Anand Gholap
Theosophy
|
Anand Gholap Theosophy
|
What they are and how they are caused
by
First Edition 1898
Revised Enlarged Third Edition 1903
Fourth Edition 1918
|
CONTENT |
|
INTRODUCTORY
1.
Many of the subjects
with which our theosophical studies bring us into contact are so far removed
from the experiences and interests of everyday life, that while we feel drawn
towards them by an attraction which increases in geometrical progression as we
come to know more of them and understand them better, we are yet conscious, at
the back of our minds, as it were, of a faint sense of unreality, or at least
unpracticality, while we are dealing with them. When we read of the formation
of the solar system, or even of the rings and rounds of our own planetary
chain, we cannot but feel that, interesting though this is as an abstract
study, useful as it is in showing us how man has become what we find him to be,
it nevertheless associates itself only indirectly with the life we are living
here and now.
2.
No such objection as
this, however, can be taken to our present subject: all readers of these lines
have dreamed — probably many of them are in the habit of dreaming frequently;
and they may therefore be interested in an endeavour to account for dream
phenomena by the aid of the light thrown upon them by investigation along
theosophic lines.
3.
The most convenient
method in which we can arrange the various branches of our subject will perhaps
be the following: first, to consider rather carefully the mechanism — physical,
etheric and astral — by means of which impressions are conveyed to our
consciousness; secondly, to see how the consciousness in its turn affects and
uses this mechanism; thirdly, to note the condition both of the consciousness
and its mechanism during sleep; and fourthly, to enquire how the various kinds
of dreams which men experience are thereby produced.
4.
As I am writing in the
main for students of theosophy, I shall feel myself at liberty to use, without
detailed explanation, the ordinary theosophical terms, with which I may safely
assume them to be familiar, since otherwise my little book would far exceed its
allotted limits. Should it, however, fall into the hands of any to whom the
occasional use of such terms constitutes a difficulty, I can only apologize to
them, and refer them for these preliminary explanations to any elementary
theosophical work, such as Mrs Besant's "The Ancient Wisdom", or
"Man and his Bodies".
6.
THE MECHANISM
(i)
PHYSICAL
7.
First, then, as to the
physical part of the mechanism. We have in our bodies a great central axis of
nervous matter, ending in the brain, and from this a network of nerve-threads
radiates in every direction through the body. It is these nerve-threads,
according to modern scientific theory, which by their vibrations convey all
impressions from without to the brain, and the latter, upon receipts of these impressions,
translates them into sensations or perceptions; so that if I put my hand upon
some object and find it to be hot, it is really not my hand that feels, but my
brain, which is acting upon information transmitted to it by the vibrations
running along its telegraph wires, the nerve-threads.
8.
It is important also
to bear in mind that all the nerve-threads of the body are the same in
constitution, and that the special bundle of them that we call the optic nerve
— which conveys to the brain impressions made upon the retina of the eye, and
so enables us to see — differs from the nerve-threads of the hand or foot only
in the fact that through long ages of evolution it has been specialized to
receive and transmit most readily one particular small set of rapid vibrations
which thus become visible to us as light. The same remark holds good with reference to our other sense organs; the auditory,
the olfactory, or the gustatory nerves differ from one another and from the
rest only in this specialization: they are essentially the same, and they all
do their respective work in exactly the same manner, by the transmission of
vibrations to the brain.
9.
Now this brain of
ours, which is thus the great centre of our nervous system, is very readily
affected by slight variations in our general health, and most especially by any
which involve a change in the circulation of the blood through it. When the
flow of blood through the vessels of the head is normal and regular, the brain
(and, therefore, the whole nervous system) is at liberty to function in an
orderly and efficient manner; but any alteration in this normal circulation,
either as to quantity, quality, or speed, immediately produces a corresponding
effect on the brain, and through it on the nerves throughout the body.
10.
If, for example, too
much blood is supplied to the brain, congestion of the vessels takes place, and
irregularity in its action is at once produced; if too little, the brain (and,
therefore, the nervous system) becomes first irritable and then lethargic. The
quality of the blood supplied is also of great importance. As it courses
through the body it has two principal functions to perform — to supply oxygen
and to provide nutrition to the different organs of the body; and if it be
unable adequately to fulfill either of these functions, a
certain disorganization will follow.
11.
If the supply of
oxygen to the brain be deficient, it becomes overcharged with carbon dioxide,
and heaviness and lethargy very shortly supervene. A common example of this is
the feeling of dullness and sleepiness which frequently overtakes one in a
crowded and ill-ventilated room; owing to the exhaustion of the oxygen in the
room by the continued respiration of so large a number of people, the brain
does not receive its due modicum, and therefore is unable to do its work
properly.
