Quest Magazine

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2001 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Mills, Joy. "The Non-Existent Princes: That Which Ought to Be Known." Quest  89. 4 (July-August 2001): 142-146.

By Joy Mills

Once upon a time, in a city which did not exist, there lived three princes who were brave and happy. Two of them were unborn, and the third had not yet been conceived. Unfortunately all their relatives had died, so the princes left their native city to go elsewhere. In due time, they reached the banks of three rivers. Two of the rivers were dry, and in the third there was no water. Here the three princes had a refreshing bath and were able to quench their thirst. Next they came to a large city which was about to be built. Entering the city, they discovered three palaces of exceedingly great beauty. Two of the palaces had not been built, and the third had no walls. The three princes entered the palaces and found three golden plates. Of these, two had been broken in half, and the third had been pulverized. They took hold of the pulverized one, and on it they found ninety-nine minus one hundred grains of rice, which they cooked. When the rice had been cooked, they invited three holy men to be their guests. Of these holy men, two had no body, and the third had no mouth. After these holymen had eaten the food, the three princes consumed the remainder of the rice that they had cooked. The three princes were so content that they lived in that city for a very long time in peace and joy.

What shall we make of this story? The sage Vasistha told the story to Prince Rama to remind him that what we know as the creation of the world is no more real than the city in which the three nonexistent princes found such happiness, that the world is nothing other than an idea. The world and all that is within it are the thoughts of the One Thinker. There is nothing outside that One Reality; its energy pervades all things. As the sage informed Rama, "Even as an able actor plays several roles one after the other, the mind assumes several aspects one after the other . . . the mind makes one thing appear to be another by its powers of thought and ideation." The One Consciousness is everywhere and in everything; it is Knower, Known, and Knowing itself.

H. P. Blavatsky said that the fundamental proposition of the esoteric philosophy (the Wisdom Tradition we know as Theosophy) is an "omnipresent, boundless, and immutable principle." "Existence is one thing, not any collection of things linked together," HPB told her students, according to Robert Bowen's notes on her classes, and she continued, "Fundamentally there is ONE BEING. It is ALL-BEING. . . . Therefore it is clear that this fundamental ONE EXISTENCE, or Absolute Being, must be the REALITY in every form there is."

Those familiar with Annie Besant's translation of the Bhagavad Gita will recognize that the title of these remarks is a quotation from chapter 13 of that work, and will also understand why in talking about "that which ought to be known," I have begun with the text of the Yoga Vasistha and the words of HPB.Chapter 13 of the Gita begins the final section or last six chapters of the work. The first section of six chapters focuses on karma yoga, work as sacrifice, action without attachment to the results of action. The second section (chapters 7 -12) concerns the path of bhakti or the path of love. The concluding portion of the Gita (chapters 13 -18) bring us to the way of knowing, jnana yoga, the path of knowledge or wisdom.

Robert Bowen's notes also record HPB's statement that a particular kind of mental effort is required for the study of The Secret Doctrine, a mode of thinking that HPB defined as jnana yoga: "this new kind of mental effort calls for . . . the carving out of 'new brain paths,' the ranking in different order of the little brain lives." Bowen's report concludes, "The True Student of The Secret Doctrine is a Jnana Yogi." If this way of knowledge demands the "carving out" of new brain pathways, there is a deeper and more significant reason why the final chapters of the Gita should be devoted to the yoga of knowing than the casual student might assume.

At the beginning of chapter 13 of the Gita, in Annie Besant's translation, Arjuna asks:

Matter and Spirit, even the Field and the Knower of the Field, wisdom and that which ought to be known, these I would learn.

In the translation by Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood, the question is even more simply translated, "What is it that has to be known?" And Krishna, responding as always to every inquiry that Arjuna makes, answers directly, "I will declare that which ought to be known." Only one thing, one ultimate knowing, is essential. That which ought to be known is the One Reality, the Supreme Source, in which all is grounded, from which all arises, and to which all returns:

Everywhere are His hands, eyes, feet; His heads and His faces:
This whole world is His ear; He exists, encompassing all things;
Doing all the tasks of each sense, yet Himself devoid of the senses:
Standing apart, He sustains: He is free from the gunas but feels them.
He is within and without: He lives in the live and the lifeless:
Subtle beyond mind's grasp; so near us, so utterly distant:
Undivided, He seems to divide into objects and creatures;
Sending creation forth from Himself, He upholds and withdraws it;
Light of all lights, He abides beyond our ignorant darkness;
Knowledge, the one thing real we may study or know, the heart's
dweller.

