Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hoepfl-Wellenhofer, Susanne, "Demian, Daimon, and Theosophy:
Navigating Hermann Hesse’s Vision of Spiritual Awakening"   Quest 113:2, pg 8-9

By Susanne Hoepfl-Wellenhofer 

Growing up in a Catholic country where religious education in school was mandatory, I was taught that demons are the fallen angels who followed Satan and rebelled against God. Later in life I learned that the term demon is derived from the Greek word daimon, which means supernatural being or spirit.

This concept of the daimon—a spiritual being that influences a person’s character and is an intermediary between the Divine and man—is central to Hermann Hesse’s 1919 novella Demian. Through the character of Demian, Hesse explores the complexities of human nature and the transformative power of embracing one’s inner voice and true self.  The title came to Hesse in a dream and is the direct outgrowth of his psychoanalysis of 1916‒17. It marked a new direction in both the tone and message of his works.

At the heart of Demian’s exploration is the journey of the protagonist, Emil Sinclair. Even at a young age, Emil is aware of an inharmonious world and knows that he has a dual nature and a darker side. The character Demian, portrayed as an enigmatic and almost otherworldly figure, plays an important role in the novella, helping Sinclair navigate his inner conflicts and understand the deeper truths of life. Demian represents a higher, more enlightened aspect of Sinclair’s psyche. He encourages Sinclair to question societal norms, pointing out the world we are taught to accept—the world of social norms, moral rules, and conventional beliefs—is only one aspect of a larger reality. He criticizes the way authority figures, like priests and teachers, often promote a one-sided view of life, focusing on what is considered “good” or “acceptable” and repressing the “bad” or “unacceptable.” 

You have known that your “permitted” world was only half of the world and you have tried to subjugate the second half after the manner of priests and teachers. It will not be to your benefit. It benefits no one once he has begun to think. (Hesse, 69)

Equally important to Emil Sinclair is his deep desire to discover and live in accordance with his true nature—his authentic self—but he notes his deep frustration and inner conflict with this process: “All I wanted was to try and realize whatever was in me. Why was that so difficult?” (Hesse, 106).

On a broader level, this quote speaks to a universal human experience—the challenge of becoming who we truly are. We all struggle with the gap between our inner desires and the life we feel compelled to lead due to external pressures. Sinclair’s question—why it is so difficult—captures the essence of this struggle, highlighting the courage required to pursue true self-realization.

Over time, Emil Sinclair realizes that those who are on the path of awakening—those who have begun to realize their true inner selves—are often seen as strange, mad, or even threatening by society. 

We who bore the “sign” might rightly be considered odd by the world, even mad and dangerous. We were “awake” or “wakening” and our striving was directed at an ever-increasing wakefulness, whereas the striving and quest for happiness of the rest was aimed at identifying their thoughts, ideals, duties, their lives and fortunes more and more closely with that of the herd. (Hesse, 160)

The “sign” represents an inner mark of difference, a spiritual or psychological awakening that sets one apart from the conventional world.

The concept of the daimon is central to Demian, serving as a metaphor for the inner guiding force that leads Emil Sinclair on his path to self-discovery and individuation. (Indeed the name Demian evokes daimon.) As time goes by, Sinclair becomes more self-confident. Eventually Demian tells him that if he needs help in the future, it won’t come from an external source. Instead, Sinclair will have to look inward, as the strength and guidance he seeks are already within him. This suggests that Demian represents not just a friend or mentor but a part of Sinclair’s own consciousness, particularly his emerging self-confidence and understanding of his own power. At one point, Demian says: “I shan’t come riding crudely on horseback or by railway train next time [you need help]. You’ll have to listen to your inner voice and then you will hear me speak within you. Do you understand?” (Hesse, 183).

Demian aligns with Theosophical teachings, which view the daimon or higher self as a guiding force that helps individuals on their spiritual journey of self-discovery and enlightenment. Theosophists believe in the divinity inherent in all beings and in the potential for each individual to achieve higher states of consciousness through an inward journey of self-discovery. These ideas of the divine spark within and the transformative power of embracing one’s true nature are central to the narrative of Demian as well.

