Quest Magazine

Printed in the   Fall 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard   "From the  Editors Desk"   Quest 113:4, pg 2

This is the 150th anniversary of the founding of the Theosophical Society, which took place in New York on November 17, 1875.

To commemorate this event, we have made this a 150th anniversary issue. It would be impossible to comb through all of the Theosophical publications from the whole of the Society’s history and select articles that would fit into a single issue of Quest. So we have decided to use this issue as a retrospective on Quest itself.

In the autumn of 1988, the TSA launched The Quest: A Quarterly Journal of Philosophy, Science, Religion, and the Arts, which was designed for sale to the general public. It did not entirely replace its predecessor, The American Theosophist, which continued as a bimonthly members-only journal. The American Theosophist was replaced by The Messenger in 1994. Edited by John Algeo, then president of the TSA, it was “a combination newsletter and study paper” that was sent to members of the Theosophical Society.

This practice—having dual publications, one magazine for widespread circulation and a members-only journal—continued until 1998. Up to that point, The Quest had accepted outside ads, but at that time it ceased to do so. The magazine was no longer available on the newsstands. Circulation was through subscriptions only: to members, who received it as part of their membership privileges, as well as to outside subscribers. This policy continues to this day, although the vast majority of recipients are now members. The Messenger continued as an occasional newsletter to serve housekeeping functions of the TSA, such as notifying members of elections and board resolutions.

In June 2008, I was brought on as executive editor of The Quest (I’m currently editor).  Some changes seemed to be in order. In the first place, the definite article in the title seemed superfluous; in the second place, the subtitle needed to reflect what the magazine had become. So the name was changed to Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America. Then-president Betty Bland and I implemented these changes at the end of 2008.

In 2010, we were fortunate to engage the services of Drew Stevens as art director, and he has ably served in that capacity since. As you can see if you look through the issues from that time on, he updated the interior design as well as the logo. Up to this point, Quest had remained completely black-and-white. At Drew’s suggestion, we introduced limited color sections in 2010 to improve the magazine’s appearance and appeal.

The dual-publication policy started to seem increasingly pointless as time went on, so in 2018, we eliminated The Messenger entirely and incorporated its functions into Quest. (That’s why, for example, you see our annual report to members at the back of this issue.) We used the cost savings to make Quest entirely full-color. We believe that this has improved its look enormously. (Coincidentally, Nancy Grace came on as managing editor in spring 2018 and has been invaluable since.)

All-color issues serve another function: they open much wider vistas for incorporating art, which we have increasingly done in recent years. As you may have noticed, we give preference to artworks that either have sacred themes or are of Theosophical inspiration.

The latter choice gives us a wide latitude: the abstract art movement of the twentieth century was launched by a treatise called On the Spiritual in Art, written by the Russian artist Wassily Kandinsky in 1910. Kandinsky’s vision was inspired by images drawn from clairvoyant visions of C.W. Leadbeater and Annie Besant in their books Man Visible and Invisible and Thought-Forms. Kandinsky expounded the use of pure color and abstract shapes, rather than representational forms, to express and evoke deeper levels of feeling. So you could argue that all abstract art is ultimately inspired by Theosophy.

In the seventeen years I have been here, we have attempted to strike a sensitive balance between material that relates directly to the Theosophical tradition and subjects with a wider appeal. I believe that this approach has been successful. Of course final judgment lies with you.

I will remark on one change that I implemented when I started this job: I changed this column, “From the Editor’s Desk,” from a rehash of what readers were about to see in the issue into something closer to a conventional editorial, in which I’ve expressed my own perspectives. To me, it has always seemed ridiculous to have an introduction by the editor saying what was quite obvious from the table of contents, but that is what many if not most magazines do. I doubt that many readers of these magazines pay the slightest attention to those introductions.

In any event, the opinions on this page are very much my own. They are by no means to be confused with Quest’s editorial policy. The masthead of every issue says, “The Theosophical Society in America is not responsible for any statement in this magazine by anyone, unless contained in an official document of the Society. The opinions of all writers are their own.” That includes me.

