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ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS:
17TH CENTURY PHILOSOPHY
Volume 2
SPECULUM SPINOZANUM,
1677–1977
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SPECULUM SPINOZANUM,
1677–1977
Edited by
SIEGFRIED HESSING
I~~~o~:~!n~~~up
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published in 1977 by by Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd
This edition first published in 2020
by Routledge
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and by Routledge
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© 1977 Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd
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1 Pictorial Tribute by Perle Hessing
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Speculum
Spino zanurn
1677-1977
Edited by
Siegfried Hessing
with a foreword by
Huston Smith
vii
Contents
viii
Illustrations
ix
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Foreword
Huston Smith, Syracuse
]3enedict Spinoza died in 1677; these essays are being published in 1977.
Obviously they are a tribute. The book is a way for philosophers to say, on th,e
occasion of this tricentennial, that they remember. They remember a man
who continues to live vigorously in their classrooms and on the pages of their
journals, a man no history of human thought would dream of omitting.
The book is a tribute, but for philosophers the highest tribute is not praise
but engagement: engagement with the thought of the person being honoured.
So it should be added that this collection constitutes a philosophical tribute.
Each of the essays in the volume attests to that fact. Together, they test and
probe, winnow and knead, and try once again to extractmeaning from what is
obsc1.1re, all in the interests of keeping alive and virile in man's ongoing
consciousness the mind that was Spinoza's.
I should like for my Foreword, too, to conform to this pattern, so I shall
touch on a substantive issue. As Forewords are not the place for details, I
choose a topic that is global and inclusive. I shall call it 'theSpinozaanomaly',
and formulate it, simply, as follows: Why is Spinoza so loved and respected,
yet so little followed?
The love and respect need scarcely be argued. What teacher, in introducing
Spinoza to his students by way of the epithet 'the Blessed Spinoza', sees
himself as merely translating 'Benedict', the latinized equivalent of the Hebrew
Baruch, meaning blessing or benediction? He lingers over the name-turned-
epithet because the grounds for doing so are overwhelming; it fits the man
as if it had been preordained. Bertrand Russell comes close to speaking for
all of us when he wrote in A History of Western Philosophy 'Spinoza is the
noblest and most lovable of the great philosophers.' But this only accentuates
the paradox: Why then is .he so little followed? Thomists, Kantians, and
Wittgensteinians abound, but how often does one run across a Spinozist?
There is an easy way to resolve this anomaly, which I shall note only to
put it behind us. According to this superficial resolution, Spinoza is loved
because. his life was so exemplary, or alternatively because his system is
architectonically so impressive; he is not followed because he was mistaken.
If he was not mistaken in trying to construct a metaphysical system in the
xi
Huston Smith
xii
Foreword
results. This makes the certainty in one sense subjective, but at the same time
it is objectiveifit is in fact a prolongation of realities that are independent of
our minds.
In calling the mistake just cited 'Western' 1 mean, of course, that it is the
recent Western mistake; our very word 'theory' derives, as we know, from
theoria, a term originally drawn from the theatre and implying vision. Like
Plato, Spinoza saw something. Had his mysticism been ecstatic we might be
inclined to say that he experienced something, but because it was in fact
immaculately intellective- gnostic, or jnanic as the Vedantists would say- it
is better to say he saw, or perhaps sensed, something. ('Saw' captures the
clarity of his controlling insight, 'sensed' its intuitive character - the difficulty
of conveying it to persons who have had no direct contact with it.) A moment
ago we were citing Gestalt psychology and particle physics to document the
mind's inability to arrive at ultimates, For the phenomenal world this is
plain fact, awash as that world is in relativity and change- in maya, to reach
again for a Vedantic term, But beneath this remorseless flux Spinoza discerned
something permanent. This is not a place to try again to say what it was, or
rather what it is. It is enough to say that he saw as clearly as man ever has
what Substance is and what is its relationship to accident, grasping at the
same time that every single .thing participates in both while being always
accident in relation to the one and only Substance that empowers it. In doing
so he understood in principle the meaning, not only of all religion, but of all
metaphysics in the true and etymological sense of that word. As for ourselves,
we sense that he had hold of that meaning, however little we may be able to
follow his approach to it or blaze an alternative route.
This is my suggestion regarding the Spinoza anomaly. We do not call
ourselves Spinozists because the way he articulated his insight is, for the most
part, not the way we would do so; it is too· coloured by thought patterns of a
period that is not our own.' But metaphysical systems are not mirror-images
of reality; they are symbols- fingers point at the moon, as Ch'an Buddhists
would say. 4 And Spinoza's finger, we sense -many, many of us do, at least-
was precisely and accurately angled. That is why we honour him. He points us
toward truth of a mode which, to the degree that we succeed in encompassing
it, can free us as it freed him.
I speak ofdegree, and this is important, for truth that is as existential as
the kind Spinoza was involved with is not simply accepted or rejected; it is
appropriated incrementally. Sufis liken three stages in the acquisition of
gnosis to hearing about fire, seeing fire, and being burned by fire. Comparably
one can respond affirmatively to Spinoza by assenting to what he says,
seeing what he says, and being consumed by what he says - George Eliot
seems to have been on to something like these distinctions when she wrote
that 'Spinoza says from his own soul what all the world is saying by rote.'
Not many reach the last stage (being consumed by Spinoza), for it involves
xiii
Huston Smith
NOTES
1 Bertrand Russell admitted that the Theory of Types, concocted to deal with self-
referential paradoxes ('This sentence is false') was not really a. theory but a stop-
gap. 'Similar self-referential paradoxes ... are considered quite acceptable in the
ordinary theory of equations' (G. Spencer Brown, Laws of Form, p. ix).
2 By birth a man of exile, by temperament a recluse, he showed not the slightest
bitterness in spite of his excommunication and his inherited memories of centuries
of persecution and fanaticism. Whatever his subject, he always brought to it a
mind free of attachment to self, party, or nation.
3 Not all of us sense this, of course, and among those who do there is a significant
difference in degree. To the latter point I shall return in a moment.
4 This association of Spinoza with an oriental outlook is not fortuitous. A contri-
butor to this volume, Paul Wienpabl, has called my attention to the fact t:Qat
Pierre Bayle in the article on Spinoza in his dictionary said that there was nothing
new in this man's philosophy, comparing it to that of a certain sect of Chinese
theologians. Wienpabl feels certain that he was referring to Ch'an Buddhism and
details the parallelism as follows: Wnat, according to Spinoza, we erroneously
take to be a plurality of substances corresponds in Ch'an to the deluding fabrica-
tions of the ego; Spinoza's imagination is Ch'an's bifurcating intellect; Spinoza's
understanding or intuitive knowing is Ch'an's enlighten.."'Tient, and· Spinoza's
Substance is Ch'an's non-dual sunyata. Siegfried Hessing touches on Wienpabl's
xiv
Foreword
point in his Prologue. to this book while adding other Eurasian parallels.
5 Poets are the only writers Spinoza quotes, and it was poets and novelists, in turn,
who first appreciated him. Among them were Wordsworth, Schelling, and above
all Goethe, who on completing his second reading of the Ethics reported: 'I have
never seen things so clearly, or been so much at peace!' George Eliot's tribute I
have already quoted; to her name can now be added, among others, those of:
Gustave Flaubert, Romain Rolland, Renan, Novalis, Lessing, Jacobi, Schiller,
Schlegel, Schleiermacher, L. Feuerbach, Grillparzer, Heine, Nietzsche, Brandes,
Dehmel, F. Mauthner, Fritz Droop, Jakob Wassermann, Arnold Zweig.
