Book Reviews

The Illusion of Life and Death: Mind, Consciousness, and Eternal Being

by Clare Goldsberry
Rhinebeck, N.Y.: Monkfish, 2021. xxx + 223 pp., paper, $16.99.

The human family is rich with expressions of diversity: differing languages and alphabets, various forms of art and music, unique scriptures of the world’s religions, iconic architecture, and much more. Yet there are two basic things we share in common without exception: we live and we die.

Clare Goldsberry’s new book asks the reader to ponder what it means to live well as well as to face the reality that today most people do not know how to die with grace and dignity. In olden times, death was seen as a part of life: people died in the home, in the presence of family and loved ones. Today they are more likely to die in the sterile and impersonal environment of a hospital or group home for seniors, often neglected and alone.

In The Illusion of Life and Death, Goldsberry has culled a rich array of insights into life and death from a broad range of philosophers from Plato to Seneca to Martin Heidegger; religious leaders from Shankara to Thomas Aquinas to Thomas Merton; Theosophists from H.P. Blavatsky and G.R.S. Mead to Christmas Humphreys and Joy Mills; and secular sapience from astronomers, scientists, physicists, and medical professionals.

This mosaic of thought is tied into a unified whole by Goldsberry’s ongoing narrative of her soulmate, Brent, “who taught me how to live, and more importantly, how to die.” Brent was a friend with a terminal illness who demonstrated that it is still possible, in this day and age, to die without fear or regrets.

Brent’s touching story grounds the high-minded ideas of deep thinkers into the reality of our day-to-day world. He serves as an exemplar of those insights, persuading the reader that it is indeed possible to put them into action.

Furthermore, the author says, “Dying with grace and dignity means dying knowing that we have lived a life of meaning and purpose, and can accept our death with peace, having lived a life of intention.” The obvious implication is that a life well lived facilitates a graceful exit from this world.

Goldsberry has another interesting observation: “Death is something that we do alone, but to die well is not a passive activity. Death is not something that happens to us; we can participate in it once we know how to die.” She cites the example of Buddhists who meditate on their own eventual death. Equally important is the ability to develop nonattachment, another Buddhist principle. Eventually we must let go of all things. The practice of visualizing that makes the actual process much easier.

The book emphasizes that death is not a terminus; it is a transition from one state of consciousness to another, an idea that has a long pedigree within the wisdom tradition.

David Bruce

David Bruce is national secretary of the Theosophical Society in America.

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Introduction  to Magic, Volume 3: Realizations of the Absolute Individual

Julius Evola and the UR Group; translated by Joscelyn Godwin
Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions, 2021. 453 pp., paper, $29.99.

Although it is an accurate translation of the Italian original, the title of this book cannot be taken at face value. A genuine beginner in occult magic would find it difficult to swim through this collection.

Introduction to Magic is a three-volume collection of articles by members of the UR group, who were Italian esotericists writing mostly in the late 1920s. Its most famous member is Julius Evola (1898–1974), a leading thinker of the Traditionalist school, who learned many of his most important ideas from this group. Its name has to do with the “power of the Fire—the Ur of the Mediterranean magical tradition,” which “is also called slancio agita-numi (god-stirring impulse).”

Magic, in the sense used here, is far from the occult magic known today. Its goal is not a result but a state. One writer says, “We have . . . justified a magical practice not by its results, but precisely and solely by the internal states beyond ordinary consciousness that one must rise to and actively possess.”

Another writer describes this state: “For the first time I felt my ‘I-ness,’ unique, whole, sufficient unto myself, independent of any person or circumstance, eternal, alone, inhabitant of my own universe, suspended in immense peace, connected to all things by a contact like a ‘diffusion of myself.’”

