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Contents |
THE SEVEN PURPOSES
Chapter V
As has been said, our invisible friends have
seemed somewhat hazy in their perceptions of
time and place and of mundane details gen-
erally, and they have shown no inclination to
concern themselves with our trivial personal
affairs. When pressed for specific statements
about small details, their replies have been
sometimes in exact accordance with the fact
as we have perceived it, sometimes not, but
they have rarely diverged widely from the
truth. In the larger matters directly related
to spiritual unity and growth they have
been correct, as when Mary K. explicitly
stated, March 23d (already quoted), that
the German offensive then in progress and
up to that time successful would ultimately
fail.
On one occasion, apropos of certain questions
her husband had asked, Mary Kendal said:
"We are not here to satisfy intellectual or any
other kind of curiosity. If we were not sure
you would use this information for construc-
tion, we wouldn't fuss about it—except you [188]
and I, Manzie."
Several times during March and April, how-
ever, Mary K. gave me correct and specific
information about various minor affairs, and
these incidents are mentioned here because I
have been asked repeatedly whether such
statements had been made and verified, rather
than because undue importance is attached to
them.
For example, hastening to an appointment
one morning (March 29th), I carelessly left
my muff in a taxicab. Discovering the loss an
hour later, I telephoned to the cab company,
to be told that no report had been received
from the cabman, but that they would try to
locate him at one of their various stands. It
was arranged that I should call at their office
for it late in the afternoon, had it been found.
During luncheon, which I took at a restau-
rant, Mary K. indicated that she had some-
thing to say, and on the back of an envelop
wrote: "Your muff is found for you." Two
hours later, when I reached home, the muff had
been returned by the cabman.
Another incident, less accurate in detail, but
substantially correct, concerned Mr. Kendal
and my record-book. Having had, during his
brief stay in New York, no leisure in which to
read the record—which then contained only [190]
the genesis of this experience, Frederick's
first interviews with his mother, and some
messages from Mary Kendal not included
in my letters to her husband—he had taken the
book away with him (March 20th), and three
or four days later I began looking for its re-
turn. When, on the 29th or 30th (exact date
not noted), it had not arrived, I asked Mary ,
K. whether she knew anything about it, and
she replied that it had been sent and would
probably reach me that day. At that time
the record, wrapped and addressed, lay on his
desk, where he had left it with instructions
that it be mailed when he left home for the
Easter week-end. It had been overlooked,
and he found it there when he returned on
the following Monday. Apparently Mary K.
perceived only his intention and belief that it
was on its way to me.
On the 1st of April she told me that a letter
concerning these communications, then several
days overdue, for which I waited with great
anxiety, had at last been written.
"Really written?" I asked. "Or is this one
of those successfully started things you regard
as accomplished?"
"Really written."
At the same time she promised me other
letters, from persons specifically named, and [191]
gave me certain information concerning a
member of the Gaylord family.
Two days later, when none of these letters
had appeared, I said, "Where are those letters
you promised me?"
"The letters are coming, fearful and wonder-
ful messenger," she humorously assured me.
"You have not made a m . . . fr . . . friend . . .
free . . . fantom (O) friend in vain."
Laughing, I asked: "Is 'fantom friend'
right?"
She said it was.
Half an hour later the long-delayed letter
arrived, and as she had told me, it was dated
April 1st. The other letters came later the
same day, the one from Mrs. Wylie verifying
the information already given by Mary K.
about a member of her family.
On Monday, April 1st, I sent a copy of
Frederick's recent interviews with his mother
and sister to Mrs. Gaylord at K____, hoping
that it might reach her by Wednesday morning.
Wednesday night Mary K. told me that an
expected letter from Mrs. Gaylord had not
been written, adding: "She waits for the
record." A week later, after a happy visit in
K____, Mrs. Gaylord returned to her home
and notified me that she had not received the
manuscript from me. Fearing that it had been [192]
lost in the mails, I asked Mary K. about it,
and was told that it would be received. This
was repeated at intervals covering several
days.
When, on Monday, April 15th, two weeks
from the day it had been sent, it was missing
still, I told Mary K. that it must have been
lost.
"They shall have it soon," she said. "It is
not lost, but delayed."