For the reasons stated above, I will not go into details about the articles we have selected for this issue: they ought to speak for themselves. But I believe that they represent superior examples of what Quest has delivered in the nearly forty years of its existence.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the Winter 2026  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Keene, Douglas "Searching for Intelligent Life"   Quest 114:1, pg 10-11

Douglas Keene
National President

Today it is very common to hear conversations about intelligence. What exactly do we mean by this word? A broad definition is the ability to learn, understand, and apply knowledge in the context of one’s environment. It is the ability to think abstractly, often in a measurable way. We speak of intelligence tests, natural intelligence, artificial intelligence, collecting intelligence, the intelligence community (headed by a director of national intelligence), and many other forms.

In recent decades, it’s been realized that there are multiple types of intelligence, which may vary significantly from individual to individual. In his landmark book Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences, published in 1983, developmental psychologist Howard Gardner posits eight different types of intelligence: linguistic intelligence, logical-mathematical intelligence, musical intelligence, bodily-kinesthetic intelligence, spatial intelligence, interpersonal intelligence, intrapersonal intelligence, and naturalistic intelligence. (Since then, others have suggested additional categories.) The first two of these are most valued in traditional education, but the others, which may be more subtle and less easily tested, are extremely valuable in many life pathways. Each of us has strengths that apply to different realms of human experience, and each of us may vary in “intelligence” in different situations, depending on our nature and circumstances.

The French novelist and dramatist François Mauriac wrote, “The highest sign of intelligence is doubt,” reflecting the fact intelligence is not simply an accumulation of knowledge that can be parroted but something that needs to be integrated and understood if it is to be of value. This processing of information, be it mental, emotional, musical, or intuitive, enables us to understand and arrange our thoughts.

Lao Tzu, the Chinese philosopher and author of the Tao Te Ching, noted, “Knowing others is intelligence; knowing yourself is true wisdom. Mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power.” Here we see that intelligence is an instrument for taking external data, objective or subjective, and synthesizing it into a meaningful interpretation.

H.P. Blavatsky, in a short paragraph titled “The Golden Stairs,” lists “an eager intellect” as one step to divine wisdom. Our intellect is not to be abandoned but enhanced, as long as we are aware of the limitations inherent in relying on the intellect alone. Acuity of concepts is one facet of the mental body, but an analytic approach must be supplemented by other modalities, not the least of which is a “pure heart.” How to weigh and value each encounter must be learned from a higher perspective than mere human intelligence can offer. Our higher intuitive nature can best offer an integrated view. If we can sense how to balance each situation, we are likely to derive a more useful viewpoint.

Some of the other suggested types of intelligence are spiritual, existential, and moral. Spiritual intelligence can be defined as an aptitude for spiritual thinking, usually consisting of wisdom, compassion, and purpose.

In her book The Spiritual Life, Annie Besant wrote about spiritual intelligences: “As our eyes become clearer and we recognize these many grades of Spiritual Intelligences, we will realize that some of them are embodied around us. By recognizing Those that are greater than ourselves, we will be able to climb upward step-by-step until we see the greater Ones beyond these; and the greater Ones still beyond. For this path of spiritual progress by way of devotion, every step opens up new horizons.”

As Besant indicates in this passage, spiritual intelligence can also be defined in terms of spiritual entities, such as angels and devas. This points to a realm that is beyond human intelligence but still exists in our phenomenal world.

HPB describes intelligence as part of the upper triad related to manas, or mind, as in this table from The Key to Theosophy:

THE UPPER IMPERISHABLE TRIAD.

Emphasis Blavatsky’s.

All of us possess this higher mind. Developmentally, we may be less aware of it than of the lower mind, which we use to meet our daily needs and desires, but this higher part of our intelligence is often a vehicle of our higher aspirations. The will that is compassionate and selfless is derived from a higher awareness: the manas that is part of the triple monad, the imperishable and immortal Self. Whether it manifests as a distant voice or a core directive, it is nonetheless there. In Light on the Path, Mabel Collins describes it as “the song of life.” She notes that we should “look for and listen to it first in your own heart.” If we do not find it, she counsels us to “look deeper. If again you are disappointed, look deeper again.” We know that it exists, even if at present mostly hidden. It is waiting to be recognized.

In light of the theme of this issue, perhaps a few words should be said about artificial intelligence (AI). Once in the realm of science fiction, AI is increasingly affecting our lives. We can create machines that replicate and even surpass human thought, but is this truly intelligence if it requires programming, experience, adjustment, and ongoing learning?

