Complete Works of Talbot Mundy
Page 1047
“Aren’t you taking it too much for granted that they did pray?” Nancy answered. “They did not pray. That was the trouble. From the beginning of the world until now, no genuine prayer ever went unanswered, instantly! Or was ever answered without humor, beauty and loving-kindness, that blessed and cursed not! Prayer doesn’t consist in opposing thought against thought, creed against creed, self-righteousness against self-righteousness — bogey against bogey — fear of defeat against lust for victory. If you oppose your thought against Bulah Singh’s, what are you likely to get?”
“Defeat, I suppose,” said Elsa. “I never did want to fight anyone. I want to be let alone. I’m sure I haven’t enough hatred in my system — at least, I hope I haven’t — to be able to out-hate a Sikh hypnotist! It looks as if we’re up against that gruesome law of the survival of the fittest—”
“Fittest for what?” Nancy retorted. “What do you wish to be fit for? Pork or poetry? Destruction or creation? Degradation or evolution?”
“I would like to know what good talking about evolution and religion does for the victims of bombs and blackmailers!”
“There is no need to be a victim. Remember the Ninety-first Psalm: ‘A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee.’”
“But, Nancy, that’s horribly selfish! I would rather be a victim of almost anything, than be some kind of special person who felt superior and—”
“Gently, child, gently! You are not being asked to be a special person. But don’t you want to help? Can the dead stop the massacre?”
“No, of course they can’t.”
“Can selfishness stop it?”
“Perhaps enlightened selfishness might lead to—”
“To a jack-o’-lantern’s quicksand! The way to enlighten selfishness is to realize that only believers in the illusion of personal self can possibly be selfish. They can’t avoid it. But the selfish soul doesn’t exist. It would be a contradiction in terms.”
“Well, suppose that’s true. How can one help? By talking? They’d call it propaganda. Talk never stopped people from hating each other. It makes them hate each other all the worse.”
Nancy laughed. “Well, I am talking to you! Are we hating each other? My dear, a victim, no matter of what — even a victim of his own generosity or his own greed — is someone who opposed some form of violence, either with lesser violence or with the wrong strategy: One is as useless as the other. Wars are good illustrations of that. The very best that can be said of any war is that it is bravery wasted.”
“Then do you teach passive resistance? Non-resistance?”
“No. Far from it. I teach vigorous assault on cause, and let the symptoms take the consequences. I don’t look for peace where there is none.”
“Nancy, you’re too fond of paradox. I wish you’d say what you mean in plain words.”
“Very well. Listen.”
“I am listening.”
“There are three states of consciousness.”
Elsa glanced at the shelf beside her. “But Freud says—”
“Forget Freud for the moment. Some of those books are there to remind me to forget what is in them. Freud, Jung, Adler and scores of others have made brilliant discoveries of what happens to people who base their outlook on what appears to them to be the reality of personal material existence. They have discovered some of the mechanics of the illusion. They try to patch up and strengthen the illusion. We propose to weaken it, by letting go of it. Then evolution takes care of us. I will give you the key to the secret of evolution. Lobsang Pun taught it to me.”
“You mean this is secret?”
“It is a key to the secret.”
“Why is it secret?”
“Because people who are too convinced of the reality of what is known as sensual perception, and who think that intellect and intelligence are the same thing, can’t possibly understand it until disaster takes the conceit out of them and they begin to be humble and humorous and a little bit wise,”
“Very well. I will try to be humble. What is the secret? Surely whoever knows it should tell it.”
“I said it is a key to the secret. There are several other keys, but this is the simplest. The secret reveals itself when you use the key. For all practical purposes there are three states of consciousness.”
“I do hope you’re not going to use a lot of confusing terms that mean something different to whoever uses them.”
“No. Plain words. From, at, and toward. — If you prefer it, call them subconsciousness, consciousness, and superconsciousness.”
“That sounds too simple,” said Elsa.
“It is. Much too simple for the brain-believers. It amounts to an insult to what pride calls intellect. It doesn’t take much intellect to perceive that a bomb kills; a lie hurts; an empty purse can’t buy; hunger isn’t satisfying; a cold doorstep isn’t a warm home. Even demagogues and other lunatics can elaborate that picture and make it worse. But it does require real intelligence to see and to use the beautifully, humorously simple remedy.”
“What do you call intelligence?” Elsa asked.
“I call for it,” said Nancy. “I don’t have to define what it is. I let it define me. I demand it — from superconsciousness. True intelligence is an inseparable dimension of superconsciousness — instantly ready, available to everyone who asks.”
“Can you make that clearer?”
“Yes. Wake up and know! Subconsciousness is the storehouse of the mass illusion. Let Freud have it. It is the mist mentioned in the first chapter of Genesis — the common memory pool — the pool of the Narcissus myth. It contains every detail of all the past history of all the people who ever lived in the world. All that they have ever imagined, believed and done. It is continually being added to, every minute. It holds all the false answers to all the false questions. It is a logical, merciless law unto itself, as full of fear as a sea is full of water. Jesus called it the lie and the father of lies. The Hindus call it maya. Plunge into it — stay in it — and there you are. Drown in the disgusting ocean of illusion. It’s useless to ask mercy of that stuff or to ask it to cure its own corruption. Subconsciousness is the source of instinct, behaviorism, habit. And that includes the habit of death — a very bad habit, but there it is. We must evolve out of it, upward.”