"That which ought to be known" is the one transcendental Atman, the one Subject of all objectivity, which, being unmanifest, is neither being nor nonbeing. "That which ought to be known" is the knowledge simultaneously of the field--the whole vast universe in all its richness and variety and diversity--and the knower of the field, the singular one which is each of us as knowers. "That which ought to be known" is a unified self-knowledge and world-knowledge, which is the authentic illumination and the only wisdom.

How does this knowledge affect our conduct in our day-to-day lives? Just as Arjuna asked in the second chapter of the Gita how the individual who has a quiet mind walks and eats and sits, and then asks again in the fourteenth chapter how the fully harmonized individual acts, so our question is simply, If we truly know that which ought to be known, how do we act in the world? Is our knowing reflected in the way we engage in our normal activities, meeting and greeting and speaking with others?

You cannot stay on the summit forever. You have to come down again.. . . One climbs and one sees; one descends and one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself . . . by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one no longer sees, one can at least still know.

Daumal touches on an experience common to many of us. We have been inspired, perhaps by the words of a great teacher or by music or art; we have beheld a vision in deep contemplation, in the private moments of meditation,when something seemed so known as to be almost tangible. Then the events of daily life intrude, or we are disturbed by something or someone, and the inspiration, the vision, the knowing is gone as we react to the pressures of the moment. It is at such times that we must discover that "art of conducting oneself by the memory of what one saw higher up," as Daumal put it.

Another contemporary writer, Jack Kornfield, puts it this way:

After the ecstasy comes the laundry. . . . Like the monk in the ox-herding pictures, most of us have to reenter the marketplace to fulfill our realization. As we come down from the mountain, we may be shocked to find how easily our old habits wait for us, like comfortable and familiar clothes. Even if our transformation is great and we feel peaceful and unshakable, some part of our return will inevitably test us.

Kornfield's words should remind us that it is never enough to say, "Oh,yes, I know," for the circumstances of life eventually prove our knowing or not knowing. Francis Bacon wrote of those "idols of the mind," by which he meant the experiences, ideas, and attitudes that give a person the illusion of knowledge.The illusion of knowledge is revealed when our conduct is not in sync with our professed knowing.

In her New Year's message for 1888, the opening article in her magazine Lucifer for January of that year, H. P. Blavatsky wrote:

Thoreau pointed out that there are artists in life, persons who can change the color of a day and make it beautiful to those with whom they come into contact. We claim that there are adepts, masters in life who make it divine, as in all other arts. Is it not the greatest art of all, this which affects the very atmosphere in which we live? That it is the most important is seen at once, when we remember that every person who draws the breath of life affects the mental and moral atmosphere of the world, and helps to color the day for those about him. Those who do not help to elevate the thoughts and lives of others must of necessity either paralyze them by indifference, or actively drag them down.

When we genuinely know that which ought to be known—that everything is rooted in one supreme source—then we will "color the day" for ourselves and those about us with the living and vibrant hues of beauty, all of which derive from that one white light of Ultimate Reality. Knowing there is but that one"color," however broken up it may be into all the shades and tints of the world we see about us, we will appreciate the diversity of colors the world exhibits. Knowing that there is but One Life, we will recognize that whatever we do or think or feel has an impact on the entire web of existence.

How do we act? How do we conduct ourselves each day? How do we walk or sit or talk? If we know that "existence is one thing," as HPB emphasized to her students, then we will know how to conduct ourselves, not by some textbook of rules, but out of the very heart of our knowing. Consciousness is one, and we are each a part of that universal awareness, a network of thought in which each of us is coloring, so to speak, a strand in the web. How we act each day of our lives gives color to our unique thread. Whether the thread is bright and beautiful or dark and ugly is for each of us to determine.

Theodore Roszak, the well-known analyst of American culture, writing on "Our Demographic Destiny," in the Summer 2000 issue of the journal Lapis, has this to say:

Now we know that we live in a universe of enormous complexity and symbiotic subtlety where relationships rather than autonomous parts and competing agents are paramount. Today, when we think of our place in the world, we must see ourselves as not only caught up in a dense, sociological web, but afloat in an invisible sea of intricate ecological, and microbial alliances. . .. Every breath we take affirms that we are partners in the deep community of nature. . . . nothing enlivens ethics more than the feelings that come before words and underlie philosophy: the vivid, intuitive knowledge of relationship, the reality of the other, the claim of life upon life. . . . Once we were told on the highest authority that the universe was no more than atoms purposelessly adrift in the void; now we know that we live . . . amid 'patterns that interlock to infinity.' . . . Our growing sense of the depth, complexity, and organic interrelatedness of nature on both the microcosmic and the macrocosmic scale is not a minor theoretical revision in the sciences; it is radical enough to be ethically wrenching.

