or harangues by dropping their chins on their chests and falling asleep only to awaken—as if on cue—15 minutes later.
Each had enormous Rosicrucian crosses dangling from chains around their necks.
Hall and Lewis, who started out as an advertising consultant to railroad companies, were both exceedingly persuasive men able to marshal loyal supporters and donors, even in tough economic times, to build esoteric institutions. Each assembled impressive libraries and marketed ancient philosophies in correspondence courses and self-improvement plans, as well as books and essays—all on the premise that a highly developed consciousness and spiritual insight would allow a sincere and dedicated student to achieve success, avoid illness and live in peace.
Curiously, both men were overly trusting and fearful of confrontation with subordinates. When confronted with evidence of an in-house crime, Lewis and Hall would shrug it off with the same phrase, “Just let the matter rest.”
And both were territorial. In the early 1930s, Lewis made a point of assuring his followers that Hall, who frequently lectured on subjects such as “The Doctrine of the Rosicrucians,” was not an expert on Rosicrucian philosophy and should not be taken seriously on such matters.
What set them apart was that Lewis developed an organization with worldwide support and membership. And unlike Hall, who highlighted the idealistic teachings of sages and seers in his lectures and books, Lewis packed his students’ formal lessons with instructions for such things as recalling events of past incarnations, becoming invisible, magnetizing a glass of water with one’s hands to invigorate the glands, treating cancer by directing the spiritual forces of the body through the thumb and index finger, visualizing financial success—or a healthy heart if that organ was ailing. [38] Although Hall frequently sought out the help of healers, he cautioned his followers that “in the battle between bacteria and prayer there is a slight tendency for the bacteria to win in the end. This has been proven in the County Hospital.” [39]
Lewis died of heart disease in 1939 at the age of 55. His organization continues on. [40]
Throughout the 1930s, Hall gave well-attended lectures on Eastern and Western philosophies. The authority in his voice, the magical themes of his books and lectures and his intensely private nature all gave an aura of mystery to everything he said or did, and made him a target of the fantasies and projections of would-be disciples. Some of Hall’s followers insisted that he often scrutinized them with a “third eye,” communicated with them telepathically, even recruited them into his cause by casting strange vibrations their way. Others said the thousands of volumes in his library were arranged in such a way that they told a coherent and seamless narrative of the wisdom teachings of all ages. Still others whispered that he was one of a dozen wise men in the world divinely appointed to shepherd the destiny of mankind. A few suspected that beneath those navy-blue suits Hall was part man and part woman—like the gods he lectured about.
Adherents assumed that a mysterious ring Hall purchased at a New York shop called Esoterica was imbued with magical powers. Hall would only say the stone the size of a quarter was found by one of Napoleon’s soldiers—but at that time it was set into a button discovered on the body of a dead Arab’s burnoose. The reddish-brown carnelian—cut in the shape of a two-headed fowl symbolizing the Gnostic god Abraxas—had been carved in the second century after Christ. Napoleon acquired it and presented it to the Polish Countess Marie Walewska, his mistress at the time. The shop owner claimed to have been a direct descendant of Walewska. [41]
Abraxas, it was said, represented 365 emanations from the First Cause. Carnelians were used by Arabs as shields against men and women possessing the power to harm others by merely looking at them, according to Sir E.A. Wallis Budge, keeper of the Egyptian and Assyrian antiquities in the British Museum, in his book Amulets and Talismans. [42]
Living in the spotlight was not easy for Hall, who struggled to apply his teachings to his own life. His home life was a catastrophe of marital strife, physical ailments, alternative health regimens, and overeating all the while he tried to live up to his image as a “maestro” of practical esoteric philosophy.
Like other spiritual leaders claiming familiarity with secret wisdom such as Madame Blavatsky and Greco-Armenian mystic George Ivanovich Gurdjieff, there was a glaring dissonance between Hall’s public image and his private reality. He delegated his business affairs to amateurs and took many of his medical problems to healers with questionable credentials. Although he did not have a university degree, he did not correct those who addressed him as “Dr. Hall.” He advised against trying to develop occult powers, yet dazzled starry-eyed followers with demonstrations of his alleged mind reading and predictions of future events. He claimed he could absorb the contents of books just by sleeping next to them. [43]
Hall’s contradictions at this time were reflected in some of the books and essays he wrote during the 1930s. Their content wavered between witty, urbane philosophy and bizarre accounts of magic and mystery. In Fire, the Universal Deity, he writes that “the auric body of a snake is one of the most remarkable sights that the clairvoyant will ever see, and the secrets concealed within its aura demonstrate why the serpent is the symbol of wisdom among so many nations.” [44] In Magic: A Treatise on Esoteric Ethics, he warns of people who have mastered nature’s forces “to such a degree that they can stop the heartbeat of a person on the other side of the earth with a mental ray, or burn a two-inch hole through a foot and a half of ebony with astral fire...” [45] And in Freemasonry of the Ancient Egyptians, he asserts that Egyptian priests could walk on air, become transparent and live under water. [46]
Hall’s visit to Dawson’s Book Shop near Pershing Square in downtown Los Angeles left a lasting impression on store clerk Warren S. Rogers, who had secured a rare book from abroad that Hall was anxious to get his hands on. However, the book was being held at a local customs office and could only be released to Rogers in person. In order to satisfy Hall, who had arrived in a friend’s Ford coupe, Rogers agreed to travel with them to fetch the book.
It was a tight squeeze, given Hall’s size. “The only way the three of us could fit into the coupe was for me to sit on Mr. Hall’s lap, which I did,” Rogers recalled in his memoirs, My Own Los Angeles, 1894–1982. [47]
Hall recounted various dramatic birth stories. In a version he told often over the years, Hall said he was born a premature blue baby on the morning of March 18, 1901, in one of the first Caesarean operations ever conducted at Nicholls Hospital in Peterborough, in the Canadian province of Ontario. He said the attending physician, a Dr. Lapp, deciding he was dead, placed the infant in a basket, wrote a death certificate, then turned his attention to the infant’s mother, who was in critical condition. Some time later, the baby let out an urgent howl, as though suddenly enlivened by a soul that had dived into the infant’s body from the great beyond. The doctor held him up by his feet and said, “If he lives he’ll be a big fella.” [48]
An improbable story? When questioned, Hall said his birth records were destroyed in a hospital fire. [49] But according to documents, census reports and Peterborough historians, Hall’s mother entered Nicholls Hospital on March 15, and delivered her son three days later at
