From the Executive Editor November - December 2008

 Originally printed in the NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Smoley,  Richard. "From the Executive Editor." Quest  96.6 (NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008):203.

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical Society

Practically every magazine has a funny little page at the front, in which the contents of the issue are duly described as a preview for the main attraction and which usually ends with a cheery little fillip such as "We hope you like it!"
 

     I've always had the impression that this feature largely appears in magazines through mere inertia. If you think about it, it's really rather gratuitous. Why should a magazine take a whole page to tell you what its contents are when you readily discover this by simply flipping through the issue? Those who find this too burdensome can resort to the table of contents. And yes, whether they tell you so or not, you can take it as a given that those who put a magazine together hope you enjoy it.

 
     That's why I would like to do something a bit different with this page. Since this is the first time I'm appearing as executive editor of this magazine, an introduction is probably necessary. Some of you may remember me from my previous incarnation as editor of Gnosis, a journal of the Western inner traditions, which was published from 1985 to 1999. I still hear many kind comments about Gnosis, so I'm sure at least some of you remember the magazine. Others may have seen or read some of my books: Hidden Wisdom: A Guide to the Western Inner Traditions (coauthored with Gnosis's founder, Jay Kinney); Inner Christianity: A Guide to the Esoteric Tradition; The Essential Nostradamus; Forbidden Faith: The Secret History of Gnosticism; and most recently, Conscious Love: Insights from Mystical Christianity. On a more strictly Theosophical note, I annotated a new edition of Annie Besant's Esoteric Christianity, which was published by Quest Books in 2006. (Lest you think that this is likely to skew my perspective toward the Western standpoint, let me add that the book that I'm currently writing is largely inspired by the Samkhya, the oldest and most venerable school of Hindu philosophy.) Moreover, I've been acquisitions editor for Quest Books since 2005. At this point, while continuing to do acquisitions for Quest Books, I've stepped in as executive editor of Quest magazine as well. For those of you who want to know more, please visit my personal Web site, www.innerchristianity.com .
 
     As usually happens with a changing of the guard, there will be some modification made to the magazine. Most of these (having to do with design) will appear in the January-February issue, but there is one that we've already decided to institute right now. Because we'd like to have more space for substantive material, particularly book reviews, we are dropping the "Quest Questions" department. (After all, we know that our members are bright enough to think of plenty of questions of their own.) I hope this will also open up space for more letters. As a matter of fact, as I was writing this piece, I received a phone call from a member asking if we take letters to the editor, because he hadn't seen one recently. The short answer is that indeed we do, and we invite them.

 

     To return to the initial topic of what I would like to do with this page: it's quite simple. I think it ought to serve as more of an editorial page that gives my personal perspective on esoteric matters as well as on larger issues in the spiritual culture of our time. Of course, the views here are my personal ones and are not official in any way. Betty Bland still retains her post as editor of the magazine, and her views will continue to appear in her "Viewpoint" column. Since she is president of the Society, her views will be decidedly more official than mine.
     
All this said, there still remains the question of what this magazine ought to be and what kind of stance it ought to take on issues both internal and external. The usual tack taken by many members' journals is a bland middle way, in which strongly stated viewpoints and discussions of controversial matters are discouraged if not omitted entirely. I personally think there ought to be room for wide and disparate viewpoints, particularly in feature articles and in departments such as "Explorations" and "Thinking Allowed."
 
    In any organization with a long tradition and an intricate body of doctrine, it's important to keep reminding ourselves that thinking is allowed. If I were to guess, I would say that the Theosophical Society consists of a small core of members who are dedicated to the memory of HPB, the Masters, and the esoteric doctrine as expounded in their works. In addition to these is a larger body of members who are not nearly so dedicated to Theosophy in this rather specific sense but adhere to the Society's core principles, including the idea that there is a universal "secret doctrine" that has been expressed over the millennia in countless and often apparently contradictory forms, and that the Theosophy formulated by HPB in the late nineteenth century was only one of these. I believe that the Society's journal should be able to accommodate both perspectives (as well as many in between) as well as including literate, stimulating, and spiritually enlivening writing from nonmembers. Whether or not you agree, I hope you will let us know. In any event, as I'm supposed to say on this page, "We hope you like it!"

 

Richard Smoley

Richard Smoley

Executive Editor

 

 
 

Going Around in Circles: The Labyrinths of Theosophy

By Atala Dorothy Toy

Originally printed in the NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Toy, Atala Dorothy. "Going Around in Circles: The Labyrinths of Theosophy." Quest  96.6 (NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008):219-225.


Theosophical Society - Atala Dorothy Toy is president of Crystal Life Technology Inc., a St. Charles, Illinois, company that supplies esoteric, environmental, and dowsing products and information through its store and Web site (www.crystal-life.com ). Atala is secretary of the Board of Trustees of the American Society of Dowsers and cofounder of the Institute for the Study of Interdimensional Cooperation. She is a member of the Labyrinth Society and the Theosophical Society and leads an annual spring equinox walk on the Olcott Labyrinth. Her book, How to Talk with TreesTHE LABYRINTH PATH THAT IS THE PATH is not the path," a Taoist might observe when walking the continually reversing circuits of a labyrinth.

For over 5000 years, the same classical labyrinth pattern has been used for purposes as diverse as creating a town's fortification system, drawing water to arid land, enhancing a meditative focus on one's spiritual life, and balancing the brains of bipolar children. Still, no matter how many times a person walks even the same labyrinth; it is always a new experience.

Labyrinths are ancient energy grids that have waxed and waned in popularity over the centuries. They have appeared on ancient temple walls, pottery, and floors, as the basis for battle plans and fortifications, and as patterns that have been integrated with the landscape to form powerful and energy-rich locations.

In 2001 a group of enthusiasts met in Atlanta, Georgia, and formed the Labyrinth Society. They immediately began a group project of precisely defining the many ambiguous terms historically associated with this figure. The society's definition of a labyrinth (found on its Web site, www.labyrinthsociety.org ) is "a single path or unicursal tool for personal, psychological and spiritual transformation. Labyrinths are thought to enhance right brain activity." Each single round of a labyrinth is called a circuit.

The society's Web site distinguishes labyrinths from mazes in that "a maze can have more than one entrance and numerous choices along the way. The walls are usually high so as to block one from seeing the way out. It is constructed to be a left-brain puzzle." A maze, by its very nature, delights in confusing the path to the truth, forcing an individual to creatively look at and choose from many paths, some of which go nowhere at all!

A labyrinth, by contrast, is a sacred site that gently and inexorably guides one not only to the source, but also back out to the world. Each labyrinth takes on a certain spirit, which comes from the activities that take place on the pattern as well as from the site itself. A labyrinth continually walked by patients at a hospital will develop a different kind of energy from that of one walked by seekers at a quiet spiritual retreat.

During a walk on a labyrinth, which typically takes about twenty minutes to complete, "the mind quiets, the breath slows, and time stretches out. The labyrinth can be used as a path for prayer and meditation," according to the Labyrinth Society's Web site. "It can also be used as a tool of discernment by considering your experiences on the metaphorical level." Depending upon one's orientation and needs, walking a labyrinth can take one on a journey through the astrological realms, the personal transformation of issues, the musical octave, the rainbow of colors, the seven chakras, physiological and mental rebalancing, or silent meditative centering. It can also be a simple joyful romp.

