Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Fall 2024  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard, "From the Editor's Desk"  Quest 112:4, pg 2

This issue is dedicated to Freemasonry. Since there are many articles and many points of view here, and since I am not a Mason myself, I will turn my attention to a major theme in Masonic myth: the Temple in Jerusalem. The Masons trace their legendary history to Hiram Abiff, by their account the builder of Solomon’s Temple. (The Bible says the builder was one Huram or Hiram.)

The construction of the actual Temple, under the biblical King Solomon, took place around the middle of the tenth century BC (the chronology for this period is shaky). It continued in use until it was sacked during the conquest of Jerusalem by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BC.

After the Babylonian empire fell in turn to the Medes and the Persians, the Persian king Cyrus the Great authorized the reconstruction of the Temple, beginning in 539 BC. This time it continued in use for almost 600 years. In 23 BC, Herod the Great, king of Judea and a vassal of the Roman state, authorized a major expansion of the Temple, which took decades to finish. Its completion in AD 64—long after Herod’s death—created mass unemployment (the workmen had nothing more to work on) and social unrest, leading to a revolt against Roman rule and culminating in the Temple’s destruction in AD 70. (There must be a lesson in here somewhere.)

Herod built an enormous embankment for his Temple, supported by four massive retaining walls. The only significant remnant of this complex to survive is the western retaining wall, better known as the Wailing Wall, a focus of Jewish devotion to this day.

To the best anyone can determine, the site of the original Temple is now occupied by a Muslim shrine known as the Dome of the Rock. Hence any archaeological excavation of the site would achieve the nearly impossible feat of making tensions in that region even worse than they are.

In any case, it is not clear what an excavation would reveal. The account of the building of the first Temple under Solomon in 1 Kings 6 says that it was made of cedar and cypress covered with gold. If we assume that the Babylonians stripped off the gold and burned the wooden part afterward, there would be few remains to be seen, except perhaps for the foundations.

There might be more remains of the Second Temple, but for the same reason, these too are inaccessible. For a picture of what it was like, we have to rely on firsthand literary sources such as the Letter of Aristeas, usually dated to the second century BC. The text reveals some surprising facts: the author was particularly impressed by the elaborate plumbing system, installed “so that the blood of the sacrifices which is collected in great quantity is washed away in the twinkling of an eye.”

In his book The Temple of Jerusalem, scholar Simon Goldhill writes, “It is extremely difficult for a modern visitor to recapture . . .  the overpowering smell of the ancient Temple. It would have been a heady mixture of incense (which was burnt on a small altar), together with the distinctive odours of fresh blood, slaughtered carcasses, animal dung, roasting meat, and, no doubt, the smell of the crowd, all exacerbated by the heat of the sun in the open-air courts.” The Talmud cites as a miracle of the Temple that “no woman miscarried because of the aroma of the sacrificial meat.”

These details give a more rounded picture of a building that was, according to another source, “covered on all sides with massive plates of gold. When the sun came up, the people had to avert their eyes as if they were looking directly at the sun.”

H.P. Blavatsky gives quite a different account of the building of this Temple: “that the detailed description thereof in I Kings is purely allegorical, no serious scholar . . . can doubt. The building of the Temple of Solomon is the symbolical representation of the gradual acquirement of the secret wisdom, or magic; the erection and development of the spiritual from the earthly; the manifestation of the power and splendor of the spirit in the physical world, through the wisdom and genius of the builder.” Citing 1 Kings 6:7, she goes on: “This is the ‘Temple’ which can be reared without the sound of the hammer, or any tool of iron being heard in the house while it is ‘in building’” (Isis Unveiled 2:391, emphasis HPB’s).

These reflections lead me to some speculations of my own. Even if there was a physical counterpart, what if the real Temple was not a material building, but an enormous thought-form in the astral realm, constructed and painstakingly elaborated—possibly over centuries—by the meditations and visualizations of sages? (The same may be true of the legendary realm of Shambhala.)

If so, this Temple must be invulnerable to the blows of time and sledgehammers. But where in the invisible realms it is to be found, who can find it, and what they would find there—even if we grant my supposition, these would remain great mysteries.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the  Summer 2024  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard  "From the Editor's Desk" Quest 112:3, pg 2

Imagine a green lion—in any shape or size you like.

 Whatever you come up with, it is obviously a creation of your imagination and nothing more: green lions do not exist.

 But say you have some talent for cartooning. You draw some sketches of your green lion, give it an adorable name, and create a comic series about your imaginary friend. It sells very well, and a major studio buys the rights to make an animated film.

