Reincarnation: the Evidence

Originally printed in the March - April  2001 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Algeo, John. "Reincarnation: the Evidence." Quest  89.2 (MARCH - APRIL  2001): 44-50.

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. Reincarnation has become as American as apple pie, the Super Bowl, and our conviction that anybody can grow up to be president. In the 1980s, several Gallup Polls established that about a quarter of Americans believe in reincarnation. At the present time, one of the main e-commerce booksellers lists 649 books for the keyword "reincarnation," and another lists 836. The widespread acceptance of reincarnation is a result, to a large extent indirectly of course, of its promulgation by the Theosophical Society. A recent work on "alternative" or "new" religious movements in this country (Philip Jenkins, Mystics and Messiahs, Oxford University Press, 2000) points out the disproportionate effect this small organization has had on general thought:

Though the U.S. Census in 1926 found fewer than seven thousand declared Theosophists in the entire nation, that movement had already succeeded in making its views a familiar component of religious thought. [10]

We might for instance observe the spread of ideas of reincarnation and karma, together with associated traditions like meditation and yoga. In the early twentieth century, all of these were associated with Theosophy . . . [but now] the theories have entered the religious mainstream. [230]

Reincarnation is not an article of faith, but a theory. It is (as Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary defines "theory") a "principle . . .offered to explain phenomena." For most people who believe in reincarnation, the phenomena it explains are chiefly subjective--their own experiences or observations. It is an idea that "makes sense." Although objective facts as evidence for reincarnation are not abundant, they do exist. And a set of recent books provides just such evidence:

Where Reincarnation and Biology Intersect
By Ian Stevenson
Westport CT: Praeger, 1997. Cloth,
59.95; paper, $17.95, xviii + 203 pages.

Reincarnation and Biology:
A Contribution to the Etiology of 
Birthmarks and Birth Defects.
2 volumes
.
By Ian Stevenson. Westport. CT: Praeger,
1997. Cloth, $195.00, xx + 2268 pages.

These books are arguably the most important works ever published on the subject of reincarnation, and their author, Ian Stevenson, is the world's leading authority on the subject. Carlton Professor of Psychiatry at the University of Virginia, he is the author of more than a dozen scholarly books and 250 articles. His special area of research has been purported cases of memories by children of prior incarnations. His earlier works on the subject include The Evidence for Survival from Claimed Memories of Former Incarnations (1961),Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation (1974), Cases of the ReincarnationType, 4 volumes (1975-83), and Children Who Remember Previous Lives: A Question of Reincarnation (1987).

Stevenson has meticulously investigated at first hand the accounts of children who apparently remember an earlier incarnation. His investigations include not only the child who reports the memories and the persons around that child, but also the actual family, locale, circumstances, and events of the remembered life. The cumulative evidence of Stevenson's cases is so impressively massive and detailed that alternative explanations of chance or fraud (deliberate or unconscious) are improbable in the extreme. As Stevenson points out, unless one begins with the assumption that reincarnation is impossible, it is the simple stand most convincing explanation for a large number of cases.

What makes the evidence reported in Stevenson's most recent books so impressive, however, is that they add something new to his earlier studies, which dealt with reported memories and his investigative confirmation of the accuracy of those memories. This something new is physical bodily evidence in the form of birthmarks or birth defects on the body of the person who remembers a previous life. Those marks or defects match attested wounds or other physical anomalies on the body of the prior personality.

For example, a child may remember having lived another life including enough details about it (names, places, events) to permit investigators to identify the earlier personality. That personality died from a gunshot wound, and medical or coroner's records establish the location of the entering and exiting wound marks made by the fatal bullet. The child who remembers the earlier life has birthmarks on places that correspond to the wounds of the prior personality. Moreover, the birthmark corresponding to the exit wound is larger than the birthmark corresponding to the entry wound, just as the wounds themselves were, that being the normal pattern for bullet wounds. That is one type of case out of many involving birthmarks and defects.

The two hefty volumes of Reincarnation and Biology present extensive reports on cases of several types: volume 1 devoted to birthmarks and volume 2 to birth defects and other anomalies. Many of the detailed accounts include photographs.The much more concise book Where Reincarnation and Biology Intersect corresponds chapter by chapter with the two-volume one but abridges and summarizes the material and is addressed to a general reader. The fuller two volumes, on the other hand, contain a good deal of technical detail and far more specific accounts of the evidence. For most readers, the shorter book will suffice, but anyone seriously interested in a scientific investigation of evidence for reincarnation should consult the longer version. And even a casual reader will find some of the detail in the two-volume set of absorbing interest.

A question that naturally arises is how the phenomenon works. Assuming that the memories of a former life are true, what causes unusual marks on a new infant body to correspond to physical abnormalities on the body of a former personality? Stevenson considers that question in chapters 2 and 3, where he points to several circumstances under which modifications in a person's body can be made by mental rather than physical intervention. Christian stigmatics are a well-known example; persons meditating on the crucified Jesus may undergo bodily changes in which marks or open wounds appear on their foreheads, palms, feet, sides, or other places corresponding to scriptural or iconographic details of the Passion.

Other such examples abound. A mother, sibling, or spouse may have sympathetic pains and physical symptoms corresponding to those of a loved family member. Hypnotic suggestion can modify bodily functions and produce physical changes. Memories of a physical trauma suffered earlier in life can produce bodily changes that mimic the original effects of the trauma. The intense thoughts of a pregnant woman have been known to correspond with, and perhaps to cause, physical features in the embryo and resulting child.

Although the idea runs counter to the materialist assumptions that still dominate received opinion in our culture, it is clear that our mind affects our body, just as our body affects our mind. Because that is true, if reincarnation is also true, it is easy to understand that the mind of a reincarnating person (one who reincarnates quickly, with something of the prior mind intact) would affect the new body, especially when traumatic memories are involved. Thus birthmarks and birth defects would be the physical impressions of memories carried over from a past life.

Most of the twenty-six chapters in these recent books by Stevenson are case histories of various sorts illustrating the effects on a new body of memories from old lives. But two chapters (15 and 26) are especially interesting as considering the interpretation and implications of the phenomena. A reader pressed for time can gain much by skimming the case histories (which are the evidence) and reading carefully these chapters (which are the conclusions).