12.
Again, the speed with
which the blood flows through the vessels affects the action of the brain; if
it be too great, it produces fever; if too slow, then again lethargy is caused.
It is obvious, therefore, that our brain (through which, be it remembered, all
physical impressions must pass) may very easily be disturbed and more or less
hindered in the due performance of its functions by causes apparently trivial —
causes to which we should probably often pay no attention whatever even during
waking hours — of which we should almost certainly be entirely ignorant during
sleep.
13.
Before we pass on, one
other peculiarity of this physical mechanism must be noted, and that is its
remarkable tendency to repeat automatically vibrations to which it is
accustomed to respond. It is to this property of the brain that are to be
attributed all those bodily habits and tricks of manner which are entirely
independent of the will, and are often so difficult to conquer; and, as will
presently be seen, it plays an even more important part during sleep than it
does in our waking life.
14.
(ii) ETHERIC
It is not alone through the brain to which we have
hitherto been referring, however, that impressions may be received by the man.
Almost exactly co-extensive with and interpenetrating its visible form is his
etheric double (formerly called in theosophical literature the linga sharira),
and that also has a brain which is really no less physical than the other,
though composed of matter in a condition finer than the gaseous.
15.
If we examine with
psychic faculty the body of a newly-born child, we shall find it permeated not
only by astral matter of every degree of density, but also by the different
grades of etheric matter; and if we take the trouble to trace these inner
bodies backwards to their origin, we find that it is of the latter that the
etheric double — the mould upon which the physical body is built up — is formed
by the agents of the Lords of karma; while the astral matter has been gathered
together by the descending ego — not of course consciously, but automatically —
as he passed through the astral plane, and is, in fact, merely the development
in that plane of tendencies whose seeds have been lying dormant in him during
his experiences in the heaven-world, because on that level it was impossible
that they could germinate for want of the grade of matter necessary for their
expression.
16.
Now this etheric
double has often been called the vehicle of the human life-ether or vital force
(called in Sanskrit prana), and anyone who has developed the psychic faculties
can see exactly how this is so. He will see the solar life-principle almost
colourless, though intensely luminous and active, which is constantly poured
into the earth's atmosphere by the sun; he will see how the etheric part of his
spleen in the exercise of its wonderful function absorbs this universal life,
and specializes it into prana, so that it may be more readily assimilable by
his body; how it then courses all over that body, running along every
nerve-thread in tiny globules of lovely rosy light, causing the glow of life
and health and activity to penetrate every atom of the etheric double; and how,
when the rose-coloured particles have been absorbed, the superfluous life-ether
finally radiates from the body in every direction as bluish white light.
17.
If he examines further
into the action of this life-ether, he will soon see reason to believe that the
transmission of impression to the brain depends rather upon its regular flow
along the etheric portion of the nerve-threads than upon the mere vibration of
the particles of their denser and visible portion, as is commonly supposed. It
would take too much of our space to detail all the experiments by which this
theory is established, but the indication of one or two of the simplest will
suffice to show the lines upon which they run.
18.
When a finger becomes
entirely numbed with cold, it is incapable of feeling; and the same phenomenon
of insensibility may readily be produced at will by a mesmerizer, who by a few
passes over the arm of his subject will bring it into a condition in which it
may be pricked with a needle or burnt by the flame of a candle without the
slightest sensation of pain being experienced. Now why does the subject feel
nothing in either of these two cases? The nerve-threads are still there, and
though in the first case it might be contended that their action was paralyzed
by cold and by the absence of blood from the vessels, this certainly cannot be
the reason in the second case, where the arm retains its normal temperature and
the blood circulates as usual.
19.
If we call in the aid
of the clairvoyant, we shall be able to get somewhat nearer to a real
explanation, for he will tell us that the reason why the frozen finger seems
dead, and the blood is unable to circulate through its vessels, is because the
rosy life-ether is no longer coursing along the nerve-threads; for we must
remember that though matter in the etheric condition is invisible to ordinary
sight, it is still purely physical, and, therefore, can be affected by the
action of cold or heat.
20.
In the second case he
will tell us that when the mesmerizer makes the passes by which he renders the
subject's arm insensible, what he really does is to pour his own nerve-ether
(or magnetism, as it is often called) into the arm, thereby driving back for
the time that of the subject. The arm is still warm and living, because there
is still life-ether coursing through it, but since it is no longer the
subject's own specialized life-ether, and is therefore not en rapport with his
brain, it conveys no information to that brain, and consequently there is no
sense of feeling in the arm. From this it seems evident that though it is not
absolutely the life-ether itself which does the work
of conveying impressions from without to a man's brain, its presence as
specialized by the man himself is certainly necessary for their due
transmission along the nerve-threads.