Quotations are from Hermann Hesse, Demian, translated by W.J. Strachan: https://www.holybooks.com/wp-content/uploads/Demian-By-Hermann-Hesse.pdf.

Susanne Hoepfl-Wellenhofer is a member of the board of directors of the TSA. Her translation of Franz Hartmann’s Outline of the Secret Doctrine was reviewed in Quest, winter 2025.

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard, "From te Editor's Desk Spring 2025"   Quest 113:2, pg 2

Daimon is a curious term. Although it has nothing to do with demon as used in present-day speech, it is the source of that word. In ancient Greek (which is where our word comes from), daimon refers to divine power in an abstract, impersonal sense as opposed to theos, which means god in a personal sense.

But that is not the only use of the word. Daimon also came to mean the divine power controlling the fate of individuals. As such, it resembled the genius of ancient Roman religion (which, again, has nothing to do with our current use of the word).

Perhaps the clearest description of the daimon as personal fate comes from the myth of Er in the tenth book of Plato’s Republic. Er is a soldier who has been wounded and left for dead on a battlefield. He undergoes a near-death experience which shows him the fate of souls in the afterlife. Finally he awakens and returns to life so that he can deliver his account to people still alive.

First, the deceased souls are divided into the good and the bad, who are sent off to heaven and hell respectively (or, if you prefer, devachan and kamaloka). Their punishment is not everlasting. When their sentences are up, they are assembled and prepared for rebirth on earth by choosing their daimones.

Lachesis (Fate), the sister of Anangke (Necessity), speaks: “Ephemeral souls, this is the beginning of another period of the mortal, death-bearing race. The daimon will not choose, but you will choose the daimon. The first one by lot will be the first to choose the life which will be his according to Necessity. But virtue is blameless: each one will have more or less of it, depending on whether they honor or dishonor it” (Republic, 617d-e). That is, the amount of virtue each soul will have is not predetermined but will vary according to individual choice.

The souls draw lots and are given the chance to choose the daimones—fates—that they will have in the next life. Some choose wisely, others foolishly. The soul who draws the first lot grabs the life that will give him “the greatest tyranny” but fails to notice that this fate also dooms him to eat his own children (an allusion to the myth of Tantalus). The crafty Odysseus draws the lowest lot, and there are not many fates left for him. He chooses the life of an ordinary citizen, declaring that he would have chosen it even if he had drawn the first lot.

We also learn that “it was necessary that the life chosen would determine a different character.” Plato is probably alluding to the famous axiom of Heraclitus: ethos anthropo daimon: “Character is fate for the human being.”

This myth presents a sophisticated treatment of the issue of fate versus free will. Often we feel that certain events and directions in our lives are not really matters of conscious choice, but are somehow fated. According to the myth, this is because although the major outlines of a life are predestined, that life was freely chosen by the individual before birth.

We could compare this myth to the concept of the “Body of Fate” described in W.B. Yeats’s highly abstruse system in A Vision (see Gary Lachman’s article in this issue). Yeats writes, “The stage-manager, or Daimon, offers his actor an inherited scenario, the Body of Fate, and a Mask or rôle as unlike as possible to his natural ego or Will, and leaves him to improvise through his Creative Mind the dialogue and details of the plot.” Some authorities equate this daimon or agathodaimon (“good daimon”) with the Magician of the Tarot deck. (For more on this subject, see lesson 3 of the National Lodge course on the Tarot.)

If we try to relate this concept of the daimon as fate to Theosophical teaching, we are led to the causal body, which really is the “body of fate.” It is a kind of encasement of the primordial monad, which remains essentially the same from incarnation to incarnation. This causal body incorporates all the karma that particular individual has accumulated, good and bad, and which will manifest as the time comes for ripening. These karmic seeds are contained in the “permanent atoms” of the physical, astral, and mental bodies. In A Study in Consciousness, Annie Besant explains:

A questioner sometimes asks: How can these permanent atoms be stored up within the causal body, without losing their physical, astral, and mental natures, since the causal body exists on a higher plane, where the physical, as physical, cannot be? Such an enquirer is forgetting, for a moment, that all planes are interpenetrating, and that it is no more difficult for the causal body to encircle the triad of the lower planes, than for it to encircle the hundreds of millions of atoms that form the mental, astral, and physical bodies belonging to it during the earth-life.