Ian Stevenson's work is impressive partly because it is not credulous. He considers the evidence critically. First, he is concerned with the authenticity of there ports. That is, do they "describe events with satisfactory closeness to the events as they really happened"? Second, are there "normal" explanations for the correspondences between birthmarks and the wounds of a deceased person? Could they be the result of fraud or of chance, perhaps augmented by fantasy or suggestion? Are there "paranormal" explanations, such as extrasensory perception, possession of a child by a discarnate personality, or maternal impressions on a fetus? Stevenson concludes:

I accept reincarnation as the best explanation for a case only after I have excluded all others--normal and paranormal. I conclude, however, that all the other interpretations may apply to a few cases, but to no more than a few. I believe, therefore, that reincarnation is the best explanation for the stronger cases, by which I mean those in which the two families were unacquainted before the case developed. It may well be the best explanation for many other cases also. . . . Each reader should study the evidence carefully--preferably in the monograph [the two-volume work]--and then reach his or her own conclusion. [Where Reincarnation and Biology Intersect 112-3]

In arriving at his conclusion, Stevenson does not reject the influence of genetics and environmental factors on our lives. He recognizes nature and nurture as powerful forces in molding our minds and bodies. What he proposes is that there is also a third factor, an additional powerful force, namely the effect of past lives on our present existence. The reality of that third factor has some significant implications for one's worldview.

1. To begin with, "the most important consequence would be acknowledgment of the duality of mind and body" (181). By "duality" Stevenson does not mean moral or metaphysical dualism, but rather that the mind is a reality independent of, though interactive with,the brain: "Proponents of dualism do not deny the usefulness of brains for our everyday living; but they do deny that minds are nothing but the subjective experiences of brain activity" (181). His position in this matter is much like that of William James, Henri Bergson, or Theosophy. It is that mindconsciousness exists apart from its interaction with brain consciousness, however important that interaction is during life.

2. The next implication is that there must be a "place" where the consciousness exists when it is not embodied and linked with a brain: "we are obliged to imagine a mental space that, necessarily, differs from the physical space with which we are ordinarily familiar. . . . Existence there might have features that would seem familiar to persons who have given more than average attention to their dreams . . . and to some persons who have come close to death and survived" (181). The "mental space" Stevenson alludes to here will be recognized by those familiar with Theosophical teachings about the "inner" or"higher" planes of reality, which we inhabit during sleep and between lives.

3. Another implication is that some features are transmitted from one life to another:

I have found it helpful to use the word diathanatic (which means"carried through death") as a term for subsuming the parts of a deceased person that may reach expression in a new incarnation. So what parts would be diathanatic? The cases I have described tell us that these would include: some cognitive information about events of the previous life; a variety of likes, dislikes, and other attitudes; and, in some cases, residues of physical injuries or other markings of the previous body. [181-2]

Stevenson prefers not to use the traditional terminology of philosophical and religious systems in order to avoid any extraneous associations they may have. But his "diathanatic" is very close to the Buddhist concept of "skandhas," the material, psychic, and mental residues that are carried over from one life to the next.

4. Yet another implication is that we must distinguish two "levels"of selfhood, one associated only with a single lifetime and another that stretches across lives:

 

 We may understand better the loss through death of some or much of the previous personality by using the distinction between personality and individuality. By individuality I mean all the characteristics, whether concealed or expressed, that a person might have from a previous life, or previous lives, as well as from this one. By personality I mean the aspects of individuality that are currently expressed or capable of expression.[182]

In this case, the terms and the distinction are traditional in Theosophical use, going back to Henry Steel Olcott's use of them in the early1880s for his Buddhist Catechism (as reported in his autobiographical Old Diary Leaves 1:285).

5. Next is a consideration of ways in which the reincarnating individual influences the physical body of its new incarnation. Stevenson identifies three possibilities. First, the individual may in some sense "select" its parents, motivated by strong ties of affection (or, Theosophists might add, by karmic links of whatever kind). Second, the reincarnating individual may be able to screen and select fertilized ova or embryos. Third, and most relevant to the subject of birthmarks and defects, the individual may be able to exercise some direct control over the development of the fetus to reproduce physical attributes of the body of the previous personality:

Any such direct influence implies some kind of template that imprints the embryo or fetus with "memories" of the wounds, marks, or other features of the previous physical body. The template must have a vehicle that carries the memories of the physical body and also the cognitive and behavioral ones. I have suggested the word pyschophore (which means "mind-carrying") for this intermediate vehicle. . . .

The existence between terrestrial lives is therefore, according to this view, a corporeal one, but the psychophore would not be made of the material substances with which we are familiar. . . .

. . . These and other cases suggest to me that the psychophore has the properties of a field or, more probably, a collection of fields that carry the physical and other memories of the previous life and more or less reproduce them by acting on the embryo or fetus of the new body. . . . Morphogenetic fields have been imagined as governing the development of the forms that organs and the whole body of which they are the parts will have. . . .

Readers may reasonably ask whether there exists any evidence for a vehicle such as the psychophore apart from the cases of children who remember previous lives and who have birthmarks or birth defects. The answer is not much. Nevertheless certain cases of apparitions furnish some relevant evidence. . . .

Some additional evidence for a vehicle that I have called a psychophore comes from the occurrence of phantom limbs in congenital amputees—persons born with parts of limbs missing. [183-4]

The tenor of the long though abridged quotation above will seem very familiar to anyone versed in the Theosophical tradition. For that tradition holds that in addition to our dense physical body, we have several other bodies or vehicles composed of matter of various kinds different from ordinary physical stuff: etheric or vital, astral or emotional, and manasic or mental matter. These bodies exist on the "inner" or "higher" planes or in other "fields" than the dense physical. They carry the "diathanatic" or "skandhic" qualities from one incarnation to the next, and the etheric or vital body serves in particular as a template for the growth and development of the dense physical body.

Although the cases reported in these volumes show a great deal of variation, some features are characteristic, and those features are of interest in suggesting why some children remember their prior incarnation and even have signs of it in their new body. In a large number of these cases, the earlier life ended prematurely by violence. The reincarnation then happened quickly and in the same culture as the preceding life. And the violent ending of the earlier life so impressed the psychophore that it in turn passed on the impression to the new body in the form of a birthmark or defect.

