The Divinity Inquiry

By Dennis Gaffin

Found floating in the Straits of Bosporus, Constantinople, is the body of a woman, Euphemia Bray, alleged Theosophist and wealthy friend of Madame Blavatsky, a controversial Victorian mystic. Thus begins a British mystery and an investigation by Church and Queen to discover whether Blavatsky is a true mystic or an imposter, an adventure which moves from England to India.

Helena Petrovna Blavatsky was a real person, known as ‘the most remarkable woman of the century’ and the ‘yogini of the West’.

Cambridge Professor of Divinity Paul Hartley and graduate student Giles Bluecastle face a host of dangers, inquiring into Bray’s death and the authenticity of Blavatsky’s reported occult powers. They visit sacred sites and institutions to interview clergy, savants, monks, yogis, and kabbalists on their sojourn to India via Ireland, Greece, and the Turkish Ottoman Empire.

Interwoven within the adventure are the machinations of British and Church rule, conflicts between authority and religion, and debates over the realities of mystical experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463680902

Dennis Gaffin

Dennis Gaffin, PhD, is a professor of Anthropology at the State University of New York College, Buffalo. In addition to the two non-fiction books, In Place: Spatial and Social Order in a Faeroe Islands Community (Waveland Press, 1996) and Running with the Fairies: Towards a Transpersonal Anthropology of Religion (Cambridge Scholars, 2012), he has written academic and popular journal articles. Born out of his scholarly work in comparative religion, travels abroad, and his personal interests in Victorian times and the varieties of spiritual experience, The Divinity Inquiry is his first novel. He lives in rural upstate New York and Toronto.

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To Ana Bodnar

The Divinity Inquiry

Dennis Gaffin

Copyright © Dennis Gaffin (2018)

The right of Dennis Gaffin to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781788237840 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781788237857 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781788237864 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™

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I heartily acknowledge the support of Gerry Rosenfeld, Jaspur Midjord, Kay Mullin, John Graham, George Tomashevich, Gerhard Falk, Tom Jenks, Shahadat Khan, Ana Bodnar, the State University of New York, the staff at Austin Macauley, and the many soul-minded persons who befriended me in Ireland, India, the Faroe Islands, Canada, and the US.

Chapter One

Cambridge, December, 1889

Many people thought she was an authentic mystic. Many others thought she was a charlatan, and that she knew she was a charlatan. That was only part of the problem. Madame Blavatsky’s religious fame and infamy were worldwide, and church officials as well as radical labour organisers thought she was dangerous.

The perils were to the various political holds on the minds and pocketbooks of the citizenry—holds by the Church of England, by the Empire, and even by the Socialists. Their grips had been loosened by the dissemination of Theosophy, Blavatsky’s spiritual teachings. Theosophy, direct ‘knowledge of God’, was heresy both to the Crown and to the Church. And it was an opiate to the downtrodden masses described by Marx. But now, especially to the Empire, the danger escalated and became personal.

The body of Euphemia Bray, a wealthy avowed Theosophist, had been found floating in the Turkish Bosporus, crossroads of East and West. Only a handful of Englishmen knew that in reality, Euphemia was a kind of spy, compelled by Church and Crown officials to gather information about the enigmatic Blavatsky and her followers.

Crosscurrents of the day, now more than ever, were rising to sinister heights. But it was unclear from which direction, and under whose direction, the waters were being churned.

*****

In 1885, after having spent many years traveling and establishing spiritual centres across the globe – in England, Ireland, the U.S., India, and elsewhere – Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, often known as HPB, moved to London. She had always made Fellows of Cambridge University’s Divinity School nervous. But now, with a possible murder afoot, they were extra concerned. That was why, on the north side of campus, the Dean of the Divinity Faculty called Professor Paul Hartley into his office at 44 Coddington Kew. It was a late 1889, wintry Saturday morning.

Thank you for responding quickly to my message, Dean Angus Capstone commended, as Professor Hartley, calmly, but a tad sheepishly, entered the office. It had dark wood walls up to the ceiling and deep leather chairs. Two oil lamps on Capstone’s long desk provided extra light on this grey day.