This leads us to another mystery: this daimon—often portrayed a guardian or parental spirit—somehow appears as other to the personal ego. Yet on the contrary, it is even more essentially the self than is the personality. It is only perceived as other because the personal ego has such a tenuous connection to it. Paradoxically, what is most true and intimately real about ourselves is perceived as remote, alien, and often inaccessible.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Savinainen, Antti, "Pekka Ervast: A Finnish Theosophist"   Quest 113:2, pg 34-35

By Antti Savinainen

Pekka Ervast (1875‒1934) pioneered the Finnish Theosophical movement: he was the first general secretary of Finnish Theosophical Society from 1907 to 1917. His influence is still felt in Finland today.

Ervast’s public activity lasted more than thirty years, and he was highly productive both as a writer and a speaker. He published more than seventy books during his lifetime, and today his published works number more than 140 volumes. Ervast gave more than 1,300 lectures and speeches. Consequently, he left a remarkable literary legacy that reveals the secrets of life and death to those who wish to delve into his teachings.

Spiritually awakened people do not necessarily reveal their own path to spiritual life and knowledge. For example, the great Austrian esotericist Rudolf Steiner wrote very little about himself in his unfinished autobiography, Mein Lebensgang. In Ervast’s case, the situation is different. He did not write his biography, but he talked and wrote about his life and spiritual experiences.

In this article, I will discuss the turning points in Ervast’s life that emerge from his biography. As my primary source, I will use Erik Gullman’s Truth Is the Highest Virtue: A Biography of Pekka Ervast (published in Finnish in 2020; the English translation is forthcoming in 2025). This article presents Ervast’s teachings only in passing; for the interested reader, The Essential Pekka Ervast (2024) outlines his Theosophical insights.

The Early Years and Finding Theosophy

Ervast was born on December 26, 1875 as the first child in his family; later he had two siblings. His mother’s religious upbringing was simple, based on God’s goodness and omnipresence: her image of God could be described as pantheistic.

The first major turning point in Pekka’s life came in 1884, when his mother, Hilma, died at age thirty-seven, when he was eight years old. Although her death was a great loss for him, he had a comforting dream of meeting her in paradise. The dream comforted him, for he felt he had received a guardian angel from his mother.

Ervast was very talented with languages. His native language was Swedish (there is still a Swedish-speaking minority in Finland). However, he learned to read and write French before Swedish at age five or six from an old French textbook at home. At the age of twelve, he wrote a comparative grammar in nine languages. Moreover, he wrote his first novel at thirteen and dreamed of becoming an author.

As a young man, Ervast could not see injustice without getting angry. This fear of getting angry plagued him for many years until, at the age of fourteen, during one of his fits of anger, he heard a voice saying, “You must not get angry, you must not get angry; just be true to yourself, be noble and good.” Ervast later recalled: 

It was such a suggestive voice, such a powerful influence, that I must say that there is no question of my ever getting angry in the next ten years. Though I used to be overcome with anger, now I could perfectly control myself so that I was not in any way in my heart angry, not outwardly, but quite able to control myself, and it was only because I felt such great joy at once when that wonderful voice had told me never to be angry.

Ervast began his university studies in Helsinki in the autumn of 1893. He studied linguistics, the history of the Romance languages, and Renaissance literature. A serious yearning for the truth awakened in him: “I was in terrible pain because I thought I was looking for the truth, and I had to find out what this life was . . . Otherwise, there was no point in existing.”

The ready-made answers provided by society and Ervast’s relatives did not satisfy his thirst for truth. For a while, he thought that there was no meaning to life and that materialism was the right philosophy. This phase was temporary. Although it liberated him from the teachings of rigid mainstream Christianity, it did not answer the problem of consciousness.