XV
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Pathfinders pointing the rare way for
pathseekers
Arranged and adapted by Siegfried Hessing
If the way, which I have shown leads hither, seems very difficult, it can
nevertheless be found. It must indeed be difficult since it is so seldom dis-
covered, for if salvation lay ready at hand and could· be discovered without
great labour, how could it be possible that it should be neglected by every-
body? But all noble things are as difficult as they are rare.
Baruch de Spinoza
It is a great joy to realize that the path to freedom which all Buddhas have
trodden is ever existent, ever unchanged and ever open to those who are
prepared to enter upon it. Precepts of the Gurus
When the pupil is ready, then the Master will appear before him.
Light on the Path
Thou canst not travel on the path before thou hast become the path itself.
The Voice of Silence
When this path is beheld ... without moving, is the travelling on this road.
In this path to whatever place one would go, that place one's self becomes.
Jnaneshvari
The path is one for all, the means to reach the goal must vary with the
pilgrims. As there is neither any traversing nor anv .traverser of the path,
the expression 'PATH' is merely figurative. Precepts of the Gurus
'PATH' is merely a metaphor descriptive of the method of realizing spiritual
growth of progress. W. Y. Evans-Wentz
On this path we have to find our own touchstone of truth, independent of
academic or theological approval. What we want is one's own perception of
the truth, not one taken on ready made. Sri Madhava Ashish
Anyone who so desires can move into the vitalizing study [of the path] and
dig in his own mind inde:finitively making his own discoveries and can be a
point of consciousness to which revelation comes. Carlo Snares
xvii
Siegfried Hessing
'I am' [is] that 'I am'- 'I am' [is] the God ofthyfather, the God of Abraham,
the God oflsaac and the God of Jacob. (I and the father are one!)
Exod. 3:6, 14
... that ye may know ~hat 'I am' [is] the LORD! Ezek. 6: 7
'I am' [is] unique: every-thing and no-thing. Ani=Ayin. Aham=Maha.
Causa sive ratio: vel sui vel alius .. . the indeterminate. Meta-Esoterics
If 'I' am 'I' because 'you' are 'you' and if 'you' are 'you' because 'I' am 'I' -
then: I am not [really] I and you are not [really] you. Hassidic Saying
I am not only I, I am also you, he, she and it. -Ego = id =idem. Then: how to
learn to reidentify with the seemingly or para-other (the so-called 'parallel~
meeting each other otherless in the infinite according to Euclid!)? How: with
that Tat twam asi? Siegfried Hessing
'I am' [is] because 'I think' [of] 'I am': cogito ergo sum. Rene Descartes
The uni-verse is a play: as if an empzy shell wherein 'your' mind [as 'I am']
frolics infinitely. -As (I-less) waves come with water and (I-less) flames with
fire, so uni-versal waves come with 'us' [as 'I am' -awareness]- I (am) can
toss [one-sided] attachment for body aside realizing 'I am' (is) every·'where'
[and every 'when']. One who is every .'whereness' is joyous ('evemess'}.
[Conclusion: he is not alone but all-one or one-ail as 'I am' via omni-
awareness.] Lakshamanjoo revitalizes Tantra
'I am' [is] the Way,.the Truth and Life. John 14: 6
The way up and the way down is the very same way! [to thy own otherless
self.] Heraclitus
The undefinable omni-present is the 'way' called Tao. Tao is that which lets
now the dark, now the light. Lao-Tse
xviii
Pathfinders pointing the rare way for pathseekers
The sole object with which the Holy, blessed be He, sends man into this world
is: to know that Yahweh is the Elohim! [That is man's WAY.] Zohar Pt. II
There are [apart from the One Way] three ways which are too wonderful for
me, yea, four which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air; the way of a
serpent upon the rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea, and the way of
·a man with a maid. Prov. 30: 18, 19
Philo-sophia abducit et reducit. Bacon of Verulam
The essence oflife and nature, the secret of immortality cannot be found by dry
intellectual work and selfish desire: but only by touch of Ulidiluted life in
spontaneity of in-tuition. Lama Anagarika Govinda
Let him who seeks [the path] not cease seeking until he finds and when he
finds, he will be troubled, and when he has been troubled, he will marvel.
Gospel of Thomas
xix
Siegfried Hessing
SUMMUM BONUM
Yes, let us all marvel:
lonely or all-onely-together!
Whitehead points to the importance of
what man does with his aloneness!
How to escape from self-separation?
How to attain self-unification and be
again back in Eden with access to the
Tree of Life?
Yes, let us marvel
at the enigma of life!
Although unknowable, because unknowable,
it remains for ever so marvellous!
In messianic expansion of consciousness
exoteric knowledge, cognitio a/ius, will
tum into esoteric one, cognitio sui.
In messianic urge life and knowledge,
like self and other are not two, but a
pair-concept for the twoless self-same ONE!
. Kabbalists convince us:
it is the very same tree in the center of Eden.
Onlyforthose in exile it seems split:
Life versus knowledge or self against other.
Readmitted from Diaspora in the gathering
of longing re-turn home,
Pseudo-twoness, para-otherness becomes:
quasi-twoness, pseudo-otherness and quasiness
is revealing the salvation of Advaita.
Twolessness, otherlessness, one-allness, all-oneness!
One not a number but the countless indeterminate:
ratio sive causa vel sui vel alius!
'Vel' is a velum to veil the ECHAD ... !
Yahweh and the Elohim (are not two but)
is the very self-same, otherless ECHAD!
Le Chayim! To life or to Eden with nostalgia!
Le Daath! To knowledge or to death of deadening dichotomy:
of quasi-knower versus quasi-known.
Knowledge expelled us from Eden, keeps us in exile ...
is lifeless and never self-experienceable.
Life although unknowable is experience of omniality, with oceanic
feeling of the bubbling oceanic drop and
re-aware with cosmic-divine orgasm the ex-less
mystery of our 'X':
XX
Pathfinders pointing the rare way for pathseekers
z)O-¢L-.¢~-z)*
= {Yo·- -{?'x.- \Yoo- -{7':¢
INVITA LATINITATE
INVITA LINGUA
INVITA COGITATIONE
{Yx: v¢ =="'
xxi
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Prologue with Spinozana - parallels via
East and West
Siegfried Hessing, London
1
Siegfried Hessing
2
Prologue with Spinozana- parallels via East and West
grasp genesis via gnosis and gnosis via genesis. Sic! To study such a book as
the Ethics, sealed with concealed mysteries, for me was as if I looked beyond
myself; i.e. beyond my I-mindedness into my own unknown: circumscribed
best with causa sive ratio sui or the indeterminate.
Now, how to find the door, that magic door of direct perception or in-
tuition bypassing quasi-otherness per se via ex-tuition? How? Otherness is
only quasi-otherness, para-otherness soon becoming pseudo-otherness when
quasiness is not intuited and when one is ready to divide a quasi-perceiver and
quasi-perceived as though per se evolving into a double perseitas. Sic! I was
too eager and ready then to enter that door and face there my faceless face,
the egoless (and otherless) Self. Paul Reps 4 has introduced an immanent
experience via Zen flesh and bones and presents an odd and old text with 112
ways to open the invisible door of consciousness for direct self-experience.
And such doors are like gateless gates to marvel at.
