The Seven Purposes by Margaret Cameron 1867 - 1947




THE experience at L——, while stimulating, was also fatiguing, and for several days thereafter I was tired and dull, receiving with difficulty the few communications that were attempted.


Tuesday evening, April 23d, two of Anne Lowe's friends wished to talk to her, but were told that she was busy and could not come. Mary K. answered some of their questions, concluding: "Anne sends love to you both, and says please come again soon. She is sorry she can't come now."


After giving me the twelfth Lesson, Mary K. had said: "That is the last formal lesson. The rest will be given in other ways."


"You mean through interviews and personal messages?"


"Not entirely. You will be given signed letters, by great forces."


Afterward, she mentioned these prospective communications sometimes as "letters," sometimes as "talks," but Mary Kendal told us,





May 13th, that this intention had been temporarily abandoned, as sufficient material for the book had already been given. Evidently this decision had been reached only recently, however, for an attempt to give me the first letter was frustrated on the 25th of April, and a second period of confusion and partial control by invading forces ensued.


During the morning, Mary K. prepared me for this letter, in a communication written quickly and easily, as follows:


"Men will ask the theory of the letters that are coming to them through you. This must be explained.


"As the Lessons nave been given to me to deliver to the world through you, so the letters that are to come will be given to me by the forces from whom they come. The reason that they come through me is that I reach you more freely, when you are alone, than any other force known to you and therefore commanding your confidence….


"The Lessons came from great forces combined. They represent unity of all purposes, and were framed by the co-operation and agreement of the greatest forces of each constructive purpose, to reach the consciousness of men in general terms of your plane.


"The reason that these forces do not come





to you personally is that not all of them can reach you as freely as I do. Your simile of wireless telegraphy is a good one. It does not fully explain the connection between you and me, but is as good an explanation as the progress of physical science enables you on that plane to follow. The full explanation will inevitably be possible, as physical scientists are already beginning to work toward it.


"You and I may be regarded as the receiving and sending instruments through which forces here transmit their messages. You receive from many other instruments, I send through others. But for impersonal messages you and I are most completely in accord, and thus it is that these greater forces use us as a means of communication. The first letter is ready now."


It chanced, unfortunately, that I was called away, and when I was prepared to take the letter, later in the day, almost two hours were consumed in an attempt to write the name of its author, who was described as "a leading educator." Eventually I was assured that "Matthew Alden" was correct, but, while the name was repeatedly written, I had a strong impression that it was not what Mary K. had intended to write. Reminding myself of previous difficulties in obtaining names, I tried to




believe that the delay and fatigue incident to this effort had contributed to my doubt of its authenticity. But the doubt remained.


The long letter which followed was also received with great difficulty and many delays, and proved, when completed, to be a verbose jumble of platitudes concerning educational methods, with here and there a striking phrase. It was signed, "Matthew A]. By this time, I was excessively tired and could obtain but one statement from Mary K. "You have not the name right."


Later in the evening, I took up a pencil, and it wrote: "Mar… Matthew Ald.


The name was not finished.


"Isn't Mary K. here?"


"No. No, she will return."


"She said she would be with me through this work." "She will again. Mary K. Illegible lines followed. "Is this Mary K. now?"


"No. Mary K. has gone. This is Mar…." Again the reply trailed off indeterminately.


"Mary Kendal?"


"No. Mary K. has gone. Matthew."


Eventually, failing to elicit any response from Mary K., I asked whether Matthew had anything to say to me, and he replied with






vague phrases, so reminiscent of the "letter" that I impatiently gave up the attempt for the day.


The next day, Friday, Matthew's signature was the only one obtainable, but I have no record of any messages. I think I refused to take them from him. Saturday morning, I tried again.


"Matthew ald…


"I want Mary K. Why isn't she here?"


"Mary K. will be ret… eternally with you." "Then isn't she here now?"


"No, she was called away. She will come back soon." "Was that letter from the 'educator' yours?"


"No, I am not a force for light. I am for truth and healing." "Did you deliver it to me?"




"Then why was your name given before it?"


"Mary K. to… taken… told… took… tried to tell you I was here and would guard you. She will return soon."