The Dean was a tall, burly man, neat and clean-shaven. His almost black hair and deep set eyes furnished him with a forbidding countenance, and he carried himself with pomp. As usual, he was formally dressed, as if always ready for high-tea with the Queen. He was quite the gentleman but not really a gentle man.

Do you know Helena Blavatsky? Capstone inquired.

No. But of course I know of her and have seen photographs of her. I have also read about her and have glanced at some of her writing, Hartley responded.

I surmised that your unorthodox tendencies might have led you into her circle… Did you know that several years ago, the Society for Psychical Research sent a man, a Cambridge chap, all the way to India to investigate her? His report declared her an out-and-out fraudulent medium and mystic.

Hartley knew about the report but was unimpressed by it. Although fairly well-placed within the theological establishment, he was a sceptic of government and religious orthodoxy. He generally preferred to veil his scepticism and avoid political issues. Being the son of missionaries, he had grown up in India and had seen many non-Christians and mystics of various persuasions. He was open to the religiosity of other groups and was suspicious of critiques of non-Christians. He believed only his own eyes and his own heart. Many a Brit he had met in India, England, and across the Empire severely condescended to believers of other faiths.

He responded to Capstone’s query:

"I have heard about it. But frankly, I’m not so sure that the Australian fellow who did the report was very objective or scientific. Besides, despite his conclusions, the Theosophists and other like-minded folks are growing in numbers. Indeed, a book which I have not read, Incidents in the Life of Madame Blavatsky, by her colleague, A.P. Sinnett, refutes the report’s conclusion. It aims to re-establish her authenticity. Her post-report popularity is even attested to, by the probably false rumour that three years ago, the London street riots had support from Blavatskyites."

Capstone replied, You may be right… But it does not matter. He paused. I want you to continue the inquiry into the Theosophists.

Me? Hartley puzzled, but without obvious complaint.

Well, for some reason, God chose you to be an unorthodox but devout Christian. Despite the fact that I don’t quite fathom your approach to the history of holiness, you are an objective scientist and a theologian of some renown. And your personal background aligns with our needs. The mission we implore you to undertake is a big one for the Church of England, the University, and for ‘science’.

Capstone uttered that last word with an ironic, perhaps even bitter tone.

Professor Hartley well knew the Dean’s distaste for modern science. Capstone, like many others, founded his self-worth on Old and New Testament doctrine, and reviled the growing popularity of Darwin’s work on evolution. Conventional religious exegesis and practice, and the male clergy monopoly on sacredness, was now controversial. Science seemed to be replacing much of the discourse of Christianity. Alternative models of reality like evolutionary science, and new approaches to religion like Blavatsky’s, seriously irked the Dean.

Hartley had little trouble with the new scientific or religious perspectives. Although his openness to other views was a bit troublesome to conservative Protestants, his record of accomplishment was distinguished. With the publication of The Canopy of Being, his long treatise on Christian relationships to nature, he gained significant respect in conventional circles. Many theologians and scholars considered his book seminal. The Professor was also a fast reader and writer, and had the ability to quickly digest difficult scholarship. He heard that Blavatsky, despite getting on in years, was herself a powerful energy machine with intense powers of intuition, concentration, and cogitation and was able to muster hours upon hours of concerted writing. As a scholar, writer, and theologian, Hartley respected those talents.

He mentioned none of this to the Dean.

Hartley was also physically capable. In India and in England, he had spent much time in gardens and the wilds of nature. Accordingly, he had walked and climbed a considerable amount in his day, and his long, strong legs, a bit out of proportion to his medium build torso, testified to his ambulatory skills. His countenance was generally peaceful, but with bright, piercing blue eyes, angular facial features, and pursed lips, he could look quite earnest. Yet, his shining face and pointy ears gave him an elfish, sometimes mischievous look.

Capstone continued:

You have the right to refuse, but since I know you would like, one day, to replace me as Dean of the Divinity School, this task would stand you in good stead.