21.
Now just as any change
in the circulation of the blood affects the receptivity of the denser
brain-matter, and thus modifies the reliability of the impressions derived
through it, so the condition of the etheric portion of the brain is affected by
any change in the volume or the velocity of these life-currents.
22.
For example, when the
quantity of nerve-ether specialized by the spleen falls for any reason below
the average, physical weakness and weariness are immediately felt, and if,
under these circumstances, it also happens that the speed of its circulation is
increased, the man becomes supersensitive, highly irritable, nervous, and
perhaps even hysterical, while in such a condition he is often more sensitive
to physical impressions than he would normally be, and so it often occurs that
a person suffering from ill-health sees visions or apparitions which are
imperceptible to his more robust neighbour. If, on the other hand, the volume
and velocity of the life-ether are both reduced at the same time, the man
experiences intense languor, becomes less sensitive to outside influences, and
has a general feeling of being too weak to care much about what happens to him.
23.
It must be remembered
also that the etheric matter of which we have spoken and the denser matter
ordinarily recognized as belonging to the brain are really both parts of one
and the same physical organism, and that, therefore, neither can be affected
without instantly producing some reaction on the other. Consequently there can
be no certainty that impressions will be correctly transmitted through this
mechanism unless both portions of it are functioning quite normally; any
irregularity in either part may very readily so dull or disturb its receptivity
as to produce blurred or distorted images of whatever is presented to it.
Furthermore, as will presently be explained, it is infinitely more liable to
such aberrations during sleep than when in the waking state.
24.
(iii) ASTRAL
Still another mechanism that we have to take into
account is the astral body, often called the desire-body. As its name implies,
this vehicle is composed exclusively of astral matter, and is, in fact, the
expression of the man on the astral plane, just as his physical body is the
expression of him on the lower levels of the physical plane.
25.
Indeed, it will save
the theosophical student much trouble if he will learn to regard these
different vehicles simply as the actual manifestation of the ego on their
respective planes — if he understands, for example, that it is the causal body
(sometimes called the auric egg) which is the real vehicle of the reincarnating
ego, and is inhabited by him as long as he remains upon the plane which is his
true home, the higher levels of the mental world: but that when he descends
into the lower levels he must, in order to be able to function upon them,
clothe himself in their matter, and that the matter which he thus attracts to
himself furnishes his mind-body. Similarly, descending into the astral plane,
he forms his astral or desire-body out of its matter, though, of course, still
retaining all the other bodies; and on his still further descent to this lowest
plane of all, the physical body is formed in the midst of the auric egg, which
thus contains the entire man.
26.
This astral vehicle is
even more sensitive to external impressions than the gross and etheric bodies,
for it is itself the seat of all desires and emotions — the connecting link
through which alone the ego can collect experiences from physical life. It is
peculiarly susceptible to the influence of passing thought-currents, and when
the mind is not actively controlling it, it is perpetually receiving these
stimuli from without, and eagerly responding to them.
27.
This mechanism also,
like the others, is more readily influenced during the sleep of the physical
body. That this is so is shown by many observations, a fair example of them
being a case recently reported to the writer, in which a man who had been a
drunkard was describing the difficulties in the way of his reformation. He
declared that after a long period of total abstinence he had succeeded in
entirely destroying the physical desire for alcohol, so that in his waking
condition he felt an absolute repulsion for it; yet he stated that he still
frequently dreamed that he was drinking, and in that dream state he felt the
old horrible pleasure in such degradation.
28.
Apparently, therefore,
during the day his desire was kept under control by the will, and casual
thought-forms or passing elementals were unable to make any impression upon it;
but when the astral body was liberated in sleep it escaped to some extent from
the domination of the ego, and its extreme natural susceptibility so far
reasserted itself that it again responded readily to these baneful influences,
and imagined itself experiencing once more the disgraceful delights of
debauchery.
30.
THE EGO
31.
All these different
portions of the mechanism are in reality merely instruments of the ego, though
his control of them is as yet often very imperfect; for it must always be
remembered that the ego is himself a developing entity, and that in the case of
most of us he is scarcely more than a germ of what he is to be one day.
32.