Many would claim that for all practical purposes, artificial intelligence is not radically different from the human experience. Nevertheless, the machine, no matter how realistic or how advanced, is a processor and does not (and cannot) contain the aspects of humanity that make it alive. Where does manas reside in the computer? Where is buddhi? Does this intelligence’s life transition when the software expires?

The risk of AI taking over civilization (a widespread concern today) seems low, unless we let it. The bigger risk appears to be overdependence on AI for human interaction, knowledge, aspirations, and projects. We risk losing our capacity for creativity, rigorous thought, and innovation, and perhaps even our very humanity, should we become entirely reliant on these sources.

The potential (and expected) role for artificial intelligence in the next decade is tremendous. But like many of the intelligences outlined in this article, AI can either be an instrument of service or create a burden of servitude if we fail to contain it. The choice is ours. Will we have the intelligence to choose wisely?

Printed in the   Fall 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Keene, Douglas   "A Nineteenth-Century State of Mind"   Quest 113:4, pg 8-9

By Douglas Keene
National President 

Let’s put away our cell phones, tablets, automobile keys, plane tickets, and other modern conveniences for the moment. We can wander back to the late nineteenth century. The year is 1875, only a decade after the end of the Civil War and Lincoln’s assassination. Current legislation includes the Civil Rights Act of 1875 (legislating equal access for all races to all public facilities), the Resumption Act of 1875 (restored the gold standard‒based currency), and the Page Act of 1875 (prohibiting entry of women and contract laborers from oriental countries). The Second Sioux War is raging, and Billy the Kid is at large. In New York City, the Art Students League and the Coaching Club (promoting the ability to drive a coach with four horses) have been founded.

During the 1870s, there was significant growth and transformation toward urbanization (the early days of the Gilded Age), and major construction projects were initiated, such as the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a time of expansion and optimism.

H.P. Blavatsky came to New York in the summer of 1873 (although this was not her first visit). She famously met Henry Steel Olcott during her visit to the Eddy farm in Vermont in 1874 to investigate spiritualistic apparitions. A description from a 1932 issue of The Theosophist reads: 

It was at Chittenden, Vermont, while he [Olcott] was on this assignment, that he met H.P. Blavatsky who had come there on instructions from her Master. Joining forces with her, from this point onward he worked to carry out the purposes of the Brotherhood of Adepts, especially those purposes related to the specific mission assigned to Mme. Blavatsky by her Master. “Bound together by the unbreakable ties of a common work—the Masters’ work—having mutual confidence and loyalty and one aim in view, we stand or fall together.”

In his book Old Diary Leaves, Olcott wrote down his first impressions of Mme. Blavatsky: 

I remember our first day’s acquaintance as if it were yesterday . . . It was a sunny day and even the gloomy old farm-house looked cheerful. It stands amidst a lovely landscape, in a valley bounded by grassy slopes that rise into the mountains covered to the very crest with leafy groves . . . She had arrived shortly before noon with a French Canadian lady, and they were at the table as we entered. My eye was first attracted by a scarlet Garibaldian shirt the former wore, as in vivid contrast to the dull colurs around . . . I went straight across and took a seat opposite her to indulge my favorite habit of character-study . . . Dinner over, the two went outside the house and Madame Blavatsky rolled herself a cigarette, for which I gave her a light as a pretext to enter into conversation. My remark having been made in French, we fell at once into talk in that language. 

In his book People from the Other World, Olcott adds:

I gradually discovered that this lady, whose brilliant accomplishments and eminent virtues of character, no less than her exalted social position, entitled her to the highest respect, is one of the most remarkable mediums in the world. At the same time, her mediumship is totally different from that of any other person I have ever met; for, instead of being controlled by spirits to do their will, it is she who seems to control them to do her bidding. Whatever may be the secret by which this power has been attained, I cannot say, but that she possesses it I have had too many proofs to permit me to doubt the fact.

Unfortunately, we do not have Blavatsky’s initial impressions of Olcott, and although she wrote to him frequently, the letters have been lost. Some of them are summarized by the colonel in his autobiographical publication Old Diary Leaves.