"Do you know about the letter? Did she give it to me?"


"Not all of it. She will explain. I am just Mary K.'s tatl… to… tr… tried… trained substitute."


Asked how he could be her substitute, when 259





admittedly not of her purpose, he said: "Healing is her purpose and mine, and truth the best guard."


At this time, the Farrow mystery was still unsolved. Not until after this second prolonged experience was I given any explanation of these attacks by opposing forces, or of the conditions governing such struggles, and while I was less disquieted than upon the first occasion, I was still puzzled and uneasy, strongly suspecting interference of some kind.


That afternoon, Mrs. Gaylord and one of her daughters, passing through the city, came in for a brief talk with Frederick, and while there was at first some interference, he was soon writing with his customary clarity and vigor.


When his sister asked about a personality aggressively demanding utterance through her pencil, he said: "Not much! Don't give in to him…. Don't you let anybody you don't know tell you anything. It may be true and it may not, and it's not a game to play any more blindfolded than you have to be. You have to take a good deal on faith, at best. Identify anybody who comes, as far as possible."


"Can you tell me from whom that 'letter' came?" I asked.





"That letter got deteriorated in transmission. It short-circuited, so to speak, and was somewhat damaged. The next, we hope, will be better."


After my friends' departure, I caught Mary K. briefly, when she told me the source of the letter she had tried to deliver, adding that it had been too much interrupted. "Other forces tried to intervene and dominated you temporarily," she said, after which the pencil wrote only "Ma… Ma… Ma…" sometimes surrounding the letters with two reversed circles. I suggested Maynard, but the answer was, "No… Ma… Ma… Matt…"


"I am not a disintegrating force," was the reply to my accusation. "I am Mary K…."


"Mary K. back?"


"… no… her substitute. Mary K. will return soon." "Are you sure of that?"


"Yes. Mary K. is here." This was followed by Mary K.'s characteristic and vigorous signature. "You should know me."


"It seems easy for the others to masquerade," I mentioned.


"Not to your touch," she returned, indicating a means of identification that I had hesitated to trust.


"Why do you leave me?" I demanded.





"You know I have followed light, healing, and justice all my life," was her retort. "Why doubt me now? I leave you that… Ma… Ma… Ma…"


By a curious coincidence, the names of several persons connected with these communications begin with those two letters—Mary K., Mary Kendal, Mansfield, Maynard, Margaret— and I suggested each of them in turn, before it occurred to me that "M. A." signified Matthew Alden, the usurper.


That evening was spent with Anne Lowe and her friends—Anne in one of her whimsical moods, jesting most of the time, with occasional more serious moments.


Speaking of a dog for whose death they had grieved, she said: "He came, and grew into a better force, and some day he'll make an adorable baby. Part of him, anyway. He was almost human. Every force goes on to a higher one unless, it slides back. In the end it's got to go on, so why fret and fume about a step either way? Whichever way it is, it's one step nearer the end, and the end is inevitable and fine. If people must have coasting, let them coast. They'll begin climbing that much sooner."


"Matt…" was written once, but with one voice we refused to talk to him. Mary K. followed, with a reference to a promise she had





made to Ruth, several weeks before. Then Anne again, with an apparently clear connection.


Sunday, I was unable to get anything from Mary K. I was told she was away, doing my work. Monday morning, M. A. told me that Mary K. would be "through with the task soon," and wrote various phrases intended to be misleading. In my note-book, at this point, I find the following entry: "I am beginning to get M. A.'s messages a little more freely, but they are still slow and difficult."


Upon the departure of a visitor, late in the afternoon, I was conscious of a strong summons, and of a strange sense of turmoil and commotion. When I took up the pencil, the applied force was very strong at moments, then ceased utterly—sometimes sharply, in the middle of a word, or with a letter only half formed. Occasionally, the pencil was dragged down until it almost lay flat on the paper, and cancelations were frequent.


"Matthew Alden is destructive… Ma… M.A…. Matthew is destr… des… de… disturbed about Mary K. She means to be the force de… to have… han… handle you, but she destr… has not done… been here… held to her purpose, and has departed to the other side of the world. She must be held firmly to her purpose."