I am not a missionary, Hartley responded.

This is a different sort of mission, a kind of scientific investigation along the lines of what Hodgson did.

What do you mean? he asked.

Most of what I am about to say is completely confidential between you and me. This is extremely important. Perhaps even a matter of life and death… Blavatsky has not been seen in London for two months. Another someone, a Miss Euphemia Bray, was looking into the Theosophical movement for Church officials. Two days ago, we received a telegram indicating that Bray was found dead in Constantinople. As far as we know, Miss Bray had posed as a Theosophist. Some suspect that Blavatsky or one of her crew discovered her ruse and killed her.

"Murdered? That’s not the modus operandi of such people. They generally eschew violence… I am not a detective… And who are the ‘some’ people you refer to?" Hartley asked.

That’s not important right now. I have only a few minutes to talk. You are a disciplined researcher. Of course there is a police investigation in Turkey, but our interest is in discovering if Blavatsky and her cohorts are generally, after all is said and done, really just imposters and rogues, capable of such violence.

What if Blavatsky’s or some Theosophists’ connections to God are real?

We can talk about that later, he paused again, "Now we need to arrange for you to take a leave of absence from your classes this coming term and get you outfitted for a two to three month trip to Ireland, Turkey, and India. You need to visit Theosophical centres, and even observe and question Blavatsky, if you can find her. As you may know, Theosophy is also popular among certain young, radical, independence-minded Irish artists and intellectuals; Constantinople is also brewing with interest in Blavatsky’s doctrine, and in Madras, India are the Theosophical Society’s international headquarters.

I will get Mr Edwards to teach your course in Medieval Theology and Reverend Sylvan to teach your course in Exegetics. I am sorry, but you will have to celebrate Christmas en route.

This is all so brief. I have questions. I have to think about all of this, Hartley demanded.

Let me re-emphasise that this would be extremely useful for your career. Especially if you discover that she is a charlatan and crazy, like that French mentally ill mystic Alexis Berbiguier who ridiculously said that he killed hobgoblins and that his doctors were hobgoblins in disguise. Since Blavatsky is likely to die in the next few years, a similar conclusion as the previous report could take the steam out of her followers. But you need to gather scientific data about her. Take today and tomorrow to gather your thoughts and come see me Monday morning at ten before your 11 o’clock class.

With that, in his usual air of command, the Dean shuffled some papers in dismissal of the Professor.

*****

Professor Paul Hartley returned to his flat at 7 Bilberry Lane. The old building was stately, with a simple exterior, its stone pillars exuding a royal presence. As you approached and climbed the dark stairway to his second floor quarters, there was a musty air. But after entering the flat, the polished hardwood floors, dark wainscoting along the walls, and light pouring in from large windows on two sides, provided an elegant experience. Reaching the ceiling, along one wide wall, there were shelves upon shelves, filled with manuscripts and bound leather books. Above the couch in the sitting room was a large framed facsimile painting of Botticelli’s ‘The Annunciation’, while on the opposite wall were two smaller paintings, one a colourful Eastern Orthodox Russian icon, the other a figure of baby Vishnu, the Hindoo supreme god and ‘preserver of the universe’.

In addition to the sitting room with couch, two chairs, and ottoman, there was a sleeping room, a small washroom, and a kitchen with a dining table. Glass oil lamps, some ornate and punctuated small tables.

He kept his place tidy and you could sense that this was a man of habit and discipline. Among the numerous books and two rows of encyclopaedias, there was a wooden stand with a large dictionary upon it.

Hartley needed time to collect his thoughts. He went to the mirror and saw his greying hair, angular features, and small ears. His nostrils flared. He prided himself on his equanimity and had spent his life learning both intellectual and emotional composure. But this challenge he now faced was disturbing. It threatened the peaceful, orderly life he had etched out for himself. All at once, thoughts of his childhood, university studies, and professorship raced through his mind all at once.