"Shall I make a duplicate for them?"
"You must trust us."
"You are positive that it will arrive?"
"Yes, it will."
It was delivered to Mrs. Gaylord the follow-
ing day, April 16th.
On one occasion I asked Mary K. about a
woman for whom I had been requested to ar-
range an interview with a person on the next
plane, but about whom I knew nothing what-
ever.
"She is deterrent," was the reply, and during
the subsequent interview, for the first time
since the beginning of this experience, I en-
countered an individual whose outlook and
desire was limited to the narrowly personal.
One of the most striking of these examples
of specific information occurred on the night
of Tuesday, April 2d, the day of the Senatorial [193]
elections.
Cass said: "Ask Mary K. whether she will
answer a specific, mundane question for me."
When she had written her name and indicated
her willingness, he inquired: "Who was elected
in Wisconsin to-day, Lenroot or Davies?"
"Are you there?" I questioned, when no
reply came.
"Yes."
After another delay, when the pencil wan-
dered lightly and aimlessly, she wrote: "Len-
root." Supposing that she had finished, I put
the pencil aside, but she summoned me again,
to add: "Lenroot elected by latest count.
"Close in some places. We consider him
elected." Cass looked at his watch. It was
five minutes past twelve.
The next morning our papers announced Mr.
Lenroot in the lead, with final returns not yet
received, and not until Cass reached his office
did we discover how truly "exclusive" our in-
formation had been. He learned then that
the suburban editions of several New York
City papers, which probably went to press
about the time we talked to Mary K., prac-
tically conceded the election to Mr. Davies,
reporting him ahead by returns then available.
Of many other specific statements that were
either absolutely correct, or so nearly correct [193]
that Mr. Kendal's theory of a difference of
perceptive method might easily account for the
error, one is notable. On Sunday, May 19th,
I asked Mary K. whether she could tell me
anything about the projected German drive.
"Yes. It will be fierce, but futile. All
forces here see her doom, and the war will last
only as long as unsupported human endeavor
can endure against eternal purpose. Germany
has no ally here. The forces that have im-
pelled her for these many years are overpowered
by world-purpose, and have left Germany to
her destruction, while they prepare to destroy
the finest spiritual fruits of victory."
Similarly, while writing to friends at the
front of our entire confidence in the outcome
of the Picardy drive then in progress, May
30th, I paused to ask Mary K. whether she
had anything more to say about the war.
"Only that we are the victors. Germany
does not win this drive, either. Our forces
rally, and the end is near. Defeat this time
will leave them despairing and afraid."
To this Maynard Holt added, "All the forces
have withstood the blow and gather for the
final and decisive defeat of Germany."
Chapter VI
THE actual existence of intelligent, invisible
forces, constantly doing battle for and against
spiritual progress, through possession of what
we are wont to call our souls, was at first diffi-
cult for me to accept literally, the idea being in
direct opposition to my whole mental tendency.
While the theory was interesting, it seemed
hardly credible in its specific, individual ap-
plication. However, I was soon given a mani-
festation of the strength and pertinacity of
the disintegrating forces, which—although it
ultimately strengthened my conviction, prov-
ing highly corroborative—threatened for a time
to end this effort, as far as I was concerned.
The last two Lessons were given to me on
the 12th of April, and it had been arranged
that Mr. T____, the representative of a pub-
lishing-house, should come on the evening of
the thirteenth for a demonstration of the com-
munication with the next plane. From the
day this arrangement was contemplated, fre-
quent assertions were made under Mary K.'s
signature, concerning Mr. T ____ and his at- [196]
titude toward this experience, many of which
were afterward proved untrue, and all of
which I doubted, notwithstanding repeated
proofs, already quoted, of her general correct-
ness of statement. Day by day these mes-
sages grew more confusing, and I less able to
account for them by any theory then formed.
That a deliberate "drive" by malign powers
was in progress never occurred to me, and
would have seemed too absurd to credit, even
had I thought of it.
As there seemed to be no close tie between
Mr. T____ and any of those from whom he
had expressed a desire to hear, no great eager-
ness on either side to complete a circle of which
each was a part, I felt that the interview might
present difficulties not encountered before, and
resolved to do no writing during the day, re-
serving my strength for the evening's work.