In December 1893, Ervast was confirmed in the state-sponsored Evangelical (Lutheran) church and went to confession. (At the time, virtually everyone in Finland had to belong to a Christian church). During the ceremony, he had an experience that calmed his mind: he saw Jesus’s face and half of his body in the form of a living being with deep, gentle eyes looking directly at him. That gaze enabled him to free himself from the atmosphere created by the church and became increasingly aware of himself—not the old self, but something new.

Soon after going to confession, Ervast was visited by a fellow student, who told him about Theosophy. He was immediately interested and borrowed A.P. Sinnett’s books The Occult Word and Esoteric Buddhism, which spoke of a Brotherhood of adepts and explained how there have been, and still are, people who have a deeper knowledge of the mysteries of nature and life than any scientist. He was overcome with such a tremor of joy that he could read no further. Ervast joined the Scandinavian Section of the Theosophical Society the following year, in 1895.

The books and life of the great Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy also helped Ervast. Through Tolstoy, he discovered the commandments of the Sermon on the Mount. Ervast felt “that Christianity knew nothing about Jesus Christ.”

Ervast fell in love at age twenty, intending to marry a girl from St. Petersburg. The feelings were mutual, but the relationship had no future. 

The Regeneration Experience

On October 13, 1896, Ervast’s intense search for the truth reached the point where he cried out to Life for help. As his biographer Erik Gullman writes:

Everything was suddenly covered in fog. Before Pekka’s eyes was something like a dark cloud, into which he felt his pain moving. He thought he was dying for a moment and thought: “Is this what life is like?” At the same moment, the cloud burst as if struck by lightning, and the sun’s rays shone on Pekka’s face, “warming and bright, but not dazzling.” Gradually, the light, which seemed wonderful, enveloped Pekka on all sides, so that he was like a sea of light. At last, it penetrated him, filling and illuminating him completely so that he and his whole being were “like a bare light.”

This regeneration or rebirth experience was a pivotal experience in Ervast’s life. He saw God’s infinity, the Great Life behind everything. He also noticed that every person had a little speck of light within, although certain hindrances in their souls prevented this dim light from becoming brighter.

A couple of months later, Ervast had an experience in the invisible world that convinced him that he had received a mission from his Master to spread the Theosophical understanding of life. In 1898, he abandoned his university studies and dedicated his life entirely to Theosophical work.

A Crisis in Theosophy

After H.P. Blavatsky’s death in 1891, the Theosophical Society entered a crisis. W.Q. Judge and Annie Besant got into a public dispute on certain issues related to the Masters, leading to a split in the Society.

The quarrels and divisions saddened Ervast. He joined Judge’s branch of the Theosophical Society and its Esoteric School. During that time, he lived an intense spiritual life, striving and exerting himself with all the strength of his soul and heart and attaining much spiritually. According to Ervast’s testimony, he learned to move consciously within the invisible world and help the deceased in kamaloka. His teachings on the afterlife are available in English (Marjanen et al., 2017), so an interested reader can decide to what extent this statement is credible.

Ervast’s membership in Judge’s Theosophical Society was short-lived. Judge died in 1896, and his branch of the movement was reorganized by Katherine Tingley. Not wishing to be associated with Tingley’s TS, Ervast returned to the Adyar Theosophical Society, where H.S. Olcott was still in charge as president. Ervast met Olcott in Stockholm in 1900 and translated his speeches into Swedish. Ervast had an impression that Olcott brought something of Blavatsky’s aura.  

The Great Strike and Finland’s Independence

Ervast lived intensely in the difficult times before Finland’s independence. The nation had been part of Sweden for centuries, then, starting in 1809, an autonomous state within the Russian Empire. However, in 1899 the Russian Tsar Nicholas II started a campaign to limit the special status of the Grand Duchy of Finland and possibly terminate its political autonomy.

Finland resisted Russian repression with a major strike in 1905. Ervast likened the nonviolent great strike to “the meditation of the human individual” when “everything had come to a standstill, not only outwardly but also in people’s souls.” Afterward, it was clear to him that Finland would become independent politically. He felt “that if Finland could adopt a truly spiritual viewpoint on violence, we would soon be free from all foreign domination and create a paradise in Finland.” After the great strike, Ervast’s Theosophical work became more self-conscious and was always aimed at the freedom and happiness of the Finnish people.

