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LETTER XXXII
JUDAS AND TYPHON
I
have spoken of the crucifixion through which the soul of the race is passing.
Now I want to speak of the Judas who betrayed that race for thirty pieces of
silver.
Reader of this book, whether you are a Jew, a
Christian, a Hindoo or a Mahometan, if you know anything at all about the
initiatory process of the soul, you must know that the gospel drama––be it
historical or legendary, whichever way you choose to take it––is a faithful
dramatization of the process of initiation.
And in that process the betrayal of Judas is an
inevitable part. Without it, the cup of bitterness would not be full, and the
cup of bitterness must be full for the soul of the race, the soul of the
individual, the soul of the Christ.
“My Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?” has
been on the lips of many a mangled soldier on this awful Calvary of the race.
The heavy cross has been bourne all through the
toilsome months of the journey from Autumn to Spring, and now in the April time
the race has been nailed to the cross for the agony. The crown of thorns is on
the bleeding brows, the nails have pierced the hands and feet, the cup of
vinegar has been offered, and now on a million lips is the cry, “Eloi, Eloi,
lama Sabachthani!”
The betrayal of Judas was inevitable, as the
deed of Typhon was inevitable. Had it not been for Judas, the story would not be
complete. Had it not been for the act of Typhon in slaying Osiris, Horus the Son
could not have arisen.
And yet in the face of this I stand here––safe
behind the veil of the invisible, as some objectors will say––and advise the
world to soften the awful punishment of Judas, so far as lies in its power. For
did not that One himself say upon the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do”?
Nothing in the Sermon on the Mount,
nothing in the sacred records of the East, nothing in the archives of the whole
world can compare with those ten words for grandeur and spiritual significance:
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!”
They who now sin against the race, indeed know
not what they do. They are drunk with the rage of destruction, maddened
by the subconscious of their own guilt; but what they do they cannot
know. Only the initiate souls among the Germans even vaguely know what Germany
has done.
And yet I say, forgive and pity them; for their
office is a terrible one, and their suffering will be great.
Fear not, when your blood relations are slain
by thousands, and when you feel yourself also slain by spiritual participation,
the good must triumph in the end, because the race is on its upward
journey. Its blood is not spilled in vain.
Did the human race not know, when it gave the
sop to Germany in the last conclave, that it was Germany who would betray it?
The race knew.
And in that awful July the subconscious selves
of men knew in their sleep that the terrible trial was at hand. Do you remember?
In many a sensitive soul that drama was pre-enacted, before it was enacted on
this Calvary of the nations.
That Germany would betray the world was written
in the soul of Germany; but if the world should hate her with a continuing hate
for that betrayal, it would be a sore in the heart of the human race which would
ache for a thousand years. “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they
do.”
To admit the necessity of evil in the cosmic
scheme is not to condone evil. To forgive the sinner is not to minimize the sin.
It is because of the inability of the undeveloped mind to grasp the awful law of
the balance of forces that the Guardians of the sacred knowledge have
been so reticent in their public utterances.
“It must needs be that offenses come; but woe
to that man by whom the offense cometh,” has been repeated in thousands of
churches; but the latter half of the sentence has been understood far better
than the first half, “It must needs be that offenses come.”
Being what she is, Germany could not help
betraying the race to this crucifixion. It was written that the human race would
be betrayed, and no nation could have done it but Germany.
Typhon was obliged to slay Osiris, by the very
law of his being. And now Isis, the great Mother, the Womanhood of the world,
wanders wailing up and down seeking for the fragments of the body of her
husband.
On the battle line for a thousand miles those
fragments are scattered. Isis is indeed widowed.
And as man is the type of the great Archetype,
so one man stands this day as the type of the Betrayer, and that man is
Wilhelm of Germany.
The disease which long has eaten at his brain,
a contributory cause of his ego-mania, was the vulnerable spot, the spot
unguarded between the lamps of the magic circle of Europe, where the evil forces
found entrance. Verily, it shall be woe to him by whom this offense has come!
And in saying that the world must not hate the
nation which Evil has used as its servant, I am not advising sentimental
weakness in the final closing of this account. The world for its own protection
must make it impossible that Germany should ever repeat this betrayal. The
details I leave to the specialists, being a modest ghost, and speaking from my
safe retreat behind the veil of the invisible.
April 27.
Letter XXXIII
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