A labyrinth can be left-handed or right-handed. Its orientation is determined by the direction of the first turn after the entrance. Left-handed labyrinths are more intuitive in frequency, while right-handed ones are more outwardly oriented. Jeff Saward, an international labyrinth historian, estimates that approximately two-thirds of the ancient classical labyrinths are right-handed and two-thirds of the modern classical ones are left-handed. The reason for this has not been ascertained, although it is very likely connected to a balancing of energy for that particular time. Thus, ancient people were focused more on stabilizing energy for use on a physical level (such as a city,s fortification), while modern walkers are more often seeking access to spirit. The Theosophical Society's labyrinths are all left-handed. 

Labyrinth Patterns

Theosophical Society - How to Draw a Seven Circle LabyrinthLabyrinths come in different patterns. One of the most ancient and most common, the classical labyrinth, has been found on walls, pottery, and coins going back thousands of years. It is associated with nature traditions, and its basic construction is based on a seed pattern that grows out in an organic manner (figure 1).

The entry door for the classical labyrinth can originate from any direction and is often determined by the energies of the site. Placement of the classical labyrinth is usually done by dowsing and asking the land itself various questions, including: Is it appropriate for the labyrinth to be located here? Is a certain design appropriate? Where should the center be? What size should it be? What direction should it face? Are there other features that should be included? For many classical labyrinth builders, the power of this form comes from the earth and from the mechanics of its interface with the earth energies of that location.

Included in this category is the meander, based on the Greek key pattern. While this square pattern appears to "meander" along a linear path, its basic form has been shown to evolve into that of the round classical labyrinth. The Roman labyrinth is a classical variation: square, round, or polygonal in shape and often used on floors, perhaps originating as a means of energy stabilization and protection for that area. There is also a three-dimensional classical labyrinth, which occurs when the pattern is adjusted around the specific topography of a site. One of the most famous of these sites is Glastonbury Tor in England, a very high-energy sacred site that has a seven-circuit labyrinth cascading down its sides. Builders will sometimes construct a topographical labyrinth around a tree or boulder or to fit a specific site configuration. It is an excellent way to rebalance energy on any piece of property.

The pattern of the classical labyrinth looks like the brain, and walking it is a dance with the forces of the universe. Just as in life, the goal is to reach the central source, but the path to it takes one close and far away by turns, until finally, the center is attained. At this point, the seeker realizes that his journey is only half done, for now he must dance the energy of the source back out to the world.

Another name for the classical labyrinth is the Cretan labyrinth, from its association with Crete and the Minotaur. In this Greek myth, the Minotaur, a monster that was half-bull and half-man, lived in the middle of a maze—shown on ancient Cretan coins to be a classical labyrinth in design. Young Athenian men and women were sacrificed to the Minotaur until the hero Theseus, assisted by Ariadne, daughter of King Minos of Crete, finally killed the bull. The Cretans, who were at that time (the middle of the second millennium BC) a powerful nation, used labyrinthine forms throughout their art, architecture, and fortifications.

The classical labyrinth's effectiveness in controlling and protecting goes back thousands of years. It has been depicted in ancient texts describing the fabled military wheel offensive of the Kauravas in the battle of Kurukshetra as described in the Mahabharata. Interestingly, these diagrams show a right-handed entrance. Other ancient texts depict the famous Trojan wall defenses in the form of a classical labyrinth. This defensive pattern was exported to towns throughout the Mediterranean and up into the British Isles. A town using this pattern was often called "Troy Town" in the local language.

In modern times, the classical labyrinth is sometimes overlaid with a medicine wheel, so that the individual is not only walking into the circle but is also aware of the cyclical changes that occur as he or she traverses each circuit.

The Tohono O'odham Indians of Arizona have as a part of their spiritual tradition a pattern called the "Man in the Maze." A classical-style labyrinth, this image signifies the journey each person must take through the twists and turns, difficulties and opportunities of life.

Runic labyrinths have come into use over the past twenty years. In this system, each circuit is dowsed for the rune energy manifested at specific spots and a glyph is embedded at that location. As someone walks the labyrinth, he or she pauses at each location, merges with that particular rune energy, and then moves on.

Theosophical Society - The Medieval Chartres Labyrinth DesignThe medieval labyrinth evolved during the early Middle Ages as a church design and is set up using sacred geometry; it is usually charted and then applied to a site. It is sometimes called the Chartres labyrinth, because the design appears on the floor of this French cathedral. The medieval labyrinth is totally round and divides into four equal-sized quadrants that together form a cross. Its power comes from the act of walking it as a metaphysical journey of contemplation on Christ consciousness. The medieval labyrinth is usually entered on the west, so that the individual starts by facing east, the site of the rising sun (the risen Son). A medieval labyrinth has a more specific focus on theology: it is considered by its advocates to be a form of body prayer or walking prayer that is leading the walker to God (figure 2).

There are also free-form labyrinths, created by individuals using unique plans and united only in their definition as "unicursal labyrinthine pathways or multiple paths designed not to confuse, but to enhance spiritual perception or peaceful energies." These are often labyrinths designed to fit into an unusual piece of property or to function as art pieces. 

Walking the Path 

Why walk a labyrinth? As with all great forms of wisdom, the answer is simple. The reasons why may fill volumes. Labyrinths have generated hundreds of tomes explaining this pattern's endlessly intriguing nature and inherent value.

Traveling the seven-circuit classical labyrinth as a journey through the chakras is extremely powerful (figure 3). In the diagram shown here, you can see that the seven circuits are numbered from the outside in sequence. This correlates to the seven chakras:  

1. Base chakra. Your relationship to the universe
2. Sacral chakra. Your relationship to the community in which you exist
3. Solar plexus. Your perception of yourself
4. Heart. The point of oneness in the human body with the all; the balance between the lower and higher chakras
5. Throat. How you speak your truth
6. Third Eye. How you see the truth
7. Crown. Your spiritual relation to the universe 

In addition, there are two other levels: 

8. The Source itself
9. The outside world in which the labyrinth, or individual, resides 

Theosophical Society - Classical Labyrinths with Paths numbered When you walk the labyrinth, you are actually walking the circuits in the following sequence: 32147658. This is as you go in. When you exit, you do so in reverse: 85674123 and then you emerge via the "birth canal" into the outside world.

The walk through the seven circuits is seen as the journey to self-realization. You enter through the solar plexus (3), asking the question "Who am I?", and then proceed to define yourself according to your community (2) and the world (1) before realizing that the answer is actually inside yourself and you focus on the heart (4). The heart tells you that the answer is in spirit, and so you attempt to travel to source, getting as far as the crown chakra (7). But here you realize that the answer is more complex than it seemed at first and you travel next into the third eye for wisdom (6), and into the throat chakra to find a way to express what you have experienced (5). Only then are you fully prepared to enter the one source of all (8).

Now that you are centered in the source and gazing out, you realize you are only halfway through your journey. Once you have acquired this knowledge of source, you are obliged to return by way of the same paths of energy to bring this message to the world (9).