It is as though a life was ended before its purpose had been achieved, so the individual was drawn back into the same milieu to finish the uncompleted experience. The Theosophical tradition is that normally a long period of time (centuries or even millennia) elapse between incarnations, during which time the psychophore (or collection of bodies on the inner planes) undergoes a process by which its experience in the past life is absorbed into the permanent individuality.

When the normal process is violently interrupted, however, it would seem natural that the individual might be quickly attracted back into the same circumstances as the last life. In that case, there would not be time between lives for the psychophore to be "cleansed" of its past memories, which would therefore be incorporated into the new personality. As the individual settles into the new body and new impressions come from the senses into the new brain, however, the old memories from the past life are overwritten and die out. According to Stevenson, a child begins to talk about a past life very early, almost as soon as it learns to talk, but between the ages of 5 and 8, active memories of the past life are generally gone.

At the end of the volume, Stevenson repeats his caveat:

I do not propose reincarnation as a substitute for present or future knowledge of genetics and environmental influences. I think of it as a third factor contributing to the formation of human personality and of some physical features and abnormalities. I am, however, convinced that it deserves attention for the additional explanatory value that it has for numerous unsolved problems of psychology and medicine. . . . We may, after all, been gaged in a dual evolution--of our bodies and of our minds or souls.[186-7]

The last sentence above, with which Stevenson ends the book directed to a general reader, states a purpose for reincarnation with which the Theosophical tradition is wholly in accord. The purpose of our many lives is to further the evolutionary development of our minds and souls. It is remarkable, though not unique, to see such agreement between the careful investigation of a scientist and the hundred and twenty-five year old tradition of modern Theosophy.


A popular, well-written, and perceptive account of Ian Stevenson's work has recently appeared:

Old Souls: The Scientific Evidence for Past Lives.
By Tom Shroder. 
New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999.
Cloth, $24.00, 256 pages.

The author of this book, Tom Shroder, is a Pulitzer-Prize winning editor of the Miami Herald who is now an editor for the Washington Post. While with the Miami Herald, he wrote an article on the Miami psychiatrist Brian Weiss, whose use of hypnotic retrogression to elicit putative memories of past incarnations resulted in the popular 1988 book Many Lives, Many Masters. Shroder found Weiss's work unconvincing as evidence for reincarnation, but through it he came into contact with Ian Stevenson, and thereby wrote this book.

Shroder accompanied Stevenson on two trips, in 1997 to Lebanon and later to India, to observe Stevenson's methods of fieldwork as he investigated cases of reported child memories of former lives. After returning to America, Shroder investigated some cases of the same sort in the South. Shroder's account of those experiences is set forth with the skill of a master reporter. The reader of this book learns both the facts of the cases and their value as evidence as analyzed by a neutral observer. Shroder's account also gives the reader a feeling for the frustration, the danger, and the culture shock of doing such research in third-world countries.

In addition, the reader gets an intimate view of Stevenson, the man and scientist, who has devoted his life to an investigation that his peers would prefer not to be bothered by. Their preference is due partly to his methods,which necessarily violate some widely accepted criteria of what can count as scientific research, and partly to the fact that they have already ruled out the possibility of his conclusions being acceptable. As one critic quoted by Shroder(146) puts it: "The problem lies less in the quality of data Stevenson adduces to prove his point, than in the body of knowledge and theory which must be abandoned or radically modified in order to accept it." Stevenson's response (210) is a commonplace in the history of science:

"There's an old aphorism," he said heavily. " 'Science changes one funeral at a time.' There is a powerful conservatism among the scientific establishment. You don't persuade people with your evidence. They have to pretty much die off for new ideas to come to the fore."

Much of the power of this highly readable book comes from the fact that the author himself, while not doubting the facts of Stevenson's cases, since he participated in the investigation of some of them, is still undecided about their interpretation at the end of the book. What he witnessed cannot be explained away as fraud, coincidence, delusion, or any of the ordinary options. Something is going on that is different from what we expect in the everyday universe. But what?

Memory of a past incarnation is one possible explanation, the author thinks, but the universe is full of surprises and unexpected turns. Maybe the apparent memories are something else even more mysterious and weird. In either case, they challenge "the body of knowledge and theory which must be abandoned or radically modified" in response to them. At the end of the book,Shroder recounts an investigation he did himself into the case of a boy in Virginia who remembered events unconnected with his present life, whose accuracy Shroder's research confirmed. The last chapter ends with an unanswered question the boy asked about his memories: "Why is that, Mom?" It is Shroder's question as well.

Ian Stevenson's point is simply that if we want an explanation for certain mysteries he has studied, the simplest, most adequate, and therefore best explanation is reincarnation. Reincarnation is often understood very simplistically. And simplistic views are almost always wrong. But a wrong simplistic view does not invalidate a more sophisticated one that accounts for the facts.


Finally, evidence of another kind, not of the reality of reincarnation, but of interest in it, is supplied by two recent bibliographies on the subject:

 Reincarnation: A Bibliography
By Joel Bjorling. 
New York:
Garland, 1996.  Cloth, 29.00, x + 184 pages.

Reincarnation: A Selected Annotated Bibliography
By Lynn Kear.
Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1996.
Cloth, $75.00, xiv + 327 pages.

The Bjorling bibliography lists 1612 works on reincarnation divided among ten chapters organized by subjects. Most of the chapters have introductory essays on their subjects, ranging from "Eastern Religions and Reincarnation" to "Reincarnation in Literature." The subjects are inevitably overlapping, but provide some structure for a user seeking references to a particular aspect of the subject.

The Kear bibliography lists 562 works on reincarnation alphabetically by title. Its distinguishing feature is that the entries are annotated, generally with short quotations from the work defining its purpose or stating key concepts and often with a list of the contents of the work. The annotations serve the helpful purpose of informing a user about the contents of a work whose title may be insufficiently descriptive.

Both bibliographies are limited to works in the English language. Kear lists only books; Bjorling, both books and articles. Bjorling lists far more titles; but Kear gives far more information about each title. Both bibliographies are useful, though in different ways, so they are complementary.