There was an instant connection between HPB and Olcott—friendship and a common spiritual interest. He described them as “chums.” Later, Mme. Blavatsky wrote: “I highly esteem Col. Olcott, as does everyone who knows him. He is a gentleman; but what is more in my eyes, he is an honest and true man, and unselfish Spiritualist, in the proper sense of that word.”

Throughout 1875, a number of meetings were held at which Olcott and other interested persons met to discuss a variety of spiritual topics. Blavatsky and William Q. Judge—who would become another cofounder of the Theosophical Society—did not attend regularly because of other obligations.

The Theosophy Wiki site (a valuable resource that I highly recommend) relates: 

On Tuesday, September 7, 1875, a meeting was organized at Mme. Blavatsky’s rooms to hear a lecture given by George H. Felt entitled “The Lost Canon of Proportion of the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans.” . . . During the discussion that followed the lecture, a suggestion was made that a Society be formed to pursue and promote such occult research.

On the next day another meeting took place with Mr. Felt lecturing again. The Society was more definitely organized and sixteen people handed in their names for that purpose. A committee of three was appointed to draft a Constitution and Bylaws.

On September 13, in a new meeting at the same address, Mr. Felt gave another lecture. At this time the name of “The Theosophical Society” was agreed upon.

According to Col. Olcott, the choice of the name of the newly formed Society was subject of discussion in the committee, and several options were suggested such as the Egyptological, the Hermetic, the Rosicrucian etc. However, none of them seemed the right one. “At last,” he recalls “in turning over the leaves of the Dictionary, one of us came across the word ‘Theosophy,’ whereupon, after discussion, we unanimously agreed that that was the best of all.” Olcott explained this name was appropriate because it expressed “the esoteric truth we wished to reach” and covered the ground of “methods of occult scientific research.”

On November 17, 1875, the Theosophical Society was officially created. Sixteen or seventeen participants, from diverse professional and ethnic backgrounds, were in the initial group. In her Theosophical Glossary, under the entry “Theosophical Society, or Universal Brotherhood,” Mme. Blavatsky wrote:

Founded in 1875 at New York, by Colonel H.S. Olcott and H.P. Blavatsky, helped by W.Q. Judge and several others. Its avowed object was at first the scientific investigation of psychic or so-called “spiritualistic” phenomena, after which its three chief objects were declared, namely (1) Brotherhood of man, without distinction of race, colour, religion, or social position; (2) the serious study of the ancient world-religions for purposes of comparison and the selection therefrom of universal ethics; (3) the study and development of the latent divine powers in man. 

So began the “experiment” of our founders, encouraged by the Mahatmas to create an organization for exploring life’s deepest questions.

Our history is colorful, filled with alliances and separations, wonders and scandals, egotism and charity. Many descriptions exist, but at this time of our sesquicentennial anniversary, perhaps it is best to reflect on those days and years of our beginning, which were filled with optimism and potential.

The Society remains vibrant and diverse, spanning dozens of countries and creating a spiritual home for many. We might ask what the future holds. In The Key to Theosophy, HPB noted: 

Theosophy will ever exist throughout the infinitudes of the Future . . . [however] Its [the Theosophical Society’s] future will depend almost entirely upon the degree of selflessness, earnestness, devotion, and last, but not least, on the amount of knowledge and wisdom possessed by those members, on whom it will fall to carry on the work.

Can we continue to share the aliveness, the compassion, and the inclusivity that is so central to the movement known as Theosophy?  I believe we can look forward to many more such decades if we remain true to the mission of the Society.

Printed in the Winter 2026  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Heubel, Peggy "Kurukshetra Now: The Bhagavad Gita and the Battle for the Human Spirit"   Quest 114:1, pg 8-9

By Peggy Heubel

Kurukshetra is here. It is now. To act from the still center within is to strike a blow on behalf of humanity’s soul—and no act of courage ever dies.

This article is meant to be practical and reflective: to draw from the ever-timeless teachings of the Indian scripture the Bhagavad Gita while attempting to illuminate the moral challenges of our present age.

The Gita takes place at the outset of the great battle on the plain of Kurukshetra between the wicked Kaurava clan and the virtuous Pandavas. (This battle has been traditionally dated to the late fourth millennium BC.) Before it begins, Krishna, an avatar or incarnation of the god Vishnu who is serving as the charioteer of the warrior Arjuna, has a discussion with him about the nature of the universe and reality.