A stanza in the Book
of Dzyan tells us: 'Those who received but a spark
remained destitute of knowledge: the spark burned low'; and Madame Blavatsky
explains that 'those who receive but a spark constitute the average humanity
which have to acquire their intellectuality during the present manvantaric
evolution'. (The Secret Doctrine, ii, 167, 1979 ed.). In the case of most of
them that spark is still smouldering, and it will be many an age before its
slow increase brings it to the stage of steady and brilliant flame.
33.
No doubt there are
some passages in theosophical literature which seem to imply that our higher
ego needs no evolution, being already perfect, and godlike on his own plane;
but wherever such expressions are used, whatever may be the terminology
employed, they must be taken to apply only to the atma, the true god within us,
which is certainly far beyond the necessity of any kind of evolution of which we
can know anything.
34.
The reincarnating ego
most undoubtedly does evolve, and the process of his evolution can be very
clearly seen by those who have developed clairvoyant vision to the extent
necessary for the perception of that which exists on the higher levels of the
mental plane. As before remarked, it is of the matter of that plane (if we may
venture still to call it matter) that the comparatively permanent causal body,
which he carries with him from birth to birth until the end of the human stage
of his evolution, is composed. But though every individualized being must
necessarily have such a body — since it is the possession of it which
constitutes individualization — its appearance is by no means similar in all
cases. In fact, in the average unevolved man it is barely distinguishable at
all, even by those who have the sight which unlocks for them the secrets of
that plane, for it is a mere colourless film — just sufficient, apparently, to
hold itself together and make a reincarnating individuality, but no more. (See
"Man, Visible and Invisible", Plates V and VIII).
35.
As soon, however, as
the man begins to develop in spirituality, or even higher intellect, a change
takes place. The real individual then begins to have a persisting character of
his own, apart from that moulded in each of his personalities in turn by
training and surrounding circumstances: and this character shows itself in the
size, colour, luminosity, and definiteness of the causal body just as that of
the personality shows itself in the mind-body, except that this higher vehicle
is naturally subtler and more beautiful. (See ibid.,
Plate XXI).
36.
In one other respect,
also, it happily differs from the bodies below it, and that is that in any
ordinary circumstances no evil of any kind can manifest through it. The worst
of men can commonly show himself on that plane only as an entirely undeveloped
entity; his vices, even though continued through life after life, cannot soil
that higher sheath; they can only make it more and more difficult to develop in
it the opposite virtues.
37.
On the other hand,
perseverance along right lines soon tells upon the causal body, and in the case
of a pupil who has made some progress on the Path of Holiness, it is a sight
wonderful and lovely beyond all earthly conception (See ibid., Plate XXVI);
while that of an Adept is a magnificent sphere of living light, whose radiant
glory no words can ever tell. He who has even once seen so sublime a spectacle
as this, and can also see around him individuals at all stages of development
between that and the colourless film of the ordinary person, can never feel any
doubt as to the evolution of the reincarnating ego.
38.
The grasp which the
ego has of his various instruments, and, therefore, his influence over them, is
naturally small in his earlier stages. Neither his mind nor his passions are
thoroughly under his control; indeed, the average man makes almost no effort to
control them, but allows himself to be swept hither and thither just as his
lower thoughts or desires suggest. Consequently, in sleep the different parts
of the mechanism which we have mentioned are very apt to act almost entirely on
their own account without reference to him, and the stage of his spiritual
advancement is one of the factors that we have to take into account in
considering the question of dreams.
39.
It is also important
for us to realize the part which this ego takes in the formation of our
conceptions of external objects. We must remember that what the vibrations of
the nerve-threads present to the brain are merely impressions, and it is the
work of the ego, acting through the mind, to classify, combine, and re-arrange
them.
40.
For example, when I
look out of the window and see a house and a tree, I instantly recognize them
for what they are, yet the information really conveyed to me by my eyes falls
very far short of such recognition. What actually happens is that certain rays
of light — that is, currents of ether vibrating at certain
definite rates — are reflected from those objects and strike the retina
of my eye, and the sensitive nerve-threads duly report those vibrations to the
brain.
41.
But what is the tale
they have to tell? All the information they really transmit is that in a
particular direction there are certain varied patches of colour bounded by more
or less definite outlines. It is the mind which from its past experience is
able to decide that one particular square white object is a house, and another
rounded green one is a tree, and that they are both probably of such and such a
size, and at such and such a distance from me.
42.
A person who, having
been born blind, obtains his sight by means of an operation, does not for some
time know what are the objects he sees, nor can he judge their distance from
him. The same is true of a baby, for it may often be seen grasping at
attractive objects (such as the moon, for example) which are far out of its
reach; but as it grows up it unconsciously learns, by repeated experience, to
judge instinctively the probable distance and size of the form it sees. Yet
even grown-up people may very readily be deceived as to the distance and
therefore the size of any unfamiliar object, especially if seen in a dim or
uncertain light.