As a rule, with such rare and marvellous exceptions, academics and priests,
both commanding 'ism' -infested keywords for fossilized dogmas can very
seldom provide a real key to such a real invisible door leading into such real
beyondness. Lacking self-experience, they cannot have any empirical ap-
proach, save only with a dia-'lectic' access to that door, while they themselves
are banned and exiled into the 'otherness' of words to disguise their failure
with dignity. They can never even attract true followers, apart from quoters
of their dogma, unless they show how they themselves were attracted to
accept self-confrontation with the riddle of the own, otherless unknown;
because they dare not avoid the deviations, via quasiness, of quasi-otherness
per seas salvation. One can only feel the challenge to become a follower, a
disciple, when seeing ·before oneself exemplary self-discipline driven by
unceasing fervour, inspiring an equal fervour to self-commitment and .to
self-involvement. Not a teacher himself; seeking refuge in the asylum of
imperatives: you (the 'other') should! Always you, but never I, never I, that
unique co(s)mic exception which so· freely accepts the universal exception as
the rule.
And now we are witnessing the. spiritual revival of the Cabbala and
alchemy alike, it becomes so convincingly clear when we see how all the misty
patchwork (which the lazy multitude takes for the real work, the magnum
opus) has been swept aside so that the basic essence could be heard and the
re-affirmation of every basic equal essence of teaching recognized. Fulcanelli,
the last living alchemist of our present time, has something to add to this
message. 1 was very glad that I was able to meet his pupil, Eugene Canseliet,
who not only published his master's manuscripts but continues to follow him
in his way. I was also glad to find here, on the same{p-)latitude that I live on,
the living commentator of Le Mystere des Cathedrales, Walter Lang in
alchemical disguise so to speak. A strong personality trying through his
universality to help diffuse the perennial hidden meaning .of alchemy better
3
Siegfried Hessing
than the specialists, who in their overzeal confuse us so often. The old
occult message of alchemy - unfortunately presented to Spinoza himself only
in the crass exoteric meaning then -was not to transmute common base metal
into common gold, but rather to point to such uncommon transmutation of
dualistically seen layers of consciousness. This becomes clear only when the
revivalists of alchemy dare to point openly to the oneness of experimenter
and the quasi-object of experimentation, which is the very same quasi-
otherness of self. Em-peiron means 'in the trial', i.e. of the self-committed with
the a-peiron. The worker identified with the work.
In my own contributions to this book l further expound how I was already
attracted via my own unknown or unconscious side to that famous text in
Spinoza's Ethics, namely to that
truth which some of the Hebrews appear to have seen as if through a
cloud, since they say that God, the Intellect, and the things which are the
objects of that Intellect are one and the same thing (2P7) (my italics).
Further, Spinoza finishes his Ethics with the dawn of liberation from self-
bondage when he points to the wise man who, when he becomes conscious of
himself, of God, and the world (of things: omnia animata) just crowns this
glorious leitmotif which has inspired Cabbalists and alchemists alike to
(otherless) self-experience. It is the self~realization of the all-oneness of God,
God's intellect and God's intellected world of quasi-otherness per se, i.e.
things or objects, so to speak. It took me years and years of seeking, and
seconds of enlightenment to discover the very same signposts pointing to that
occult or mysterious all-oneness or one-allness via quasi-otherness per se
which leads to the verification of that same: Know Thyself! Tat twam asi!
Such verification includes the self-identification with the 'ordo et connectio
idearum sive rerum'= 'causa siveratio (vel sui vel alius)'. And you? You are
not only you, but me, him, her, and it as well - but regrettably you do not
know it. You are not aware, self-aware of it 'as' you and 'in' you until self-
realization begins to dawn. Such signposts are to be found in the various
teachings ofthe East, but also in the Bsoterics ofthe Cabbala, such as Moses
Cordovero, to whom Spinoza makes some allusions as quoted above.
Among so many and often repetitive themes about Spinoza only a single
paper by David Kahana is to be found in Jean Preposiet's Bibliographie
Spinoziste (Paris, 1973), namely Moshe Qordobhero uBarukh Shpinoza, Ha
Shiloa, 1897, in Hebrew. No one would have thought then that Cordovero
had found re-affirmation via alchemy and the Cabbala and also via Eastern
doctrines of that magic all-oneness or one-allness to which I propose to
return later, in my own papers.
And Carlo Suares, in his revision of the Qabala using the newly discovered
key, points to the direct perception or identity of knower, known and know-
ing, and thus continues the rare way of Cordovero indeed with the main aim
4
Prologue with Spinozana -parallels via East and West
5
Siegfried Hessing
minate (a better word for void or no•'thingness'). And you, the quasi-
knowable (to others or quasi~others) and unquasi to yourself, you are always
in the no-man's land ofno-'where', no-'when', no-'why', as if on a universal
island called here and now. As an islander in the great ocean (with individual-
ized drops and waves per se or quasi-se) you as you could be tempted to think
that your unknowable must be known once at least, and therefore becomes
'knowable' to match your 'wishful'· expectations. This can 'happen' only when
you become 'it' or when you become aware that you 'are' it and have over-
looked or disregarded the cosmic identity which occurs on the 'way' of 'I
am'. Of every 'I am' it is said that it is the Way, the Truth and the Life. 'I
am' [is] the Way and no other, and this waits for you when you experience
for yourself such otherless-self-identity as self-realization. Then you 'know'
that you live in the oneness of 'I am' =Way= Truth= Life! Sic!
The mind is the author of all work and the body the sufferer of all ills.
Do not blame 'others' plaintively for what properly belongs to you!
So did Yoka Daishi attain enlightenment with such sudden in-sight in the
quasi-in-side of that 'I am', the otherless self, which is beyond any partisan-
ship. When you suddenly realize 'no otherness per se', then the dilemma of
the body-mind as a pair-concept is solved and dissolves the quasi-twoness
into oneness and indeed it becomes possible to live the indivisible wholeness
of life with no dichotomy whatever under the rule of causa sive ratio (alius).
In such a silence of self-awareness then the· 'Voice of Silence' reveals to you,
'that the mind is the great slayer of the real. Let the disciple slay the slayer!
The Psalmist tried in the very same way to captivate his own captivity (of
such discriminative thinking). One of the contributors to this third symposium,
Jon Wetlesen, remarkable in his field for his scholarly admiration of Spinoza,
nevertheless dares to point to the Achilles heel of reason and rational
approach of that which per se velpraeter causam sive rationem est, which is
still so fashionable in academic circles. I will come back to it later; but I must
say it reminds me of Martin Luther calling reason the 'great whore' perhaps
in rhyme with 'treason', betraying itself when absolutizing otherness per se.
What has Wetlesen to say? 6
It seems to me that when we approach the philosophy of Spinoza there
is always a certain danger ofbecoming overinvolved in the technical
apparatus of definitions, axioms, propositions, demonstrations, and so
forth. Our approach may easily become more intellectualistic or academic
than was intended by Spinoza himself.
Wetlesen will be glad to see how he echoes Lama Anagarika Govinda: 7
The use of logic in thought is as necessary and justified. as the use of
perspective in painting ""'" but only as a medium of expression, not as a
6
Prologue with Spinozana -parallels via East and West
7
Siegfried Hessing
8
Prologue with Spinozana -parallels via East and West
dust from Spinoza during the perennial scriptural approach, with no self-
approach as sincerely as Spinoza himself did it to himself.
Perhaps Saraha, the ancient poet, has the prosaic answer and remedy in
unprosaic capsules when he says: 1The world is enslaved by thought and no
one has known this non-thought.' 11 No one has known this non-form and
non-thought (form). It is the snb-stant, instant which is the basis of every
standing and every understanding of l and 1-mindedness. The world is
enslaved by purely intellectualistic or academic approaches (puzzling my
friend Wetlesen), excluding self-experience while including per se or per
qua.si-se via singular and dualistic discrimination of the indivisible wholeness.