Roszak's concluding words, that the awareness of the fundamental relationship of all existent things is "radical enough to be ethically wrenching," echoes the Reith Lecture, given by the Prince of Wales, in which Charles emphasized the need for "working with the grain of Nature" rather than against it:

We need . . . to rediscover a reverence for the natural world, irrespective of its usefulness to ourselves; to become more aware, in Philip Sherrard's words, of "the relationship of interdependence, interpenetration and reciprocity between God, Man and Creation." . . . it is hard not to feel a sense of humility, wonder and awe about our place in the natural order. And to feel this at all stems from that inner heart felt reason which, sometimes despite ourselves, is telling us that we are intimately bound up in the mysteries of life. . . . Only by rediscovering the essential unity and order of the living and spiritual world . . . and by bridging the destructive chasm between cynical secularism and the timelessness of traditional religion, will we avoid the disintegration of our overall environment.

Underlying the interrelatedness of all life in the intricate network of existence is the one fundamental and magnificent truth, that which ought to be known: the grounding of all manifest being in One Ultimate Reality. In that grounding Knower, Knowing, and Known are one. There is nothing outside that One Reality, One Universal Consciousness, whose living power pervades all, embraces all, enlightens all. Everywhere only It appears, though we may be like the three nonexistent princes, drinking from rivers that are but transitory images of Its ceaseless motion, entering cities that are the ever-changing outer vestures we call personalities, which serve as temporary abiding places for the One Atman, the Immortal Spirit, the only Knower in whom knowing and known are forever unified.

The path of jnana yoga, as suggested at the beginning, is the path of essential knowledge, of knowing that which ought to be known, a way that does indeed demand, as HPB told her students, the "carving out" of new brain pathways. That can only mean a complete and total transformation of one's very being. It was just such a transformation that Arjuna experienced. It was such a knowing that would enable Arjuna to say at the conclusion of the Gita:

Destroyed is my delusion, I have gained knowledge through Thy grace, O Immutable One. I am firm, my doubts have fled away. I will do according to Thy word.

That "doing" is not according to some external authority, but rather is the obedience of the personal self to the One Immortal Atman, the One Universal Self, which abides in the hearts of all beings, the One Supreme Consciousness, the Ultimate Knower and the Ultimate Known. For it is here, in the daily round of existence, in the mundane world where we move around and about, eating and walking and talking and working and resting, fighting our battles and enjoying our small victories, that we live out our knowing. When we truly know that which ought to be known, we too will be called "great-souled," Mahatma, as was Arjuna. But if we have not as yet achieved that state of full knowing, we can at least "color the day" for all about us with beauty and with love.

Joy Mills is a past president of both the American and Australian Sections of the Theosophical Society, as well as a past international Vice President. In fall 2000, she directed the School of the Wisdom at Adyar, India.

By Tim Boyd

Originally printed in the July - August 2007 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Boyd, Tim."The True Power of Love." Quest  95.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2007): 141-143.

The following is a description of the loving efforts of Bill Lawrence and the Center he started. It is told here by Tim Boyd who was one of the young men closely associated with the "Old Man," as he was affectionately called. Tim tells the story of the Center where lived and worked. The Center no longer exists. Since about 2000 its former members have been involved in different directions and different places. Tim still lives there, but now it functions as a home.

The Center. . . was responsible for spiritually redirecting the lives of hundreds of young people in the Chicago area. It came into being through the efforts of Bill Lawrence in the mid-1960s. He walked away from a thriving grocery store chain, taking nothing with him and donating all the proceeds to a children's school. Chicago was experiencing a level of youth gang violence unparalleled in the city's history. Whole neighborhoods became the fiefs of the warring gangs, and the lives of the residents of these areas were ruled by a pervasive fear. Recognizing a tremendous untapped potential in the misguided youths, and following his inner guidance, Bill purchased and moved into a home in the very heart of some of the most intense gang activity. To say that the home was an eyesore is an understatement. All the windows were broken, the heating and plumbing were inoperable, the walls and ceilings were cracked and the entire house had sunk twelve inches on one side. Immediately he set about fixing the house and beautifying the yard. Although warned by his neighbors that the neighborhood kids would not allow flowers to grow, he planted and kept beautiful flower gardens with the aid of those kids.