Hartley’s tranquil nature derived from years of immersion in woods and the clear, deep thinking available there. He was also a hearty sort – you could find him eating his lunch on a Cambridge bench on a cold February day. His character contrasted with the vast majority of implanted administrators, scholars, and groundskeepers whose citied temperaments were task oriented. Their attention span was short. Harley was more like the few clerics living on campus who had years of cloister living, without the noise and pollution of London and other urban settings, and without a penchant for hurried accomplishment. Nor was the Professor a staunch, stodgy type, unlike the haughty personalities of Oxford and Cambridge scholars and deans. Most of them were obsessed with their careers and needed the anxiety of competition to increase rank and status. But he was not immune to the pull of these forces. He too sometimes felt like a marionette man whose strings were pulled by the Queen’s follies, the Church’s compulsion to control, and the bourgeois race for creating technological change and convenience, from which they could profit.

The Dean had touched on one of Hartley’s few weaknesses that distracted him from living in the sacred here-and-now: his yearning to advance to Capstone’s office. Like others of Hartley’s upper middle-class upbringing, he had inherited careerism. But he differed from the Dean who was of the old school of pompous Christian-out-to-justify-the-sovereignty-of-Christendom, for the Church of England, and for the rest of the earth. That was the real background of his thinking Theosophists to be sacrilegious. The Dean’s was an out-dated, actually not-so-Godly perspective, Hartley knew. His own missionary parents had been rigid, like Capstone, and their occasional tenderness towards Hindoos, Jains, Muslims, and others, was only a patina. In contrast, the Professor’s early experience in India from age six to nineteen, especially with the Sepoy rebellion in 1857, and the death of his younger sister and only sibling during a melee, led him to a compassion and a wide understanding of religion. While Hartley was an emotionally patient man, he had little intellectual tolerance for the Empire and its derogation of the so-called God-less heathen.

He figured that the Dean and unidentified ‘others’, Capstone’s ‘we’ – presumably high Church officials and Undersecretaries to Queen Victoria – wanted Blavatsky and all similar thinkers debunked. So now he was in the tenuous position of being a supposedly objective scientist and noted theologian needing to be loyal to the establishment and, at the same time, needing to be true to himself. He hadn’t made up his mind about the brand of mysticism Blavatsky purported or practiced. But he knew and felt the authenticity of Christian mystics like Meister Eckhart and St. Francis of Assisi, of Jewish Cabalists, as well as of Hindoos and yogis he had encountered in India.

The game of investigating Blavatsky had high stakes: he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to become involved. He cherished the placid nature of teaching theology to university students. But the chance to return to India, visit Turkey, and delve further into other kinds of religiosity was enticing. What was also intriguing to him were the photographs of Blavatsky which he had seen. With large protuberant eyes and a stern countenance, she appeared quite charismatic and determined, almost maniacal. Most mystics he had encountered in India and elsewhere, even in their sometimes wrinkled brows and serious looks, radiated a light, a softness, an aura of tranquillity from deep within. This also was the case in paintings of some Christian Saints and Jesus, in which a disciplined grace and constant prayer shone. The gracefulness could be contagious. But from what he had seen, such a glow did not emanate in pictures of Blavatsky. And yet, ironically, this piqued his interest about her and her mysticism. He had seen how Thuggee in India and a few black magicians had perverted religion for evil ends. But he had not heard that Madame Blavatsky fomented harm against others. But perhaps she was secretly doing so. He thought not. Certainly she did not injure, kill, or forcibly convert others, as did the arrogant strain of colonising Christians in many ‘heathen’ places in the world.

Professor Hartley seriously considered doing as Capstone asked. He knew that any other ‘scientist’ or theologian who would possibly go instead of him would not be as open-minded. And, to his dismay, he understood that if he refused to go Capstone could make life difficult for him. He thought further, and went to his bookshelf to read up about Christian missions in Turkey and India. After a while he fell asleep on the couch.

