong. It comes We have

prayed. It comes morning youth.

We stand somewhere on a high place, and

thrill with our blood and the sunrise.

The bud steals up on the sky like the

promise of a fiery rose the blood mounts

to our cheeks like a prophesy of creation.

But it is opening the great flower. The sky

quivers with red rapture youth is fulfilled

passion is rising our soul is on fire.

Alas ! We stare at the sun and he puts

out our eyes the new sun the young sun

he stabs us with needles of light till

pleasure is pain. And our passion the

flower of our youth. pierces us through and

through till ecstacy weeps.

Alas! We long for the noon the

climax the zenith. We go in the dark

and wait.

Up the high path of the sky the sun

triumphantly marches and we wait in the

dark. The noon of our life the climax

the zenith when glitters the mind like

steel in the battle when the heart beats

time to the fight when our muscles are

hard like a rock our nerves tense like the

string of a bow.

Alas ! We uncover our heads and go

out at the stroke of the clock High noon

when the mass is said and the aged die

And we stare, but the sun more cruel than

fate pierces us through with its darts. We

are blind struck by the light.

Alas ! Our blood had grown rich we

were ripe our muscles and nerves were

tense our heart beat time to the march of

our feet We lifted our arm, our strong

right arm, and hurled the lance It was

noon it struck at the sun in the zenith

above, and backward it flew to our heart

straight to our heart. The rose of our

passion was dead killed by our strong

right arm.

We go in the dark and pray pray for the

eve and the setting sun for the splendors

that usher in night, when the stars of hope

come out. We pray for the calm of our

poisoned blood for the cool of the slow

heart beat for the quiet of sleep for

comforting dreams.

Alas ! the sun goes down and we stare

in its face but our eyes are gone eaten

by worms the worm of age. And we fall

to the ground for our limbs are weak

they shake with years. And we look within

but we cannot see, for our blood is cold and

thick our heart is ice, and beats with a

noise like the cracking of snow.

Alas! Alas!! But wait !!! The GODS

do face the sun. BE GODS.

12)SECRET GRIEF.

You will understand it, and how impossi-

ble it is to seek sympathy anywhere. You

would go to the rack ere you would tell it ;

torture could never force it from you. You

hide it and hide it deeper and deeper for fear

some far-reaching eye will pierce to the

secret. It is yours, emphatically yours.

Your closest friend never suspects it, or if

he does he cannot divine it. Shame would

paint your face redder than roses if it were

dreamed of; not the shame of guilt, but the

shame of shyness. You know that no mor-

tal can comprehend it, no mortal but you ;

even God must be puzzled about it you are

sure. It is utterly inexplicable, and simply

is as life is. It is something so foreign to

what you would tolerate in another, that

you wonder that you nurse it in yourself.

It is altogether out of the Conventional, and

has a close kinship to Mother Nature un-

painted and unpowdered by the hand of

Civilization.

It is an enigma, and yet you comprehend it

in a way and feel that it is the key to your-

self. Could you discover the meaning of it,

you would know who you are, what you have

been, and will be. Your Secret Grief is

sacred; it dwells in your innermost heart

where no other may enter. It puts your

character in a strange light the after-glow

of a long gone past floods it, and the dawn

of tomorrow gilds its edge. It is not so

much something that you have done, as a

something that you have felt and still feel;

a something that Society says you shall not

feel ; that man prohibits. As if Society and

man could stop the natural beat of the heart,

and escape the brand of Cain.

It may be a secret love which the very

secrecy sanctifies. It may be a secret hate,

which God suffers. It may be an unful-

filled aspiration at which the world would

laugh. It may be a memory upon which

Priests frown and God smiles. It may be a

regret which grows like a tropic palm, be-

cause of yonr scalding tears. Whatever it

is, it is not as man would have it, and you

are satisfied. You wander in the wilderness

with your Ishinael and no one sees. It is

your sacred property, the text of your scrip-

ture. It is the unnatural child, dearer to

the mother than the one born in wed-lock.

It is the wild flower, sweeter in scent than

the garden rose. It is the crystal spring,

hid in the height of inaccessible mountains.

It is the ocean depth which the plumb line

misses. It is the star out of sight which

pulls on the planets. Stop a moment !

Think ! Now do you know? Do you

understand.

There are open secrets, honorable sor-

rows, respectable griefs where mourners

stand about, and sympathizers swarm. There

is priceless crepe, there are flowers and cof-

fins satin-lined. The minister condoles and

prays, and angels stop their ears. There

are donated years when sorrows sit down in

the house, well dressed in black; when com-

forters come and go, in black; when light

steals into the eyes through black respect-

able black and the clock calculates the time

for the wearing of black and the seasons

are ravens in black.

But one with the Secret Grief steals up to

his room alone and looks out in the dark on

the sky, and catching a glimpse of the moon

he melts her with his eyes. The moon of flint

floats in the mist the mist of his eyes.

He locks the door and bids his Secret Grief

come forth. Her face chiseled by Destiny

defiantly meets his own. She kisses him.

Her form, hewn by the Fates, enfolds him.