The Gita emerges not as ancient scripture, but as a practical and living manual for ethical encounters of every kind—uniting inner spiritual discipline with outer action in defense of truth, justice, and compassion. Through principles such as karma yoga (selfless action), svadharma (one’s rightful duty), and samatva (equanimity in success and failure), the Gita offers a framework for modern spiritual activism that resists injustice without hatred and serves humanity without attachment to personal reward, challenging us to meet today’s political, social, and ecological crises—our own Kurukshetra—with the still heart, steady hand, and fearless resolve of the warrior-soul.

On the ancient field of Kurukshetra, Arjuna sat in moral anguish. Before him stretched the opposing army—filled with relatives, mentors, and friends. The call to battle demanded that he fight those he loved, yet his heart retreated. Laying down his bow, he told Krishna that to kill, even in the name of duty, would be a stain upon his soul.

In reply, Krishna spoke words that have echoed through millennia: the true warrior fights not for personal vengeance, but for dharma—the upholding of truth, justice, and harmony in the world. To refuse such a duty when the time for action has come is to abandon one’s sacred responsibility.

Today, our Kurukshetra is not an open plain between two armies. It is the contested ground of the human spirit: in the halls of government, in the shaping of public discourse, in the treatment of the vulnerable, and in the care of our earth. The battle is fierce, though the weapons are not of hard metal but of propagandistic misinformation spreading like wildfire. Greed and indifference eat away at the common good. Division is stoked for personal gain. In such an age as this, the temptation to withdraw into private spiritual practice, trusting that karma will eventually set things right, can feel noble—but it risks becoming a form of quiet surrender.

The Bhagavad Gita is not only a philosophical scripture; it is a guide to practical yoga—the uniting of inner discipline with outer service. In Krishna’s guidance to Arjuna, we find the template for spiritual activism: action born from clarity, steadiness, and selflessness. Karma yoga, the yoga of action without attachment to results, teaches us to act because it is right to do so, not because success is guaranteed. This principle frees us from both arrogance in victory and despair in defeat. We fight for truth because truth is worth fighting for—always.

Another vital teaching is svadharma—our own unique duty. Arjuna’s was to wield the bow; ours is to speak truth wherever we can: in a public forum, to protect the voiceless, to reform broken systems, to build bridges across divides, or to heal what has been wounded in body, mind, or spirit. The Gita warns against abandoning one’s role out of discomfort, just as it warns against taking up another’s role out of envy or ambition. Each of us has a sphere where we can stand up most effectively for dharma—and it is there where we must give our full measure, as any warrior would.

The Gita also insists on samatva, equanimity, balance, or evenness of mind in success or failure. This steadiness is not apathy: it is the capacity to remain anchored in purpose when the tide turns against us and humble when it flows in our favor. In the turbulence of modern activism—where progress can be slow and opposition fierce—samatva keeps our work from becoming poisoned by bitterness or hollow pride.

Equally transformative is the Gita’s call to act as an instrument of the Divine Will. This is not passivity; it is alignment. When we act from the recognition that the life within us is part of the One Life, our activism loses the destructive edge of egoism. We can resist injustice without dehumanizing those who oppose us. We can speak firmly without hatred. We can confront falsehood without becoming false ourselves.

Above all, the Gita affirms that clarity of action arises from clarity of consciousness. Inner discipline—through meditation, self-study, and devotion to an ideal—is not separate from outer engagement, but is its source. The battlefield is not only out there in the world; it is also within our hearts and mind, where fear, prejudice, and selfish motive must be faced and overcome. Only then can our words and deeds carry the unshakable power of truth and righteousness.

Kurukshetra is here. It is now. The call that came to Arjuna comes to us: not to wage war for personal gain, but to stand up for the soul of humanity. To withdraw entirely into the safety of contemplation in this moment of crisis is to abandon the field. To act from the still center within—to speak, to protect, to build, to heal—is to live the Gita’s wisdom in its highest form. When we do so, every step becomes both an offering to the Divine and a blow struck for the victory of the human spirit over the forces that would diminish it! As Krishna assures us, in such work no effort is ever wasted and no act of courage ever dies.

Peggy Heubel is former secretary of the Theosophical Society in Oakland, California, and a member of the board of directors of the TSA.