In the morning, however, I had occasion to
ask Mary K. for some brief information. Be-
ginning, as usual, with her signature—some-
what haltingly done—the pencil wrote quickly,
but erratically: "Mr. Farrow is dead." This
man is a business associate of Cass's, living
abroad.
Startled, I thought I must have taken the
message incorrectly, but it was repeated.
"Mr. Farrow is dead. Cass will hear later." [197]
When I insisted that this could not be true,
it was reiterated. "Yes, he is here, and b . . .
blon . . . latter . . . bewildered. Mary K."
Our personal relations with Mr. Farrow,
while pleasant, have never been close, being
based entirely upon a business connection, and
my affections were in no way responsible for
my resistance to this announcement, nor would
our personal affairs have been in any way in-
fluenced by his death. But I did not believe it.
"Farrow is here with us. May . . . Mary
K." This signature was slow and irresolute,
beginning as Maynard and ending as Mary
K., but lacking the firmness of either—an in-
decision and inconsequence characteristic, I
have since learned, of disintegrating force in
these invasions.
"Was he killed in an accident?"
"No. Pneumonia. Maynard. Tell Cass."
"Shall I telephone to Cass now?"
"No. I am watching over him. Maynard."
The use of the word "dead" in this connec-
tion was surprising, since the whole trend of
former communications had been toward elimi-
nation of the idea of death. Once more I
asked Mary K. if they were sure there had
been no mistake.
"Yes. He is dead to your life."
"You mean Farrow of P____? Not his [198]
brother? Or his son?"
"Yes, P____. It is true. You will hear
soon. Cass must go there."
I telephoned to Cass, saying nothing of this
experience, and found him in good spirits,
proving that he had not heard of Mr. Far-
row's death. Returning to the pencil, I told
Mary K. I did not believe the information was
correct.
"Yes, he is dead. A telegram on the way
to Cass. He will receive it soon. Before one
o'clock."
Some time later, having heard nothing from
Cass, I told Mary K. again that there had been
a mistake.
"No, it is true. Mr. Farrow of P____ is here
with us. Cass will know in a few minutes.
He will telephone."
I warned her then that my faith in her veraci-
ty was at stake, and that while I could not doubt
that Frederick, Mary Kendal, Maynard Holt,
and others, had communicated through me, I
could not take the responsibility of publishing
anything she had told me unless I could trust
her in all things, adding: "If this is not true
how can I be sure that any of it is?"
"Mary K. It is true. Don't doubt."
I said I had no wish to doubt, but that un-
less this message came from some other than [199]
Mary K., I could not believe her again, if it
proved, as I was sure it would, to be untrue.
I began to suspect that disintegrating forces
were at work.
"It comes from the constructive force. Be
confident. It perplexes you."
Later experience has taught me that while
either force may be in complete command at
moments, during these struggles for control,
not infrequently a message begun by one is
finished by the other. During the three days
of this first persistent attack, however, I held
no key to the mystery, and the occasional
clearly constructive and characteristic messages
from Mary K. and Maynard Holt merely added
to my bewilderment and dismay. Yet never
for one instant during those three days did I
accept the repeated statements of Mr. Farrow's
death as true. Weeks afterward, Mary K. told
me why I was not deceived.
Since that time, too, I have learned more
clearly to distinguish personality by the de-
gree and quality of force applied to the pencil,
which varies greatly with individuals, though
it sometimes varies in the same individual at
different times. But in the first experience it
did not occur to me to apply that test of
identification.
All that Saturday afternoon the argument [200]
went on at intervals, I insisting that Mr. Far-
row was not dead, the pencil reiterating that
he was.
At two o'clock Maynard said: "Believe in
us, Margaret. We can help you better." It
is evident now that this referred to the con-
flict with the disintegrating force, but at the
moment I misunderstood it and reminded him
of the many specific and inaccurate state-
ments made, during the past few days, regard-
ing the man who was coming that evening by
appointment, asking if this were more mis-
information of the same sort, to which the
reply was: "No, Farrow is here. He is dazed,
but will be taken care of."