Reincarnation in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia

The uncle, a high school dropout named David, had died when a tractor he was driving rolled over, crushing his chest. Joseph had been born with severe asthma, his mother said. It kept him out of school quite a bit.

"My parents were all but destroyed by David's death," the aunt said. "Nobody talked about it. And certainly nobody mentioned him in casual conversation by the time Joseph here was born. So there really wasn't any way he could have heard any of this stuff."

"This stuff" was a series of statements that Joseph had made, which seemed to fit his uncle's life. He had pretty much always called his grandmother "Mom," and mostly referred to his mother by her name, she said, but nobody thought too much of it—after all, she and Jennifer both called Joseph's grandmother "Mom" as well—until Joseph began to say other things.

"One time, he was sitting on the sidewalk at my folks' house just staring up at the roof and we was watching," his mother said. "He called my mom and he said, `Hey, Mom, do you remember when Papa and I got up there and painted that roof red for you and it got all over my feet and legs? Boy, wasn't you mad!'

"Mom said, 'Joseph?' He didn't answer. She said, 'My God, Jenny, that was David talking to me just now. Because David painted the roof and got into one mess, got more paint on him than on the roof.'

"The thing was, we painted that roof red in 1962, and since then it's been green." . . .

As we were about to leave, we asked if there was anything else they could remember that Joseph had said or done.

"Oh, I'm sure there were lots of things," his aunt said. "But we never wrote them down or anything."

Then, as we were walking out the door, she was saying something about tying Joseph's shoes when Jennifer piped up. "There's something I forgot! When he was little, he used to insist on us buying shoes a ton too big for him. He'd say, 'Mom, I know what size I wear, a size eight.' It was a real pain. He wouldn't drop it. We actually had to buy him a pair and take it home and make him wear it to prove to him it was way too big."

"What was David's shoe size?" I asked.

But I already knew the answer.

Tom Shroder, Old Souls: The Scientific Evidence for Past Lives, 221 -3.


The Theosophy of the Tao Te Ching, Part Two

Part 2
Richard W. Brooks


Lao Tzu uses a number of interesting metaphors to describe Tao--interesting because they are not what one would expect in a very male-dominated, material-valuing society like that of ancient China: the female, an infant, water, a valley, a bellows, an uncarved block, and raw (that is to say, unpainted) silk. But those metaphors aptly convey the idea that Nature is without show, ego, and preconceptions. Rather it works best when it draws the least attention to itself, when it nurtures without expecting accolades, is empty, is simple, is humble. It follows, then, that to be most effective in interpersonal relations--or what we might even call personal spirituality--we must imitate Nature:

A man with highest virtue (te) is not virtue-conscious;
That is why he has virtue.
A man with lowest virtue never loses sight of his virtue:
That is why he has no virtue. [ch. 38]

Nothing under Heaven is softer or more yielding than water,
Yet for attacking the hard and strong there is nothing better, it has no equal.
That the weak (or yielding) overcomes the strong
And that the soft (or submissive) overcomes the hard
Everyone under Heaven knows,
Yet none are able to practice it.
Therefore, the Sage says:
He who suffers humiliation for the state
Can be called a ruler worthy to offer sacrifices to the gods of earth and millet.
He who takes upon himself the misfortunes of the state
Can be called a king worthy of ruling the empire.
Straightforward words can seem paradoxical! [ch. 78]

But we cannot practice humility--for that would make it self-conscious and unnatural. To attain this state of humility or lack of egocentricity naturally we must empty ourselves of our preconceptions and conceits, we must become like a valley or a bellows--we must practice what Lao Tzu calls "emptiness":

Empty yourself of everything;
Hold firmly to tranquility. [ch. 6]

Again, we must do this because that is the way Nature works to accomplish its creative purposes:

Tao is empty, yet use will not exhaust it.
Like an abyss! Like the ancestor of the ten thousand things! [ch. 4]

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows?
While empty, it is never exhausted;
The more it works, the more it yields.
Much talk inevitably leads to exhaustion;
Better keep to the center. [ch. 5]

Here, again, Lao Tzu requires us to look at things in a new way. We usually focus our attention on the substance of things, matter or "being." But emptiness, space, or "nonbeing" is just as important, as he points out:

Thirty spokes unite in a wheel's hub;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the wheel depends.
Clay is shaped into a vessel;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the vessel depends.
Doors and windows are cut to make a room;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the room depends.
Therefore, advantage [or value] comes from Being,
But usefulness comes from Nonbeing. [ch. 11]

This leads us to perhaps the most puzzling term in the Tao Te Ching, in Chinesewu wei. The word wu is a negation, "not" or "without"; the word wei as a verb means "act" or "do," but it could also be a noun meaning"action." In fact, wu wei is often translated "nonaction" or "inaction," but that gives a very misleading impression of its meaning. The term wei has the implication of "purposive, self-conscious, or preplanned action"; its opposite,therefore, is not lack of action, but "spontaneous, creative, or unselfconscious action." When Lao Tzu is read with this in mind, his recommendation for interpersonal relations becomes quite intelligible--and reminds one very much ofJ. Krishnamurti:

The Way (tao) is constant in inaction (wu wei),
Yet nothing is left undone.
If kings and nobles were able to maintain it,
The ten thousand things would transform of themselves.
If, after transformation, they desired to act,
I would restrain them with Nameless Simplicity.
Nameless Simplicity is free of desires;
Without desires they would be tranquil;
And the empire would be at peace of its own accord (or would correct itself). [ch. 37]

The phrase translated 'Nameless Simplicity' above is literally "without name uncarved block." As noted above, the uncarved block (p'u) is one of Lao Tzu's several metaphors for the tao. Another passage further develops the same idea:

In the pursuit of learning, everyday something is acquired;
In the pursuit of the Way (tao), everyday something is dropped.
Less and less is done until nonaction (wu wei) is achieved.
When one achieves nonaction, nothing is left undone.
The empire is ruled by not interfering (or meddling).
If one interferes (or meddles), one
is not worthy of ruling the empire. [ch. 48]

Here the notion of "nonaction" is applied to"learning," which in Chinese implies (especially for Confucius) the study of ancient (largely mythological) history to extract moral lessons from it and the study of the rituals of proper social behavior so as to become self-consciously refined. Obviously, such a "learned" approach would make one a carefully planned individual, rather than a natural, creative, unselfconscious person. Perhaps some people might feel that the majority of mankind need this as a step towards true spiritual development, but certainly spiritual teachers like Christ,Buddha, Ramana Maharshi, and Krishnamurti did not recommend it.