Her hair, shaded from dark to light by the

ages, entangles him. Her Karmic eyes meet

his and absorb them. Her teeth, hardened by

time, bite with their passion his tender flesh.

He writhes and quivers in throes of delicious

despair. He loves her, and the more lie

loves the more she tortures. She melts into

him and is lost again deep deep in his

heart.

Then, calmly and unflinchingly he carries

her about in the mart of trade, to church

even to his own fire-side. He talks with

friends; they know not. He smiles in

women's eyes and they smile back. He

dances, eats and laughs. He earns gold and

spends. He studies and invents. He dies.

And when they try to bury him, something

weighs the coffin down the bearers stagger.

The Grief is there 'tis like a stone. He

left it when he died.

13)COLD DESPAIR.

A feeling of despair once felt, is ever

afterward appearing in memory, somewhat

as a death escaped comes back torturing

like a phantom fiend. Very few on earth

have drank the cup to the dregs. To drain

the cup, is reserved for the elect.

Sorrow has touched you, and you call it

despair. Agony has passed before you, and

you name it despair. Pain has vanquished

you, and you have imagined despair;

but the horrid thing, the never-forgotten

thing, comes rarely. As long as Hope

casts a single ray, despair is not, for the

creature glows with its own light the lurid,

sulphuric, blue glitter of hell.

Hope shrouds one in white mist through

which the eyes cannot penetrate. Where

Hope is, all is white mist the fog of

illusion. But despair crawls on its belly,

and lights up the night with the shine

of its scales phosphorescent like fire-flies.

There are things that are light and cold.

Despair is light and cold colder than ice

colder than space colder than the dead.

To feel its touch, checks the flow of your

blood, and neither the fire nor the sun can

warm you. You shrink back and back into

yourself, farther, farther back in search of heat

of the white heat of life. But the furnace

is cold, the fire smoulders. Despair waits

his chance. He bides his time. He catches

Hope napping, and he freezes her ; and then,

he seizes you with his eyes. If Hope is not

frozen stiff, if she be not stark and dead, she

will arouse and veil your face and Despair

will wander off ; but Memory, like his slimy

trail, will stay.

What can you do, what will you do if he

appear ?

"Fore warned, fore armed. "

Despair and Hope are twins, born from

the same womb at the same hour. The

secret sympathy between the two, you can

not fail to feel. Where one is, there the

other dwells. Though Hope shrouds you

in her veil until Despair is not, beware ! for

this illusion veil this maze of tint and

light this many colored rainbow shroud

this cloud of bubbles and dew this irides-

cent lace entwined with opals, amethysts

and pearls this dainty dream of splendor

dazzling while it soothes, is but the burial

shroud of truth. It is the mist upon the

microscopic lens. It is the mote within the

telescopic eye. It is the mask upon a

woman's face. It is the fool's cap on the

Sage's head.

In flying from Despair you leave fair

Hope behind. Fair Hope ! The aphrodite

of your dreams the golden-haired the

amber-eyed. Fair Hope ! who points to

something yet unseen who smiles on some-

thing yet unknown.

Truth will have none of her, for like a

harlot, she conceals within her ample skirts

her brother Cold Despair. She hides him

mid the draperies and dances madly in the

sun her partner hugged close to her

breast but when she tires and falls upon

the ground asleep, sometimes alas ! some-

times the dew trailed mystery of her robe is

rent, and from her very vitals does her

awful mate come forth. Sometimes but

you who never dance with Hope, see him

not. Sorrow, agony and pain have been

your guests, but Cold Despair is yet to come.

Beware ! beware of Hope, and seek ye

wisdom. Truth neither hopes nor fears ;

she understands. What she sees is essence,

more glittering than illusion in the glare of

fire, more brilliant than all the suns above,

more real than Karma, more enduring than

the Fates. And on the door-post of her

temple there is writ in blood, u He who

enters here, leaves Hope behind."

14)BEAUTY, ART, POWER.

What is it you desire, Beauty? What

for ? Is it to please a friend ? Is it to win

a heart ! Is it to gain admiration, flattery

or fame, or is it for the love of it ?

The object of this Philosophy is power.

You ask for Beauty for the reason, perhaps,

that you love it, but still more for the sake

of power. Now pay close attention. The

sense of Beauty is in some sense the most

pleasing of all the abstractions ; for it is a

sense and an abstraction. Beauty is that

certain combination of things that appeals

to us in a manner to fascinate. In this

sense it is rather different from all other

abstractions. The abstraction lies in the law

of the combination. The same things thrown

together in some other way, would be gov-

[Enishi]

You should check out the Kybalion or Initiation into Hermetics by Franz Bardon. Both very excellent books.

[n0Mad]

Small book? That's one to print out and read on the crapper. lol

[Rev.Reverence]

Small book? That's one to print out and read on the crapper. lol

Buy a lap top...& save a tree! hahaha

...but really... the book (in book form) is only 4" x 6" & a quarter of an inch thick....a decidedly small book...

[Homicidalheathen]

I still glance at Franze Bardons Initiation into Hermetics from time to time...good stuff

[Rev.Reverence]

*BUMP*