Life demands the full surrender to direct experience of indiscrimination of
causa sive ratio sui sed non a/ius .. ..
And here, John Blofeld, another expert in Buddhism and Taoism (with no
bondage to any Western 'ism' involved) speaks along the very same lines:
I feel at once honoured and puzzled by your kind invitation to contribute
to a work on Spinoza. The truth is that I know nothing whatever about
him, beyond what the average schoolboy might be expected to know. I
have never read one of his works, having seldom taken much interest
in Western philosophy, which seems dry to me because confined to
speculations, usually based on certain assumptions and logical
processes derived from the Greek, which I believe to be invalid. Any
philosophy I may have acquired comes from living among Taoists and
Buddhists with but limited respect for the written word, who make of
their philosophy a way of life, so that it permeates not just their thought
but also their activities. In all I know, Spinoza may have been such a
man and thus a rare exception among philosophers reared in the European
tradition. So please accept my thanks for the honour you have done to
me and permit me to decline. I wish you all success with the book....
And when pointing to Spinoza as 'a rare exception among philosophers
reared in the European tradition', I ought to mention here the thoughts of
Lu K'uan Yii (also known as Charles Luk) who 'devotes himself to presenting
as many Chinese texts as possible so that Buddhism can be preserved in the
"Vest'. 12
I have not read the works of Spinoza but I have found in a book of
references this: 'Spinoza formulates one sole and infinite substance of
which extension and mind are attributes, all individual beings being
changing forms.' Larousse says this: 'Spinozisme: Systeme panth6isme
de Spinoza suivant lequel Dieu est une substance constituee par une
infinite d'attributs dont nous ne connaissons que deux: la pensee
et l'etendue. Le monde est !'ensemble des modes de ces deux attributs.
L'homme est une collection de modes de l'etendue et de la pensee. II
9
Siegfried Hessing
10
Prologue with Spinozana -parallels via East and West
It is true that there are points of contact between Spinoza and the little
known (up to now) and yet most influential rdzogs-chen teaching which
in certain respects resembles Spinoza's sub specie aeternitatis. I must
admit I do not know of any other work in Western Philosophy that can
come up to Spinoza's Ethics. Mter all, as Bertrand Russell said, Spinoza
is supreme in his Ethics. I do hope that with so much inhumanity around
its (i.e. your former Festschrift's) fate will be happier and certainly
some, and if they only be a few, will take renewed interest in one of the
greatest philosophers. ..•
Similar encouragement came from other contributors and non-contributors,
all admirers of Spinoza. Erich Fromm, although he was among the very first
of those willing and eager to join the ranks in offering their common homage
to Spinoza, unfortunately had to withdraw later because of a sudden and
serious illness, which prevented him against his own wish from fulfilling
.certain commitments involving physical activity. I, nevertheless feel, I must
mention how he replied to my inVitation with such great enthusiasm:
I appreciate your invitation to join the other authors in homage to
Spinoza, since my own thinking is to a considerable extent influenced by
Spinoza. Nothing could be more welcome than to honour him;.;.
Then from Huston Smith came the jubilant message about another Paul, this
time an apostle of Spinoza, who 'is bursting with enthusiasm for Spinoza by
way of having, he is convinced, unearthed new insights into the man by going
back to the Latin. 'The full name of this apostle is Paul Wienpahlfrom Santa
Barbara and he hopes to finish the apostolic task: 'to translate the entire
writings of Spinoza and commenting on them' by 1977. Indeed only. such
great enthusiasm can save Spinoza from .great fossilization of those who think
they do himfulljustice by storing him with other curious antiquities, covered
with archaeo'logical' dust and dirt instead of re-storing his timeless validity.
And these are the people who as co-witnesses will try to testify in the same
witness-box with me. The very same thing happened with the Cabbala when
Baron Spedalieri in 1884 (at a time when Cabbalist teaching was. so fashion-
able among scholars, Christian more than Jewish) declared boldly with
scholastic ignorance and arrogance alike, in accordance with the ancient
proverbial doctissima ignorantia13
I consider that from henceforth the study of the Cabbala will be
considered but an object of curiosity and erudition like that of Hebrew
Antiquities.
I hope this book will be a break with the merely scholastic (school-) master-
approach to the letter and the spirit of the letter rather than to the. spirit
itself: for both the Cabbala and for Spinoza. The spirit needs from time to time
Bss 11
Siegfried Hessing
My dear Siegfried, many thanks for having gone through such a job as
writing your very longletter of Nov. 2, 75. I am grateful and honoured.
And if you do mention my contribution to the Principle of
Indeterminacy, yes, that would point in the direction of one ofmy
'openings'. It would be valuable if you could say that that view results
directly from the original code of the letter-numbers (that came to be
used as a simple alphabet) as I discovered it. Because that is the original
code, without which the Bible, and particularly Genesis, is erroneously
read. The vernacular Hebrew is just mistaken as any other idiom.
Whereas the science of the structure. of cosmic energy, as revealed by
that original Qabala, is a factor of enlightenment of what Spinoza tried
to say without knowledge of that code. With that code, when we come to
read such combination of letter-numbers as Elohim and Yahweh, for
what they are: equations of different aspects. and processes of the one
and double cosmic energy, we throw a light on Spinoza that such
abstract metaphysicians as Jean Lacroix and other contributors will only
dim with their mental·and very complicated approach. Dear Siegfried, I
do not feel qualified to join your learned contributors, Ariy text I would
attempt to give you would first of all take me weeks of hard work, or
months - and my brain is exhausted beyond repair when such a job is
considered. And I must candidly tell you that Spinoza did what was
possible 300 years ago with the scientific method of that time. We are far
beyond it today and Spinoza will appear obsolete when treated by
metaphysicians and philosophers. I see that you have scientists in a flow
of metaphysics. But whatever you could·say in the way of modern
12
Prologue with Spinozana- parallels via East and West
13
Siegfried Hessing
14
Prologue with Spinozana -parallels via East and West
stancung can oruy and only suddenly take place today or 'this' day as if
coming with the Messiah (or you be-coming Him as not 'you' anymore).
This day will help to remove causal or rationalborders of a quasi-beginning
and quasi-ending; i.e. ofquasi~birth and quasi-death, which is not an expres-
sion of 'otherness per se', otherwise Echad per se would not deserve the name
of Echad. Not as a number but as the indeterminate, indefinite the unknown,
the ex-less 'X' =life.!'? Yes. Revelation reveals the magic of quasiness and
opens the vista of the so-called First Days, the same as the so-called Last
Days, when the prophet Elijah16 shall come to
'turn the heart of the fathers to the children and the heart of the
children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.'
(At the 'beginning' I said: 'My spirit shall not always dwell with man
because (in their body) it is only flesh' (and not spirit as in Me).
God speaks of turning the 'beginning' to reconnect it with the 'end' and vice
versa, and universa. He speaks of re-turning home to the original state of
indiscriminative thinking as before, or as beyond good and/or evil, which
means beyond eitherness =otherness, to let the human mind cling to the
alternating binary dichotomy which splits the whole into quasi-knower and
(another?) quasi-known via knowing.l'
The essence of mind belongs neither to death nor to rebirth; it is
uncreated and eternal. If the mind could be kept free from discriminative
thinking, there would be no more arbitrary thou.ghts to _give raise to
appearance of forms, existences and conditions.