Soon he came into contact with the young people in the area, many of whom were gang members. Never one to be intimidated, he quickly earned their respect. It was during this time that he became known as the "Old Man." He opened his home to the young people, even taking in many kids who were homeless. He would counsel them about the senselessness of violence and about the true power of positive thinking and of love. He spoke always in the language of the kids themselves. Many a life was saved heeding his advice, although often it went unheeded with foreseen consequences. The young people began to understand that the Old Man's counsel was wise and that his sole motivation was to aid and uplift them. Their trust and faith in him became unshakable.

During this time Bill first came into contact with Theosophy and the Theosophical Society. From the start he felt completely at home with the teachings and felt he was renewing old acquaintances with those who were to become his fellow Theosophists. From the time he joined the Society his work moved to a different level and took on new energy.

In 1973, as if in answer to some call, the group members who were to become the core of the Center were drawn together. Six young men, all of whom had either recently completed or were completing their college studies, hailing from various parts of Chicago and its suburbs, from Kentucky and New York City came to live at the house on Calumet Avenue. Without any advertising or fanfare, they found their way to the place they felt they were supposed to be. For some it was a chance encounter. For some the connection was made at a Theosophical meeting. Still others had heard about the Old Man by word of mouth.

In every case there was an awakening spiritual desire within the young men that brought them to the one they recognized as their teacher. Each one was a student of Theosophy and a member of the Society. From this point the work that was to be the capstone of the Old Man's life began in earnest.

Beginning by rehabilitating the house on Calumet, the boys gradually developed their skills. Within months the owners of the three buildings immediately adjacent to the home came without being requested or sought out and offered their buildings in a way that seemed more like a gift than a sale. After much hard work the place took on a new appearance. People who had once shunned the area were now driving through to witness the new life being breathed into the neighborhood. The energy became infectious. Residents who had given up hope of the community's revival began to paint, to plant, and to brighten up their homes.

During this time the group developed into a healing team. Regular meetings were held and there seemed to be an endless stream of people wanting advice, healing, or just to talk.

These achievements and numerous others are the "jewels in the crown" of Bill Lawrence's life. What remains is the wise and loving touch which brought beauty where others saw only decay and which fulfills the highest injunction to man: to help, to uplift, and to serve his fellow man. The life and teaching of the Old Man makes it clear that the pathway of ever-expanding service lies open to any and all who would sincerely tread it, and that the life of one man or woman can indeed imprint itself deeply upon the world when that life is intimately linked to a higher source and power.

One thing I know; the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve.

—Albert Schweitzer

By Richard W. Brooks

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2007 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Brooks, Richard W."Reminscences of James Scudday Perkins." Quest  95.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2007): 127-128.

In 1960, Jim was appointed international vice-president by then International President N. Sri Ram, who held the office until his death in 1973. From 1986 until his own demise, Jim served as President of Taormina, the Theosophical community in Ojai, California.

Raised in southern Louisiana, Jim had early aspirations of becoming an engineer. After graduating from high school, he enrolled in Cincinnati University to pursue his ambition, but a visit to the city's art museum caused a dramatic change in his career plans. Leaving the university after his first year, he began studying art, first at the Cincinnati Art Academy and later at the Art Students' League in New York City. Entering the field of commercial art, Jim further prepared himself as an illustrative painter with studies at New York's Grand Central School of Art. He subsequently returned to Cincinnati to work as a commercial artist.

Although he abandoned art as a career when he became president of the American section, he used his artistic talent to illustrate his major book on theosophy, Through Death to Rebirth (later completely revised, without illustrations, as Experiencing Reincarnation).

I met Jim and his lovely wife Katherine on my first visit to Olcott in 1954 while on a military leave from the U. S. Navy. Over time, I had the opportunity to know the Perkins better, first during a year I spent on the Olcott staff in 1955 and 1956 and later, at Adyar, during my Fulbright Grant to India in 1965—66. One of my lasting memories of Jim was hearing him as he walked to his office, striding down the carpeted hall at Olcott from his room on the second floor with strong, measured steps.

Despite his artistic abilities—usually associated in theosophical literature with a person of the Fourth Ray—Jim had definite First Ray qualities as well. I remember when he gathered all the Olcott staff in the building's living room and led us in hymn singing, probably a heritage from his early Southern Baptist upbringing, accompanying us on the piano. Another of my fond memories of Jim is listening to his lectures, especially when he would depart from his notes and speak extemporaneously. On those occasions, I felt, as I expressed it to myself at the time, "he could bring the buddhic plane down to the physical and wrap it around your ears."