This path is explicitly aristocratic—for a tiny elite who are willing to undergo the discipline: “The aristocratic way of being is typified by a superiority that is virile, free, and personalized. It corresponds to the demand . . . that what is lived internally as spirituality should manifest outwardly in an equilibrium of body, soul, and will; in a tradition of honor, high bearing, and severity in attitude, even in dress . . . Even though from the outside it may seem like mere formality and stereotypical rules . . . that style can be traced to its original value as the instrument of an inner discipline: to what we might call a ritual value” (emphasis in the original). This true aristocratic type is contrasted to “the state of degeneration in which the remnant of European nobility finds itself today.”

This path espouses ideals that are practically the opposite of those of the present. It is antidemocratic and, as the recurrence of the word virile indicates, explicitly sexist. Furthermore, “the Gospel principle of returning good for evil is not for aristocrats: they may pardon and be generous, but only to a vanquished enemy, not to one still standing in the full force of the injustice.”

Consequently, readers will have to cut their way through a thicket of prejudices to appreciate this work. But whose prejudices have to be cut through—the writers’ or one’s own?

For those who can surpass these obstacles, this collection offers extraordinary insights. Of human purpose, it says, “And what of man? This stellar-planetary being is a guest on earth, where he descends solely to take up the burden of the coarse material body, to isolate himself from the cosmos and to become himself.”

Although politics per se is in the background of this work, the subject has to be considered in light of the fact that Evola was a fellow traveler of the Italian Fascist party (most of this book was written under Mussolini’s rule) and, after World War II, doyen of certain extreme right-wing European movements.

The ideal of the virile, superhuman initiate can easily mutate into that of the jackbooted totalitarian. Nonetheless, I find it possible to find many of the ideas of the UR group powerful and inspiring while wanting to have nothing to do with their supposed political implications.

In the first place, this form of magical initiation is extremely individualistic. It assumes that the values of the collective culture are completely contrary to its own ends. Indeed, the vapidity and emptiness of that culture are seen as obstacles that the aspirant must overcome to achieve superindividuation. Political activism is secondary, if not an actual distraction.

As for the extremism inspired by some of Evola’s ideas, one article here speaks of obscure “collective influences.” Someone examining current cultural and intellectual trends “would find falsifications and one-sided interpretations that cannot be considered as chance . . . The examination of so-called public opinion from this point of view would bring to light things that people today are far from suspecting.”

This passage alludes to what René Guénon, the foremost thinker of Traditionalism, called “counterinitiatic” forces—those that are not merely unconscious or irrational, but actively opposed to tradition and initiation.

Actually, extreme right-wing movements seem to present instances of these very “counterinitiatic” forces. Instead of pursuing the ideals espoused in this work—which are noble ones, whether or not one entirely agrees with their formulation—they have distorted these ideas into the usual dreary fanaticism. That they mouth Traditionalist lingo is likely the result of the very “falsifications and one-sided interpretations” that the UR authors warn against.

In short, a reader can benefit from this work without having to sign on to extremist politics. Of course this requires discernment and discrimination—but these are necessary anyway.

This translation, by esoteric scholar Joscelyn Godwin, is able and deft and provides brief but helpful annotations to obscure points. One would, however, have liked to have at least a one-page introduction to the UR group in this volume, if only for readers who may not have the explanatory material in the first two to hand. The index is, unfortunately, perfunctory.

In any event, the three volumes in this series give the English-speaking world access to a major landmark of twentieth-century European esotericism. This collection will repay any efforts to explore its dense and compendious material.

Richard Smoley

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Bottoming Out the Universe: Why There Is Something Rather than Nothing

Richard Grossinger
Rochester, Vt.: Park Street Press, 308 pp., paper, $19.99.

When I grew up as a child, we had a well in our backyard. Our daily bath involved going outside, lowering the bucket, drawing it up, and emptying it on our heads.

I thought of this image when reading Richard Grossinger describe “bottoming out” as sending the bucket of scientific investigation into a well consisting of matter. The bucket could also be consciousness, with the stuff at the bottom “a spagyric mud that is as supraliminal as it is matter.”