The divine spirit- in Biblical language - will continue to dwell 'in' the human
mind and not become 'flesh' or body per se divided from mind per se as if two
per se: Yahweh per se and Elohim per se. 'Natura natunms per se and
natura naturata per se', to use SpinoZa's wording for it. Idea per se and
ideatum per se or 'knower' per se and 'known' per se divided and separated by
he pseudo-assumption ofotherness (per se).1s
Omnia sunt Deus. Deus est omnia. Creator et creatura idem. Ideae
creant et creantur. Deus ideo dicitur finis omnium, quod omnia
reversura sunt in ipsum, ut in Deo immutabiliter conquiescant, et unum
individuum atque incommutabile permanebunt. Et sicut alterius naturae
non est Abraham, alterius Isac, sed unius atque ejusdem: sic dixit:
omnia esse unum et omnia esse deum. Dixit enim. Deum esse essentiam
omnium creaturarum.
In the newly found Spinoza letter one finds for· the very first time Spinoza
speaking of the identity of father and son, in order to ponder on it and on its
connecting link via the Cabbala.
Among Spinozists, I found the enthusiastic Paul Wienoahl was attracted
15
Siegfried Hessing
16
Prologue with Spino-zana -parallels via East and West
while there are still voices to be heard or re-heard with fresh and unnoticed
attraction between Spinoza and Cabbala. When speaking of 'Kabbalah
To-day' I must mention Herbert Weiner. 19 He brings Rav Kook's teaching
nearer to us and connects us also with Rabbi Nachman's message, not only to
transcend man's ephemeral existence and existential awareness (just at a
time when Transcendental Meditation entered the scene of man's need for
help!), he also re-opened the (Closed or blocked) door to perception: to man's
direct (otherless) perception of his own unknown while ignqring or not know-
ing of Suares. While Timothy Leary tried to 'turn' on .from outside that
closed door, Jewish Esotericism had the key to safe 're-turn' as if coming
home safely from cosmic orbit when traversing the same path of the quasi-
universe or inner multi-verse with multi-dimensional consciousness ....
'That burning thirst for inner substance' that matters so much when
followed by the 'vision that transcends [in Kook's words] the sur-face of
existence'. All that waits to be experienced as yearning for salvation, not bY
brooding over scholastic scholarly definitions with dangerous dialectic
acrobatics talking one 'in' or 'out' of an itching problem with no remedy at
all against itching other than by scratching, and scratching with the consola-
tion of healing. This yearning is such longing to expand innerness and its self-
awareness of the many mansions of the Lord, now called multi-dimensional-
ity and by Spinoza calledin:finite attributes self-attributing infinite or absolute
infinity leading to 'essendi fruitio' and 'experientia essendi sive aeternita-
tis' .... Sic! That is to express our own absolute infinity as oo 00• • • • Such
longing becomes stronger when men are disappointed with lifeless philo-
sophizing, called by Spinoza Cabbalistae.nugatores 20 and it provoked Rabbi
Moses of Bourgos to exclaim about nugatores philosophici:
where you philosophers are at an end, there we (the true Cabbalists)
are only to begin,
namely to begin to pomt the way (ot direct otherless perception) in order to
experience that otherless riddle· of: Know Thyself!"Transcending egomorph-
6us limitations must lead to the expansion of consciousness as predicted by
Spinoza for the wise man, not only
to be conscious of himself, but also of God and of the world fof a
multiplicity ofthings].
The grand cosmic~divine consciousness is equated with a quasi-co-conscious-
ness on three levels, aspects or dimensions. This in accordance with
Cordovero does point to the experienceable identity of God, God's Intellect
and (the quasi-intellected) objects. Thus the infinite intellect is the infinite
quasi-knower identical with the infinite quasi-known via infinite knowing.
Ergo intellectus sui or causa sui like ratio sui, like existentia sui (equal with
eternity!) sine alio. Here we would recognize Cordovero, Cabbala and
Spinoza, all of them blending with and paralleled by the East.
17
Siegfried Hessing
18
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the most deeply are often the least capable of expressing their
feelings, and a speechless tongue is with them the result of a full
heart. Besides, you are sure to be repaid for a good action at some
time or another. Like seed sown in the Nile, “the bread cast upon the
waters,” it may not come back to you for many days, but come back
at last it most certainly will. Would you like your change in silver or in
gold? Will you have it in a few graceful, well-chosen expressions, or
in the sterling coin of silent love with its daily thoughts and nightly
prayers; or, better still even than these, will you waive your claim to it
down here, and have it carried to your account above? I am
supposing yours is not one of those natures which have arrived at
the highest, the noblest type of benevolence, and give their gold
neither for silver nor for copper, but freely without return at all. To
these I can offer no encouragement, no advice. Their grapes are
ripened, their harvest is yellow, the light is already shining on them
from the golden hills of heaven.
CHAPTER VI
A DAY THAT IS DEAD
I have been burning old letters to-night; their ashes are fluttering in
the chimney even now; and, alas! while they consume, fleeting and
perishable like the moments they record, “each dying ember” seems
to have “wrought its ghost” upon my heart. Oh! that we could either
completely remember or completely forget. Oh! that the image of
Mnemosyne would remain close enough for us to detect the flaws in
her imperishable marble, or that she would remove herself so far as
to be altogether out of sight. It is the golden haze of “middle
distance” that sheds on her this warm and tender light. She is all the
more attractive that we see her through a double veil of retrospection
and regret, none the less lovely because her beauty is dimmed and
softened in a mist of tears.
Letter after letter they have flared, and blackened, and shrivelled
up. There is an end of them—they are gone. Not a line of those
different handwritings shall I ever see again. The bold, familiar
scrawl of the tried friend and more than brother; why does he come
back to me so vividly to-night? The stout heart, the strong arm, the
brave, kind face, the frank and manly voice. We shall never tread the
stubble nor the heather side by side again; never more pull her up
against the stream, nor float idly down in the hot summer noons to
catch the light air off the water on our heated faces; to discourse, like
David and Jonathan, of all and everything nearest our hearts. Old
friend! old friend! wherever you are, if you have consciousness you
must surely sometimes think of me; I have not forgotten you. I
cannot believe you have forgotten me even there.
And the pains-taking, up-and-down-hill characters of the little child
—the little child for whom the angels came so soon, yet found it
ready to depart, whose fever-wasted lips formed none but words of
confidence and affection, whose blue eyes turned their last dim,
dying looks so fondly on the face it loved.
And there were letters harder to part with than these. Never mind,
they are burnt and done with; letters of which even the superscription
once made a kind heart leap with pleasure so intense it was almost
pain; letters crossed and re-crossed in delicate, orderly lines, bearing
the well-known cipher, breathing the well-known perfume, telling the
old, false tale in the old, false phrases, so trite and worn-out, yet
seeming always so fresh and new.
The hand that formed them has other tasks to occupy it now; the
heart from which they came is mute and cold. Hope withers, love
dies—times are altered. What would you have? It is a world of
change. Nevertheless this has been a disheartening job; it has put
me in low spirits; I must call “Bones” out of his cupboard to come and
sit with me.
“What is this charm,” I ask him, “that seems to belong so
exclusively to the past?—this ‘tender grace of a day that is dead’?
and must I look after it down the gulf into which it has dropped with
such irrepressible longing only because it will never come back to
me? Is a man the greater or wiser that he lived a hundred years ago
or a thousand? Are reputations, like wine, the mellower and the more
precious for mere age, even though they have been hid away in a
cellar all the time? Is a thing actually fairer and better because I have
almost forgotten how it looked when present, and shall never set
eyes on it again? I entertain the greatest aversion to Horace’s
laudator temporis acti, shall always set my face against the
superstition that ‘there were giants in those days’; and yet wherever I
went in the world previous to my retirement here that I might live with
you, I found the strange maxim predominate, that everything was
very much better before it had been improved!