According to Ervast, Finland’s independence had been decided in advance by a “council of gods.” Ervast predicted that independence would come in 1915, but it did not, and Ervast corrected his prediction by two years. Indeed Finland became independent in 1917.

The Esoteric School of Jesus and The Key to the Kalevala

The Esoteric School of Jesus (in its English edition, The Divine Seed), was published in 1915. It presents Ervast’s practical ethical and meditation instructions on esoteric Christianity. This work was supplemented by a treatise on the Sermon on the Mount in 1925 (the English version appeared in 1933). Many regard The Esoteric School of Jesus as Ervast’s most important book and one worth returning to again and again. It is based on his own spiritual experiences and observations.

The Key to the Kalevala, published in 1916, is another notable work by Ervast. In it he describes the esoteric message contained in The Kalevala, the Finnish national epic, assembled from folk material by Elias Lönnrot and first published in 1835. In his book, Ervast writes more occultly abut the path of spiritual development than in any other book or public presentation. He presents the two main stages of the spiritual path: the preparatory path of purification and the actual path of acquiring occult knowledge, which is interpreted from the point of view of the etheric body and the chakras. Perhaps the most essential theme in Ervast’s interpretation of The Kalevala is that its heroes are on a quest for the Sampo, a mysterious artifact representing, among other things, the eternal wisdom possessed by the Great White Brotherhood.

Separation from the Theosophical Society

In the 1910s, Ervast began to see that the international leadership of the Adyar Theosophical Society had a very different view from his own. Ervast did not accept the presentation of the new TS president, Annie Besant, and C.W. Leadbeater of Jiddu Krishnamurti as the future incarnation of the World Teacher, especially when this was presented as the second coming of Christ to earth. Both Ervast and Rudolf Steiner considered the return of Jesus Christ in Krishnamurti impossible: indeed this issue was a central reason for Steiner’s resignation from the Theosophical Society in 1912.

The outbreak of the First World War in 1914 revealed another important difference: the TS leadership argued that England and its allies were fighting for the forces of light and Germany and its allies for the forces of darkness. But from his own spiritual experience, Ervast contended that the Great White Brotherhood would not wage war against any country.

Still, these differences in opinion did not persuade Ervast to resign from the TS. In effect, there were two factions in the Finnish Theosophical Society: one that was aligned with Besant and Leadbeater in Adyar and another, which supported Ervast’s work. Ervast’s supporters saw Theosophical work as esoteric self-education and human enlightenment, whereas Besant’s supporters thought that Theosophical work should have a more direct impact on social issues. Moreover, many in Besant’s faction of the Finnish TS expected (and were more or less obliged to expect) the coming of a new World Teacher and prepared to do preparatory work for this end within the Order of the Star in the East.

Ultimately, this expectation proved futile: in 1929, Krishnamurti dissolved the Order of the Star in the East, denying that he was or would be the World Teacher, and left the Theosophical Society.

By then, the split in the Finnish Theosophical Society had long been accomplished. Ervast founded the Ruusu-Risti (the Finnish Rosy Cross) on November 14, 1920. Ervast, who had corresponded with Besant over the years, invited her to become an honorary member of Ruusu-Risti. There is no evidence that she accepted.

The Esoteric School

From 1921 to 1922, a contemplation group operated in Helsinki. This group was the first seed and germ of Ruusu-Risti’s Esoteric School. Ervast likened the group’s meditation work to a temple, which required many workers to build. Every member of Ruusu-Risti who had been solemnly received at the annual meeting could aspire to become a builder of that invisible temple. To become a member of the Esoteric School, the aspirant was to write a letter to Ervast in either January or July, stating their desire, motives, and understanding of the purpose of the Esoteric School and its work. Ervast guided the students in the Esoteric School on meditation and the steps to take on the spiritual path. He emphasized that he was not the teacher but a gatekeeper and servant.

After Ervast died in 1934, the Esoteric School was disbanded, since no one could replace him in guiding such a school. The instructional letters Ervast sent to Esoteric School students were published after his passing.