Knowing Mary K.'s steadfastness in all things, I said that this was absurd.


"She will be pursued… bett… forced to strong pleading to be allowed to do the rest of the letters. She should be having a following of our forces. She has been detained for a long time. Matthew Alden… is having a battle…. Matthew has been defeated and… M.A…. Matthew is de… det…"


Bewildered and irritated, I demanded: "What does this mean?"


"Means that the powers… forces of de… construction are defeated. We have been beaten."


"I don't believe that for a minute," I said. "Or do you mean the military forces? Is Germany winning a battle to-day?"


"No, that is the least of it."


"Are you trying to tell me that Germany will win?"


"Yes, we are defeated. Her forces have reassembled, and have helped her slaughter ours." Again I said I did not believe it. M.A…. Matthew is doing his best."


"You said he was defeated." "He lost a fight."


"If you are Mary K.'s substitute, why doesn't she come to the rescue?" I asked.


"She didn't. She believes Matthew held





out…. Message from Mary K. Margaret, I do…. I do fight for you." I asked if Mary K. were writing. "No. Go to high forces for help. Only be forceful for us first. Mary K. will do her best for forces of light and progress. Matthew is better and danger is passing. M.A." I demanded Mary K. "Not this time. All the forces have gathered…. She should… said be forceful."


Saying that the whole thing seemed absurd, I asked whether it had to do with Germany and the war, or with the book and me— provided it had to do with anything, which I began to question.


"It is the flander… it is the battle… book, not the godse… god sent war."


Amazed, I questioned: "Is God-sent war right?"


After some delay—when one of the numerous blanks occurred, all force being withdrawn from the pencil—the impression of tumult instantly ceased, leaving a sense of sudden quiet and peace. Then—"Mary K. Mary K. Mary K."


"That feels like Mary K.," I said. "It means Mary K., too." "What did all that mean?"


"Meant that the forces of disintegration have had control of you for days, at moments. Matthew was a force for fear."





When I asked whether she had been away she wrote quickly: "No, not for one instant. He held me back, and called to your fear in accents of truth…. We have the forces all about us, and sometimes we are overpowered and compelled to let them through temporarily, but they can always be fought away in time."


Brisk circles of affirmation followed my suggestion that possibly this explained the Farrow episode, and she made the statement previously quoted: "We had a terrific struggle for you then. We told you the truth, but the other forces controlled the pencil."


Weeks afterward, I asked her to explain more fully this dual control, and her reply seems to me singularly illuminating.


"The connection with the pencil has no influence on your consciousness. We may control the consciousness, through purpose and its unity, even though other forces control the material instrument."


This seems not only to show why these messages are written sometimes with and sometimes without the messenger's previous knowledge of their content, but also to offer a possible explanation of phenomena of a much wider range.


To my great surprise, Mary Kendal announced herself a day or two after this, having





preceded Mansfield, she said, because I was "fairly beleaguered by the enemy" in an attempt to prevent the publication of the message.


In spite of this reinforcement, however, M. A. persisted in attempts to engage my attention. On one occasion, he invited me to "try a little change" and talk to him. On another, he asked me to let him write, as he had "a long story to tell" about my husband, who was out of town. Again, he assured me that I had disappointed "them," that "they" felt that I had failed as a messenger, and that Mary K. had departed permanently. Still again, when confusion seemed to have overtaken the book project, he declared, quite frankly: "We have stopped you now. M.A."


No longer troubled by these intrusions, however, I never permitted him to use the pencil after his identity had been discovered. Occasionally I was deceived for a moment, and not infrequently it was his failure to complete a sentence or a word that betrayed him.


"He defeats himself by his fear, like all cowards," Mary K. said, one day, and when I mentioned that his messages lacked continuity, she returned: "No coward is consecutive. How could he be?"


These were by no means the last of the encounters





The question was answered in detail, immediately followed by the statement, "Phil fears too much."


Suspecting interference, from the peculiar movement of the pencil, I asked him who Phil was, and when he replied that he knew no such person, I demanded to know who was writing.