“Into superconsciousness?”
“Yes. Superconsciousness is life. The rest is shadow. There is no illusion, and nothing false, in superconsciousness. Intelligence, affluence, humor, spontaneity, beauty and selfless love are inseparable dimensions of superconsciousness. It is the source of genius and perpetual newness. Soul- consciousness — that is to say acceptance of the truth that now, not tomorrow but now, we are our souls — opens the door of superconsciousness. From the moment when we accept the truth that we are living souls, not dying persons, we begin to evolve spiritually. Then, if we demand more, and more, we become masters, not victims. The illusion of selfishness gradually dies. Love replaces it. It’s so simple that in the beginning we can’t keep it in consciousness for more than seconds at a time. But those are precious seconds. They increase and expand, as we enjoy them and learn to depend on them. We become more and more soul-conscious, less and less stupid. Our consciousness becomes a lens through which reality pours into the world. That is the meaning of Jesus’ promise:’the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these.’”
“Then you really believe what it says in the Bible? We can raise the dead, and—”
Nancy laughed. “Gently, child, gently! Let us raise the living first. Reform ourselves, and then see what happens. There’ll be another world war and a relapse into barbarism, unless thinking stops it. So let us think. Remember Shakespeare’s line: ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ It all takes place in consciousness. So let’s change our own first. We can let our consciousness drift downward, or raise it upward by an effort of will. But it has to be good will.”
/> “You talk of sub- and super-, but what is plain consciousness? You haven’t defined that.”
“I wish you understood mathematics. But never mind. Remember from, at, and toward. Subconsciousness is from. Superconsciousness is toward. Consciousness is at: the relatively real point at which you are at any given moment, varying as you sink into the subconscious illusion — or rise toward superconscious reality. Is that clear?”
Elsa curled up in the armchair, staring at Nancy, wondering why she had never noticed before that Nancy looked like a lama. She had seen more than one lama with similar facial expression. True, most Buddhist lamas, excepting Lobsang Pun and Mu-ni Gam-po, had seemed to her no better — perhaps worse, and more self-righteous than the vicar at home, if that were possible. Whereas Nancy —
“It seems clear when you say it,” she answered. “But—”
“Think now of your mental picture of Bulah Singh.”
“I saw his thought. Yes. What should I have done about it?”
“You yourself gave the correct answer when we spoke of your being alone in a room with him. You should have yelled for help and escaped! That is exactly what I did, when I suddenly knew that shot was coming through the window.”
“Nancy, you old prevaricator! You never made a sound! I screamed, when Andrew nearly pushed me into the fire. I’m ashamed of it. But you didn’t. You sat still in your chair.”
“My dear, I yelled. It was so sudden that I hadn’t time to do anything else.”
“Nancy, are you dreaming?”
“I was dreaming, at that moment. I was actually thinking of the children, all tucked away in the dormitories, wondering what they were dreaming about. I awoke with a clear picture of the danger — and yelled for help.”
“None of us heard you.”
“I didn’t yell to any of you,” Nancy answered. “I cried with all my conscious might for help from superconsciousness. It never fails. It can’t fail. Remember Isaiah: ‘But it shall come to pass that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.’ I and my soul were one, that moment, and I knew it. And you know what happened. ‘Thou shaft not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day.’ Answer: was anyone hit?”
“Poor Old Ugly-face’s photograph — oh, I beg your pardon, Nancy. I mean—”
“I usually call him that,” said Nancy.
“To his face?”
“No. Of course not. But he prefers to bethought of as Old Ugly-face. That lets in some humor. It avoids the very human tendency almost to deify one’s spiritual teacher. Solemnity is only a humbug substitute for love and reverence.”
“Nancy! Tell me! Had that shooting of the photograph anything to do with—”
Nancy laughed. She shook her head. “Elsa, I don’t know. I could believe it. The lower consciousness is as full of tricks as a stage magician. But guessing isn’t believing, and believing isn’t knowing. I haven’t told you anything tonight that I don’t know of my own experience.”
“You seem confident.”
“Yes. So confident that—” Nancy almost chanted St. Paul’s declaration of faith—”’neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature’ could persuade me to the contrary.’”
“Those are grand words,” said Elsa, “but they didn’t save St. Paul from being shamefully executed by the Romans.”
“Do you suppose he suffered for being right, or for having done wrong?” Nancy retorted. “It isn’t often wise to argue from the consequences of other people’s mistakes. It’s more useful to remember the work they did well — spectacularly well! St. Paul’s work has survived the Roman Empire. Is it dead yet? Far from it! Perhaps St. Paul hadn’t quite learned how to forgive himself for previous mistakes. He may have felt glad to settle his own karmic account for having himself been a bigoted and cruel persecutor before he woke up and became a saint. St. Paul himself said: ‘there is none righteous, no, not one.’ He was a brave little Jew, pressing, as he described it, ‘toward the mark for the high calling ... not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect.’”
