The Mystic Quest. A tale of two incarnations

Front matter

H XTale of XCwo incarnations BY WILLIAM KINGSLAND AUTHOR OF •' THE HIGHER SCIENCE." " THE ESOTERIC BASIS OF CHRISTIANITY AND OTHER ESSJ VS, &t GEORGE ALLEN LONDON AND ORPINGTON 1891 {All rights reserved] Never the spirit was born ; the spirit shall cease to be never ; Never was time il was not ; End and Beginning are dreams ! Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the spirit for ever ; Death hath not touched it at all, dead though the house of il seems ! Nay, but as when one layeth His worn-out robes away, And, taking new ones, sayeth, ' ' These will I wear to-day ! ' ' So pulteth by the spirit Lightly its garb of flesh. And passeth to inherit A residence afresh. Bhagavad-Gita, CONTENTS. CHAP. p1GE I. THE PROBLEM OF LIFE I II. ONLY A DREAM IO III. ALFRED NIRMAN ijj IV. GUESSES AT TRUTH 33 V. THE STANTONS 44 VI.

DOLPHINTON 55 VII. A HIDDEN KEY 69 VIII. EVOLUTION 84 IX. THE HORIZON WIDENS IO3 X. THE QUEST DISCLOSED 122 XI. THE MYSTIC MS 1 34 XII. DROWNED I44 XIII. OLD FRIENDS IN NEW BODIES . . • '55 XIV. ALCIDES AND MENAS 164 XV. 1600 YEARS AGO 1 75 XVI. SCIENCE AND RELIGION 791 XVII. THE PROBLEM SOLVED »-♦-<

Chapter I. The Problem Of Life

Cain. We knew already that there was death. Lveifir. But not what was beyond it. Cain. Nor know I now. Byron — Cain. Does anything happen by chance ? What a wide field for speculation this question opens out! I have known some people to whom life appeared to be but a series of chances, coin cidences, accidents, from the day of their bi.-th to the moment of their death, when they passed from this world's stage without a single ray of light or hope of future life. I have known ethers whose whole life has seemed to them the continuous intervention of a special providence, guiding and regulating the sequence of events down to the minutest detail, and preparing them for a glorious life of eternal bliss hereafter. Each individual will doubtless answer this question according to his own experiences and idiosyncrasies, and as A our experiences are ever varying, so our ideas are constantly undergoing modification and change to cover our new and extended range of con sciousness.

Up to the time of the events I am now about to relate, I had no experience which would enable me to give any definite answer to this question. It is true I was more of an optimist than a pessimist, but that was the result of natural disposition rather than of conclusions derived from actual experience or reason. That which altered the whole course of my life would doubtless be called a chance circumstance by many people, and dates from the day of my meeting with Alfred Nirman. It was during the summer of I 88—, and I had been engaged for several months in some engineer ing work in the large manufacturing town of Hellborough, in the North of England, one of those great centres of industry which are the boast and pride of our mercantile age. I loved my pro fession for its own sake and as a science, but I thoroughly detested all commercial transactions.

I was not to the manner born of modern competitive industry, but had been forced by circumstances into the business mould and the money-making world, and had to fight the battle as best I might. I was a poet and an artist by temperament, rather than a man of business ; but my early aspirations in this direction had never been realised, and now a fair amount of knocking about in the world had to a great extent blunted my finer perceptions, while at the same time I had acquired a deeper insight into human nature, and a practical ex perience of the world ; and this, together with my scientific training, enabled me to formulate a philosophy which served me in place of any deeply rooted religious convictions or creed. I was, however, always conscious of an ideal which as yet I had failed to realise.

I have said that I loved my work for its own sake, yet I had no particular ambition to make a name in my profession, and still less did I aim at making a fortune. I knew well enough that in these days of competition a man must bend all his energies in the direction in which he wishes to succeed, and subordinate everything to the one object of his desire ; but although naturally energetic and sanguine, I found myself not merely without a sufficient motive for success from a worldly point of view, but often with a singular consciousness of some object in my life which had not yet disclosed itself, and which lay altogether apart from those interests which absorb the energies of the man of the world. What it was that I was destined to do or to become I could not even guess, but certain it was that this feeling prevented me from concentrating my energies in any special direction, or striving after a successful career as a man of business.