The conventional meaning of “bottoming out” is to reach the lowest or worst point. Grossinger uses it to describe the quest to get to the bottom of things, specifically “to understand the fundamental nature of existence.” He asks: “Which is more fundamental: the existence of an objective physical universe or our subjective experience of it?” Grossinger says, “We have bottomed out as a species,” adding, “We are bottomed out ourselves, yet falling through a bottomless, unbottomable void.”

Grossinger takes us on a unique journey that draws upon examinations of consciousness in light of research into past-life regressions and past-life memories. In addition, he cites the views of Seth, an entity channeled by Jane Roberts whom Grossinger describes as “an aggregate transpersonal intelligence” or “an emanation of a huge consciousness.”

There are three main parts to the book: “Worlds and Lives,” “Transmutations,” and “Simulations.” The first part delves into the nature of consciousness. In Grossinger’s view, science does not explain it because “the only thing that verifies consciousness is consciousness’s self-reflection in its mirror.” It appears to be as unexplainable as a Zen koan. Grossinger suggests that instead of looking at the movie, we turn around and look at the projector.

Another adjustment of views arises when reincarnation is “added to the playing field.” The second chapter provides several instances of past-life experiences, for which the only sensible explanation is reincarnation. John Friedlander, who was present for some of Jane Robert’s Seth channelings, proposes that the personality and the soul are both real. Upon death, the personality dissolves and breaks into parts depending upon what karma dictates, while another fragment continues.

The chapter “Karma, Nonduality, and Meaning” asks, “What is Reality?” The Buddhist view is that it is a mirage. Zen master Suzuki Roshi says, “We die and we do not die. This is the right understanding.”

Scientists do not see the mirage or the reality it may conceal. They say that the universe of atoms and molecules is real but meaningless. Grossinger says that none of it is real, but it is incredibly meaningful. In that sense, it is “more real to be meaningful than to be real.”

Grossinger devotes half the book to investigating whether the universe began as a physical reality or as consciousness. I was drawn to the chapter on personal identity, which he describes as “the turnkey; it differs from consciousness in that it recognizes itself as itself. When the self experiences its own existence, things seem to happen to it as an individual, divorced from all other individuals.” (Perhaps it is the bucket that scrapes the bottom!)

Ultimately, for Grossinger, when you send the bucket to the bottom, you reach consciousness and not matter. As Seth says: “Consciousness is always conscious of itself, and of its validity and integrity, and in those terms there is no unconsciousness.”

Is this an easy book to read? Not really. If one has a deeper understanding of molecular physics and statistics, it could go more smoothly. But that shouldn’t stop one from taking on this profound inquiry. We, along with animals, plants, and all living entities, are part of this universe, whether we like it or not. To be conscious of it is a blessing.

Dhananjay Joshi

The reviewer, a professor of statistics, has studied Hindu, Zen, and vipassana meditation for forty years. He reviews regularly for Quest and works as a volunteer in the archives department of the TSA.

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Future Morality

Edited by David Edmonds
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021. 288 pp., hardcover, $13.95.

A woman is being treated for a medical condition only by software bots. Another woman has an implant that automatically adjusts her brain function in response to her bodily experiences. A baby is born from an artificial womb.

These are among the many hypothetical scenarios described in the anthology Future Morality, a book about, as the preface puts it, “future moral dilemmas.” Future Morality focuses on preemptive thinking about the ethics of future decision making in ways that might help to shape present-day decisions. It touches on a wide range of fields and social practices where recent technological developments are creating major pressure for change, from life extension to gender, food production, and policing. What happens to our definition of death when we keep figuring out how to medically extend life even further? What happens to policing when people are taken entirely out of the decision loops?

The future here is in the short and medium term—less than half a century out from the present, with an occasional glance at life in a much more distant future. At the same time, there is acknowledgment of what is known as the Collingridge dilemma: the fact that while it is easiest to shape the impact of new technologies early in their development, unfortunately that is nearly always too early to be able to accurately foresee what kinds of interventions would actually lead to better outcomes.