An astrological understanding of the labyrinths is favored by John Algeo, international vice-president of the Theosophical Society (see Explorations in the January-February 2001 Quest). Algeo describes the significance of each circuit in this manner, along with the planets and the days of the week traditionally associated with them: 

3. Mars. Desire, Tuesday
2. Jupiter. Self-identity, Thursday
1. Saturn. Empirical mind, Saturday
4. Sun. Vitality, Sunday
7. Moon. Form, Monday
6. Mercury. Intuition, Wednesday
5. Venus. Pure mind, Friday 

Algeo has also related the seven circuits to the seven principles in Theosophy. As quoted in an article in The American Theosophist describing Algeo's 1995 workshop at Stil-Light in 1995, this pairing relates, for instance, "Mars to passion (kama), Venus to intuition (buddhi-manas), the Moon to the etheric (linga-sharira) and Saturn to lower mind (kama-manas)." (See Lewis Lucas, "The Labyrinth at Stil-Light," The American Theosophist, early winter 1995, p. 11.)

Prayers for Problem Solving 

In his book Labyrinths, Sig Lonegren provides many ways to build and work with this land energy form. He offers an explanation of how to walk a labyrinth to solve personal problems. It is similar to walking the chakras, in this case focusing on a specific issue you wish to have clarified as you traverse the world of energy.

Some free spirits who are loath to be penned in by any explanation prefer just to walk the labyrinth and experience it. Robert Ferre, a well-known labyrinth builder, refers to this as "taking a stroll with your soul." He observes that the movement of energy through a human and through nature is circular in form, just like a labyrinth. He recommends that people simply ask a question and walk. Just walk: be patient, quiet, attentive, open, and not insistent. You cannot force an answer; it needs to simply descend into your awareness.

Children often consider the labyrinth to be a game and run one for the simple joy of running. Adults often find it extremely liberating to run it themselves.

You can also dance the labyrinth with a partner. Dancing the labyrinth is an ancient ritual. Sometimes called the Crane Dance, it was performed in pagan circles as an entrance to spring or to symbolize the reemergence of life after the death of winter. This dance was at one time extremely popular, as can be deduced by the numerous edicts of the medieval church forbidding the performance of the dance on church labyrinths.

About a decade ago, labyrinth enthusiast John Appleton observed that two people could traverse much of a labyrinth while holding hands. Nowadays, at labyrinth gatherings, the Appleton Dance is sometimes performed as an enjoyable social experience and sometimes as a profound experience of the partnership of all life forms in the universe.

During much of the middle part of the labyrinth journey, two people can walk together. But at the start and the end, each person must go alone. To perform this dance: 

Theosophical Society - Position Points of Partners Joining Hands Within a LabyrinthThe partners (or a group of people) determine an issue or energy they wish to work on together. While one stands at the entrance of the labyrinth, another carries the issue to spirit, depositing it in the source and asking spirit for the appropriate consciousness to bring back out. As this person returns, he travels down to express the new consciousness through the crown chakra (7), third eye (6), and throat (5) before coming to the heart (4), demonstrating that communication requires working with others. At this point he joins hands with his partner, who is waiting at the start of her own path to self-awareness (3). The two share energy until they finally separate, the second person moving into the source on her own and the other exiting the labyrinth to offer the message to the entire outer world. On exiting, the second person can complete the walk on her own, or share in a similar way with the next person in line (figure 4). 

Physiology and Earth Balancing 

A good deal of work is being done today in under-standing the physiological benefits of labyrinth walking. This has occurred as a result of the observations of facilitators who find that adults and children with learning disabilities often emerge from the labyrinth with at least a temporary improvement in their cognitive abilities. This observation has engendered a number of medically oriented studies. It is currently understood that the many left-to-right and right-to-left turns experienced while walking the labyrinth causes a vestibular response that temporarily balances the logical and artistic activities of the brain. In lay terms, it causes brain fluid to move back and forth across the middle line of the brain, helping to balance and integrate the different capacities of the right and left sides of the brain. This integration remains for a time after the individual emerges from the labyrinth. Sometimes, when the labyrinth is walked continuously, these benefits become more permanent. For this reason, as well as for the peace that is engendered, a number of hospitals around the country have installed labyrinths on their grounds.

Walking is an essential part of this healing process, since the body is a processing plant and synthesizes and grounds what the head can only conjecture. When someone cannot walk the labyrinth on her own, placing her on a horse and having the horse traverse the labyrinth can also have profoundly beneficial results. In this case, one is combining the known therapeutic energy of the horse with that of the labyrinth. Some therapists are working with horses and labyrinths to assist learning-disabled children and children with bipolar issues, dyslexia, attention deficit disorder (ADD), and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). In this case, a specially constructed labyrinth is used, with circuit paths from three feet to eight feet in width so that a horse can navigate it. A therapist often walks beside the patient.

Dowsers, those formidable individuals who use rods and pendulums to detect and affect energy, often incorporate labyrinths into their work to change, alleviate, enhance, and hold beneficial energies for a piece of land or for Earth herself. Water domes and flows are often charted as emerging from labyrinths, and this engenders the classic question: which came first? The labyrinth form has a way of calling up and holding energy in an area, and one often finds cows, sheep, and other animals grazing or resting on a labyrinth. The classical labyrinth has been found among the giant Nazca Lines in Peru. These mysterious diagrams have been conjectured to fill many purposes, among them serving as a means to draw water to that high, inaccessible, arid region. 

Theosophical Labyrinths 

Four Theosophical centers in America offer classical-style labyrinths. The labyrinths serve their local communities and also help connect the retreat centers to the unified field of consciousness that the Theosophical Society embodies.

Beginning in 1995, John Algeo, at that time president of the Theosophical Society in America, began offering lectures on the value of the labyrinth for the spiritual life including a talk at the 1998 Inter-American Theosophical Federation Meeting, "The Labyrinth of Life," and in 2001, he wrote "The Labyrinth: A Brief Introduction to its History, Meaning and Use" for Quest magazine. That summer, Algeo and Diana March participated in a retreat at Stil-Light Theosophical Center in North Carolina, where they led a workshop in which participants laid out and constructed a stone labyrinth. (Unfortunately, Stil-Light is no longer operative as a Theosophical center.) Since then, Algeo and March have each hosted lectures and workshops on the value of the labyrinth at regional and national gatherings.

All of the Theosophical labyrinths are of the seven-circuit classical style and are in continual use by many people in their areas. But here the similarities end, for each labyrinth is made of different materials and has been integrated into its area's landscape in its own unique manner. Each is a cooperative work in progress, a joint partnership among the land, the spirits of the land, the energies of the TS, and the people who walk at that location.

Theosophical Society - The Olcott Labyrinth at the Wheaton National CenterThe best known of the Theosophical labyrinths is the Olcott Labyrinth at the Society's American headquarters in Wheaton, Illinois . The Olcott labyrinth is highly regarded by enthusiasts and is listed in the worldwide labyrinth locator maintained by the Labyrinth Society. Fifty feet in diameter, it is constructed of circular paving stones set in a field of sand-washed pebbles and is set in an open grass lawn to the west of the L. W. Rogers Building. Its mouth is to the north. The building of the labyrinth was implemented by John Algeo during his term as national president. Neil Harris assisted in siting the labyrinth and Dan Doolin was responsible for directing the grounds department in excavating and building the foundation. Overseen by Diana March, the Young Theosophists, organized by Joan McDougall, donated the labor for the laying of the labyrinth pattern in concrete pavers with surrounding stone pebbles.

In recent years, the TS has hosted an annual spring equinox labyrinth walk at the Olcott Labyrinth for its members and the public. Other regional retreat centers hold occasional formal events around their labyrinths, and all the labyrinths are generally open to the public during daylight hours (figure 5).