43.
We see, therefore,
that mere vision is by no means sufficient for accurate perception, but that
the discrimination of the ego acting through the mind must be brought to bear
upon what is seen; and furthermore we see that this discrimination is not an
inherent instinct of the mind, perfect from the first, but is the result of the
unconscious comparison of a number of experiences — points which must be
carefully borne in mind when we come to the next division of our subject.
45.
THE CONDITION
OF SLEEP
46.
Clairvoyant
observation bears abundant testimony to the fact that when a man falls into a
deep slumber the higher principles in their astral vehicle almost invariably
withdraw from the body and hover in its immediate neighbourhood. Indeed, it is
the process of this withdrawal which we commonly call 'going to sleep'. In
considering the phenomena of dreams, therefore, we have to bear in mind this
re-arrangement, and see how it affects both the ego and his various mechanisms.
47.
In the case we are to
examine, then, we assume that our subject is in deep sleep, the physical body
(including that finer portion of it which is often called the etheric double)
lying quietly on the bed, while the ego, in its astral body, floats with equal
tranquility just above it. What, under these circumstances, will be the
condition and the consciousness of these several principles?
48.
(i) THE BRAIN
49.
When the ego has thus
for the time resigned the control of his brain, it does not therefore become
entirely unconscious, as one would perhaps expect. It is evident from various
experiments that the physical body has a certain dim consciousness of its own,
quite apart from that of the real self, and apart also
from the mere aggregate of the consciousness of its individual cells.
50.
The writer has several
times observed an effect of this consciousness when watching the extraction of
a tooth under the influence of gas. The body uttered a confused cry, and raised
its hands vaguely towards the mouth, clearly showing that it to some extent
felt the wrench; yet when the ego resumed possession twenty seconds later, he
declared that he had felt absolutely nothing of the operation. Of course I am
aware that such movements are ordinarily attributed to 'reflex action', and
that people are in the habit of accepting that statement as though it were a
real explanation — not seeing that as employed here it is a mere phrase and
explains nothing whatever.
51.
This consciousness
then, such as it is, is still working in the physical brain although the ego
floats above it, but its grasp is, of course, far feebler than that of the man
himself, and consequently all those causes which were mentioned above as likely
to affect the action of the brain are now capable of influencing it to a very
much greater extent. The slightest alteration in the supply or circulation of
the blood now produces grave irregularities of action, and this is why
indigestion, as affecting the flow of the blood, so frequently causes troubled
sleep or bad dreams.
52.
But even when
undisturbed, this strange, dim consciousness has many remarkable peculiarities.
Its action seems to be to a great extent automatic, and the results are usually
incoherent, senseless, and hopelessly confused. It seems unable to apprehend an
idea except in the form of a scene in which it is itself an actor, and
therefore all stimuli, whether from within or without, are forthwith translated
into perceptual images. It is incapable of grasping abstract ideas or memories
as such; they immediately become imaginary percepts. If, for example, the idea
of glory could be suggested to that consciousness, it could take shape only as
a vision of some glorious being appearing before the dreamer; if a thought of
hatred somehow came across it, it could be appreciated only as a scene in which
some imaginary actor showed violent hatred towards the sleeper.
53.
Again, every local
direction of thought becomes for it an absolute spatial transportation. If
during our waking hours we think of
54.
It has often been
noted that while startling transitions of this sort are extremely frequent in
dreams, the sleeper never seems at the time to feel any surprise at their
suddenness. This phenomenon is easily explicable when examined by the light of
such observations as we are considering, for in the mere consciousness of the
physical brain there is nothing capable of such a feeling as surprise — it
simply perceives the pictures as they appear before it; it has no power to
judge either of their sequence or of their lack of that quality.
55.
Another source of the
extraordinary confusion visible in this half-consciousness is the manner in
which the law of the association of ideas works in it. We are all familiar with
the wonderful instantaneous action of this law in waking life; we know how a
chance word — a strain of music — even the scent of a flower — may be
sufficient to bring back to the mind a chain of long-forgotten memories.
56.