“Then what you teach doesn’t pretend to change the consequences of—”
“It pretends nothing, Elsa. It is the illusion of materiality that pretends, and makes false promises, and glitters with false causes and their consequences. Truth is the only creator of anything real. Truth never begets ill results, and never lets you down. Never! Truth doesn’t rob Peter to pay Paul. It doesn’t have to. It couldn’t. Acceptance of truth into consciousness is spiritual evolution; it drives out the legion of lies. Falsehood and false consequences vanish, like darkness before daylight, no matter how deeply they are rooted in human thought. But it’s a process. It takes time, because we are so full of conceit. However, if we are going forward, we are not going backward. The thing is, to be up, and awake, and on our way.”
Elsa leaned forward. “Tell me. Will it — if I try to follow your advice — will it bring some real love into Tom’s life?”
“Oh, excellent!” said Nancy. “Full marks!”
“Why? What do you mean? What have I said?”
“Think it over. There’s another question at the back of your mind. What is it?”
“Andrew. How can I repay Andrew for all his utterly unselfish kindness?”
“Are you sure it was unselfish?”
“Yes. I’m almost sure he secretly detests the very ground I stand on. Why shouldn’t he? I’ve been nothing but a nuisance. But there isn’t one thing that he could possibly have done, to make things easier for me, that he has left undone. Isn’t that unselfish?”
“Well then, why try to repay him? How could you? It’s only selfishness that accepts repayment. I’m not talking about borrowed money, or the give and take of commerce. But can you repay the sun for its warmth? No! Pass it along. Reflect it. Be kind to others.”
“Nancy, wouldn’t it be in line with your ideas if I could somehow help Andrew to unburden himself of his secret? I know he has one. It makes him wretched. It is eating his heart out. He keeps it hidden beneath a dark gray cloud that I can’t ever see through. Sometimes the cloud is the color of dry blood. But it’s usually dark gray. Do you suppose I could help him?”
“You might mind your own business,” Nancy suggested. “That always helps.”
“But you said just now — I mean — don’t you help people?”
“When they ask for it — with all I have! — to the limit.” She laughed. “But there is no limit! The way to help people in the dark when they ask for it is to demand light on one’s own darkness — the light of true intelligence. But bad spiritual manners are worse than a common cad’s. There is nothing likelier to make people resentful and vindictive than to squirt them with light like a fire hose. You may believe that’s light, but it isn’t; it’s conceited bigotry. It’s worse than prodding a tiger. Do you want to deal with a tiger?”
“I wish to God I could help Andrew.”
“Has he asked for it?”
“No.”
“Then wait. And meanwhile, mind your own business. I have suggested what that is. If you genuinely trust your vision, and distrust your senses, your vision will improve, and your senses will become subordinate instead of enslaving you as they do all of us when we let them. You will discover that your higher vision not only illumines your own consciousness but also acts like a beacon that enables others to find their own way.”
“Nancy, I don’t like it. It seems tome self-righteous, and top-lofty, and—”
“My dear, can’t you be generous enough to accept Andrew’s generosity? Must you bask in self-approval? Or is it applause that you can’t do without?”
“Indeed I don’t want applause. But I would love to help Andrew. I want to reverse things just for once, and be some good to him instead of being beholden to him for almost everything. Nancy, I even owe my life to him.”
“I said, I’m trying to be humble. Really, I’m trying.”
“Humility, my dear, is no respecter of persons, especially of our own persons. Humility doesn’t even pretend to know the answer to other people’s problems. Humility demands wisdom, from the only source whence wisdom comes. And humility receives it. Always. Conceit never does. Subconsciousness is an incorrigible liar, without humility. But humility imposes self-discipline. That creates self-respect, which reveals the difference between our false, lower habit-nature and our true Being — our soul-consciousness. That in turn creates reliance on soul-consciousness. We begin to have dignity — to know what dignity is. Enjoy that — I said, enjoy it — and then Soul, which is You — will employ your person so wisely that you will betray no one, and harm no one, and no prayer will go unanswered; it will be fully answered, with more and better than you asked, because you will discover how to pray, and how to become unselfish.”
Lewis knocked on the door. He came in, startling, preoccupied, carrying something. “May I turn on the light?” he demanded. His voice was on the dead- level professional note. Without waiting for an answer he switched on the light and came forward to the fireside. In his left hand was a muddy Mauser pistol. He began to wipe it with his handkerchief, holding it to the overhead light.
“One, three, two, three, eight, three,” he remarked. “Nancy, we’ll need to do some thinking. This is one of those hard facts that — but wait a moment while I check it.”
He laid the pistol on the mantelshelf and consulted the small memorandum book from his vest pocket.
“Yes,” he said, returning the book to his pocket, “that is the number of Andrew Cunning’s pistol that was registered last autumn when he crossed the border on his way southward.”
There was silence for a moment. Elsa turned deathly white. The cat jumped to the floor and began licking itself, stopped doing it, and crept under Nancy’s chair.