“If I entered a club and expressed my intention of going to the
Opera, for instance, whatever small spark of enthusiasm I could
kindle was submitted to a wet blanket on the spot. ‘Good heavens!’
would exclaim some venerable philosopher of the Cynic and
Epicurean schools, ‘there is no opera now, nor ballet neither. My
good sir, the thing is done; it’s over. We haven’t an artist left. Ah! you
should have seen Taglioni dance; you should have heard Grisi sing;
you should have lived when Plancus was consul. In short, you
should be as old as I am, and as disgusted, and as gouty, and as
disagreeable!’
“Or I walked into the smoking-room of that same resort, full of
some athletic gathering at Holland Park, some ’Varsity hurdle-race,
some trial of strength or skill amongst those lively boys, the
subalterns of the Household Brigade; and ere I could articulate
‘brandy and soda’ I had Captain Barclay thrown body and bones in
my face. ‘Walk, sir! You talk of walking?’ (I didn’t, for there had been
barely time to get a word in edgeways, or my parable would have
exhausted itself concerning a running high leap.) ‘But there is
nothing like a real pedestrian left; they don’t breed ’em, sir, in these
days: can’t grow them, and don’t know how to train them if they
could! Show me a fellow who would make a match with Barclay to-
day. Barclay, sir, if he were alive, would walk all your best men down
after he came in from shooting. Ask your young friends which of ’em
would like to drive the mail from London to Edinburgh without a
greatcoat! I don’t know what’s come to the present generation. It
must be the smoking, or the light claret, perhaps. They’re done,
they’re used up, they’re washed out. Why, they go to covert by
railway, and have their grouse driven to them on a hill! What would
old Sir Tatton or Osbaldeston say to such doings as these? I was at
Newmarket, I tell you, when the Squire rode his famous match—two
hundred miles in less than nine hours! I saw him get off old Tranby,
and I give you my honour the man looked fresher than the horse!
Don’t tell me. He was rubbed down by a couple of prize-fighters
(there were real bruisers in those days, and the best man used to
win), dressed, and came to dinner just as you would after a five-mile
walk. Pocket Hercules, you call him—one in a thousand? There were
hundreds of such men in my day. Why, I recollect in Tom Smith’s
time that I myself——’
“But at this point I used to make my escape, because there are
two subjects on which nobody is so brilliant as not to be prolix, so
dull as not to be enthusiastic—his doings in the saddle and his
adventures with the fair. To honour either of these triumphs he blows
a trumpet-note loud and long in proportion to the antiquity of the
annals it records. Why must you never again become possessed of
such a hunter as Tally-Ho? Did that abnormal animal really carry you
as well as you think, neither failing when the ground was deep nor
wavering when the fences were strong? Is it strictly true that no day
was ever too long for him? that he was always in the same field with
the hounds? And have not the rails he rose at, the ditches he
covered so gallantly, increased annually in height and depth and
general impossibility ever since that fatal morning when he broke his
back, under the Coplow in a two-foot drain?
“You can’t find such horses now? Perhaps you do not give them
so liberal a chance of proving their courage, speed, and endurance.
“On the other topic it is natural enough, I dare say, for you to ‘yarn’
with all the more freedom that there is no one left to contradict.
People used enormous coloured silk handkerchiefs in that remote
period, when you threw yours with such Oriental complacency, and
the odalisques who picked it up are probably to-day so old and stiff
they could not bend their backs to save their lives. But were they
really as fond, and fair, and faithful as they seem to you now? Had
they no caprices to chill, no whims to worry, no rivals on hand, to
drive you mad? Like the sea, those eyes that look so deep and blue
at a distance, are green and turbid and full of specks when you come
quite close. Was it all sunshine with Mary, all roses with Margaret, all
summer with Jane? What figures the modern women make of
themselves, you say. How they offend your eye, those bare cheek-
bones, those clinging skirts, those hateful chignons! Ah! the cheeks
no longer hang out a danger-signal when you approach; the skirts
are no more lifted, ever such a little, to make room for you in the
corner of the sofa next the fire; and though you might have had locks
of hair enough once to have woven a parti-coloured chignon of your
own, it would be hopeless now to beg as much as would make a
finger-ring for Queen Mab. What is it, I say, that causes us to look
with such deluded eyes on the past? Is it sorrow or malice,
disappointment or regret? Are our teeth still on edge with the sour
grapes we have eaten or forborne? Do we glower through the
jaundiced eyes of malevolence, or is our sight failing with the shades
of a coming night?”
Bones seldom delivers himself of his opinion in a hurry. “I think,”
he says very deliberately, “that this, like many other absurdities of
human nature, originates in that desire for the unattainable which is,
after all, the mainspring of effort, improvement, and approach
towards perfection. Man longs for the impossible, and what is so
impossible as the past? That which hath vanished becomes
therefore valuable, that which is hidden attractive, that which is
distant desirable. There is a strange lay still existing by an old
Provençal troubadour, no small favourite with iron-handed, lion-
hearted King Richard, of which the refrain, ‘so far away,’ expresses
very touchingly the longing for the absent, perhaps only because
absent, that is so painful, so human, and so unwise. The whole story
is wild and absurd to a degree, yet not without a saddened interest,
owing to the mournful refrain quoted above. It is thus told in the
notes to Warton’s History of English Poetry:—
“‘Jeffrey Rudell, a famous troubadour of Provence, who is also
celebrated by Petrarch, had heard from the adventurers in the
Crusades the beauty of a Countess of Tripoli highly extolled. He
became enamoured from imagination, embarked for Tripoli, fell sick
on the voyage through the fever of expectation, and was brought on
shore at Tripoli, half-expiring. The countess, having received the
news of the arrival of this gallant stranger, hastened to the shore and
took him by the hand. He opened his eyes, and at once overpowered
by his disease and her kindness, had just time to say inarticulately
that having seen her he died satisfied. The countess made him a
most splendid funeral, and erected to his memory a tomb of porphyry
inscribed with an epitaph in Arabian verse. She commanded his
sonnets to be richly copied and illuminated with letters of gold, was
seized with a profound melancholy, and turned nun. I will endeavour
to translate one of the sonnets he made on his voyage, “Yret et
dolent m’en partray,” etc. It has some pathos and sentiment. “I
should depart pensive but for this love of mine so far away, for I
know not what difficulties I may have to encounter, my native land
being so far away. Thou who hast made all things and who formed
this love of mine so far away, give me strength of body, and then I
may hope to see this love of mine so far away. Surely my love must
be founded on true merit, as I love one so far away. If I am easy for a
moment, yet I feel a thousand pains for her who is so far away. No
other love ever touched my heart than this for her so far away. A
fairer than she never touched any heart, either so near or so far
away.’”
“It is utter nonsense, I grant you, and the doings of this love-sick
idiot seem to have been in character with his stanzas, yet is there a
mournful pathos about that wailing so far away which, well-worded,
well-set, and well-performed, would make the success of a drawing-
room song.
“If the Countess of Tripoli, who seems also to have owned a
susceptible temperament, had been his cousin and lived next door,
he would probably not have admired her the least, would certainly
never have wooed her in such wild and pathetic verse; but he gave
her credit for all the charms that constituted his own ideal of
perfection, and sickened even to death for the possession of his
distant treasure, simply and solely because it was so far away!