In other words, the hypothetical scenarios described in Future Morality are based on what is happening now, and don’t fully reflect how things will actually play out in the long run. Yet changes are already occurring in all of these areas, often led by technology firms partnering with businesses and governments, and too much of it is happening out of sight. A major recurring thread, for example, is the rapidly increasing intrusion of AI into many areas of our lives, often without the knowledge or consent of the public.

The primary goal of this anthology appears to be to offer insight into what is happening behind the scenes, along with reflections on what values should be brought to bear in present and future decision making. This approach is welcome in light of the complexity of these issues.

As in any anthology, some contributions are much slighter than others and do not seem as deeply informed as they could be. In some cases—especially where the author is extrapolating about issues that are already receiving a great deal of press—it does not seem that much is being added to the current debates. For example, the chapter on friendship in the age of the Covid-19 pandemic reads like a thousand opinion pieces from the last year, although it is less negative than most in its assessment of how virtual interaction affects friendship. Yet as in other chapters, there are nuggets of interesting information—on the likely cognitive limits to how many friends we can actually maintain, and on the differences in how friendship is understood in individualistic versus collectivist cultures.

The chapter on alt-meat reads as a short summary of familiar arguments about the need for a comprehensive shift towards vegetable proteins and localized agriculture, along with familiar warnings about the possible role of big agriculture in undermining those changes. The chapter on avatars and avatar customization has nothing new to say on a subject that has been amply covered by authors such as Legacy Russell, Sherry Turkle, Lisa Nakamura, and Julian Dibbell, going all the way back to the 1990s.

In a few cases, the arguments are stretched rather thin. In a chapter on abolishing gender, Brian Earp neatly summarizes the problems with what he calls the dominant gender ideology (DGI) of Western cultures, especially the imposition of hierarchical masculine and feminine gender norms. One path away from this would be to abandon gender as a category altogether (the gender abolitionist position), while another would be to reshape our understanding of gender to eliminate its role as a determinant of social hierarchies (the gender reform position). He observes that any significant movement toward neutralizing gender norms is likely to morph into gender abolition. He then asks whether the abolition of gender would harm transgender people by eliminating their very identity. This argument has been made by only a handful of transgender activists, and Earp proceeds to dismantle it, largely on the grounds that in a postgender world everyone would have to refashion their self-identity to the degree that it was predicated on gender. By the end of the essay, this reader had the feeling that the central discussion was something of a straw argument, a pretext for outlining the current state of informed arguments about where our ideas about gender are likely headed. In this, it exemplifies both the strength and the weakness of this book: if you’ve been paying attention to the debate, you will not find a great deal that is new, but if you haven’t, it provides a usefully compact summary.

Overall, there is a lot to like in this book. The consistent use of hypothetical case studies is helpful, as it gives the reader something concrete to chew on, even while knowing that the particular scenario probably won’t unfold as described. The prose is readable and refreshingly jargon-free, and in many essays provides information one wouldn’t necessarily come across in general-interest publications. For instance, an essay on predictive policing makes important points about how algorithmic surveillance techniques quickly become an impenetrable black box for both citizens and police. That chapter also touches on the serious harms of China’s current social credit system—which both rewards citizens for following norms and punishes those who don’t—and flags it as a potential future path for Western democracies that fail to safeguard citizen privacy and autonomy.

The essays are short, making it easy to dip in and out of this book when looking for an overview of anything from driverless cars to cryopreservation, from fetal vaccines to neurological interfaces. Especially welcome is the absence of either protechnology hype or antitechnology scaremongering, replaced by careful analysis of the values at stake in the decisions we are making now and could find ourselves forced to make in the future.

Antoinette LaFarge

The author is a professor of art at the University of California at Irvine. Her book Sting in the Tale: Art, Hoax, and Provocation has just been published by DoppelHouse Press.

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