The Masonic Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross

Many members of the Theosophical Society had joined Le Droit Humain, an international association of Freemasons based in Paris that was open to men and women alike (a movement often known as Co-Masonry). In 1920, when Ervast still belonged to the Theosophical Society, he was asked to establish the Society of Freemasons in Finland. At first, he was not enthusiastic about Freemasonry, but he noticed that TS lodge meetings without forms could easily come to seem spiritless. Ervast changed his mind when he was helped to realize that Freemasonry could be dedicated to the work of esoteric Christianity, even though the symbols and allegories of Freemasonry are generally taken from the Old Testament.

In 1925, Ervast wrote a book, The Lost Word (not available in English), in which he set out a program for reforming Freemasonry. Ervast also made specific changes to Masonic ceremonies. These were initially well received by the Supreme Council of Le Droit Humain in Paris, but some Co-Masons in Finland opposed Ervast’s proposal. Ervast was accused of introducing Theosophy into Freemasonry. In 1927, he resigned from Le Droit Humain and founded the independent Masonic Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross, an organization that continues to this day.

The Great Adventure

Ervast traveled to the United States in the autumn of 1933. He said about his trip to America, “So I have this idea—which many might think is crazy and fantastic—that I would like to go and see an old friend to negotiate with him, first of all about the church, but generally about the reformation that will take place.”

According to Ervast, Martin Luther’s Reformation in the sixteenth century was inspired by a high Rosicrucianism, but it was unfinished. Ervast said that the churches would become superfluous for humanity if they did not want to participate in the new Reformation, which would be primarily doctrinal. The doctrine of eternal damnation (a doctrine that Ervast believed has caused immense suffering both in this life and the afterlife) and the true nature of Christianity will be central issues.

Ervast wrote the novel The Great Adventure (not translated into English) during his stay at the Theosophical center in Ojai, California. In the book, he outlines the contours of a new Reformation. He called it his “swan song.” Ervast died on May 22, 1934, soon after his return from America.

The final scene of The Great Adventure features Professor Batory, a Master of esoteric Christianity, and Dr. Ensio Kotka, who is Ervast’s alter ego:

The professor pronounced in a natural but solemn voice:
       “Ensio Kotka, you know who I am, and you know, or at least you have an idea, who you are. We shall not mention names. However, you are my friend and colleague. Can I trust you?
       My eyes watered. I looked up.
       “Now and always,” I whispered.
        The professor held out his hand, and I squeezed it.
       “We are both servants of Jesus Christ,” he said.
        We stood up simultaneously and raised our eyes to the ceiling. Was it a hallucination? But I saw a group of angels, and in the midst of them, the gentle face of Christ.

Acknowledgments

I thank Jouni Marjanen and Erik Gullman for their helpful comments on this article.

Sources

Ervast, Pekka. The Divine Seed: The Esoteric Teachings of Jesus. Wheaton, Ill.: Quest, 2010.

———. The Essential Pekka Ervast: An Introduction to Teachings of the Finnish Rosicrucian Theosophist. Edited by Antti Savinainen, Rauno Rinkinen, and Matti Koskinen. Helsinki: Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross, 2024.

———. From Death to Rebirth: Teachings of the Finnish Sage Pekka Ervast. Edited by Jouni Marjanen, Antti Savinainen, and Jouko Sorvali. Helsinki: Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross, 2022. E-book: https://www.theosophy.world/resource/ebooks/death-rebirth-pekka-ervast.

———. The Key to the Kalevala. Translated by Tapio Joensuu et al. Nevada City, Calif.: Blue Dolphin, 1998. The e-book version was published in 2018 by the Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross. Available online at http://media.pekkaervast.net/books_files/pekka_ervast_-_the_key_to_the_kalevala.pdf.

———. The Sermon on the Mount, or the Key to Christianity. London: Theosophical Publishing House, 1933. Available online at http://media.pekkaervast.net/books_files/The_Sermon_on_the_Mount_or_The_Key_to_Christianity.pdf.