I had indeed an intuitive feeling that what the world counted of most value was not worth striving after, and that there was some course of action in store for me in the future which would lead me entirely away from the beaten track of human ambition. I was a problem to myself in this respect. My friends were kind enough to prophesy a successful life, for I was naturally energetic and of steady business-like habits, but I smiled and kept my own counsel. Once, indeed, I unconsciously betrayed myself, in the course of a friendly conversation with a gentleman with whom I had been closely connected in business, and who was himself a successful man of the world. " Ah ! I can see that your ambition is to become a millionaire," he had said, and without thought or pause I replied : " I have no such ambition, but a work to do in the world which neither you nor I know of yet."

I said it almost as if the words had been put into my mouth, nor could I explain myself any further when pressed for my meaning. Yet it revealed the existence of some latent principle, some hidden destiny which was slowly but surely evolving out of the hetero geneous elements of my life. I scarce understood it myself at that time, though I can do so now, for life is no longer an insoluble problem, a chance, a caprice — but I must not anticipate. It was the month of August, and I was feeling the need of a holiday. The penalty of living in a manufacturing town was weighing heavily upon me. I could not at any time catch the enthusiasm of commercial enterprise and money-making, which enables some men to feel a keen delight in the hum and roar of machinery, the ceaseless grind of wheels, and the fierce competition of buying and selling.

Though living in the midst of it, I looked upon the battle and strife altogether from an outside point of view. I could not but ask the why and wherefore of this terrible struggle for existence, this relentless law of supply and demand, in which human life and human nature count for nothing, and gold is the only standard. Alas ! for the millions who toil, hopelessly, cheerlessly, driven by hunger and necessity, to drag the great gilded car of the god Mammon. What room is there in our huge commercial system, in our age of iron and steel, for that soul in man which is more than half divine to assert its supremacy, or claim its birth right. One man's necessity is another man's opportunity, and the devil takes the hindermost. There is scarce human sympathy enough to hide with a cloak of so-called charity the victims who fall by the thousand, crushed down, mangled, and trodden to death by their stronger or more success ful fellows.

There may be those who can walk the streets of our great cities, unconscious of the grim phantoms which meet them at every turn, and give the lie to our boasted civilisation and our Christian creed. There may be those whose ears are closed to the great cry, the great need of humanity ; those whose organisms are adapted by nature or by long habit to the noise, and strife, and smoke, and dirt which are the elements in which they live, the very breath of their nostrils. But with me it was far otherwise. I was painfully conscious that the atmo sphere I was breathing was not merely physically impure, but thick with human passions and human degradation. The black pall which hung over the city was not one of smoke merely, but a terrible aura, wherein was reflected much which to the mere physical eye was put out of sight by the respectable portion of the community, in back slums and nameless dens of infamy.

Put out of sight, and as much as possible out of mind : a problem to be solved by those whom it might more immediately concern — not to be considered save as touching the pecuniary interests of the capitalist, or the stake of the politician. There were times when I felt these problems of life keenly, not so much on my own account, for life had been comparatively easy to me, but because I could not separate my own individual life or future destiny from that of humanity as a whole. I felt that in some way the solution of the smaller problem must be contained in the larger one. The individual units of the human race must all be subject to some universal law, there must be some generalisation which will cover all the phenomena of humanity, some such law as that of the con servation of energy, acting on the moral as well as the physical plane.

The phenomena of nature were to us but a chaos before this great law was enunciated : what are the phenomena of humanity now but a mass of isolated experiences, with no common law to bind them into a comprehensible whole ? Can it be that the realm of natural law is so inflexible, so orderly, while there is naught but caprice governing our human nature ? Is there no grand generalisation which can give us the key to the situation, and enable us to collect all the varied experiences of humanity, all its hopes, fears, failures, and achievements, now and in all ages, under one common law of cause and effect ? Is it all chance that we are born, and live, and suffer, and die — it may be in one way as a spoilt child of fortune, it may be in another as an outcast and a beggar ? I could not believe it, but neither could I solve the problem.

Science and philosophy seemed but blind guides, while religion covered but a very small portion of the problem by reason of its being individual and exclusive : net based upon natural law and universal experience, but upon fallible authority and individual prejudice. Every religious fanatic will die for his faith, though that for which one man will die is looked upon by another as essentially and fundamentally erroneous, and far removed from true enlightenment and salvation. Viewed from a strictly impartial point of view, all religions have an equal claim, inasmuch as they represent to their respective devotees the highest aspect of truth which for the time being they are capable of understanding. But there must be some underlying law which will account for these differ ent manifestations of the same principle : the re ligious instinct in man.