The other TS labyrinths may be found at:

Pumpkin Hollow Retreat Center, Craryville. New York. Located in the heart of the Adirondacks, this labyrinth is thirty-three feet in diameter with an eastern entrance. It was constructed during a labyrinth workshop in June 1996 from the quartz stones that abound in that area. When its builders were planning the labyrinth, they queried the earth energies, who chose, not the nearby site its human designers wanted, but one located a good twelve-minute walk away on a quiet, wooded rise at the far end of the property. Visitors often carry quartz stones and add them to help build up the labyrinth lines. Wildflowers grow among the stones, further outlining the circuits (figure 6).

Krotona School of Theosophy, Ojai, California. Diana March provided plans for the Krotona Labyrinth, which was constructed in 1997 as part of a workshop led by John Algeo. This labyrinth is thirty-nine feet in diameter. It has an entrance on the west and is located in an open meadow next to the Krotona School, with a view of the surrounding mountains. Originally laid out with powdered chalk, it has gradually been filled in with stones placed by walkers.

Camp Indralaya, Orcas Island, Washington state. Diana March traveled to Washington state in April 1999 to lead a labyrinth work-shop at Camp Indralaya. This labyrinth, twenty-eight feet in diameter, was built with materials local to that site: stones, shells, and driftwood (figure 8). It is located on a lawn just behind and below (north of) the main dining hall. The lawn is on a bluff above Judd Cove, which is part of a larger body of water called East Sound.


References 

Conty, Patrick. The Genesis and Geometry of the Labyrinth. Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions, 2002.

Ferre, Robert. Constructing Classical Labyrinths. St. Louis, Mo.: Labyrinth Enterprises, 2002.
”. Church Labyrinths. St. Louis, Mo.: One Way Press, 2001.
Lonegren, Sig. Labyrinths. New York: Sterling, 2001.
 

Atala Dorothy Toy is president of Crystal Life Technology Inc., a St. Charles, Illinois, company that supplies esoteric, environmental, and dowsing products and information through its store and Web site (www.crystal-life.com ). Atala is secretary of the Board of Trustees of the American Society of Dowsers and cofounder of the Institute for the Study of Interdimensional Cooperation. She is a member of the Labyrinth Society and the Theosophical Society and leads an annual spring equinox walk on the Olcott Labyrinth. Her book, How to Talk with Trees (Red Wheel/Weiser/Conari), is due in bookstores next summer.


Contemplative Prayer: The Discipline of Silence

By Robert Trabold

Originally printed in the NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Trabold,  Robert. "Contemplative Prayer: The Discipline of Silence." Quest  96.6 (NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008):230-231.

 

I sleep but my heart is awake; I am waiting for my Beloved to knock at the door.
—Song of Solomon 5:2

 

Theosophical Society - Robert Trabold has a Ph.D. in sociology with specialties in urban issues and the religious expressions of people in transition, especially immigrants. Presently he is active in many prayer movements. His reflective poetry and articles on contemplative prayer have been published in Quest and other journals.

DURING THE 1960s, Western Christians had the opportunity to rediscover the tradition of mystical and contemplative prayer that had been lost during the preceding centuries. At this time many Christians traveled to the East to experience and learn contemplative prayer and often joined Eastern religions, leaving their Christian churches because they could not find this dimension in them. Other religious thinkers, such as Thomas Merton, Thomas Keating, and the late Benedictine monk John Main, also traveled to the East, where they rediscovered the contemplative dimension of the Christian faith.
 
Today Christians in the West are enjoying the fruits of this renaissance and have many movements that help them once again practice this type of mystical prayer. These include the Centering Prayer Movement, the John Main Meditation Movement, the Zen-Christian Movement in Germany, and the eremitical movement. They are enabling Christians to practice contemplative and mystical prayer so that they can participate in this close and intimate relationship with God in daily life.
 
Contemplative prayer begins with the advent of a divine presence in our lives. In quiet moments, in times of closeness to nature, in periods when our lifestyle slows down with retirement or semiretirement, or in times of crisis, we may notice a presence at our center or still point within. It is immanent within us and is in an sense more present to us than we ourselves are. With time, we also recognize that this presence is beyond us. It is transcendent, and as a result we can never completely grasp it. It will always retain a dimension of mystery. The sixteenth-century Spanish mystic John of the Cross stresses this ambiguous nature with the opening of his famous poem "The Dark Night": "In a dark night, burning with fires of love." Our relationship with the divine will always have this element of darkness and the unknown.
 
John Main, in his book Moment of Christ, mentions that life is a journey to know and accept ourselves. In order to be successful in our pilgrimage, we need to contact God within us and so discover that we are essentially spiritual beings rooted in God. In this inward journey, stillness of body and mind is necessary because contemplative prayer is not thinking about God, but being in the presence of the divine. John Main states that with time, we realize that the presence of the divine within us is one of love that is wooing us to love in return. When we learn to be still and let God touch us, we will grow in this loving relationship.
 
As we become more aware of this divine presence at the center of our being, John of the Cross states that we will, at some point, enter into the dark night of the soul. We begin to lose interest in activities and things that have held a great sway over us or we thought were meaningful. Slowly we come to look forward to sitting quietly in the presence of God. In one sense, the divine is weaning us away from certain aspects of life in order to make space for his or her Presence. We have time to enter into and rest in the Absolute. This can be quite a shock, because most of us live in modern industrial society with busy lifestyles. Now we are drawn to sit in quiet, do nothing, and rest in the presence of God. In contemplative prayer, something is gained while something else is lost.
 
As we grow during this inward journey, we develop a discipline of silence in order to deepen this intimate relationship with the divine. This discipline has several elements. Many spiritual writers stress the necessity of meditating for about twenty minutes twice a day. Faithfulness to this routine is very important for our growth in the contemplative path. God is wooing us to love him/her and we are to be there to meet our Beloved. There is also the challenge of how to do this in practical terms, as most of us are extremely busy with our families, work, and communities. It is necessary to look at our work load and determine when and where we can spend time in meditation and contemplation. In the home, we might want to set up a hermitage, a place to meditate in silence, decorated with statues, candles, or flowers. In the practice itself, we become more aware of the body and discipline it so that we can focus on silence, deciding which posture is best—sitting in a chair, for example, or the lotus position—and determining where to focus the eyes or rest the hands. There are certain key phrases or mantras that help to focus on God's presence. Different spiritual traditions recommend different mantras, and one celebrated mantra is the Jesus Prayer from the Eastern Orthodox tradition, as described in the classic The Way of a Pilgrim. (The most common version is "Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner," although there are several others, the simplest consisting merely of the name "Jesus.") When repeating mantras, we become aware of our breathing, and the quiet regularity of our breath helps us feel and touch God's presence. God speaks in silence, and contemplatives develop the discipline of silence in order to grow in the awareness of the divine presence within.
 
As we grow in this discipline of silence and deepen our ability to rest in the presence of God, we notice movement in certain aspects of life. In the quiet of contemplation, we remember our past faults, weaknesses, and missed opportunities to love. John of the Cross mentions that during the dark night of the soul, God is operative within us, showing us our faults and selfish tendencies. This is an occasion to ask God's forgiveness for these actions and to look for divine assistance in overcoming these habits and behaviors in the future.
 