To develop this attitude of selfless, spontaneous"nonaction," Lao Tzu recommends a technique that sounds very much like the withdrawal of the senses from sense objects in the Bhagavad Gita (2.58) andPatanjali's stilling of the activity of the mind in the Yoga Sutras (1.2):

Close the passages,
Shut the doors,
And to the end of your life your strength will the withdrawal;
Open the passages,
Increase your doings,
And to the end of your life you will be beyond help. [ch. 52]

Block the passages,
Shut the doors,
Blunt the sharpness,
Untangle the knots,
Soften the glare,
Become one with the dusty world;
This is called Profound (hsüan) Union. [ch. 56]

Commentators generally acknowledge that the "passages" and "doors" mentionedin these two quotations are, as D. C. Lau (77) puts it, "the apertures through which the senses acquire knowledge."

Lao Tzu further recommends that we do awaywith all distinctions or value judgments. He reasons that, since our concept of"good" is always associated conceptually with "bad," if we want to get rid of the "bad" in the world, we must eliminate the concepts of both "good" and "bad"simultaneously, relying on our inner nature to make us naturally,unselfconsciously good. This is best illustrated in a passage that at first reading seems very paradoxical:

When all under Heaven know beautiful as beautiful,
There arises the recognition of ugliness;
When all under Heaven know good as good,
There arises the recognition of not-good:
Thus, Being and Nonbeing produce each other;
Difficult and easy complete (or complement) each other;
Long and short contrast each other,
High and low support each other,
Sound and voice harmonize each other,
Front and back follow each other.
Therefore, the Sage handles affairs by first reading (wu wei)
And spreads teachings without words.
The ten thousand things arise and he doesn't turn away from them;
He nurtures them, but doesn't possess them;
He benefits them, but doesn't expect gratitude;
He accomplishes his task, but doesn't claim credit.
It is because he doesn't claim credit that it lasts forever. [ch. 2]

One can understand Lao Tzu's point better by realizing that one cannot have a world in which everything is long or high. That makes no sense. Long only exists in contrast with short, high with low. By making value judgments like "you're good," we keep conceptually alive the contrasting judgment "you're not good"--the very thing we are trying to eliminate! So the truly enlightened person must teach by example, staying always in the background, refusing to accept reward (or punishment).

That leads to another important recommendation: that we come to interpersonal situations with an open mind, that we listen to what others are saying instead of trying to bully our way through such situations by imposing our preconceived opinions on others:

The Sage has no fixed mind (hsin, literally "heart", the seat of judging things);
He regards the people's mind as his own.
Those who are good, I treat with goodness (or regard as good);
Those who are not good, I also treat with goodness (or regard as good).
Thus goodness is attained.
Those who are sincere (or honest), I treat with sincerity (or regard as honest);
Those who are insincere (or dishonest), I also treat with sincerity (or regard as honest);
Thus sincerity (or honesty) is attained.
The Sage, when dealing with the world, is one with it;
His mind harmonizes with that of the people.
The people turn their eyes and ears to him.
And he treats them as his grandchildren. [ch. 49]

Lao Tzu's recommendation here seems to be like that depicted in the episode of "TheBishop's Candlesticks" in Victor Hugo's novel Les Miserables in which police apprehend Jean Valjean with silver candlesticks he had stolen from a bishop who befriended him; when the police bring Valjean back to the bishop's manse, the bishop tells the police that they were a present, whereupon Valjean is so struck with remorse that he completely changes his way of life. In any event, it is clear that like Nature, which doesn't boast of its magnificent creations, theSage stays so much in the background that the people are unaware of his (or her)contribution:

[The best ruler] completes his tasks, finishes his affairs,
Yet the people say, "We did it ourselves" (or "It just happened")
(tzu jan, literally "self-so"). [ch. 17]

All of that is what might be termed the negative side of the Sage's interpersonal behavior. Lao Tzu identifies a positive side as wellin what he calls his "three treasures (or jewels)":

I have three treasures that I hold and cherish:
The first is compassion (or deep love) (tz'u),
The second is frugality,
The third is not presuming to be first in the world.
Being compassionate, one can be courageous;
Being frugal, one can be generous;
Not presuming to be first in the world, one can become a leader (or minister).
Now, trying to be courageous without compassion,
Trying to be generous without frugality,
And trying to be a leader without humility
Is sure to end in death.
For compassion brings triumph in attack and strength in defence.
What Heaven wishes to preserve it surrounds with compassion. [ch. 67]

It is obvious,then, that there is much of interest in this little book, the Tao Te Ching, much of which is of immediate relevance to our own dealings with other people.Certainly a compassionate, humble, nonjudgmental, open-minded attitude is important for anyone to adopt towards others. Certainly, attempting to still the mind with daily meditation is highly desirable. And we could all benefit from practicing "yielding" when in a confrontational, hostile situation since meeting hostility with hostility accomplishes very little, if indeed anything worthwhile at all. It certainly does not resolve a tense situation. And even if we prevail,the person we prevail over is surely left with resentment, as the Tao Te Ching points out:

When great enemies make peace,
Some hostility is bound to remain.[79]

But that is not to say that we will agree with everything in this little classic. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the Way it recommends isin its concept of the ideal State or form of government. The latter has already been hinted at in the quotations from chapters 37 and 48 above on the concept of wu wei. It is a policy of laissez faire, in which there is little or no government interference in the lives of citizens. Perhaps the most quaint expression of this idea is in the first line of chapter 60: "Ruling a large state is like cooking a small fish." That is, as commentators explain, too muchhandling will spoil it! Or as the following lines put it:

The more prohibitions a state has,
The poorer the people will be. . . .
The more laws and edicts there are,
The more theft and fraud there will be. [ch. 57]

Certainly, as the Mahatmas point out in their letters to A. P. Sinnett, humanfree will is inviolable, and must not be subjected to the will of another. But the Tao Te Ching seems to imply that people only steal and defraud when they areaware of laws against such things--that, otherwise, they would be naturally free of such self-centered, acquisitive impulses. That seems to border on the naive.It also fails to take into account that, as Theosophy teaches, humans presently are at very different stages of evolution as far as intelligence and morality are concerned; what greatly troubles one person's conscience does not bother another's at all. Furthermore, the above passage fails to distinguish between criminal law and civil law. Surely, one would want some sort of general rules about which side of the road to drive on (whether in an oxcart or an automobile), which days are workdays and which holidays, how streets are to an automobile out and cared for, and so on. An orderly society needs such general organizing rules just as much as it needs prohibitions against murder and theft.