One religion offers one solution, another a different one, but none cover the whole ground of human experience. These problems were weighing somewhat heavily upon my mind at the period of which I write. It was glorious summer weather, and I was longing to be away from the heat and smoke of the town. In the winter, when nature lies dormant, and does not woo us in a thousand attractive moods, our souls may also sleep, and the dull mechanical round of daily life be performed less consciously as a burden and a task. But in summer we awake to a realisation of our limitations. The larger life of nature unfolding around us touches a responsive chord within our hearts, and we feel more or less intensely that there is a great soul and a great joy in nature, which lies beyond and above our everyday life.

Is not this joy our birthright ? Must we always be creatures of sense, blunting our finer faculties in the ceaseless struggle for bare existence ? Thus it is that in the summer-time our souls seek to respond to the fully awakened activities of nature, and we long to be away in the woods and the fields, scenting the fresh sweet air, or climbing the moun tain, at the summit of which, the larger prospect meeting our view, seems to dwarf for the time being our individual experiences and trials. Would it not be well if we could fix our mental attitude permanently on some such height, looking at our individual life through the reverse end of the tele scope, instead of isolating it in time and space, and making it appear the one object of interest within the field of observation. To lose sight of our individuality in the great life of humanity, is perhaps after all the wisest philosophy.

But who is there who does not look forward to his summer holiday with anticipations of the greatest delight, and look back upon it as the one bright spot in the passing year, the period when he comes nearest to realising what life might be, if freed from the necessity of wasting its energies in the ceaseless strife to get the better of his fellows ? I had been looking forward to my liberation for some time, and now it was close at hand. My portmanteau was packed, and on the morrow I would turn my back on the smoky chimneys and grimy buildings of Hellborough, and seek for pure air and fresh inspiration at the quaint little seaside resort of Fairlea.

Chapter II. Only

A DREAM. Go forth, for thou shalt sce what I have seen, And break thro' all, till one will crown thee King Ear in the spiritual city. ***** Then Galahad on the sudden, and in a voice Thrilling along the hall, to Arthur call'd, " But I, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, I saw the Holy Grail and heard a cry — ' 0 Galahad, and 0 Galahad, follow me.' " Tennyson — The Holy Grail. Late in the evening of the day previous to my departure for Fairlea, I was sitting in my armchair, smoking and thinking. I was thinking of what I had just been reading : Tennyson's " Holy Grail." The poem had a great attraction for me ; it seemed to correspond to my own ideal of something great and noble lying far beyond the conditions of life in this world, some Great Quest worthy to be sought out at all hazards ; which, indeed, we could but half understand, but which might be realised by the few of lofty and pure ideal.

I did not attach any particular religious signifi cation to the poem ; indeed it was somewhat of a problem to me how little my conceptions were moulded on the strictly orthodox forms of belief in which I had been brought up. But I had failed to find the motive for this Great Quest in any of those religious ideals to which some people cling with so much tenacity. I could not tell as yet what the Quest might mean, or what form it would take in my own life ; nevertheless, I fully believed that there was some kind of reality corresponding to the ideal. But now, as I sat thinking somewhat dreamily over the matter, I passed into a state of sleep, without, however, losing the thread of my medita tions ; so that what I dreamed seemed to be con nected in some way with the Great Quest of which I had been reading.

At first my dream took no definite form, but I felt as if I were preparing myself for some enter prise which would demand the exercise of all the strength and enthusiasm which was stirring within me, and which seemed to gain in intensity every moment. I felt a great exultation, a great hope ; it was as if some darkness, some cloud, had been lifted from my life, revealing a destiny aDd a purpose which had hitherto been concealed. More than that, I was conscious of a subtle kind of life pervading my being, which at the same time seemed to be part of everything around me, though I was not conscious of being in any particular place, or in the presence of any one. It was as if all around me were filled with a strange mysterious conscious life, of which I myself was a part, my own individual life pulsating in perfect harmony with a great ocean of life, which, indeed, seemed to be the very root and innermost source of all existence.