In the growing silence of contemplation, the hurts and emotional wounds that all of us have are also recalled. Perhaps things in life did not go as we wanted; others have hurt us and inflicted emotional wounds; life's many injustices have left their mark. We have to deal with these memories and wounds and ask God to heal them so that we can go on with our lives. They need not burden us for the rest of our years.
 
In order to deepen this discipline of silence and advance in our inward journey, it is helpful to use nature. John of the Cross observed that some of the best prayer occurs when one is in the beauty and silence of nature. John used to take his students on walks in the fields and mountains around Segovia, Spain, telling each one to go off alone and have a day with God and silence in the lovely countryside. Although I live in New York City, my house has a garden, and in the warmer seasons, I use its quiet and beauty to help me touch God's presence. Living close to the Atlantic Ocean allows me to walk along the sea-shore year-round so that I can encounter the divine in the silence and beauty of the sea.
 
John Main, in his book Word Made Flesh, stresses the importance of silence and encourages us to be quiet and persevere in this inward journey. We are to be still and recite the mantra. When we are still, we do not have to justify ourselves, apologize, or impress people. Rather, in stillness we will find the Reality in which we have our being. As we define ourselves and find our place in the human community, we discover in contemplation a Being of love. In the eternal silence of God, the divine will call our name and we will know who we truly are.
 
For you alone, my soul waits in silence!

 


Robert Trabold has a Ph.D. in sociology with specialties in urban issues and the religious expressions of people in transition, especially immigrants. Presently he is active in many prayer movements. His reflective poetry and articles on contemplative prayer have been published in Quest and other journals.


Walking the Path With William Wordsworth

By George M. Young

Originally printed in the NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Young, George M. "Walking the Path With William Wordsworth." Quest  96.6 (NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2008):213-216.

Theosophical Society - George M. Young is a Fellow at the Center for Global Humanities at the University of New England.

THE FIRST TIME I READ MORE THAN A FEW lines of Wordsworth, it was because I had to, for sophomore college English. I liked some of the short poems, the "Lucy" series, and some of the memorable lines and verses from the longer poems, but overall I thought he was pretty boring—after Shakespeare and Milton, a bit trite. Why did he deserve such a thick green book? All the way through The Prelude, I kept flipping to the end to see how many pages were left.

Now, forty years later, he is, for quiet, personal reading, my favorite English poet. And I am not the only one. C. S. Lewis wrote that he was not much impressed with Wordsworth as a young man, but came back to him after fifty years and was surprised by the joys he had been missing. Wordsworth is one of those masters who will wait for us until we are ready.

Born into comfortable but not particularly prominent circumstances in 1770 in the scenic Lake District in the north of England, the area now known as Wordsworth Country, he attended Cambridge University, took summer walking tours through the Alps, and in 1791 visited revolutionary France. He was caught up in the ferment of the new republic and fell in love with a Frenchwoman, with whom he fathered a child. As the Reign of Terror began and tensions with England mounted, Wordsworth returned to England, and did not see his child and her mother again for many years.

 

He published his first poems in his early twenties, but it was in 1798, in collaboration with his new, but soon-to-be everlasting friend, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, that he published Lyrical Ballads, the work that introduced a new way of seeing and writing, established his reputation as a major poet, and launched the Romantic movement in English literature. Periodic awards and a modest inheritance allowed him, his sister Dorothy, and later his wife Mary, to devote all their energies and attention to literary activities, writing, conversing, rambling through the countryside, living simply and frugally without need of outside employment. Eventually, he was named poet laureate, and unlike his younger fellow Romantics Keats, Shelley, and Byron, Wordsworth lived a long, outwardly contented life, and from revolutionary beginnings gradually became a symbol of the English literary and political establishment.

 

The critics who chide him for turning away from the real world, for abandoning his youthful radicalism for comfortable, conservative royalism and Anglicanism, who accuse him of looking to nature as an escape, of writing about clouds and daffodils while ignoring the dire poverty and inequality all up and down the very hills and valleys he strolled through—these critics all miss what Wordsworth was really about. They analyze the exoteric to death, and ignore or misread the esoteric.
 
I think he was, and is, for English poetry, along with Blake, Yeats, and Eliot, one of the great voices of theosophy in its root sense of divine wisdom. As other esoteric writers have so often noted, the most difficult thing is to find the right words to communicate not simply the abstract idea, but the living experience of gnosis. What does it actually feel like to be face to face with the divine? How can one share, not just repeat, abstractions—not just toss around the Greek or Hebrew or Sanskrit terminology, but actually share, in ordinary words, extraordinary truths? How can one speak convincingly to mortals about immortality? What could Plato's man who returned to the mythical cave say to those who had never left? This is precisely what Wordsworth was able to do—supremely well.
 
Some academic scholars write about the Lyrical Ballads as if all Wordsworth wanted to do was to make a place for himself in literary history, to create something new and interesting for scholars to write about. And, to be fair, Wordsworth was certainly aware, and keen to make others aware, of what he was contributing to the tradition of English poetry. But to have a place in the literary pantheon was far from his main purpose. Wordsworth turned to nature, to everyday language, and to the lives of simple people not simply in order to do some-thing new in English poetry, but because this would best allow him to express in fresh, accessible, straightforward terms his sense of sat, of whatever is truest and most real. He would put the world's oldest wisdom into the everyday language of his time and place; give the highest truths humble attire, not so much because he wished to exotericize the esoteric, but simply because this seemed to him the natural language and subject for a poet. In Christian England, he was certainly not the first, but was probably the clearest one to state certain ancient truths:



Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!



In a note dictated late in life to his young friend Isabella Fenwick, Wordsworth worried that the "presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence contained in these lines might have misled good and pious people to conclude that I meant to inculcate such a belief." He does not, of course, wish to preach heresy, but goes on to say that although the idea of previous existence is not explicitly Christian, "not advanced in revelation, there is nothing there to contradict it, and the fall of Man presents an analogy in its favor." Furthermore, he adds, "a pre-existent state has entered into the popular creeds of many nations; and, among all persons acquainted with classic literature, is known as an ingredient in Platonic philosophy."
We know that he was familiar with both Plato and Plotinus through the translations of the proto-Theosophist Thomas Taylor. But his best source for preexistence and other ingredients of ancient wisdom was his profound self-knowledge, his acute sense of instinct and early memory, his ability to see the glow of divinity in nature—in dreamlike vividness and splendor. The books of the great philosophers could stimulate and guide, but it was the experience of deep dreaming while awake, the long meditative walks, and the visionary gaze that made the world transparent to him and enabled him to share those intimations with us. He told Miss Fenwick that the "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" began to come to him as he walked away from the abbey ruins, and continued on for two or three days up through the Wye Valley. He had the entire poem in his mind by the time he walked into Bristol, and was able to write it down immediately and publish it soon after without changing a word.
 
His close friend and admirer, the great poet, critic, thinker, and conversationalist Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose best known works include "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" and "Kubla Khan," was also a visionary, but of a different kind. Coleridge sought and found his Gnostic truths in exotic, far-flung places, where great winged birds make breezes blow, sacred rivers run, and caverns are measureless to man. Wordsworth was able to detect the aura of divinity in the small, humble, and near; in cottages among untrodden ways; in hedgerows hardly hedgerows; in little lines of sportive wood run wild; in fountains, meadows, hills, and groves; in fields of daffodils.
 