He woke up with an idea. He knew that people would be sceptical of his word if uncorroborated. He also knew that, while still able-bodied at forty-two, he didn’t have the physical stamina he used to. And he knew that being by himself for months on end would be taxing, as he enjoyed socialising with university students and other thinkers. Why not bring along someone else, a younger person, a student, as aid, colleague, confidante, perhaps even bodyguard? Good idea.

Who? Immediately one of his prize students, Giles Bluecastle, came to mind. Hartley and Bluecastle had had several interesting, informal talks about theology and life. Bluecastle was himself the son of missionary parents and had grown up in Japan. In addition to an intellectual thirst about the history of the spread of Christianity, he was a very physical person, accomplished in jujitsu, the Japanese art of concentration and defense.

Hartley convinced himself that he would agree to the Dean’s project only on the condition that he could take Bluecastle with him, or some other willing body. He figured that he could entice a student to go with the prospect of giving him a semester’s academic credit through one-to-one tutorials. Their travels would entail periods of inactivity on board steamships and other transport. Perhaps the time between ports would also afford Hartley time to read and write.

Although the Professor was anxious when he went to bed, he was comforted by the knowledge that he would use twenty minutes of the following morning, like every morning, to engage in contemplatio. It was a Christian practice of quiet awareness and spiritual concentration, akin to what in the East was meditation. He did it by staring directly at a painting pressed onto a thin lacquered piece of wood. He always kept it with him. It was a miniature copy of an illuminated manuscript by Joseph Leipnik. It depicted Abraham, just outside a house with many small windows, Sarah looking on from the half-open front door, serving a platter of bread to three-winged angels sitting at a table,. Of equal importance to the Professor, overarching the scene, was a large blossoming tree. When in contemplatio, Hartley would merge with the spirit of humans serving God and His angels, with the spirit of the angels of God serving humans, and with Nature.

*****

Sunday afternoon, as usual, Professor Hartley walked over to the Botany Department’s large greenhouse and its collection of plants from all over the world. As he had made friends with Dr Mortimer Bristle, Head of the Horticultural Branch, Hartley had his own key to the building. Often spending two or three hours there, he had the unusual habit, known by only a few employees on campus, of talking out loud to plants. He revelled in the diversity and wondrousness of the plant kingdom, and was on especially good terms with exotic and tropical plants, being familiar with many from his upbringing on the Asian subcontinent. A lightness of spirit and step overcame him when he conversed with his plant friends. And yet, unbeknownst to all except his botanist chum Bristle, who once in a while surprised the Professor’s reverie, sometimes tears welled up in Hartley’s eyes in the face of the glory of God’s greenery.

*****

Monday morning 10:00 sharp, Hartley walked into Dean Capstone’s office.

Good morning, Capstone tentatively uttered.

I think so, Hartley responded. There was a few moments pause.

I will go on this investigative mission under one condition, Dean… The condition is that I can pick one of my willing students, perhaps Giles Bluecastle, to accompany me. I can give him academic credit for tutorials along the way.

Capstone’s eyes widened in surprise. For what reason?

Well, I am not as fit as I used to be. A younger companion on a physically demanding, long sojourn might become crucial. Especially since there might be danger.

It is quite unprecedented that a student would receive credit for such an experience.

Do we not occasionally give credit for extended tutorials on subjects not offered in the classroom?

Silent for a minute, Capstone pondered the situation.

What about confidentiality?

I will inform the student that only I will speak publicly about our work and discoveries.

Capstone was again silent, and then said:

I will have arrangements made for two passengers. Come back tomorrow at the same time and I will give you details about destinations, preparations, financial arrangements, etc. In the meantime, see if you can get this Bluecastle bloke to accompany you.

Also, Dean, to get an objective assessment, I will need to visit a variety of people, not just Theosophists, to try to determine Blavatsky’s authenticity or not, and to discover the nature of activities in which she and her cohorts engage. Thus, I need to visit others who claim to be, or are, mystics, and who know her or about her. It would also be good to talk to some Christian mystics or people who claim to have insight into Higher Realms. Since I, we, are going to Constantinople, I think I should also go to Mt. Athos in European Turkey to visit Hesychasts, the Eastern Orthodox Greek Christian hermits. Blavatsky, I understand, has also studied Eastern and Russian Orthodoxy.