One more delightful memory was during one of the Summer Sessions held at Olcott when I was in charge of the refreshment tent and constantly on the move to see that supplies were kept up. I happened to be standing at the back of the main tent, which had been raised on the tennis court, while Jim was thanking various people for their contribution to the success of the Convention and Summer School. He spotted me and, not remembering my first name, said, "And I want to thank Running Brooks for his work in the refreshment tent."

Assuming the office of president of the American section in 1945, he formed six committees to assist in the growth of the section: Field Technique, Publicity Pamphlets, Public Classes, Worker Training, Integration, and Headquarters Expansion. He also transformed the Publicity Department into the Department of Information, under the direction of Joy Mills, and initiated a small leaflet called Discovery. It contained a brief theosophical treatise and individual lodges and study centers could use its blank fourth page to publicize their own programs. Although Discovery was discontinued after about ten years, during its existence, its total circulation probably reached over a million copies.

In 1946, he inaugurated the "Spotlight" program. "Spot" was an acronym for "Speed the Popularization of Theosophy." Among the members who participated in this effort were Jim's wife, Katherine, Joy Mills, Alan Hooker, Nedra Ruder (later my wife), and Iris White. When Joy became president, "Spotlight" was renamed the Field Expansion Program and was for many years thereafter conducted mainly by Felix and Eunice Layton, and subsequently by Mattie Louise Gebhart. The efforts of these various members resulted in a considerable increase in the membership of the American section as well as in the formation of several new lodges and study centers and the strengthening of existing groups. One of the Laytons' talks I attended in downtown Detroit drew over 1000 people!

In 1947, as a result of a generous bequest from Herbert A. Kern, a successful businessman, the series of paperbacks, later called Quest Books, was launched. The first title was a reprint of The Essential Unity of All Religions, written by Bhagavan Das in 1932. In 1949, Jim inaugurated "Radio Theosophy," an idea originally proposed in 1923 by American section president at the time, L. W. Rogers. This program, although small by modern broadcasting standards, still continues today, utilizing audio tapes of talks recorded at Olcott by a variety of different speakers.

Also in 1947, Jim established a Theosophical Scholarship Fund which financed trips to Adyar by Mrs. Ann Kerr (later Mrs. Ann Greene) in 1950 and by Mr. and Mrs. Norman Pearson in 1951. In the same year, he proposed a series of National Theosophical Conferences which were held in various cities between 1955 and 1962.

In 1950, to commemorate the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Society, he commissioned and designed a "Brotherhood Stamp" which was sold through the Theosophical Publishing House. American members affixed them to the backs of their letters like Easter Seals or wildlife stamps.

In 1952, Jim developed a "master plan" for the development and expansion of the American section headquarters. His vision was later realized with an addition to the Olcott Library, the construction of a separate Theosophical Publishing House building and its adjacent storage facility (not actually part of his original plan), and a series of garages for staff members' cars.

He also enhanced the grounds of the headquarters, commissioning a pond to the east of the main building, now affectionately, if somewhat flippantly, known as "Perkie's Puddle." However, his idea of a separate lecture hall, to be named Blavatsky Hall and situated on the hill sloping down to the pond, has not yet been realized.

Jim began a series of worker training seminars in 1954, an effort that continues today at Krotona, the theosophical center in Ojai, California. In 1955, with a generous bequest from little-known member Clarence Ohlendorf and additional financial help from Herbert Kern, Perkins established the Theosophical Investment Trust. The Trust continues to fund a variety of programs, now overseen by Herb Kern's son, John, an active TS member in the Chicago area. In 1960, Jim was succeeded as president by Dr. Henry Smith (1897—1979); under Jim's leadership, the American section membership had reached 4,565, its highest point since 1933!

It is easy to see, even in this brief summary of his accomplishments, that the American Section owes a deep debt of gratitude to James Scudday Perkins. As one of many who were fortunate enough to have known him, I am delighted to honor his memory by reminding us of his numerous and significant contributions to the Theosophical Society over his many years of service.

In addition to my personal memories, I am indebted to Joy Mills for information from her book 100 Years of Theosophy: a History of The Theosophical Society in America as well as James Scudday Perkins' book Through Death to Rebirth and its reprint Experiencing Reincarnation.