But that's not all. The Tao Te Ching also envisions a society in which people lead extremely simple, very static lives--a peasant society in which people never leave their villages, abandon writing, and even refuse to employ labor-saving machinery:

Let the state be small.
Even if there are weapons enough for an army, the people will not use them.
They will not want to travel to distant lands.
They will look upon death as a momentous thing.
Even though they have boats and carts, they won't use them.
Even though there are armour and weapons, they won't make a display of them.
They will return to the use of knotted ropes [in place of writing].
They will take pleasure in their food,
Delight in their clothing,
Be happy with their homes,
And be content with their livelihood.
Though they can see the neighboring states
And hear the barking of dogs and crowing of cocks.
Yet they will grow old and die without visiting one another. [ch. 80]

This sounds very much like a society in which people are happy because they are kept fat and dumb! Surely, one cannot realize the inherent brotherhood of humanity if one has no contact with the rest of humanity. One cannot even meaningfully form a "nucleus of the brotherhood of humanity" if one is unaware of people who are different from oneself--racially, religiously, and culturally.

Nevertheless, the foregoing is a relatively minor part of thisbook. Ideas compatible with Theosophy outnumber those at variance with it. And,of course, there is much more that has not been discussed at all. Perhaps the foregoing will serve to whet the appetites of those unfamiliar with the Tao TeChing to find several translations, such as those in the reference list below,and begin their own meditative study of it.


<

b>References

Chan, Wing-tsit, trans.The Way of Lao Tzu. Indianapolis, IN:Bobbs-Merrill, 1963.

Feng, Gia-fu, and Jane English, trans. Tao Te Ching: A NewTranslation. New York: Vintage, 1972.

Henricks, Robert G., trans. Te-Tao Ching.New York: Ballantine, 1989.

Lau, Dim Cheuk, trans. Tao Te Ching. Hong Kong:Chinese University Press, 1989.

Wei, Henry, trans. The Guiding Light of Lao Tzu. Wheaton, IL:Theosophical Publishing House, 1982.


Richard Brooks, PhD, taught philosophy and logic at Oakland University,Michigan, until his recent retirement. A member of the National Board ofDirectors of the Theosophical Society, he has recently taught a course on parapsychology for the Olcott Institute on parapsychology program. This article is adapted from the Theosophist, December 1998.


Viewpoint: The Web of Life

 

 By Radha Burnier
President, Theosophical Society
 [condensed from the Daily News Bulletin,125th International Convention]

Theosophical Society - Radha Burnier was the president of the international Theosophical Society from 1980 till her death in 2013. The daughter of N. Sri Ram, who was president of the international Theosophical Society from 1953 to 1973, she was an associate of the great spiritual teacher J. KrishnamurtiWhat is life? From where did life arrive? No one knows. However, the web of life surrounds us and is tangible to our senses. The Mundaka Upanishad (1.16.9) says: "As a spider spins and withdraws its thread, so from the Imperishable arrives the universe. By contemplative power Brahman (the Supreme) expands."

The Supreme Reality builds the web, which is the living universe, with one unbroken thread, stretching farther and farther down to this dense, material world and, when the time comes, it will withdraw the thread and later spin a new web.

As we study the universe, numerous varieties can be noticed within it, differing in age—ancient rocks, newer rocks, extinct species, and living ones. "This world was not brought into its present condition," Annie Besant declared, "by one creative word. Slowly and gradually and by prolonged meditation did Brahma make the world." Brahman expands, slowly, by our limited standards, by breathing out a few elements and combining them in wonderful ways. All life forms are organized, stage by stage, through the ages as evolution proceeds, according to the flow of the creative Thought in the inner, intangible realms.

The concept of a life web and the interconnectedness of life forms is not new. Many ancient peoples were not only aware that life forms are knit together in marvelous ways, but they experienced the sacredness of the life-giving breath of Brahman, which vivifies all manifestation. To the ancient Indians, mountains and rivers, trees and animals and the Earth itself were divine. The Taoists saw this visible world as a reflection of the supreme tranquility of pure Spirit. Australian aboriginals, close to nature, knew where water flowed invisibly below the earth and thereby at times they saved the lives of ignorant white intruders into their country's vast desert. Such sensitivity has been lost, as materialistic views have increasingly invaded the human mind.

The wholeness and sanctity of life is a new concept only to the Western world. In medieval Europe, Giordano Bruno was burnt at the stake as a heretic four hundred years ago because he proclaimed that the One Infinite Existence is everything without exception: "In it everything has being, not only actualities—a universe that is—but all universes that may be." As the Church's influence waned, it yielded place to the narrowness and aridity of the rational philosophy that even now holds sway. But fortunately there is the beginning of what is called a paradigm shift from the concept of a mechanistic, purposeless, material universe, to an interconnected, limitless, living world with mysterious dimensions.

Since the mechanistic view has had a stranglehold on the human mind and has spread into every nook and corner of the earth, only slow progress is being made towards realizing the truth described in Theosophical literature: "Nature has linked all parts of her Empire together by subtle threads of magnetic sympathy, and there is a mutual correlation even between a star and a man" (Mahatma Letters, p. 263).