 Suddenly you have become very rich from something that, as we agreed above, doesn’t exist.

 This example points to the countless questions that come up about imagination.

Perhaps the most important one has to do with imagination versus perception. The ordinary view places these in two distinct categories: perception is of something in the real world, while imagination is just a figment of the mind.

Unfortunately this tidy distinction quickly falls apart under scrutiny.

We can begin with an esoteric example, discussed by Jay Kinney and Rasoul Sorkhabi in this issue: the views of Ibn ‘Arabi, the greatest of the Islamic metaphysicians, who taught the existence of what has been called the imaginal realm. This is the exact opposite of imagination as usually understood. It is an interior vision (like ordinary imagination), yet it is not of a fictive world. Rather, it is one that exists objectively on another plane of reality, accessible (a Theosophist might speculate) through the faculty of buddhi. The Neoplatonic philosopher Iamblichus expressed a similar concept: “The imaginative faculty is divinely inspired; and since it is roused into modes of imagination that come from the Gods, not from itself, it is utterly removed from what is ordinarily human.”

This matter is abstruse and far from ordinary experience: indeed we are unlikely to attain an experience of this imaginal realm except through rigorous mystical practice and devotion.

Yet as it turns out, even ordinary imagination raises problems. We conventionally distinguish imagination from reality—the latter term applied to experience that is obtained through the five familiar senses and is more or less publicly available: if I see a chair in the room, you will too. Such things are taken to be real in some objective sense.

But perception turns out to be like imagination: it is a mental construct. We do not see the world as it is (whatever that might be) but through the filters of the five senses, which are extremely constricted. Our eyes can see only a tiny bandwidth of the electromagnetic spectrum; our ears can hear only another. We have expanded the bandwidth through the apparatus of science, but there is no reason to believe that this apparatus gives a complete picture either; it merely expands the narrow slit through which we perceive the world.

What do we use to fill in the rest? Mental constructs. Although sensory perceptions are commonly regarded as objective (and in some naive way literally true), they are in their way figments of the mind just as imaginary objects are. As neuroscientist Donald Hoffman showed in his recent book The Case against Reality, the five senses have evolved principally to promote survival: to find food and avoid being found as food by other creatures. That is their value, and it is a great one, but we have no reason to believe that they give a complete picture.

The matter becomes still more complicated when we consider that perception is learned: we recognize an object because we have seen it before. This faculty is, again, useful but misleading: we frequently jump to mistaken conclusions about what we are seeing. In her recent book The Rationality of Perception, Harvard philosopher Susanna Siegel uses the term “hijacked perception” to describe such distortions, which, among other repercussions, play a major role in racial prejudice.

 All of this would be reasonably simple if the five senses were all that we had. Although this is usually assumed to be the case, it is not: we do possess powers of extrasensory perception, and they are more extensive than many believe. Theosophists are familiar with clairvoyance and can see representations of clairvoyant perception of auras in books like Man Visible and Invisible. Although very few have this power, most of us possess the same faculty, but it is expressed kinesthetically. Not many people see auras, but just about everyone can feel the atmosphere of a place or person: “That guy gives me the creeps.”

We could not say that these extrasensory senses give a picture of reality in an absolute sense either, but they are an important extension of our sensory capacities. It has been ruinous for the West to sneer at the idea of their existence. This may be one cause of the pandemic of mental illness that is ravaging America: if you were to see something with your eyes but were constantly told that you could not see it because your sight does not exist, you would go mad in short order.

The implications of these ideas are endless—certainly far more than can be broached in a one-page editorial. In any event, it seems clear that the distinction between objective and subjective—between the “real” and the imaginary—is far more intricate and paradoxical than is usually believed. We could even say with Ibn ‘Arabi that just as perception is in many ways a form of imagination, imagination can be a form of perception.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the  Fall 2024  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Keene, Douglas, "President's Diary Fall 2024"  Quest 112:4, pg 38-39

As cooler breezes blow and the colors on our campus of the trees blaze its annual palette of reds, oranges, and yellows, we know the seasons are shifting and summer is in retreat. The festivities of the warmer months have faded, but the Theosophical teachings and programs continue. Fall is an energetic time of year at Olcott. The gardens are put to sleep, but the renewal of spirit continues, perhaps more subtly.

