are not equally fitted to receive science, to become models of wisdom, nor to reflect the image of God.
Pythagoras, it must be said, had not always entertained these sentiments. While he was young and while he still burned unconsciously with the fire of passions, he abandoned himself to a blind and vehement zeal. An excess of enthusiasm and of divine love had thrown him into intolerance and perhaps he would have become persecutor, if, like Mohammed, he had had the weapons at hand. An incident opened his eyes. As he had contracted the habit of treating his disciples very severely, and as he generally censured men for their vices with much asperity, it happened one day that a youth, whose mistakes he had publicly exposed and whom he had upbraided with bitterest reproaches, conceived such despair that he killed himself. The philosopher never thought of this evil of which he had been the cause without violent grief; he meditated deeply, and made from this incident reflections which served him the remainder of his life. He realized, as he energetically expressed it, that one must not stir the fire with the sword. One can, in this regard, compare him with Kong-Tse and Socrates. The other theosophists have not always shown the same moderation. Krishna, the most tolerant among them had nevertheless said, abandoning himself to thoughtless enthusiasm: "Wisdom consists in being wholly for Me . . . in freedom from love of self . . . in loosening all bonds of attachment for one's children, wife, and home . . . in rendering to God alone a steadfast cult . . . disdaining and fleeing from the society of men"[1]: words remarkable for the connection that they have with those of Jesus: "If any man come to me and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple."[2] Zoroaster seemed to authorize persecution, saying in an outburst of indignation: "He who does evil, destroy him; rise up against