“What people all really love is a dream. The stronger the
imagination the more vivid the phantom that fills it; but on the other
hand, the waking is more sudden and more complete. If I were a
woman instead of a—a—specimen, I should beware how I set my
heart upon a man of imagination, a quality which the world is apt to
call genius, with as much good sense as there would be in
confounding the sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil with the blacksmith
himself. Such a man takes the first doll that flatters him, dresses her
out in the fabrications of his own fancy, falls down and worships, gets
bored, and gets up, pulls the tinsel off as quick as he put it on; being
his own he thinks he may do what he likes with it, and finds any
other doll looks just as well in the same light and decked with the
same trappings. Narcissus is not the only person who has fallen in
love with the reflection, or what he believed to be the reflection, of
himself. Some get off with a ducking, some are drowned in sad
earnest for their pains.
“Nevertheless, as the French philosopher says, ‘There is nothing
so real as illusion.’ The day that is dead has for men a more actual, a
more tangible, a more vivid identity than the day that exists, nay,
than the day as yet unborn. One of the most characteristic and
inconvenient delusions of humanity is its incapacity for enjoyment of
the present. Life is a journey in which people are either looking
forward or looking back. Nobody has the wisdom to sit down for half-
an-hour in the shade listening to the birds overhead, examining the
flowers underfoot. It is always ‘How pleasant it was yesterday! What
fun we shall have to-morrow!’ Never ‘How happy we are to-day!’ And
yet what is the past, when we think of it, but a dream vanished into
darkness—the future but an uncertain glimmer that may never
brighten into dawn?
“It is strange how much stronger in old age than in youth is the
tendency to live in the hereafter. Not the real hereafter of another
world, but the delusive hereafter of this. Tell a lad of eighteen that he
must wait a year or two for anything he desires very eagerly, and he
becomes utterly despondent of attaining his wish; but an old man of
seventy is perfectly ready to make arrangements or submit to
sacrifices for his personal benefit to be rewarded in ten years’ time or
so, when he persuades himself he will still be quite capable of
enjoying life. The people who purchase annuities, who plant trees,
who breed horses for their own riding are all past middle age.
Perhaps they have seen so many things brought about by waiting,
more particularly when the deferred hope had caused the sick
heart’s desire to pass away, that they have resolved for them also
must be ‘a good time coming,’ if only they will have patience and
‘wait a little longer.’ Perhaps they look forward because they cannot
bear to look back. Perhaps in such vague anticipations they try to
delude their own consciousness, and fancy that by ignoring and
refusing to see it they can escape the inevitable change. After all,
this is the healthiest and most invigorating practice of the two.
Something of courage seems wanting in man or beast when either is
continually looking back. To the philosopher ‘a day that is dead’ has
no value but for the lesson it affords; to the rest of mankind it is
inestimably precious for the unaccountable reason that it can never
come again.”
“Be it so,” I answered; “let me vote in the majority. I think with the
fools, I honestly confess, but I have also a theory of my own on this
subject, which I am quite prepared to hear ridiculed and despised.
My supposition is that ideas, feelings, delusions, name them how
you will, recur in cycles, although events and tangible bodies, such
as we term realities, must pass away. I cannot remember in my life
any experience that could properly be called a new sensation. When
in a position of which I had certainly no former knowledge I have
always felt a vague, dreamy consciousness that something of the
same kind must have happened to me before. Can it be that my soul
has existed previously, long ere it came to tenant this body that it is
so soon about to quit? Can it be that its immortality stretches both
ways, as into the future so into the past? May I not hope that in the
infinity so fitly represented by a circle, the past may become the
future as the future most certainly must become the past, and the
day that is dead, to which I now look back so mournfully, may rise
again newer, fresher, brighter than ever in the land of the morning
beyond that narrow paltry gutter which we call the grave?” I waited
anxiously for his answer. There are some things we would give
anything to know, things on which certainty would so completely alter
all our ideas, our arrangements, our hopes, and our regrets. Ignorant
of the coast to which we are bound, its distance, its climate, and its
necessities, how can we tell what to pack up and what to leave
behind? To be sure, regarding things material, we are spared all
trouble of selection; but there is yet room for much anxiety
concerning the outfit of the soul. For the space of a minute he
seemed to ponder, and when he did speak, all he said was this—
“I know, but I must not tell,” preserving thereafter an inflexible
silence till it was time to go to bed.
CHAPTER VII
THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK
We are all looking for it; shall we ever find it? Can it be cultivated in
hothouses by Scotch head-gardeners with high wages and Doric
accent? or shall we come upon it accidentally, peeping through
green bulrushes, lurking in tangled woodlands, or perched high on
the mountain’s crest, far above the region of grouse and heather,
where the ptarmigan folds her wings amongst the silt and shingle in
the clefts of the bare grey rock? We climb for it, we dive for it, we
creep for it on our belly, like the serpent, eating dust to any amount
in the process; but do we ever succeed in plucking such a specimen
as, according to our natures, we can joyfully place in our hats for
ostentation or hide under our waistcoats for true love?
Do you remember Sir Walter Scott’s humorous poem called the
“Search after Happiness”? Do you remember how that Eastern
monarch who strove to appropriate the shirt of a contented man
visited every nation in turn till he came to Ireland, the native soil
indeed of all the shamrock tribe; how his myrmidons incontinently
assaulted one of the “bhoys” whose mirthful demeanour raised their
highest hopes, and how
Mankind has been hunting the four-leaved shamrock from the very
earliest times on record. I believe half the legends of mythology, half
the exploits of history, half the discoveries of science, originate in the
universal search. Jason was looking for it with his Argonauts when
he stumbled on the Golden Fleece; Columbus sailed after it in the
track of the setting sun, scanning that bare horizon of an endless
ocean, day after day, with sinking heart yet never-failing courage, till
the land-weeds drifting round his prow, the land-birds perching on his
spars, brought him their joyous welcome from the undiscovered
shore; Alexander traversed Asia in his desire for it; Cæsar dashed
through the Rubicon in its pursuit; Napoleon well-nigh grasped it
after Austerlitz, but the frosts and fires of Moscow shrivelled it into
nothing ere his hand could close upon the prize. To find it, sages
have ransacked their libraries, adepts exhausted their alembics,
misers hoarded up their gold. It is not twined with the poet’s bay-
leaves, nor is it concealed in the madman’s hellebore. People have
been for it to the Great Desert, the Blue Mountains, the Chinese
capital, the interior of Africa, and returned empty-handed as they
went. It abhors courts, camps, and cities; it strikes no root in palace
nor in castle; and if more likely to turn up in a cottage-garden, who
has yet discovered the humble plot of ground on which it grows?
Nevertheless, undeterred by warning, example, and the
experience of repeated failures, human nature relaxes nothing of its
persevering quest. I have seen a dog persist in chasing swallows as
they skimmed along the lawn; but then the dog had once caught a
wounded bird, and was therefore acting on an assured and tried
experience of its own. If you or I had ever found one four-leaved
shamrock, we should be justified in cherishing a vague hope that we
might some day light upon another.
The Knights of the Round Table beheld with their own eyes that
vision of the Holy Vessel, descending in their midst, which scattered
those steel-clad heroes in all directions on the adventure of the
Sangreal; but perhaps the very vows of chivalry they had registered,
the very exploits they performed, originated with that restless longing
they could not but acknowledge in common with all mankind for
possession of the four-leaved shamrock.
Oh! those lilting stanzas of Sir Walter’s, how merrily they ring on
one’s ear, like the clash of steel, the jingling of bridles, or the
measured cadence of a good steed’s stride! We can fancy ourselves
spurring through the mêlée after the “selfless stainless” king, or
galloping with him down the grassy glades of Lyonesse on one of his
adventurous quests for danger, honour, renown—and—the four-
leaved shamrock.