"M.A." This signature was not complete, but the reply to a question in this connection, purporting to come from Mary K., was followed by a vigorous repetition of M. A.'s initials, inclosed in two reversed circles—his characteristic signature when in full control of the pencil.


My visitor then admitted that he had asked a fictitious question, but attempts to learn who had answered it resulted in contradictory assertions from various sources, and knowing the difficulty of re­establishing a connection once effectually broken, I refused to continue the interview.


"The integrity of the seeker," Mary K. said, the next day, "is the messenger's only protection from disintegrating force during an interview. These forces should be persistently repelled, not invited. Ignorance of their presence and power frequently opens a way for them, as in this instance. Absolute sincerity





and candor are essential to the maintenance of a connection with constructive forces, in these interviews."


"Forces of disintegration do not wait to be invited," she asserted, on another occasion. "They constantly attack, and seize the first opportunity to take possession. We, also, watch and call, and enter where we can. But the idea of original sin is so strongly implanted in the minds of most men, that an assumption that disintegrating force can only enter where it is invited is inevitable. It must be clearly understood that attack by forces of disintegration does not imply weakness, or fear, or sinful desire. It implies only a desire on the part of the attacking force to destroy. That there are individuals given to disintegration is another matter. Those most desirous of construction and progress are more often attacked by persistent, massed forces of destructive purpose. To be conscious of this is to be protected, to some degree. For that reason, we urge the publication of these truths, that the struggle may no longer be waged in ignorance and doubt and confusion."


"Does 'massed forces of destructive purpose' imply some combination, or co-operation, or co-ordination, among disinte­grating forces?" Mary K. was asked, at another time.





"Yes, they combine every appealing force, as we do. One man may answer to doubt, fear, cupidity, and envy. Another to malice, doubt, and lust. Any forces that can reach him mass themselves in attack and call on their purposes in him to respond."


"Then there must be a considerable degree of intelligence among them. You said they would become constructive when intelligent."


"Men intelligent enough. I never meant to imply that the purposes and forces of destruction are unintelligent. They are not fully intelligent. They are not balanced, not fully animated. All forces of construction comprehend destruction. No forces of destruction comprehend construction. They are intelligent and wily in destruction, but fail to apprehend its futility."


"Are they what we on this plane call uneducated, unlearned, ignorant in that sense?"


"They are sometimes found on your plane among the highly educated, learned, and powerful. Here we regard them as undeveloped forces, to be fought unceasingly until they consent to become constructive."


"You don't call that coercing your brother, do you?" I asked.


"No, we do not compel them to construct, if they would destroy by preference. We oppose





them until they perceive that they must fail, and seek light. Then we accept them, instruct them, and are stronger…. The forces opposing us have no faith, hence no knowledge of a future. They dread destruction, fear the end of existence, deny a future, and constantly seek to destroy the inevitable."


In this connection, Mr. Kendal once asked Mary: "What do the evil forces think they're trying to do? Have they lost the great primary idea? Was there a great primary idea? Or are they just bandar-logging it around in a chaotic forest of spiritual upas-trees, screaming at anything they happen to see?"


"There was no great primary idea of destruction", she returned. "A lot of idle force gathered together, and finding itself behind the procession in strength, radiance, and beauty, began envying and coveting and backbiting, and from that to destruction is a logical and inevitable progression. Why is anybody among you envious, or malicious, or cowardly, or destructive? There is no great idea behind it. They see they are behind somebody else in something, and instead of developing what constructive power they have of their own, they hate the person who has more and try to destroy him, or his reputation, or his property. There you have concrete examples of





all the idea there is in destructive purpose. It's spiritual unintelligence."


"Why did they quit Germany?" he asked, then. "Isn't the apotheosis of such personal and deterrent and soul-driving and dominating purposes just their caliber?"


"They see the forces of progress, gathering among you, and know that they cannot win through Germany. She still follows their methods, but without their help, while every vibration of progressive and co-operative purpose among you enables us to help you more. So they have left her to the fruits of their union, the consequence inevitable, and hatch fresh mischief themselves."


PART - 11