Now in the sleeping
brain this law is as active as ever, but it acts under curious limitations;
every such association of ideas, whether abstract or concrete, becomes a mere
combination of images; and as our association of ideas is often merely by
synchronism, as of events which, though really entirely unconnected, happened
to us in succession, it may readily be imagined that the most inextricable
confusion of these images is of frequent occurrence, while their number is
practically infinite, as whatever can be dragged from the immense stores of
memory appears in pictorial form. Naturally enough a succession of such
pictures is rarely perfectly recoverable by memory, since there is no order to
help in recovery — just as it may be easy enough to remember in waking life a
connected sentence or a verse of poetry, even when heard only once, whereas
without some system of mnemonics it would be almost impossible to recollect
accurately a mere jumble of meaningless words under similar circumstances.
57.
Another peculiarity of
this curious consciousness of the brain is, that while
singularly sensitive to the slightest external influences, such as sounds or
touches, it yet magnifies and distorts them to an almost incredible degree. All
writers on dreams give examples of this, and, indeed, some will probably be
within the knowledge of everyone who has paid any attention to the subject.
58.
Among the stories most
commonly told is one of a man who had a painful dream of being hanged because
his shirt-collar was too tight; another man magnified the prick of a pin into a
fatal stab received in a duel; another translated a slight pinch into the bite
of a wild beast. Maury relates that part of the rail at the head of his bed
once became detached and fell across his neck, so as just to touch it lightly;
yet this trifling contact produced a terrible dream of the French Revolution,
in which he seemed to himself to perish by the guillotine.
59.
Another writer tells
us that he frequently awoke from sleep with a confused remembrance of dreams
full of noise, of loud voices and thunderous sounds, and was entirely unable
for a long time to discover their origin; but at last he succeeded in tracing
them to the murmurous sound made in the ear (perhaps by the circulation of the
blood) when it is laid on the pillow, much as a similar but louder murmur may
be heard by holding a shell to the ear.
60.
It must by this time
be evident that even from this bodily brain alone there comes enough confusion
and exaggeration to account for many of the dream phenomena; but this is only
one of the factors that we have to take into consideration.
61.
(ii) THE ETHERIC BRAIN
62.
It will be obvious
that this part of the organism, so sensitive to every influence even during our
waking life, must be still more susceptible when in the condition of sleep.
When examined under these circumstances by a clairvoyant, streams of thought
are seen to be constantly sweeping through it — not its own thoughts in the
least, for it has of itself no power to think — but the casual thoughts of
others which are always floating round us.
63.
Students of occultism
are well aware that it is indeed true that 'thoughts are things', for every
thought impresses itself upon the plastic elemental essence and generates a
temporary living entity, the duration of whose life depends upon the energy of
the thought-impulse given to it. We are therefore living in the midst of an ocean
of other men's thoughts, and whether we are awake or asleep, these are
constantly presenting themselves to the etheric part of our brain.
64.
So long as we
ourselves are actively thinking and therefore keeping our brain fully employed,
it is practically impervious to this continual impingement of thought from
without; but the moment that we leave it idle, the stream of inconsequent chaos
begins to pour through it. Most of the thoughts sweep through unassimilated and
almost unnoticed, but now and then one comes along which reawakens some
vibrations to which the etheric part of the brain is accustomed; at once that
brain seizes upon it, intensifies it, and makes it its own; that thought in
turn suggests another; and so a whole train of ideas is started, until eventually
it also fades away, and the disconnected, purposeless stream begins flowing
through the brain again.
65.
The vast majority of
people, if they will watch closely what they are in the habit of calling their
thoughts will find that they are very largely made up of a casual stream of
this sort — that in truth they are not their thoughts at all, but simply the
cast-off fragments of other people's. For, the ordinary man seems to have no
control whatever over his mind; he hardly ever knows exactly of what he is
thinking at any particular moment, or why is he thinking of it; instead of
directing his mind to some definite point, he allows it to run riot at its own
sweet will, or lets it lie fallow, so that any casual seed cast into it by the
wind may germinate and come to fruition there.
66.
The result of this is
that even when he, the ego, really wishes for once to think consecutively on
any particular subject, he finds himself practically unable to do so; all sorts
of stray thoughts rush in unbidden from every side, and since he is quite
unused to controlling his mind, he is powerless to stem the torrent. Such a
person does not know what real concentrated thought is; and it is this utter
lack of concentration, this feebleness of mind and will, that makes the early stages
of occult development so difficult to the average man. Again, since in the
present state of the world's evolution there are likely to be more evil
thoughts than good ones floating around him, this weakness lays him open to all
sorts of temptations which a little care and effort might have avoided
altogether.
67.
In sleep, then, the
etheric part of the brain is even more than usually at the mercy of these
thought-currents, since the ego is, for the time, in less close association
with it. A curious fact brought out in some recent experiments is that when by
any means these currents are shut out from this part of the brain, it does not
remain absolutely passive, but begins very slowly and dreamily to evolve
pictures for itself from its store of past memories. An example of this will be
given later, when some of these experiments are described.