Obviously it did not grow in the tilt-yards at Caerleon or the palace
gardens of Camelot; nay, he had failed to find it in the posy lovely
Guenevere wore on her bosom. Alas! that even Launcelot, the flower
of chivalry, the brave, the courteous, the gentle, the sorrowing and
the sinful, must have sought for it there in vain.
Everybody begins life with a four-leaved shamrock in view, an
ideal of his own, that he follows up with considerable wrong-
headedness to the end. Such fiction has a great deal to answer for in
the way of disappointment, dissatisfaction, and disgust. Many
natures find themselves completely soured and deteriorated before
middle age, and why? Because, forsooth, they have been through
the garden with no better luck than their neighbours. I started in
business, we will say, with good connections, sufficient capital, and
an ardent desire to make a fortune. Must I be a saddened, morose,
world-wearied man because, missing that unaccountable rise in
muletwist, and taking the subsequent fall in grey shirtings too late, I
have only realised a competency, while Bullion, who didn’t want it,
made at least twenty thou.? Or I wooed Fortune as a soldier, fond of
the profession, careless of climate, prodigal of my person, ramming
my head wherever there was a chance of having it knocked off,
“sticking to it like a leech, sir; never missing a day’s duty, by Jove!
while other fellows were getting on the staff, shooting up the country,
or going home on sick leave.” So I remain nothing but an overworked
field-officer, grim and grey, with an enlarged liver, and more red in my
nose than my cheeks, while Dawdle is a major-general commanding
in a healthy district, followed about by two aides-de-camp, enjoying a
lucrative appointment with a fair chance of military distinction. Shall I
therefore devote to the lowest pit of Acheron the Horse Guards, the
War Office, H.R.H. the Commander-in-Chief, and the service of Her
Majesty the Queen? How many briefless barristers must you multiply
to obtain a Lord Chancellor, or even a Chief Baron? How many
curates go to a bishop? How many village practitioners to a
fashionable doctor in a London-built brougham? Success in every
line, while it waits, to a certain extent, on perseverance and capacity,
partakes thus much in the nature of a lottery, that for one prize there
must be an incalculable number of blanks.
I will not go so far as to say that you should abstain from the liberal
professions of arts or arms, that you should refrain from taking your
ticket in the lottery, or in any way rest idly in mid-stream, glad to
“Loose the sail, shift the oar, let her float down,
Fleeting and gliding by tower and town;”
but I ask you to remember that the marshal’s baton can only be in
one conscript’s knapsack out of half a million; that wigs and mitres,
and fees every five minutes, fall only to one in ten thousand; that
although everybody has an equal chance in the lottery, that chance
may be described as but half a degree better than the cipher which
represents zero.
There is an aphorism in everybody’s mouth about the man who
goes to look for a straight stick in the wood. Hollies, elms, oaks,
ashes, and alders he inspects, sapling after sapling, in vain. This one
has a twist at the handle, that bends a little towards the point; some
are too thick for pliancy, some too thin for strength. Several would do
very well but for the abundant variety that affords a chance of finding
something better. Presently he emerges at the farther fence, having
traversed the covert from end to end, but his hands are still empty,
and he shakes his head, thinking he may have been over-fastidious
in his choice. A straight stick is no easier to find than would be a
four-leaved shamrock.
The man who goes to buy a town house or rent a place in the
country experiences the same difficulty. Up-stairs and down-stairs he
travels, inspecting kitchen-ranges, sinks and sculleries, attics,
bedrooms, boudoirs, and housemaids’ closets, till his legs ache, his
brain swims, and his temper entirely gives way. In London, if the
situation is perfect, there is sure to be no servants’ hall, or the
accommodation below-stairs leaves nothing to be desired, but he
cannot undertake to reside so far from his club. These difficulties
overcome, he discovers the butler’s pantry is so dark no servant of
that fastidious order will consent to stay with him a week. In the
country, if the place is pretty the neighbourhood may be
objectionable: the rent is perhaps delightfully moderate, but he must
keep up the grounds and pay the wages of four gardeners. Suitable
in every other respect, he cannot get the shooting; or if no such
drawbacks are to be alleged, there is surely a railway through the
park, and no station within five miles. Plenty of shamrocks grow, you
see, of the trefoil order, green, graceful, and perfectly symmetrical. It
is that fourth leaf he looks for, which creates all his difficulties.
The same with the gentleman in search of a horse, the same with
Cœlebs in search of a wife. If the former cannot be persuaded to put
up with some little drawback of action, beauty, or temper, he will
never know that most delightful of all partnerships, the sympathy
existing between a good horseman and his steed. If the latter
expects to find a perfection really exist, which he thinks he has
discovered while dazzled by the glamour surrounding a man in love,
he deserves to be disappointed, and he generally is. Rare, rare
indeed are the four-leaved shamrocks in either sex; thrice happy
those whom Fate permits to win and wear them even for a day!
What is it we expect to find? In this matter of marriage more than
in any other our anticipations are so exorbitant that we cannot be
surprised if our “come-down” is disheartening in proportion.
(How Sir Walter runs in my head to-night.) Yes, she must be all this,
and possess a thousand other good qualities, many more than are
enumerated by Iago, so as never to descend for a moment from the
pedestal on which her baron has set her up. Is this indulgent? is it
even reasonable? Can he expect any human creature to be always
dancing on the tight-rope? Why is Lady Triermain not to have her
whims, her temper, her fits of ill-humour, like her lord? She must not
indeed follow his example and relieve her mind by swearing “a good,
round, mouth-filling oath,” therefore she has the more excuse for
feeling at times a little captious, a little irritable, what she herself calls
a little cross. Did he expect she was an angel? Well, he often called
her one, nay, she looks like it even now in that pretty dress, says my
lord, and she smiles through her tears, putting her white arms round
his neck so fondly that he really believes he has found what he
wanted till they fall out again next time.
Men are very hard in the way of exaction on those they love. All
“take” seems their motto, and as little “give” as possible. If they
would but remember the golden rule and expect no more than
should be expected from themselves, it might be a better world for
everybody. I have sometimes wondered in my own mind whether
women do not rather enjoy being coerced and kept down. I have
seen them so false to a kind heart, and so fond of a cruel one. Are
they slaves by nature, do you conceive, or only hypocrites by
education? I suppose no wise man puzzles his head much on that
subject. They are all incomprehensible and all alike!
“How unjust!” exclaims Bones, interrupting me with more vivacity
than usual. “How unsupported an assertion, how sweeping an
accusation, how unfair, how unreasonable, and how like a man! Yes,
that is the way with every one of you; disappointed in a single
instance, you take refuge from your own want of judgment, your own
mismanagement, your own headlong stupidity, in the condemnation
of half the world! You open a dozen oysters, and turn away
disgusted because you have not found a pearl. You fall an easy prey
to the first woman who flatters you, and plume yourself on having
gained a victory without fighting a battle. The fortress so easily won
is probably but weakly garrisoned, and capitulates ere long to a fresh
assailant. When this has happened two or three times, you veil your
discomfiture under an affectation of philosophy and vow that women
are all alike, quoting perhaps a consolatory scrap from Catullus—
His lordship, you observe, who can himself write Latin lyrics as
though he had drunk with Augustus, and capped verses with Ovid,
makes the second syllable of Albunea long, and a very diffuse
argument might be held on this disputed quantity. Compare these
with the original, and say which you like best—