An hour later, I returned to the pencil, beg-
ging them to tell me, before definite informa-
tion reached me from other sources, that there
had been a mistake.
"Mary K. You must not doubt. We shall
lose control of you if you do." When I said
that what I sought was truth, she said: "I
know, but you doubt our control, and weaken
it."
"I also doubt my own correctness."
"You are correct." As, indeed, I was. Her
message reached my consciousness.
At three o'clock the insistence that Mr.
Farrow was dead continued, and attempts were [201]
made to explain former inaccuracies, on the
plea of a difference in plane, creating "errors
in terms of finite space."
Shortly before five, it was said that Cass
had received news of Mr. Farrow's death,
and was on his way home. A few minutes
later Mary K. warned me again.
"You must not doubt. . . . You can't be a
messenger without faith."
"How am I to know when you are telling
the truth and when it is error?"
"The truth is the truth, and you must learn
to differentiate between the planes." I sus-
pect that she intended the last word to be
"forces," and that control was wrested from
her before it was written.
Resenting the whole confused situation, and
entirely unable to account for my conviction
that this message was false, I said: "If Cass
tells me, when he comes home, that Mr. Far-
row is dead, I will believe anything you tell
me in future. If he is not dead, I'll have
nothing further to do with you or your book."
"Mary K. You will go on with our work.
He is dead."
At this point, Cass arrived. He said that
he had received neither letter nor cablegram
from Mr. Farrow for ten days, although an
expected and important letter from him was [202]
some time overdue. This seemed to lend
color to the report of his death, but my con-
viction was unshaken.
From the beginning of these communications
with the next plane, although at times excessive-
ly fatigued, I had enjoyed an increasing mental
serenity, but with the first announcement of
Mr. Farrow's death, this had given way to the
peculiar nervous instability and apprehension
invariably accompanying these mischievous
invasions.
By night my mind was in a turmoil and my
nerves on edge, my confidence shaken, my
faith in the balance—which did not lessen the
difficulties of an interview prompted chiefly
by intellectual interest. Establishing connec-
tion with an unfamiliar personality is not easy,
at best, and frequently some time is required
to obtain free communication. On this oc-
casion, instead of devoting the evening to per-
fecting one connection, several persons were
called, all but one responding, and the mes-
sages, with one or two exceptions, were un-
satisfactory. There were vain and fatiguing
efforts to write a name unknown to any of us,
and most of the efforts to obtain specific
evidential data were unsuccessful. Whether
this was due to my own lack of confidence,
to interference by the enemy, or to the fact [203]
that at no time have the individuals communi-
cating through me concerned themselves with
personal and specific details—except occasional-
ly, for my own greater conviction—I do not
know.
At midnight, when this interview was over
and we were alone, although wearied to the
point of exhaustion, I asked again about Mr.
Farrow, receiving the same reply, with a varia-
tion to the effect that the cablegram announcing
his death had been delayed by the censor, and
with occasional phrases of appeal and encour-
agement—merely intensifying my bewilder-
ment—from Mary K. and Maynard.
"Are you sure you haven't been away and
let in disintegrating forces?" I asked Mary K.
"No, we have been here. They can't touch
your purpose. Don't fear. You will be per-
fectly reassured soon," was her reply, which,
had we but recognized it, was an intimation
that disintegrating forces had been in partial
control in spite of all effort to overcome them.
Again I asked why the word "dead " had
been used, and was told: "That is what the
cable to Cass says." Which manifestly did
not explain.
Sunday morning, Maynard Holt's familiar
signature came at once, followed by a long,
personal message to a friend who was present, [204]
steadily written, and pointed by an occasional
characteristic turn of phrase, indicating a clear
and uninterrupted connection.
When this had been finished, Cass asked,
"Shall I go to the office for that cable?"
"It is not there."
"It's all a mistake?" I urged.
"Farrow is here."
But I knew he was not there. Had he been
present in the flesh, I could not have been
more certain that he had not left this plane.
All day we discussed the bearing of these
persistent misstatements—provided they were
misstatements—upon the experience as a whole,
and I was oppressed, in addition to my per-
sonal disappointment, by a sense of my re-
sponsibility to those others to whom this new
faith had brought active happiness and hope.