68.
(iii) THE ASTRAL BODY
69.
As before mentioned,
it is in this vehicle that the ego is functioning during sleep, and it is
usually to be seen (by anyone whose inner sight is opened) hovering over the
physical body on the bed. Its appearance, however, differs very greatly
according to the stage of development which the ego to which it belongs has
reached. In the case of the entirely uncultured and undeveloped person it is simply
a floating wreath of mist, roughly ovoid in shape, but very irregular and
indefinite in outline, while the figure within the mist (the denser astral
counterpart of the physical body) is also vague, though generally recognizable.
70.
It is receptive only
of the coarser and more violent vibrations of desire, and unable to move more
than a few yards away from its physical body; but as evolution progresses, the
ovoid mist becomes more and more definite in outline, and the figure within it
more and more nearly a perfect image of the physical body beneath it. Its
receptivity simultaneously increases, until it is instantly responsive to all
the vibrations of its plane, the finer as well as the more ignoble; though in
the astral body of a highly-developed person there would naturally be
practically no matter left coarse enough to respond to the latter.
71.
Its power of
locomotion also becomes much greater; it can travel without discomfort to
considerable distances from its physical encasement, and can bring back more or
less definite impressions as to places which it may have visited and people
whom it may have met. In every case this astral body is, as ever, intensely
impressionable by any thought or suggestion involving desire, though in some
the desires which most readily awaken a response in it may be somewhat higher
than in others.
72.
(iv) THE EGO IN SLEEP
73.
Though the condition
in which the astral body is to be found during sleep changes largely as
evolution takes place, that of the ego inhabiting it changes still more. Where
the former is in the stage of the floating wreath of mist, the ego is
practically almost as much asleep as the body lying below him; he is blind to
the sights and deaf to the voices of his own higher plane, and even if some
idea belonging to it should by chance reach him, since he has no control over
his mechanism, he will be quite unable to impress it upon his physical brain so
that it may be remembered upon waking. If a man in this primitive condition
recollects anything at all of what happens to him during sleep, it will almost
invariably be the result of purely physical impressions made upon the brain
either from within or from without — any experience which his real ego may have
had being forgotten.
74.
Sleepers may be
observed at all stages, from this condition of all but blank oblivion, up to
full and perfect consciousness on the astral plane, though this latter is
naturally comparatively rare. Even a man who is sufficiently awake to meet not
infrequently with important experiences in this higher life, may yet be (and
often is) unable so far to dominate his brain as to check its current of
inconsequent thought-pictures and impress upon it instead what he wishes it to
recollect; and thus when his physical body awakes he may have only the most
confused memory, or no memory at all, of what has really happened to him. And
this is a pity, for he may meet with much that is of the greatest interest and
importance to him.
75.
Not only may he visit
distant scenes of surpassing beauty, but he may meet and exchange ideas with
friends, either living or departed, who happen to be equally awake on the
astral plane. He may be fortunate enough to encounter those who know far more
than he does, and may receive warning or instruction from them, he may, on the
other hand, be privileged to help and comfort some who know less than himself. He may come into contact with non-human entities of
various kinds — with nature-spirits, artificial elementals, or even, though
very rarely, with Devas; he will be subject to all kinds of influences, good or
evil, strengthening or terrifying.
76.
His
transcendental measure of time
77.
But whether he
remembers anything when physically awake or not, the ego who is fully or even
partially conscious of his surroundings on the astral plane is beginning to enter
into his heritage of powers which far transcend those he possesses down here;
for his consciousness when thus liberated from the physical body has very
remarkable possibilities. His measure of time and space is so entirely
different from that which we use in waking life, that from our view it seems as
though neither time nor space existed for him.
78.
I do not wish here to
discuss the question, intensely interesting though it be, as to whether time
can be said really to exist, or whether it is but a limitation of this lower
consciousness, and all that we call time — past, present and future alike — is
'but one eternal Now'; I wish only to show that when the ego is freed from
physical trammels, either during sleep, trance or death, he appears to employ
some transcendental measure of time which has nothing in common with our
ordinary physiological one. A hundred stories might be told to prove this fact;
it will be sufficient if I give two — the first a very old one (related, I
think, by Addison in "The Spectator"), the other an account of an
event which happened but a short time ago, and has never before appeared in
print.
79.
Illustrative
examples of it
80.