Wordsworth knows the sadness of innocence lost, but he also knows the serene joy that comes with wisdom and experience. He loves the riot of youth, but also loves the steadfast calm of maturity. Life for Words-worth is a rambling, strolling meditation: a walk along a path with flashes of ecstatic vision, then distraction and gradual loss of that experience, then, as if returning to a mantra, a return and ascent to an even higher level of vision. Nature is the mantra that keeps bringing him—and us with him—back into the real world, into our real selves, and toward God. In "Tintern Abbey," Wordsworth senses in his beloved sister, Dorothy, who accompanies him, a living image of the person he himself was when he visited the site five years earlier. He literally senses himself in another person, and senses her in an earlier version of himself. Here, shared experience of nature overcomes the passage of time, turns temporality into eternity, and allows the elimination of the boundaries between two human consciousnesses. This is truly the "I" and "Thou" as one, just as when he wanders "lonely as a cloud," he literally experiences himself in nature and nature in himself. Wordsworth, probably more than any other English poet, allows us to sense our natural kinship with, and refresh our distant memories of, the mineral, vegetable, and animal worlds. He is the poet of both prehuman memories and posthuman intimations, of what we have been and what, through many lives, we may become.



Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering . . .

Wordsworth neither ignores human suffering and loss nor morbidly dwells on it, but rather looks forward to the power and serenity that we gain through the pains and struggles that mark our human existences. We grow, develop, and evolve by falling and rising again, by forgetting and then remembering, by wandering off and returning again and again to nature, to God, who is our home. Wordsworth constantly reminds us that who we really are is what some translations of the Bhagavad Gita call the embedded self, the child that is the father of the man, the babe of Nature.

 

Blest the Babe,
Nursed in his Mother's arms, who sinks to sleep
Rocked on his Mother's breast; who with his soul
Drinks in the feelings of his Mother's eye!
For him, in one dear Presence, there exists
A virtue which irradiates and exalts
Objects through widest intercourse of sense;
No outcast he, bewildered and depressed:
Along his infant veins are interfused
The gravitation and the filial bond
Of nature that connect him with the world.

Our connectedness, then, rather than our alienation, is Wordsworth's great theme: the connectedness of man and nature, man and man, God and nature, man and God. For like us, we learn in Book Fifth of The Prelude, nature too has a "self, which is the breath of God." And the theme of the entire Book Eighth is "Love of Nature Leading to the Love of Man." For Wordsworth, who witnessed the events of the French Revolution in person, the key to the brotherhood of mankind was not mass political action, but the man-by-man realization of our inner divine connectedness through nature. Wordsworth knew frustration, disappointment, and depression in his dealings with men and the world, but at the very depths of negativity, he remembers:

There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence—depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or ought of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse—our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.

 

Wordsworth is the bard of a self-mending life, of repairs that go on when we are least aware of them, the healing spots of time. He reminds us again and again in a thousand ways that there is much more to us, and to our lives, than we are aware of. Indeed, the most important things about us may be those for which our conscious intentions can take least credit. In "Tintern Abbey," he lets us see how in times of wearying drudgery, memories of pleasant views—"spots of time"—from past rambles can quietly refresh us. He remembers the little cottages he saw in the valley.

 

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration: feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On the best portion of a good man's life,
His little nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.

 

This is Wordsworth's sense of karma—every little thing we do matters, even the smallest acts that we do almost without thinking and without remembering that we have done them—everything counts, and all the good little things that a person does naturally add up to a good life, and will come back to us, unbidden, when needed.
 
In the lines that immediately follow, Wordsworth shares his experience of deep meditation, in which the breathing slows, the pulse drops, and something similar to what is sometimes called the third eye opens:

 

That blessed mood
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,—
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

One of the earliest and still one of the most sensitive and appreciative readers of Wordsworth, was the late nineteenth-century English aesthete and critic Walter Pater, who wrote, in an essay from the 1890s:

This sense of a life in natural objects, which in most poetry is but a rhetorical artifice, is with Wordsworth the assertion of what for him is almost literal fact. To him every natural object seemed to possess more or less of a moral or spiritual life, to be capable of a companionship with man, full of expression, of inexplicable affinities and delicacies of intercourse. An emanation, a particular spirit, belonged, not to the moving leaves or water only, but to the distant peak of the hills arising suddenly, by some change of perspective, above the nearer horizon, to the passing space of light across the plain, to the lichened Druidic stone even, for a certain weird fellowship in it with the moods of men. It was like a "survival," in the peculiar intellectual temperament of a man of letters at the end of the eighteenth century, of that primitive condition, which some philosophers have traced in the general history of human culture, wherein all outward objects alike, including even the works of men's hands, were believed to be endowed with animation, and the world was "full of souls"—that mood in which the old Greek gods were first begotten, and which had many strange aftergrowths.

Although he published his works openly and wanted to be widely read, Wordsworth realized that many if not most readers would skim over the deeper levels of his lines. To most, he would be as he seemed to me in my sophomore year, a poet who wrote good descriptions of nature and the simple life. He was called by certain of his contemporaries "Wordswords" and "Worstwords," and the reigning literary tastemaker of the previous generation, Dr. Samuel Johnson, wrote a famous savage parody, not of Wordsworth himself but of the newly popular ballad form, which Wordsworth, who was supposed not to have much of a sense of humor, cheerfully reprinted in the Preface of 1800:

 

I put my hat upon my head
And walked into the Strand,
And there I met another man
Whose hat was in his hand.

But Coleridge, then and now regarded as the best English literary critic of the early nineteenth century, was Wordsworth's ideal and actual best reader. Fellow seer, lifelong friend, collaborator, brother through marriage, avid student of the esoteric, Coleridge was one of the three people (Wordsworth's wife Mary and sister Dorothy the other two) that the poet trusted to grasp every nuance. He addressed The Prelude to Coleridge, referred to through most of the body of the poem as Friend. In the last book of the poem, after showing us the growth of the poet's spiritual awareness from childhood through his schooling and university education, through his time in France during the Revolution, his return to England, his work in London, his travels in Switzerland, and later his moving to the Lake District, each book pyramiding upon the previous, the whole builds at last to a capstone description of an ascent of Mount Snowden. As the poet emerges from the fog he has been climbing through, he finds a clear and glorious view, a summit of outlook and insight, in which he experiences full spiritual love and a power of imagination from which the poet has drawn

Faith in life endless, the sustaining thought
Of human Being, Eternity, and God.

 

In the concluding passages, he addresses Coleridge, at last, by name and acknowledges Coleridge's contribution to the sense of life and body of work called "Wordsworth." "No wonder," Carlos Baker tells us, in his fine introduction to my well-thumbed 1961 edition of the Selected Poems, "that Coleridge, having heard this poem read aloud, rose up at the end to find himself 'in prayer.'" On that day, for that poet and that listener, the reading of a poem about the growth of spiritual awareness became itself a spiritual experience. Even for us who were or are sophomores in literature, the exo-teric Wordsworth offers much to appreciate. But regardless of how much or little we gain from early exposure to him, the deeper, esoteric Wordsworth will still be there, where he has been for two and a half centuries, steadfast, calm, waiting to speak to us when we are ready.