Gullman, Erik. Truth Is the Highest Virtue: A Biography of Pekka Ervast. Edited by Jouni Marjanen. Translated by Matti Koskinen and Antti Savinainen. Helsinki: Literary Society of the Finnish Rosy Cross, 2025.

Antti Savinainen, PhD, is a Finnish high-school physics instructor who teaches both the Finnish national syllabus and for the international baccalaureate. He writes regularly on Theosophical and Anthroposophical themes, both in Finnish and English. He has been a member of the Finnish Rosy Cross, a part of the Finnish Theosophical movement, for over three decades. He is also the editor in chief of Ruusu-Risti magazine. His article “Rudolf Steiner on Karma” appeared in Quest, spring 2024.

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hodson, Geoffrey, "I Got Everything from The Secret Doctrine” Mondrian and Theosophy: A Misunderstood Relationship"   Quest 113:2, pg 34-35

 By Massimo Introvigne

Piet Mondrian (1872–1944) joined the Theosophical Society on May 14, 1909. Early interpreters minimized its influence on the Dutch painter, with Yve-Alain Bois in 1990 claiming that “the Theosophical nonsense with which the artist’s mind was momentarily encumbered” quickly vanished from his work.

However, Mondrian himself credited Theosophy for significantly shaping his art. In 1918, he told fellow artist Theo van Doesburg (1883–1931) that he “got everything from The Secret Doctrine” by H.P. Blavatsky (1831–91). By 1921, Mondrian argued in a letter to Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925) that Neo-Plasticism was the “art of the foreseeable future for all true Anthroposophists and Theosophists.” When Steiner did not respond, Mondrian reiterated this view by writing to van Doesburg in 1922 that “it is Neo-Plasticism that exemplifies Theosophical art (in the true sense of the word).” Neo-Plasticism was a twentieth-century Dutch art movement (in which Mondrian was prominent) that sought to create visual harmony through the use of basic geometric shapes and primary colors.

Mondrian’s theoretical writings are difficult to grasp without understanding their Theosophical roots. His first attempt to express his abstract art ideas was an article written for the Dutch Theosophical journal Theosophia in 1913–14, but it was deemed too complex and rejected by the Theosophists, and got lost. However, two sketchbooks for the article compiled in Paris at that time survive. They reveal that Mondrian believed Theosophy could distill art into universal elements like colors and lines, capturing its essence beyond representation.

Dutch historian Carel Blotkamp suggested that Mondrian should be seen as a man of the Belle Époque (1871‒1914). In 1919, Mondrian wrote from Paris about his excitement for the book Comment on devient fée (“How to Become a Fairy”) by the French occultist Joséphin Péladan (1858–1918). “You will find much of me in this work,” Mondrian wrote; “he takes inspiration from the same ancient [occult] source.” Although the book represented nineteenth-century occultism, which was seen as outdated by then, Mondrian still valued it. 

The Dutch artist first encountered occultism and Theosophy while studying at Amsterdam’s Rijksacademie between 1892 and 1897. Among Mondrian’s classmates was Karel de Bazel (1864–1932), a prominent Dutch architect who joined the Theosophical Society in 1894 and cofounded its Vahana Lodge in Amsterdam in 1896. Fellow architects Johannes Lauweriks (1864–1932) and Hermanus Johannes Maria Walenkamp (1871–1933) were also members. From 1903, another notable Dutch architect, Michiel Brinkman (1873–1925), chaired the Rotterdam Theosophical Lodge. 

Around 1900, Mondrian experienced a religious crisis, prompting him to leave his parents’ Calvinist Protestant faith and explore Theosophy and The Great Initiates by Edouard Schuré (1841–1929), a book he continued to study throughout his life.

In 1909, influenced by fellow painter Cornelis Spoor (1867–1928), Mondrian developed an interest in yoga and finally joined the Theosophical Society. Several of his paintings, such as Devotion (1908) and the triptych Evolution (1911), are linked to Theosophy, as Mondrian confirmed in his notebooks and letters. Scholar Robert P. Welsh (1932–2000) suggested that Evolution represents the three stages of Theosophical enlightenment. 