I had arranged to go to L____ on the following
Tuesday, to spend a few days with the Gay-
lord family; Mr. Kendal expected to arrive in
New York a week or ten days later; anticipat-
ing further communication with his wife; and
various other appointments were pending.
But though I could neither question the au-
thenticity of former personal communications,
nor deny the constructive quality of the Les-
sons, I felt that I could not continue to act
as intermediary if it were possible for persons [205]
like Mary K. and Maynard to lend themselves
to this sort of thing, nor could I encourage
others to hold a belief after it had become
impossible to me.
In the afternoon, Mary K. told me to go to
L____ as soon as possible. When we asked
about Mr. Farrow, Maynard's signature pre-
ceded the message.
"He is here. Why don't you accept it?"
"I don't know why I can't," was my reply.
"Why don't you convince my mind, as you
have at other times? Why don't you make me
feel it? I can't believe it's true."
"You have the statement of two friends."
"You've been mistaken before in specific
statements."
"Only in those relating to dimensions of
finite space, which we are unable to gauge
accurately."
That evening, Mary K.'s signature came
first. "You must see how foolish it was to
mistrust us," the pencil wrote. "Mr. Farrow
is here, and Cass will learn of it soon."
"Unless you take refuge again in that differ-
ence of plane," I commented, rather bitterly.
"Why don't you remember it before, instead
of after, the error it creates?"
"Because you should not distrust us."
"But why not encourage me to trust you by [206]
remembering that difference of plane in the first
place?" I insisted. "Thy be so explicit about
things you know may be inaccurately stated?"
"I do not deceive you intentionally. We
feel that a thing certain of accomplishment is
done, and are frequently misled into prema-
ture statements by the strength of intention,
or purpose, or movement in a given direction.
We are accurate from our point of view, and
not always able to gauge yours."
Admitting this to be conceivable, I said:
"Now tell me about Mr. Farrow."
"Mr. Farrow is here with us. When Cass
gets to the office in the morning he will find
the truth." Again the signature was hesi-
tating and indefinite, first Maynard, then
Mary K. I felt that neither of them wrote
it, but could not reconcile the frequent con-
structive statements, urging faith and con-
tinuance of this work, to destructive purpose,
nor could I understand why, if Mary K. and
Maynard were present, they did not warn me
of false statements by malign forces, provided
such were the case.
Monday morning, the situation was un-
changed, save that the statements were slight-
ly elaborated. Repeatedly I asked whether
they were not confusing Mr. Farrow with
some other member of his family, or whether [207]
they had accepted serious illness as death.
A curious statement followed this sugges-
tion, under Maynard's signature. "Farrow is
both here and there. He is here in essence,
there in body. . . . He is both here and there
for some time after death."
Immediately afterward, however, when I
said that this sounded preposterous, Mary
K.'s name was written, with: "Mr. Farrow is
here. He is dead to you. Actually now dead.
Go to L____ at once."
"I can't go to L____, with affairs in this
state," I told her.
"You will know soon. Wait."
Maynard followed, with an appeal to "have
faith," adding: "It will be clear soon."
This went on, at intervals, until after two
o'clock, when I had promised an interview to
a woman who had not visited me before.
Fully resolved to tell her that I could take no
messages for her, I made one last attempt to
obtain the truth before her arrival—this time
with partial success.
"Maynard. It is a mistake. . ."
At that moment, my guest arrived. I told
her that I might be unable to get any satis-
factory communications for her, but her daugh-
ter, who left this plane years ago, came at
once, writing steadily and clearly, with the [208]
exception of one brief interruption. She told
her mother of the seven purposes and their
meaning, urging her, as had all the others, to
put herself consciously in touch with con-
structive purpose, and to open her mind and
spirit to those on the next plane who were
eager to work with her.
When I was again alone, I returned to the
pencil, which wrote quickly and strongly:
"Maynard. It is a mistake about Farrow.
The. . ." Here again the opposing forces
evidently gained control. "Farrow here, but
not your Farrow."
"Then why have you insisted that he was
our Farrow?"
"He led us to think so."
I said with some emphasis that I wanted
a better explanation than that.
"Maynard. You are messenger for us only
if you trust us."