Well, alright, the Dean responded. How you do your research is up to you. You are an independent sort anyway. Just make sure, despite your cosmopolitan views, your conclusions support the Church of England. He uttered the word ‘cosmopolitan’ with a bit of disdain.

I am not quite sure what ‘support the Church’ means.

Interpret it as you wish, The Dean impatiently continued. This report has to be completed as soon as possible. I am counting on you. Do not disappoint me… As you leave, give your detailed plans, including Mt. Athos, to my secretary, so that she can aid in arrangements for transport, travel monies, contact information, and whatever else you require.

After their short meeting, the Dean quickly proceeded out his office’s back door to the rear of the building where a hansom and driver waited. They trotted off.

As he spoke to the Dean’s secretary, Hartley wondered whether he was setting himself up for, or being set up for, a significant amount of trouble.

But, afterwards, thinking in a more light-hearted vein, he looked forward to the travels. Maybe this world-crossing journey would turn out to be a kind of pilgrimage for his own sacred enlightenment.

*****

Since it was the last week of the term, that Monday morning in his Interpretations of the New Testament course, Professor Hartley’s lecture was a summary. Although the back of his mind was brewing, his talk, as usual, was clear, level-headed, and sprinkled with detailed references to others’ works and words. He almost always had a subtle wit about him. Yet most students missed the occasional irony, double meaning, and sarcasm in his analyses of the dogma of many leading Christian thinkers.

Bluecastle had picked up on many of his Professor’s innuendos and thus had come to talk with the Professor several times about what Hartley ‘really’ meant. In great part because they had both lived overseas, they had a similar sceptical approach to contemporary mainstream Anglican Church Christianity. They shared an understanding that Christianity and the supremacy of Jesus Christ were forms of the multiple revelations of God. Other religions were also a product of God, even if they were polytheistic. Thus, these other religions deserved respect and could also be sources of wisdom. But such an unusual perspective was not well-accepted in Church and Cambridge circles.

Before all seventeen students of the class exited the lecture room, Professor Hartley sauntered over to Bluecastle’s desk and asked him if he would remain for a few minutes to talk.

The twenty-four-year-old felt honoured in having a private, honest relationship with the esteemed Professor, and thus always spoke in his presence with gentility, respect, and candour. Hartley had noticed these traits, but had also intuited that there was another, less composed side to this young man.

Some people thought Hartley was cold, but his coldness was really a shelter from his dismay at the way humans often mistreated one another. Indeed, his devotion to Nature was in part a solace from the foibles of humanity. But he also had, independent of society, a true love for nature and its creatures, flora and fauna.

Hartley felt that he himself emanated a gentle, peaceful aura, and knew that others, especially his students, recognized it. But it came and went, mostly came when outside buildings, and went in dealings with humans. Sometimes he made up self-congratulatory stories to himself about how angelic he could be. But he wasn’t really sure that the greeting smiles of others were because of his or their characters, or were because, in his less self-confident self, he thought he looked odd. Thus, when students or others complimented him he almost stuttered in response with a quick ‘Yes… No… Perhaps’, unconsciously emoting fast from arrogance to humility to hopefulness.

When all the other students had gone, Hartley sat down at the desk next to Giles.

Giles started the conversation: I found your discussion of St. Augustine helpful. Yet I do not quite understand how, on the one hand, there is much reverence for him and mystics like St. Francis of Assisi, but, on the other, in our day there seems to be a discounting of the importance of private, personal mystical experience outside the walls of the Church.

I understand, Mr Bluecastle… I wanted to talk to you about something else… Are you an adventurous soul?

What do you mean?

Professor Hartley told him what he had been told by the Dean, and about his own idea about giving Giles academic credit for accompanying him. They also briefly discussed Theosophy, the British Society for Psychical Research, and traveling. Giles was excited, but wary. He wondered what his parents would say.

"Did you read Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet in Beeton’s Christmas Annual last