The mutual relationship and cooperation between the denizens of the earth are indeed marvelous. There are countless cooperative relationships between individuals and species. They offer each other transport, shelter, warnings of impending danger, and other forms of help. No single species, we are told, could persist if it were alone on the planet. It would eventually exhaust all the available nutrients and, having no way to convert its own waste products into food, it would die. Life is necessarily a cooperative venture.

While biologists are exploring such details about interdependency, physicists are puzzling over questions about electrons in one part of the universe influencing others at a great distance. The same force that makes apples fall holds the moon and planets in their orbits: "All parts of the universe seem to be evolving in a similar way, as though they share a common origin," according to the astronomer Sir William Reese. The survival of the cosmos depends on a fine degree of tuning; for example, were the ratio of gravity and expansion energy to change even a tiny bit, the universe would collapse or never come into existence. There is a cosmic harmony that maintains the right conditions, proportions, and order for life to exist and evolution to proceed.

The evolutionary process unfolds the invisible spiritual attributes inherent in the source—Brahman—figuratively the spider. Beauty is everywhere, because the supreme source is beauty. Plants and trees, which draw nutrition from the earth, convert what they absorb into colors, textures, and shapes that ravish the eyes. The shells of creatures in the sea and coral reefs, songs of birds, and a myriad other things in the cosmos reveal in part the divine splendor.

The web of life is not only what is perceptible; underlying what is seen are energies of a spiritual kind. Cooperation between living creatures is one of the expressions of the spiritual. The Law of Sacrifice applies to all that exists and teaches every creature to give of itself for the sake of others. As the Gita says, by mutual adoration all forms of life enrich themselves. Scientists and others who study the effects at the material level of the unseen divine energies emanating from the Source will one day become philosophers and mystics who know that the web is not different from the spider, symbol of the Eternal.


News & Notes

News & Notes

Theosophy in the Movies

The cyber-art film What Dreams May Come, about the after-life experience as envisioned in a book of the same title, received a lengthy review in Hinduism Today (February 1999, 20-23). The review considers the sources of the book and film: "Hindus seeing this movie have wondered, "Where did this come from? How did all our Hindu beliefs get here?" The answer is "indirectly," because producers Stephen Simon and Barnet Bain and author Richard Matheson have little knowledge of Hinduism. What they are familiar with is Western metaphysics, much of which derives from Theosophy, which in turn derives from Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism." It might be more accurate to say that Hinduism, Buddhism, and modern Theosophy all derive from the same source, the timeless Wisdom Tradition.

Quest Author Wins Awards

Two articles by Paul Sochaczewski published in the Quest—"Snowmen in the Jungle: Are They Our Distant Relatives?" (Summer 1998) and "Neck Rings and Loincloths—Trust Us, We Know Better Than You Do" (Winter 1998) received Honorable Mention awards in the 1998 Writer's Digest Writing Competition. The event attracted more than 9000 entries.

Dreams of Isis, an Innovator's Favorite Book

Normandi Ellis's autobiographical and mythological account Dreams of Isis: A Woman's Spiritual Sojourn (Quest Books 1995) was named by Sarah Susanka as her favorite book in U. S. News & World Report for December 28 / January 4, 1998/1999. A humanistic-spiritual architect, Susanka was one of eighteen "American innovators" whom the turn-of-the-year issue featured as people with visions that can change the world.

Veggie Burgers in Washington

Vegetarian burgers are marketed by a number of companies: Gardenburger, Inc. (which ran a commercial on the last episode of the TV series Seinfeld), the long-established meat-substitute company Worthington Foods, and Boca Burger Inc. (named for its original location in Boca Raton, Florida). Reporting on the increased popularity of veggie burgers, the Chicago Tribune (Dec. 6, 1998, sec. 5, p. 1) reported: "Boca Burgers first gained national attention in 1995 after it was reported that Hillary Clinton put her burger-loving hubby onto Boca Burgers to wean him from Big Macs. They're still served at the White House and on Air Force One, and the U.S. Senate dining room has added Boca Burgers to the menu."

1998 Audio/Video Guide Update Available

The Audio/Video Guide is a comprehensive listing of all audio and video tapes in the Henry S. Olcott Memorial Library in numerical order, with indexes by title, author (speaker), and year of publication, in a loose-leaf format that is easily updated. The Guide also includes information on how to purchase audio and video tapes.

The following 1998 updates for The Audio/Video Guide are now available: main register supplements, listing new audio and video tapes in numerical order (48 pages), $4.00; main register supplements and revised author, title, and chronological indexes (160 pages), $9.00. A completely revised 1998 Audio/Video Guide (240 pages in a binder) is available for $15.00.

To obtain a copy of the guide or an update, send a check or money order payable to Theosophical Society in America to:
Henry S. Olcott Memorial Library
P. O. Box 270
Wheaton, IL 60187-0270
Phone 630-668-1571, ext. 304


Creating a Sanctuary for the Soul

By Dianne Valla and David Rioux

Since religious man cannot live except in an atmosphere impregnated with the sacred, we must expect to find a large number of techniques for consecrating space

—Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane

Our souls hurt. They hurt in a dozen different ways. We are fed up, bored, despairing, depressed, angry. When our souls hurt enough, we become seriously ill. Whatever the medical diagnosis, the real sickness is a lack of wholeness.

 

Our left-brained society, with its almost total emphasis on processes involving fact and logic, robs us of a part of ourselves that we need to be completely human. What we lack is an intuitive state of being, a metaphoric way of experiencing a reality that is not grounded in space or time or matter. What we need is an inner life. More than that, we need a way of connecting that inner life to the rest of our being.

participating in rituals, we experience the reality of another dimension. Rituals are ways of bringing the inner life of spirit into the world of space and time. Through mindful participation in meaningful ritual, we learn to live spiritually. We are healed of the illness of separation from ourselves.

Healing rituals uplift the quality of the ground of our being in the same way that working a garden upgrades the soil. A garden is nurtured by gardening; the life of the spirit is nurtured through dedication to ritual. Our disordered souls are healed and made ready for growth. The most profound wounds of a hostile environment and of interpersonal injury can be transformed by consistently and intentionally enacting rituals for healing.

Soul Sanctuary: A Ritual of Healing

Creating a soul sanctuary, aside from having great healing properties of its own, can become a jumping-off place for many other rituals. Almost all rituals are initiated in personal sanctuary space. From that place, other symbolic ritual actions can continue in an environment that already has a feeling of the sacred.