It seems that in the
Koran there is a wonderful narrative concerning a visit paid one morning by the
prophet Mohammed to heaven, during which he saw many different regions there,
had them all very fully explained to him, and also had numerous lengthy
conferences with various angels; yet when he returned to his body, the bed from
which he had risen was still warm, and he found that but a few seconds had
passed — in fact, I believe the water had not yet all run out from a jug which
he had accidentally overturned as he started on the expedition!
81.
Now Addison's story
runs that a certain sultan of
82.
The king accordingly
plunged his head into the basin, and to his intense surprise found himself at
once in a place entirely unknown to him — on a lonely shore, near the foot of a
great mountain. After the first stupefaction was over, what was probably the
most natural idea for an oriental monarch came into his head — he thought he
was bewitched, and at once began to execrate the doctor for such abominable
treachery. However, time passed on; he began to get hungry, and realized that
there was nothing for it but to find some means of livelihood in this strange
country.
83.
After wandering about
for some time, he found some men at work felling trees in a wood, and applied
to them for assistance. They set him to help them, and eventually took him with
them to the town where they lived. Here he resided and worked for some years,
gradually amassing money, and at length contrived to marry a rich wife. With
her he spent many happy years of wedded life, bringing up a family of no less
than fourteen children, but after her death he met with so many misfortunes
that he at last fell into want again, and once more, in his old age, became a
wood-porter.
84.
One day, walking by
the sea-side, he threw off his clothes and plunged into the sea for a bath; and
as he raised his head and shook the water from his eyes, he was astounded to
find himself standing among his old courtiers, with his teacher of long ago at
his side, and a basin of water before him. It was long — and no wonder — before
he could be brought to believe that all those years of incident and adventure
had been nothing but one moment's dream, caused by the hypnotic suggestion of
his teacher, and that really he had done nothing but dip his head quickly into
the basin of water and draw it out again.
85.
This is a good story,
and illustrates our point well, but, of course, we have no proof whatever as to
its truth. It is quite different, however, with regard to an event that
happened only the other day to a well-known man of science. He unfortunately
had to have two teeth removed, and took gas in the ordinary way for that purpose.
Being interested in such problems as these, he had resolved to note very
carefully his sensations all through the operation, but as he inhaled the gas,
such a drowsy contentment stole over him that he soon forgot his intention and
seemed to sink into sleep.
86.
He rose next morning,
as he supposed, and went on with his regular round of scientific experiment,
lecturing before various learned bodies, etc., but all with a singular sense of
enhanced power and pleasure — every lecture being a remarkable achievement,
every experiment leading to new and magnificent discoveries. This went on day
after day, week after week, for a very considerable period, though the exact
time is uncertain; until at last one day, when he was delivering a lecture
before the Royal Society, he was annoyed by the unmannerly behaviour of some
one present, who disturbed him by remarking, It's all over now'; and as he
turned round to see what this meant, another voice observed, 'They are both
out'. Then he realized that he was still sitting in the dentist's chair, and
that he had lived through that period of intensified life in just forty
seconds!
87.
Neither of these
cases, it may be said, was exactly an ordinary dream. But the same thing occurs
constantly in ordinary dreams, and there is again abundant testimony to show
it.
88.
Steffens, one of the
German writers on the subject, relates how when a boy he was sleeping with his
brother, and dreamed that he was in a lonely street, pursued by some dreadful
wild beast. He ran on in great terror, though unable to cry out, until he came
to a staircase, up which he turned, but being exhausted with fright and hard
running, was overtaken by the animal, and severely bitten in the thigh. He
awoke with a start, and found that his brother had pinched him on the thigh.
89.
Richers, another
German writer, tells the story of a man who was awakened by the firing of a
shot, which yet came in as the conclusion of a long dream, in which he had
become a soldier, had deserted and suffered terrible hardship, had been
captured, tried, condemned, and finally shot — the whole long drama being lived
through in the moment of being awakened by the sound of the shot. Again, we
have the tale of the man who fell asleep in an armchair while smoking a cigar,
and after dreaming through an eventful life of many years, awoke to find his
cigar still alight. One might multiply authenticated cases to any extent.
90.
His power of
dramatization
91.
Another remarkable
peculiarity of the ego, in addition to his transcendental measure of time, is
suggested by some of these stories, and that is his faculty, or, perhaps, we
should rather say his habit, of instantaneous dramatization. It will be noticed
in the cases of the shot and the pinch which have just been narrated, that the
physical effect which awakened the person came as the climax to a dream
apparently extending over a considerable space of time, though obviously
suggested in reality entirely by that physical effect itself.
92. &nb