Since our last communication, there has been a good deal of activity at the national headquarters. We have made a substantial investment in the infrastructure of the property, including upgrades. We have had major repairs done to our roof, which will ultimately take place in three phases. Phase I was completed in July, and phases II and III will be forthcoming. We have had the many potholes on our property filled, and extensive sealcoating has been performed for maintenance of our pavement throughout the campus. Several of the residential rooms have been renovated, and we hope to continue to improve the comfort of each of these. Inside the Rogers building, we added lighting to the lobby. This had been long planned, and through the generosity of the donor, we were able to add this in July. The lighting adds significantly to the display of the mural, which had been professionally restored a few years ago. We hope you were able to enjoy this new feature during the Summer National Convention.

Speaking of the Summer National Convention, I hope you were able to experience our excellent annual assembly, either in person or virtually. The talks and workshops were superb. The presenters were William Meader, Kurt Leland, Pablo Sender, Tran-Thi-Kim-Dieu, and Nicole Goott. The theme was “Elevating Consciousness: Illuminating the Path to a Better World.” The SNC itself was held July 19‒21, with an extension of July 22‒23 for workshops and an additional panel discussion. The convention was very well attended, and reviews were enthusiastic. It was again offered as a hybrid format, and we are grateful to our AV and webinar staff are making it happen.

Earlier in July, I attended the meetings of the annual General Council (governing body of the international TS) in Naarden, Netherlands. Representatives of the major Sections were present, along with other council members and observers. This is an opportunity for your international organization to discuss topics and create initiatives that affect the Theosophical Society as a whole. There were reports on the various activities of the Society, review of the Society’s rules, and a session on the Adyar Eco Development (AED) initiative in partnership with the ecologist Joss Brooks (see profile on ts-adyar website) for a vegetation restoration project on the grounds at the international headquarters in Adyar. Joss has more than a thirty-year track record with forest restoration in southeast India, with remarkable results. This project will run for many years. It will help protect the beautiful sanctuary of Adyar and bring it to an even more spectacular condition.

I hope by now most of you are aware of the Virtual Study Centers that are being launched this month (see ad on the inside back over). This is our effort to create virtual meeting space especially for those that may not be near a larger study center geographically. We are offering four specific programs that are open to members and nonmembers alike, for which there is no fee. Simply choose the program and timetable that works for you and register at our website. Our national secretary, Juliana Cesano, and course facilitators have done an enormous amount of work to provide you with a variety of high-quality opportunities.

As I’ve mentioned in previous reports, the twelfth World Congress of the TS will be held in Vancouver, British Columbia, July 23‒27, 2025. This will also be the 150th anniversary of the founding of the Theosophical Society, and there will be a commemoration and celebration at this event. Many festivities are planned.  The theme will be “Toward Insight and Wholeness: Our Role in Shaping the Future.” There is great enthusiasm for this meeting across the globe, and we hope to have a substantial representation from the TSA.

The international Theosophical Society convention will be held again this year in Adyar, India. The dates will be December 31 through January 4. For those of you that are able to travel to India, it is always an uplifting and exciting opportunity to meet members from around the world. There is still time to make travel arrangements. For those who have not traveled to Adyar previously, it might be helpful to connect with those planning the trip this year. More information can be obtained at www.ts-adyar.org.

Each year, we submit an annual report to our international organization. A copy of this report is contained on page TK of this issue. It provides additional details about our organization’s accomplishments during the preceding twelve months and the staff responsible for such professional output. It is our opportunity to highlight our strengths and the many projects that go on each and every day, which might not be fully appreciated by our membership. Please take a look at it to gain a full understanding of how the Society is working to fulfill its mission, which is to “encourage open-minded inquiry into world religions, philosophy, science, and the arts in order to understand the wisdom of all the ages, respect the unity of all life, and help people explore spiritual self-transformation.” Please remember that membership, in addition to the tangible benefits, supports the TSA’s efforts in this direction.

As you see, there is a great deal of activity both within the American Section and internationally. We wish to be able to provide you with diverse and inspiring programming, lodge and study center support, library services, a spiritually centered bookshop, and other resources that may be valuable to you in your exploration of spirituality, humanism, parenting, and interaction with the natural world. Please come to visit us if you are able, and join us virtually when you are not. It is an honor to have you as members. Together we can accomplish extraordinary things.

Douglas Keene

Printed in the  Fall 2024  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Grasse, Ray, "At the Still Point of the Turning World"  Quest 112:4, pg 33, 44

By Ray Grasse

In the yogic traditions of the East, samadhi is a term used to describe a state of meditation variously defined as “transcendental consciousness,” “one-pointed absorption,” and “effortless concentration,” among other terms.