Richard Brooks is a retired professor and chair of the Department of Philosophy at Oakland University, Rochester, Michigan. As a theosophist of more than fifty years, he served on the National Board for many years. His specialties are logic, Indic and Chinese philosophy, and parapsychology.

By Clare Goldsberry

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2007 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Goldsberry, Clare."Explorations: Unbelief—A Path to Enlightenment." Quest  95.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2007): 146-147.

The interesting thing about this comment is that the father didn't stop with his statement of belief, but went on to request help with his unbelief. This might indicate that a person's unbelief could be as beneficial to the path of enlightenment as a person's belief, perhaps even more so.

Belief often indicates a rigid structure. The term "belief system" is often used to designate a person's religious affiliation. Whether or not one is a believer can indicate whether or not a person is a true member of a specific religious group. Prior to admitting a person as a full-fledged member, religious organizations often require a statement or profession of belief as an indicator of one's commitment to that religious organization's doctrines or dogma.

However, from a theosophical standpoint, belief is something that is fluid, moving, living, breathing, and can change as we journey along various paths of life. Indeed, the ability to allow our beliefs to be flexible enough to lead us into new ways of being and seeing the world is critical to the quest for Self and for God or the Divine within us.

Putting our beliefs in suspended animation long enough to allow us the opportunity to look at something in a different light, and ask questions in the light of new learning or experience, is critical to our spiritual progression. Enlightenment can never become a reality if we are trapped in the darkness of a rigid belief system, unable or unwilling to ask the questions that can lead us forward into the light.

Many people find a sense of security and certainty in blind acceptance of their belief system. Many religious belief systems discourage the quest, telling their followers that questioning can destroy belief. Yet often, just the opposite happens. Questioning can open up new doors and new avenues for self-discovery. Of course, religious leaders fear that if they encourage questioning and questing, it may also lead one out of the particular religious organization to which one belongs. It might lead one to a different religious organization or to no particular religious organization.

In his book The Soul's Religion, Thomas Moore notes that people often use their belief system as a basis for their faith. Yet, he says, "What they call faith looks like its opposite. Like those who whistle in the dark, some seem to parade their beliefs precisely so they don't have to face the anxiety of not knowing the answers to the basic issues in life." Moore agrees that belief should be fluid and flexible. When belief is rigid and inflexible, Moore writes, ". . . there is no room for movement and no motive for reflection. When belief is rigid, it is infinitely more dangerous than unbelief."

I found tremendous resistance from my family, as my own journey led me beyond the belief system of my childhood religious upbringing. In one outburst of rage at my newly chosen path, my brother accused me of not knowing what I believed. My brother can recite his beliefs word-for-word, as if out of a book. His chosen path lies in an organized religion that provides him with structure and certainty, but discourages anyone from asking questions or taking on a quest of their own. Perhaps his anger grows out of a fear that outside the structure of the organization, one becomes lost in a sea of unbelief. Perhaps he fears that when the protective walls come down, one is left standing alone in the darkness, when in actuality, the opposite often happens.

When the walls of rigid belief systems come down, the light begins pouring in and one becomes free to seek enlightenment by asking the questions and embracing the answers; answers which, by the way, might be in the form of more questions that propel one still further along the path. Becoming comfortable with this process requires confidence in the quest and certainty in the path, rather than in any particular belief system. Within the shadows of unbelief lies the openness to receive the light of spiritual possibilities; within the fertile soil of unbelief lies the seeds of new faith that can grow into knowledge and enlightenment. It is what led to the healing of the son of the man who asked Jesus to bless his unbelief.

In the esoteric community, many people on "the path" disdain belief and the connotations it holds as being a dogmatic stricture of the church or of Christianity alone, and think that somehow belief precludes one's ability to be a seeker of truth. That is not the case. As Larry Witham says in his book By Design: Science and the Search for God, "One must believe in something in order to proceed to the next thing."

Belief is only the beginning. Belief is the first step toward understanding, as the father of the sick child knew. St. Anselm, the medieval logician, said, "I believe so that I may understand." As one moves from belief, through the twilight of unbelief, one is ultimately led to the light of knowing, and to enlightenment itself. Unbelief is not something to be avoided as one seeks enlightenment and self-knowledge—it is something to be embraced.

References

Clare Goldsberry is a member of the Phoenix Study Group. She is a professional freelance writer for business and industry trade magazines, and also writes articles on religion and spirituality. Clare is the author of A Stranger in Zion, a non-fiction book that received the 2003 Glyph Award for Best Religion Book from the Arizona Book Publishers Association.