George M. Young, Ph.D., is a Slavicist who has taught Russian and comparative literature at Grinnell and Dartmouth colleges, although for many years he ran a fine arts and auction business. He is the author of many articles and books on Russian literature and religious philosophy including the translation of Elena Pisareva's journal called The Light of the Russian Soul: A Personal Memoir of Early Russian Theosophy, (Quest Books, 2008). Young currently teaches English literature at the University of New England.


Oz as Myth and Mysticism

Originally printed in the November-December 2000  issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Algeo, John. "Oz as Myth and Mysticism." Quest  88.6 NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2000): pg 219-222.

By John Algeo

Theosophical Society - John Algeo was a Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Georgia. He was a Theosophist and a Freemason He was the Vice President of the Theosophical Society Adyar. One hundred years ago, a children's book was published which has attained the status of a classic, not for children only but for many adults as well: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by the Theosophist Lyman Frank Baum. That book is a phenomenon in its appeal, its popularity, and its character.

Appeal. The phenomenon of a book written ostensibly for children having an appeal for adults is not unique. Lewis Carroll's stories Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass are well known examples, as also are Kenneth Grahame's fable The Wind in the Willows, A. A. Milne's books about Winnie the Pooh, J. R. R. Tolkien's fairy story The Hobbit, and most recently J. K. Rowling's magical stories about Harry Potter. The Wizard of Oz is in that company.

Adults may adopt a "children's book" as their own for many reasons, of which the most obvious is nostalgia for childhood. But other reasons are stronger. Personal nostalgia is, in fact, a weak explanation because many persons first encounter these books in adulthood. Of course, it may be argued that such books represent a generalized nostalgia for the state of childhood, the condition of lost innocence, the condition described by Wordsworth:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar.
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come,
From God, who is our home.

If that is the reason certain children's books appeal to adults, a reductionist theory of nostalgia for childhood is irrelevant, for it is not a personal memory of one's own child state that those books appeal to, but a different sort of memory of a different sort of state. The state is one of spiritual wholeness and simplicity, which is quite different from the complexities of biological childhood, and the memory is a transcendental one of the realm of the clouds of glory.

Popularity. Related to its appeal across age levels is the continuing popularity of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The best-selling children's book of Christmas 1900, it has never been out of print since, and the story has acquired a life of its own. Although its author, Frank Baum, wanted to turn his attention in other directions, and tried several times to do so, the popularity of the story repeatedly forced him back to Oz. Between 1900 and his death in 1919, Baum wrote fourteen Oz books and produced a number of spin-offs.

The series was continued after Baum's death in twenty-two books by Ruth Plumly Thompson and in eighteen other books by eight other writers. Oz stories in various genres continue to be produced right down to our own time, often explicitly for adults. Sean Connery's film Zardoz, the black musical The Wiz, and the novel Was, by Geoff Ryman, are examples of adult-focused Oz productions.

The Judy Garland movie of 1939 was a major impetus in continuing the popularity of the Oz story. Its release to television in 1956 and subsequent annual broadcast kept the story alive in the collective consciousness and drummed it into the collective unconscious. Today, themes, lines, and allusions to the story and its characters are rife in popular culture, and their reference is almost invariably to the MGM movie version.

Character. The story of Oz is not just an adventure in an imaginary land, however; it is also a myth. Myths are works that embody the ethos of a people and at the same time deal with concerns that are common to all human beings. They explain us to ourselves in a way uniquely suited to a time and place. Oz is an archetypically American myth; it is also a spiritual allegory of the journey that all of us, as strangers in a strange land, find ourselves engaged in.

Like all true myths, the story of Oz can be told in many ways, according to the perception of the teller and the interest of the audience. The character of Oz is multifaceted: an amusing and entertaining story on the surface, it has depths of interpretation. We may say about it what has also been said of Theosophy: it has shallows in which a little child may safely wade and depths in which even a giant must swim. The comparison of Oz and Theosophy is appropriate, for Frank Baum was a member of the Theosophical Society, and The Wizard of Oz can be read as a Theosophical allegory.

The six books that are the focus of this essay are evidence at century's end of the wide appeal, enduring popularity, and multifaceted meanings of L. Frank Baum's "modernized fairy tale," as he called it in his introduction of April 1900. They envision the story of Oz, the American myth of the twentieth century, from several viewpoints.

In Oz and Beyond: The Fantasy World of L. Frank Baum, Michael Riley, a teacher of children's literature at Castleton State College, Vermont, surveys the evolution of the Oz myth during Baum's lifetime. He is concerned exclusively with Frank Baum's work, the fourteen Oz books and some related publications and productions. Post-Baum children's stories are briefly treated in an epilog, but the movie and adult spin-offs not at all.

In tracing the stages by which the Oz fantasyland developed and evolved in Baum's writings, Riley notes a reversal in value of the Land of Oz. In the first book, the 1900 Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Land of Oz is a wonderland, but like the traditional land of Faërie, it is a place to escape from, not to get to. Dorothy has been carried willy-nilly to Oz, and her one desire while she is there is to find her way back home to Kansas. In the later books, Dorothy's quest is to get to and remain in Oz.

Oz was originally a world of illusion. As Riley (88) says: "Illusion--whether interior (as in the self-deceptions of the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Lion) or exterior (as in the tricks of the Wizard)--plays a part in all of Baum's fantasies . . . almost no character is what he appears to be or what he thinks himself to be." Oz, like our own world, is mayavic. The original contrast between Kansas and Oz is between permanent Reality and fluctuating illusion.

At the end of his detailed, informative, and perceptive account of the historical development of the Oz theme in Baum's writings, Riley addresses the important question of why the Oz stories have had such appeal and been so popular:

The question is: Why Oz? Why did Oz capture the imaginations of his readers? . . . The most generally accepted answer is that the uniqueness and appeal of Oz lie in its American quality. . . . Oz is an authentic American fairyland, . . . a place--unlike the German forests of the Brothers Grimm or the English Wonderland of Lewis Carroll--that can be just over the hill or beyond the prairie in this land of limitless possibilities. [228-9]

Baum's Oz also has another quality. It is "an authentic and recognizable Other-world." Just as Arthur Conan Doyle (another author with Theosophical connections) created in Sherlock Holmes a character with a life apart from Doyle's books, so Baum created a land with a history of its own:

The "existence" that these creations have outside the narratives in which they figure is what makes them such real, living entities that actually seem to have a life apart from their creators. Sherlock Holmes is still solving cases long after Doyle's death; every year sees the publication of new Holmes stories by various writers. The same is true with Oz; that marvelous fairyland continues to be explored and mapped in new books and stories. Baum's Other-world did not die with him. [229]

Oz is typically American, and it is authentic with a life of its own. But those qualities, important as they are, do not fully explain the appeal of Oz. For that fuller explanation, one needs to look in another direction.

In Secrets of the Yellow Brick Road: A Map for the Modern Spiritual Journey Based on The Wizard of Oz, Jesse Stewart blends the 1900 book and the 1939 movie in an interpretation of their archetypal symbols. His reading is highly suggestive of the spiritual depths of the story.

Dorothy is an orphan; humanity is "the great Orphan," according to Kuthumi Lal Singh, one of the early Theosophical teachers. Dorothy is brought into the world of illusion by a cyclone, the cycle of birth and death; she begins her journey home by following the Yellow Brick Road, which is an unwinding spiral, thus complementing the cyclone by reversing the path of her involution. Her three companions represent both three aspects of the human personality (thinking, feeling, and will) and the three paths of Yoga: knowledge, devotion, and action.