A fortnight later, after a second, similar
experience, Mary K. told me, when I asked
about this first confused period: "We had a
terrific struggle for you then. We told you
the truth, but the other forces controlled the
pencil. . . . The forces of disintegration com-
pelled us for the moment. We were not theirs,
but they overpowered and used us."
Early in June, while preparing this manu- [209]
script, I asked her: "Was it you who wrote,
'You must not doubt. We shall lose control
of you if you do'?"
"Yes. We were fighting for your faith."
"Can you tell me why you did not explain
then—why you have never explained—that the
enemy had control?"
"We have certain limitations in conflicts
of this nature. . . . In actual conflict we can
only affirm. Remember that. . . . When at-
tacked by disintegrating force, the only way we
can help you is to call to your purpose and to
affirm our own. In your individual struggle we
may not interfere, even when it concerns our
work. You must believe or doubt, according
to your own choice. . . . We cannot tell you that
disintegrating forces threaten you, until you
have recognized them. Then we can help you
repel them. Always we call to you and try to
encourage you. . . . You must make your own
choice and your own deductions, and learn in
that way to discriminate between the forces
appealing to you. Details of your personal
struggles may not be explained. They are
your development."
Knowing nothing of all this in April, how-
ever, I insisted upon a detailed explanation of
the Farrow mystery, and again the disintegrat-
ing forces played upon my doubt and bewilder- [210]
ment, elaborating excuses for the mistake, in
Maynard's name.
Refusing to accept any of these ingenious
but illogical assertions, I contended that they
were unfair to me, having first specifically
volunteered this erroneous information, which
they now attempted to account for by obvious-
ly specious explanations.
"We volunteer information pertaining to the
message we have for the world through you."
This, it will be perceived, was an affirma-
tion indirectly disclaiming the Farrow messages,
but I did not so recognize it, and reminded
them that they had reproached me for not
trusting them in this matter.
"You are logical within your limits," was
Maynard's only reply to that.
"And you still expect me to go on with your
work?"
"You have had many manifestations of our
force," Mary K. returned. "Mr. Kendal will
show you how this occurred."
When I mentioned, with some heat, that
some one would have to show me, as they had
asked me to shoulder a heavy responsibility in
this matter, she said: "You are puzzled and
frightened, but knowledge of our constructive
work through you should decide your action."
Remembering how fear and grief and de- [211]
spair, in certain cases, and cynical indifference
in others, had been banished from the lives
of the men and women to whom these messages
had come, I conceded the constructive work.
"Then come along and build. . . . You are
unable to distinguish the difficulties under
which we work. Many messengers have failed
to convey the message we have tried to give.
. . . Many mistakes happen with the best
messengers."
"Was this my mistake?" I asked.
"No. You make only one mistake, so far.
You shut us out by doubt. Don't doubt.
We are all working for the same great end."
Eventually, although far from satisfied about
the Farrow affair, I decided to go to L____,
feeling that if disillusionment must come to
the Gaylord family, it would better come now
than later, but still hoping that some explana-
tion would be given while I was with them.
In this I was disappointed. Not until a fort-
night later did I even begin to understand it.
But after the first interview with Frederick
at L____, I wrote Cass (April 17th): "If ever
I had any doubts about the truth of this, they
are gone! Somebody did something I don't
understand, but this is real."
I have given this experience in some detail,
not only because it corroborates the state- [212]
ments that malevolent and crafty forces are
about us, striving to thwart progressive effort,
but because it seems also to offer at least a
partial explanation of the inconsistencies and
contradictions that long have baffled and dis-
couraged investigators of psychic phenomena.
Obviously, until the identity and character of
the invisible communicating personality have
been established and clearly recognized, and
the purpose prompting the communication
manifested through a series of experiments, it
is unsafe to rely upon information received in
this way. And it is equally obvious that
forces of disintegration could scarcely find a
more fruitful method of implanting in the hu-
man mind doubt and cynicism concerning the
possibility of obtaining authentic and en-
lightening revelations from planes beyond, than
by contradicting and confusing such messages,
or by deliberately misleading the applicant for
information.
Later experience brought further demonstra-
tion of the diligence of the sinister purposes,
together with greater knowledge of ways to
defeat them.
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