In Search of the Miraculous

"There will be facts," said G. "I promise you. But many other things are necessary first."

I did not understand his last words then, I only understood them later when I really

came up against "facts," for G. kept his word. But this was not until about a year and a half later, in August, 1916.

Of the last talks in Moscow there is still another which remains in my memory

during which G. said several things which, again, became intelligible only

subsequently.

He was talking about a man I had met while with him, and he spoke of his relations

with certain people.

"He is a weak man," said G. "People take advantage of him, unconsciously of course. And all because he considers them. If he did not consider them, everything would be different, and they themselves would be different."

It seemed odd to me that a man should not consider others.

"What do you mean by the word 'consider'?" I asked. "I both understand you and do not understand you. This word has a great many different meanings."

"Precisely the contrary," said G. "There is only one meaning. Try to think about this."

Later on I understood what G. called "considering," and realized what an enormous place it occupies in life and how much it gives rise to. G. called "considering" that attitude which creates inner slavery, inner dependence. Afterwards we had occasion to

speak a great deal about this.

I remember another talk about the war. We were sitting in the Phillipov's Café on

the Tverskaya. It was very full of people and very noisy. War and profiteering had

created an unpleasant, feverish atmosphere. I had even refused to go there. G. insisted

and as always with him I gave way. I had already realized by then that he sometimes

purposely created difficult conditions for conversation, as though demanding of me

some sort of extra effort and a readiness to reconcile myself to unpleasant and

uncomfortable surroundings for the sake of talking with him.

But this time the result was not particularly brilliant because, owing to the noise, the

most interesting part of what he was saying failed to reach me. At first I understood

what G. was saying. But the thread gradually began to slip away from me. After

several attempts to follow his remarks, of which only isolated words reached me, I

gave up listening and simply observed how he spoke.

The conversation began with my question: "Can war be stopped?" And G.

answered: "Yes, it can." And yet I had been certain from previous talks that he would answer: "No, it cannot."

"But the whole thing is: how?" he said. "It is necessary to know a

great deal in order to understand that. What is war? It is the result of planetary

influences. Somewhere up there two or three planets have approached too near to each other; tension results. Have you noticed how, if a man passes quite close to you on a

narrow pavement, you become all tense? The same tension takes place between

planets. For them it lasts, perhaps, a second or two. But here, on the earth, people

begin to slaughter one another, and they go on slaughtering maybe for several years. It

seems to them at the time that they hate one another; or perhaps that they have to

slaughter each other for some exalted purpose; or that they must defend somebody or

something and that it is a very noble thing to do; or something else of the same kind.

They fail to realize to what an extent they are mere pawns in the game. They think

they signify something;

they think they can move about as they like; they think they can decide to do this or

that. But in reality all their movements, all their actions, are the result of planetary

influences. And they themselves signify literally nothing. Then the moon plays a big

part in this. But we will speak about the moon separately. Only it must be understood

that neither Emperor Wilhelm, nor generals, nor ministers, nor parliaments, signify

anything or can do anything. Everything that happens on a big scale is governed from

outside, and governed either by accidental combinations of influences or by general

cosmic laws."

This was all I heard. Only much later I understood what he wished to tell me—that

is, how accidental influences could be diverted or transformed into something

relatively harmless. It was really an interesting idea referring to the esoteric meaning

of "sacrifices." But, in any case at the present time, this idea has only an historical and a psychological value. What was really important and what he said quite casually, so

that I did not even notice it at once, and only remembered later in trying to reconstruct the conversation, was his words referring to the difference of time for planets and for

man.

And even when I remembered it, for a long time I did not realize the full meaning

of this idea. Later very much was based on it.

Somewhere about this time I was very much struck by a talk about the sun, the