Dorothy and her companions wander off the Path, however, and come to a broad river; they try to cross to the other side (shades of Buddhist metaphor), but find themselves in deep water, drifting out of control. Eventually they get to land and enter a field of soporific poppies; the flowers are like those in the Hall of Learning of The Voice of the Silence: "the blossoms of life, but under every flower a serpent coiled."

In the Emerald City, Dorothy meets the Wizard, who finally turns out to be an impostor. He is the ego-self within us, "just a common man." When Dorothy says, "I think you are a very bad man," the Wizard replies, "Oh, no, my dear; I'm really a very good man; but I'm a very bad Wizard." The ego-self is very good at what it is, but if we try to make it more than that, we make a humbug out of it. When the Wizard has given Dorothy's three companions illusory substitutes of what they long for, he muses: "How can I help being a humbug . . . when all these people make me do things that everybody knows can't be done?" It is we who make the ego-self a humbug wizard by expecting it to do what it can't.

The Zen of Oz: Ten Spiritual Lessons from Over the Rainbow is based on the movie. In it Joey Green analyzes the story in terms of ten Eastern qualities: karma; the inner spark (atma); the Yellow Brick Road, "a path paved with the promise of golden opportunity" (marga); spiritual essence, pure consciousness, or intelligence (buddhi); doing good for others (altruism); courage (virya); self-surrender (vairagya or nishkama karma); energy (prana); the guru; and Enlightenment. In this reading, Glinda is a Zen Master, Dorothy a chela, and "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" her mantra.

Not all recent interpretations of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz are general symbolic readings like the two books mentioned above. Some are more personal. The latter sort is exemplified by The Wisdom of Oz, whose author is a great-granddaughter of Frank Baum, Gita Dorothy Morena. Her given name was "Dorothy," but in the course of her own journey through Oz, she adopted the name "Gita" or "song." The combination of the two names, Eastern and Western, together signifying "The song that is the gift of God," is a sign of the linkage of Eastern and Western wisdom in Oz that would surely have pleased Frank Baum.

Gita Dorothy reads the Oz story as a psychological allegory with special reference to the challenges in her own life and the path she followed on her own Yellow Brick Road of personal discovery. She is a psychological counselor who uses the Oz myth in her practice. The story, as reflected in her life, thus becomes a model for her readers. The book also contains photographs of four generations of the Baums and a final note from the author's mother, Ozma Baum Mantele, named for the Princess of Oz.

Another work that treats the Oz myth primarily not as a story, but as a framework for psychological exploration is Golden Wizdom beyond the Emerald City: A Conscious Journey to Wholeness by Ilene Kimsey. In it, eight characters from the story articulate what they have discovered about themselves in Oz. They are Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, the Lion, the "Witch of Celebration" (a.k.a. the Good Witch of the North), the "Witch of Transformation" (a.k.a. the Wicked Witch of the West), and the Wizard. These characters are roles we all fill, members of an inner Emerald Council that can serve as mentors to our outer selves. The book also includes fifty Golden Touchstones, or aphorisms for contemplation and internalization.

What, then, is The Wonderful Wizard of Oz--a fairy tale for children, a fantasy world for adults, an allegory of spiritual archetypes, or a guidebook for therapeutic techniques? It is, to be sure, all of those, and more. But how did Frank Baum come to write a book that appears to be all things to all readers? That question is addressed in admirable detail by Nancy Tystad Koupal in Baum's Road to Oz: The Dakota Years.

Frank Baum spent only a few years in Aberdeen, Dakota Territory, arriving there on September 20, 1888 (just one month to the day before the first volume of H. P. Blavatsky's most important book, The Secret Doctrine, came off the press), and leaving in the spring of 1891, about the time of Blavatsky's death. Baum's two and a half or so years in Aberdeen were, however, important times for him and presaged his future. In the Aberdeen weekly newspaper he edited for fourteen months, he acknowledged his familiarity with Theosophy and alienated some of his readers and neighbors with his unconventional views.

Nancy Koupal recognizes Theosophy's seminal importance for Baum:

Baum had not formed his ideas about religion within the local community but under the longstanding influence of his mother-in-law, Matilda Joslyn Gage of Fayetteville, New York. A well-known supporter of woman suffrage, . . . Gage, who became a member of the Theosophical Society in 1885, had long been sharing its magazine, the Path, among family and friends. Sending a recent issue to her son T. Clarkson Gage in Aberdeen in 1887, for example, she reported that Baum's wife Maud and other members of his family, who then resided in Syracuse, New York, were reading Blavatsky's Isis Unveiled (1877) and other texts on Esoteric Buddhism and eagerly anticipating Blavatsky's forthcoming book The Secret Doctrine (1888). [66]

The "Editor's Musings" [in Baum's newspaper] began as a weekly feature, occupying a prominent place on the editorial page. . . . He began with a topic that would become increasingly important to him through the year and in the rest of his life--Theosophy. . . . In ways small and large, the ideas of Theosophy permeate most of Baum's "Editor's Musings" columns [which are reprinted on pages 107-33 of Koupal's book]. [62 -63]

Evidence also supports the fact that Baum's interest in the East and its religions was operating strongly at the time that he was creating The Wizard of Oz. He and his wife joined the Theosophical Society in 1892. . . . [Mabel] Collins was another of the modern authors that Baum mentions. . . . In 1896 or 1897, Gage, who was living with the Baums in Chicago, recorded that Frank had acquired the book The Astral Plane by C. W. Leadbeater. [72-3]

It is clear that, whatever else it may be, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is an expression in archetypal symbols of the Theosophical ideas that occupied Frank Baum's attention during the ten years before the publication of the book. That thesis is explored elsewhere: John Algeo, "A Notable Theosophist: L. Frank Baum," American Theosophist 74 (1986): 270 -3, and "The Wizard of Oz: The Perilous Journey," American Theosophist 74 (1986): 291 -7, reprinted in Quest 6.2 (Summer 1993): 48 -55; both are on the Web site www.theosophical.org under "The Wizard of Oz: Archetypes and Metaphysics."


John Algeo is Professor Emeritus of English from the University of Georgia and National President of the Theosophical Society in America.


Oz and Beyond: The Fantasy World of L. Frank Baum. By Michael O. Riley. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1997. Hardback, $29.95; paperback, $15.95, xiv + 286 pages.

Secrets of the Yellow Brick Road: A Map for the Modern Spiritual Journey Based on The Wizard of Oz. By Jesse Stewart. Hygiene, CO: SunShine Press, 1997. Paperback, $14.00, 175 pages.

The Zen of Oz: Ten Spiritual Lessons from Over the Rainbow. By Joey Green. Los Angeles: Renaissance Books, 1998. Hardback, $16.95. 140 pages.

The Wisdom of Oz. By Gita Dorothy Morena. San Diego: Inner Connections Press, 1998. Paperback, $15.95, 232 pages.

Golden Wizdom beyond the Emerald City: A Conscious Journey to Wholeness. By Ilene Kimsey. Loveland, CO: Toto-ly Ozsome Publishing, 2000. Paperback, $21.95, 239 pages.

Baum's Road to Oz: The Dakota Years. Ed. Nancy Tystad Koupal. Pierre: South Dakota State Historical Society Press, 2000. Hardback, $29.95; paperback, 15.95, [vi] + 182 pages.


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