When Mondrian went to Paris in 1912, he stayed at the French Theosophical Society’s headquarters before moving to his studio. In the Netherlands, he kept a portrait of Mme. Blavatsky in his Laren studio.

Mondrian was already influenced by Theosophy before he met Mathieu Hubertus Josephus Schoenmaekers (1875–1944) around 1914 or 1915. Schoenmaekers, a former Catholic priest and Theosophist, developed his own “Christosophy” and significantly impacted Mondrian’s worldview, art, and the foundation of De Stijl in 1917. Schoenmaekers coined the term Nieuwe Beelding (Neo-Plasticism) in 1916. Initially, Mondrian was deeply influenced by Schoenmaekers, but by 1918, he viewed him negatively, believing any valuable ideas Schoenmaekers had were derived from Blavatsky. Mondrian argued that cosmic harmony, truth, and beauty could be represented by a vertical male line and a horizontal female color and background.

Theosophy influenced Mondrian’s development of Neo-Plasticism and his collaboration with, and eventual split from, van Doesburg in 1924–25. This split is commonly linked to van Doesburg’s use of diagonal lines versus Mondrian’s preference for horizontals and verticals. Another factor was that van Doesburg, who was not a member of the Theosophical Society, began to criticize Mondrian’s “rigid” Theosophy and the shift of Neo-Plasticism into what he perceived as a religious movement. 

Michel Seuphor (1901–99) claimed that Mondrian’s beliefs evolved from Calvinism to Theosophy and ultimately to Neo-Plasticism, which replaced Theosophy as a comprehensive worldview. For Mondrian, especially after his 1930s debates with Dutch philosopher Louis Hoyack (1893–1967), Neo-Plasticism was a revolutionary project aimed at societal transformation. He believed Neo-Plastic painting eliminated old art forms to create new ones, and this philosophy could similarly reform state, church, and family into simpler, better structures. His paintings were manifestos for this vision. Mondrian stated that “the rectangular plane of varying dimensions and colors visibly demonstrates that internationalism does not mean chaos ruled by monotony, but an ordered and clearly divided unity.”

Many Theosophists dismissed these utopian concepts and failed to grasp Mondrian’s art. He felt the leaders in the Theosophical Society were “always against my work.” Although his vision of global reform had similarities with Masonic ideas, he wrote in 1932 that his application to become a Freemason was ignored by the Dutch lodges. 

Despite the painful rejections, Mondrian didn’t sever ties with Theosophy. Upon moving to London in 1938, he requested a transfer to the local Theosophical Society. Notably, his close friend in London was Winifred Nicholson (1893–1981), a Christian Scientist, whose metaphysical Christianity intrigued many Theosophists, although it differed from Theosophy. 

As Charmion von Wiegand (1896–1983), the American painter who was Mondrian’s closest associate and perhaps lover in the last years of his life, noted that after relocating to New York in 1940, Mondrian ceased his active involvement with the Theosophical Society, although remaining a member. She explained that he “had gone beyond organizations or groups . . . To him, they represented limitations, a division in the total unity he sought to achieve.” Nonetheless, von Wiegand asserted, he had not rejected Theosophy but had made it “implicit to his life.”

Mondrian considered himself an “old soul,” meaning he had gone through multiple reincarnations. Theosophy often states that old souls are misunderstood by their peers. Theosophists did not appreciate Mondrian’s Neo-Plasticism, expecting Theosophical art to feature specific symbols or “thought-forms”—the shapes and colors perceived by clairvoyants like Annie Besant (1847‒1933) and C.W. Leadbeater (1854–1934). For many Theosophists, this was true Theosophical art, and Mondrian’s wasn’t. Mondrian, however, believed that pure Theosophical art was in fact Neo-Plasticism. 

Massimo Introvigne is an Italian sociologist of religions. He is the founder and managing director of the Center for Studies on New Religions (CESNUR), an international network of scholars who study new religious movements. Introvigne is the author of some seventy books and more than 100 articles in the field of sociology of religion. This article is reproduced with permission from Bitter Winter, an online magazine on religious liberty and human rights.