Gradually, however, this feeling passed away, and it appeared that I was being separated out and in dividualised, while as I became more and more self centred I lost touch with the great life of which I had just been a part, and which now seemed to sink back, to pass in a mysterious way beyond the reach of my faculties. Soon the sense of personality became the predominant one, though I still retained the impress, the aroma, of that perfect state of un conditioned life from which I had emerged. I felt an intense peace, a great calm ; I was strong, col lected, self-possessed, as if naught in the universe could shake my mind, or cause me trouble, doubt, or fear. And now I became aware of the presence of others. I was in a small room or chamber, the walls of which seemed to be of stone, but hung with some kind of tapestry.

The room was lit by means of a single oil lamp of antique workman ship, suspended over a table in the centre. On the table were a great variety of scrolls and parchments, containing strange writing, hieroglyphics and geo metrical figures. I was standing near the foot of the table, while at the head sat a venerable old man. Two other persons were present, a young man and a maiden. We were all listening to the words of the old man, though when I awoke I could not recall what he had said. It seemed as if he were instruct ing us in some ancient lore, some mysterious occult knowledge ; and, moreover, it appeared to be a solemn leave-taking, as if he were giving us some last instructions prior to a long separation. I was conscious that I and the others with me were pledged to some great purpose, some high enterprise.

It was as if we had taken a vow which was stronger even than death, a pledge which could only have its fulfilment in eternity, an enterprise which would be followed down the ages. But now the scene changed. I was lying upon a couch in a different room, and I knew that I was dying of a mortal wound. How I had come there or received the wound I did not remember, but bending over me and holding my hand was the young man I had seen in the previous part of my dream. A great sadness at parting from him seemed to pervade my mind, a great sadness and at the same time a strange exultant joy. I knew that I was dying rapidly. I could not speak, but I feebly re turned the pressure of his hand, smiled on him, then closed my eyes. My life was sinking back to some deep, mysterious source. I felt once again that I was losing my individuality in the great ocean of Being.

The same feeling as in the first portion of my dream was gradually stealing over my conscious ness. Again I was entering that celestial atmosphere which seemed to radiate and pulsate with the very essence of one's conscious existence. Could this indeed be death ? Yes, I knew that it was death I knew that life and consciousness were parting from the body, the earthly garment. One last glance of recognition of him I loved, and then — I had given myself up entirely to the bliss of perfect life, found only in death. Thus in my dream I passed the gates ofdeath, the portals of the grave. " Only a dream," I hear some say, a baseless, airy, insubstantial fabric, valueless and meaningless ; but let us see. My sensations on awaking from my sleep were very curious. For some time after opening my eyes I could not tell where I was, whether it was morning or night, what day it was, or what were the events which lay nearest my waking life.

The impression of my dream was so strong upon me that, though conscious that it was but a dream, it still seemed to hold all my faculties in a state of perfect control. My mind was still pervaded by that exquisite harmony of life into which my very soul seemed to have melted. Very gradually my waking consciousness returned. I remembered that I had fallen asleep in my chair ; it was quite dark when I did so, and I had not lit my lamp or pulled down the blind, and now the room was flooded with the rays of the moon, which accounted for the strange soft light which appeared to my eyes, when I first opened them, to be part of that beautiful essence in which I had been living. Then I remembered what day it was, and that on the morrow I was starting for my holiday. The book I had been reading was lying on the table beside me, my pipe was still in my hand.

I was stiff and cramped with sitting so long in one position. Looking at my watch I found that it was past midnight. But I was reluctant to move, for the impression of my dream was still vividly real, and even now I was con scious of a great repose, a great joy, such as I had never before experienced in my waking moments. But what of the dream itself, and the part I had played in the scenes which had passed before my vision ? I could not connect them with any events in my life ; and what could be the explanation of that deep sense of rest and satisfaction which I was still experiencing ? I felt as if I had come through some great crisis in my life, had successfully sur mounted some obstacle, some barrier which had hitherto been holding me back. My exultation was such as a man might feel who had been struggling for years against adverse fortune, and who woke up one morning to find the world at his feet.

And yet there was nothing to account for this strange de light. It was only a dream which had produced it. Only a dream ! What is a dream ? Reflex action of the brain, science replies. A fig for science : my dream was something more than reflex action, for I could not associate it with any events in my life, any words, thoughts, or actions. True, I had fallen asleep thinking of the Great Quest, and in some way my dream seemed to be connected with that. But how ? Strangely enough, I could not remember any words spoken, or the faces of the actors in my dream. My own personality even I could not recall, except that I appeared to have been some one else, and not my present self. The events had no relation to my present life, nor was there anything in my history or even in what I had read which could suggest them.