The yogic tradition states that samadhi isn’t simply one singular level or stage of consciousness, but actually has various stages, ranging from the comparatively mundane (think of a sports player going “into the zone” in the midst of a game, or a musician in a moment of peak improvisation), all the way up to a completely formless and transcendental state, sometimes known by Buddhists as “mind and body dropped.”

To be clear, samadhi is not the same as full-blown “enlightenment,” but is rather a useful stage in its attainment. As the Zen teacher John Daido Loori once said, “Samadhi is the vehicle by which we arrive at enlightenment.”

In my book The Sky Stretched Out Before Me, I wrote about a meditative experience I had at Zen Mountain Monastery in New York back in the mid-1980s, which was likely a state of samadhi, although a very rudimentary one.

It was the last hour of an all-day meditation period, and I had begun to feel stuck in a rut. The sun had just set, the sounds outside had grown quiet, and the sensation of my breath rushing in and out became subtly more pronounced. My mind was restless, and the sensations in my legs had become painful again, worsening by the minute. I decided, almost out of desperation, to pour every last drop of energy into the meditation technique itself, largely to escape from the discomfort. Throughout the day, I’d been counting my breaths silently while staring down on the floor, as I had been instructed to do. But now I began throwing my whole being into the technique, zeroing in like a laser beam on my breath, the counting, and the floor, all at once, in hope of breaking through the pain.

After a few minutes, something surprising happened: I simply became present. I left behind the past as well as expectations about the future, and I was simply there in the moment. No desire or grasping, just pure contentment with what was.

With that, the previously ordinary floor became extraordinary, luminous, and vibrant as an indescribable sense of peace flooded through me. The tremendous discomfort I’d been feeling up to that point immediately vanished as if it had been turned off like a switch—and my entire being exploded into a radiant field of light. The sensation was so palpable that I felt sure anyone looking in my direction would have seen visible waves of light emanating from my body. It was pleasurable beyond words: even the thought of sex paled by comparison. More importantly, there was a peacefulness about it unlike anything I’d experienced before. I had been told about the “peace that goeth before all understanding”—and I was getting a very tiny taste of that now. I sat in that condition for another ten minutes or so, marveling at what was going on, until the bell rang to signal an end to the period, as I walked out of the hall feeling overwhelmed with joy.

This experience was nothing that an advanced meditator would find particularly unusual, but for me it was valuable in providing some useful insights into meditation. With that experience under my belt, I’d modestly venture my own very simple definition: samadhi is a state of being totally focused in the present moment, a deep dive into the Now, unencumbered by memories of the past or expectations of the future.

In that earlier book, I tried to explain that experience and drew on an astronomical metaphor of how a star arises out of a nebula, with matter floating around in deep space, condensing so tightly over time that the energy and light inherent in that matter breaks open—and a star is born, as it were.

Another metaphor has come into my mind since that time, which may help to explain samadhi in a slightly different way—in this case, not so much in terms of energy or light but in terms of time.

Imagine you’re at a carnival or amusement park, and at the center of the park there’s a merry-go-round or carousel, the kind with horses on poles that bob up and down, all of them going around and around. Since this merry-go-round is moving quite fast, you’d have to run quite fast to catch up and hop onto it. Imagine you’re doing just that: running alongside it, faster and faster, exerting yourself in order to catch up—at which point you finally do catch up and hop on board.

At that point, you realize something quite startling and unexpected—namely, that the merry-go-round has actually been standing still the entire time, and it’s really the whole amusement park that’s moving round and around it. So there you are, at the still point of existence, with everyone out on the fairgrounds thinking they’re the ones standing still, and these passengers up here on the merry-go-round are the ones who are moving.

While all such metaphors are imperfect, I’d suggest this one says something useful about the nature of samadhi. When you hone in on the present moment, there’s a sense of profound stillness—not stagnancy or boredom, because it’s actually very vibrant and alive—just stillness. But once you start drifting off into thoughts of the past or expectations of the future, you begin falling off the carousel and drifting back into the world, into the amusement park, with all of its movement and time. You fall out of the Now.

That, I’d suggest, is a simple way to think about samadhi—if indeed you plan on thinking about it rather than attempting to experience it.

In which case you might as well enjoy the amusement park while you’re there. After all, that has a truth of its own too. 

Ray Grasse is author of nine books, including An Infinity of Gods, The Waking Dream, and When the Stars Align. He worked for ten years on the editorial staffs of Quest magazine and Quest Books. His website is www.raygrasse.com. This article has been excerpted from his latest book So, What Am I Doing Here, Anyway? (London: Wessex Astrologer, 2024).