Creating a sanctuary for the soul is a simple task, filled with delight. Sanctuaries can be actual places or places that are real only in the imagination. Perhaps we need to have both kinds. An imagined sanctuary can never be closed due to weather or for repairs or for lack of financial support. The important aspect is that we each select our own special place, whether it be the seaside, a forest, a mountaintop, a view of running water or a waterfall, a special garden, or a sacred power spot.

The only requirement for sanctuary space is that we select a place where we have felt our highest level of peacefulness. The main ingredient is the great inner warmth, security, and peace that we feel in this place. The more often we revisit our soul sanctuary, the more peaceful we will be. Even troubled persons, those with seriously dysfunctional childhoods and memories of no peaceful place at all, have been able to imagine a place where they might feel safe and at peace.

Despite the real simplicity of creating personal sanctuary space, we have discovered that the task can be mind-boggling. For some people it might take time to be able to overcome built-in inertia. What seems to have worked well in healing and growth workshops we have done has been for us to lend our private sanctuaries to others. We'll do the same here. Feel free to borrow one or the other, whichever appeals to you. Use it until you create one of your own, or use it permanently if you choose. There is no rent or copyright on imagined soul sanctuaries.

Dianne's Sanctuary

I have a special place I go when I need to get away from it all. It isn't a real place, but sometimes it is more real to me than any actual location could ever be. I call it the Lighthouse.

I walk along a path of very old, very worn stone slates set into grass. As I walk, I hear my footsteps on the path. At the end of the path is a set of steps leading up to the door of a round turret. I walk up the steps, not even needing to hold the handrail that is there for me should I want to use it. I arrive at the door, a door with a special key that only I possess. From a gold chain on my neck I lift the key to the latch. I can hear the click as the lock turns. I enter, being sure to lock the door behind me. In front of me is a narrow winding staircase that leads to the top floor of the Lighthouse.

Another door leads me to the room itself, my sanctuary room. It is a circular room with windows all around. All the windows are open and the sheer white curtains are blowing slightly in the gentle breeze. I move across the room to sit in the only chair in the room. It is soft, yet it supports my fragile back. I fold my feet under my body and rest in the comfort of the moment. I notice that the room smells fresh and clean. There is even a trace of sandalwood scent as if long ago incense had been burned to honor an ancient deity.

It is so quiet in this room that I can hear, in the distance, the sound of the ocean. It is a calm ocean today. I smell its salt now, and I know that the ocean was once my home. In this room, I know without any doubt that all is well and right and holy. I close my eyes and enter a deep meditation. The world and its cares are gone for me. All there is, is peace.

When I am refreshed, I leave, going back the same way I came. I am careful to lock the door so that nothing can disturb my sanctuary while I am away. I know that I can return again and again and that I will always find what I need here.

David's Sanctuary

There is a special place I go within myself to transcend the pains of the outer world, to seek resolution of a problem, to make ready to receive the answer to a question, to find peace. I call this spot my Hidden Cove.

To begin this inward trip, I sit in a comfortable chair, close my eyes, and take a few slow, deep breaths. Then I'm alone, close to the edge of a great cliff, becoming both an observer and a participant in an interior ritual. The whole scene is lit by the soothing ethereal light of the rising sun. I walk to the very edge of the cliff, where I find a stairway cut into the face of the rock. The black basalt feels smooth under my feet, yet it is not slippery. I see my feet starting slowly down the stairs. Slightly warmed by the early sunlight, the volcanic rock caresses my feet as I descend to a hidden cove along the ocean. With each step down, I feel more and more relaxed.

When I reach the beach, I'm totally relaxed, basking in a pleasant altered state of consciousness. I feel a pleasant, moist breeze blowing from the water across my skin. As I walk onto the beach, the sand feels slightly cool under my feet. There is still a slight chill to the early morning air. I look up to see the dulled dawn sun lighting the sky and coloring the waves a soft golden white. Framed by this splendid backdrop is a campfire burning in the middle of the secluded little beach. Driftwood logs surround the fire. There are a few figures sitting on logs, seemingly huddled around the fire for warmth. I walk purposefully up the beach toward the campfire and sit down on one of the smooth, worn logs. I'm facing both the fire and the ocean.

Directly to my right, on another log, I see my Inner Guide. In a heart-to-heart silent contact, I ask my Guide for the help I need. I sense strong energy vibrations flowing from my Guide to me. Though the other figures—spirit helpers—sit quietly on their logs, I know that they will be available to me when I need them.

A sudden rush of energy from my Guide causes me to look upward. Written across the sky is the answer to the problem I brought with me to this place. I am filled with gratitude; tears wet my eyes. Slowly dropping my eyelids, I let a deep well of thankfulness flow toward my Guide. Then I gaze out at the ocean. After a few minutes, which could be centuries for all I know, I feel totally energized and completely peaceful. I get up slowly, and calmly retrace my path back to the top of the cliff. When I open my eyes, I find I have returned to everyday life fortified with the gift of an answer to my prayer and a state of great peace.

Sanctuaries as Sacred Places

Notice that there are some striking similarities in the two soul sanctuaries. Both have elements that are old and worn. Both are near water, near the ocean in fact. Both are places where one goes to be away from the cares of the world and to find what is deeply desired. Both accounts are rich in sensory images: sight, sound, feel, and even smell.

There are differences, however. You must have noticed that, while one of us remains outdoors, the other goes into a building. One admits other beings into his soul sanctuary; the other takes every precaution to make sure she will be in complete solitude. Both sanctuaries meet the particular needs of the person who created them. Both can be changed any time to fit particular circumstances and needs. What is important is what works.

We each enact our own myth. We each set up a soul sanctuary that brings us peace. As Joseph Campbell says in The Power of Myth:

This is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You need a room, or a certain hour or so in a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.

Where will you build your place of healing and peace and sanctuary for your soul?


Dianne Valla and David Rioux have been a team for more than twenty years. Both come from a background of teaching and have been practicing psychologists. At present, they are writing a novel about the rise of spiritual consciousness and a book of meditations on poetry.


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