Neither was I conscious of any new light, any new truth ; the vision did not appear to be either a prophecy or a revelation ; I could not connect it with any intellectual process — it seemed rather to be a state of consciousness transcending that mental activity which governs our waking consciousness, and which connects our life inseparably with the ideas of time and space. Yet there was one word I did remember, one name which was still ringing in my ears as if it had been spoken aloud at the moment of waking, and which was strangely familiar to me, as if it lay far back in the depths of my memory, where I could not reach its associations. That name was Alcides, the name of the companion from whom I had been parted by death. Who could he be ? What, indeed, could it all mean ? Long I remained trying to solve the problem.

Of one thing only I could be certain, that I had somehow in my dream found the great source of all life, and mingled my own being in that deep fountain of pure existence where, freed from the conditions and limitations of our physical senses, we can enter into a state of perfect bliss. Could it be that in my dream I had really entered a state of post-mortem life ? Had I not, indeed, in one part of my dream consciously passed into tbat state through the gates of death ? It seemed impossible to realise such a state of existence on this earth, in any physical body. It was pure and spiritual, it lay far beyond our reach in this life of struggling sinful human passions. No taint of earth, no bonds of sense could enter into such a pure flame of life, yet surely such a life must be attainable, else how could I have realised it, even in a dream ?

Long did I meditate upon the mystery, but could not find an answer, and when at last I went to bed, I did not dream again ; no further vision was vouchsafed, but only dreamless sleep ; while the bright morning sunshine, promise of a glorious day, quickly dispelled the lingering fancy of my dream, which indeed would not be recorded here, did it not bear strangely upon the events of the next few days. B

Chapter III. Alfred Nirman

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hatb had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar. Wordsworth — Ode to Immortality. When I took my seat in the 10.40 express there was no other occupant of the second-class smoking apartment I had selected, but a few minutes before the train started another passenger took possession of the corner opposite to me. He was a somewhat handsome-looking man, with dark almost black hair which seemed to curl naturally and profusely, and a well-trimmed beard and moustache. I judged him to be somewhat past thirty, and he had the appearance of a man who had seen a good deal of the world. But his face was pleasant, intellectual, and attractive, while there was a reserve of strength about it which told of character, eloquence, and refinement.

I did not notice these particulars immediately, for I was watching an interesting group on the platform, aud absorbed in my own reflections. Presently, however, the train moved out of the station. For about three miles the railway passed through, or rather over one of the most miserable quarters of the town. There was nothing to be seen but rows upon rows of black, desolate, tumbledown dwellings, upon which even the sunshine could not put a single touch of colour or joy. The air was clouded with smoke and soot, and as far as one could see was a wilderness of tiled roofs, with not a single object upon which the eye could rest to relieve the monotony. Looking down at the narrow streets and courts immediately under the railway arches my soul sank within me to think that human beings should live year after year under such conditions of poverty and dirt.

I knew that much of it was the result of vice and depravity, but I also knew that there was many a brave and honest heart there, striving to keep above water, to retain self-respect — worthy indeed of better circumstauces, yet barely able to earn a living for wife and children. And these children, these wretched children ! Ah ! what cruel fate could it be which would plunge an embryo human soul into such an environment ? There must be a terrible fallacy in our orthodox Christian creed, for it offers no solution to such a problem as this ; no solution which can appeal to our most elementary sense of justice. Many a time I had passed through this district, and on every occasion the problem would rise before me as it did now, demanding a solution in the name of all that I held most divine and sacred in human nature.

We may indeed close our minds to the problem, we may shut our eyes and stop our ears, and go about our daily business or pleasure with no concern save for our own affairs, or may perhaps salve our conscience with a few charitable donations, but the problem must be solved if we would know our own destiny, and no thinker can ignore it. It stands face to face with our great ecclesiastical religion, with our ponderous machine for man's salvation, and demands an answer in terms of justice and love. I was roused from my meditations by my travel ling companion addressing me and asking my per mission to smoke. This was such an unusual courtesy on the part of one who appeared to be an Englishman, more especially as we were in a smoking compartment, that I looked at him with some curiosity, at the same time giving a ready assent to his request.