This is Still It: EST, Thirty Years Later

By Eliezer Sobel

Originally printed in the MAY-JUNE 2006 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Sobel, Eliezer. "This is Still It: EST, Thirty Years Later." Quest  94.3 (MAY-JUNE 2006):103-107.

Werner Erhard was the infamous and controversial founder of the est training, the original, two-weekend crash course in consciousness, popular during the 1970s, that became the prototype and inspiration for many human potential workshops that continue to this day. Depending on who you speak to, you might hear that Erhard was either a brilliant and beneficent humanitarian who could do no wrong-I was more or less in this camp-or a power-hungry megalomaniac who demanded fierce personal loyalty from his staff while raking in oodles of cash at the expense of naïve seekers looking for a quick fix.

Numerous books and articles over the years have presented convincing evidence on both sides of the argument and resolving it is beyond the scope of this piece. I will, however, examine some of the dynamics of Erhard's leadership that impacted me personally, and ruminate on several ideas that continue to reverberate within me some three decades later. For a general overview of the est training, please see my article "This is It: est, Twenty Years Later" (Quest, Summer 1998).

Being At Cause

At the end of the first weekend of the est training, we were sent home with an inquiry to ponder until the following weekend: Who would be wrong if your life got better? The answer, for me, was plain: I would. I would be wrong about everyone and everything I had ever blamed for my unhappiness. This was perhaps the most fundamental principle I learned at est. I am not the victim of my circumstances in life, and that which I seek will not be found by manipulating those circumstances.

A more satisfying life is not dependent upon my finding a different relationship, a better job, a new location, or more money, physical healing, or anything in the domain of what Werner called, "more, better and different". Instead he preached that at any time and in any situation, no matter what the circumstances, you have the ability to transform the quality of your life.

I received this particular teaching from the horse's mouth, while interviewing Werner in 1978. He stated it quite unequivocally and forcefully: "Listen, until you get that nothing is going to do it for you, that there isn't anything that's going to come along and make you happy, you are unprepared to get at where the truth is "The truth is always and only found now, in the circumstances you've got." The existential fact, now and always, is that this is it. The concomitant is also true: "All suffering" Werner said, "is a function of this isn't it."

The life we want is not waiting for us "out there" in a different set of circumstances, because if and when we arrive there, we will only find another set of circumstances seductively beckoning, always keeping the life we want just out of reach, with the whole cycle fueled by our obstinate insistence that this isn't it. Instead, est revealed that rather than persisting in futile attempts to wring satisfaction out of life, it is possible to bring a sense of satisfaction, completion, and wholeness into life, exactly as it is, no matter what the circumstances. As one of est's maxims put it: You don't have to go looking for love, when love is where you come from.

The fruition of one's quest for authenticity, wholeness, and enlightenment, est insisted, did not require lightning flashes, bells and whistles, or the sudden appearance of a choir of angels. It simply required a slight shift in position, "getting off of" whatever point of view one was grimly attached to, and usually "being right" about. So, if I felt any person or situation was the cause of my unhappiness, it was possible for me to relinquish that point of view, even if I was right; even if someone did do whatever it was I believed they did to me. Regardless of the circumstances, I could let go of being right about my position and point of view. Instead, I could choose to be "at cause" in the matter, rather than "at the effect of," and thus be fully responsible, moment to moment, for the quality of my experience of living.

This idea was often stretched by est graduates into the overused pop-psychology phrase, "I create my own reality." This, in turn, rapidly devolved into a realm of magical thinking in which one could be stricken with what former est-trainer Stewart Emery once called the Super Source Syndrome. Emery summarized it as this, "est participants used to come up to me after the training, shouting 'I am God, I am God!' and I would say, 'Wonderful, here's a loaf of bread and a fish, now go feed the hungry masses.'"

As empowering as the est philosophy could be, I also discovered over time that it instilled in me the potentially damaging notion that if I was not saving the world and being a Gandhi or a Martin Luther King-or a Werner Erhard — I was not truly living. With the bar placed so high, who among us would not constantly fall short? The trainers' repeated, impassioned exhortation that "who you are, matters and what you do makes a difference" could inspire greatness or paralysis, and I experienced both extremes over the years. There tended to be a built-in shame response when one's life was not working, for after all, as "cause in the matter," one was personally and completely responsible. One started to feel ashamed that life anywhere was not working, that one was personally responsible for the whole world not working, for not having ended war, poverty, and starvation on the planet. It was a bit much to take on, but Werner did, or tried to, and we had internalized his vision. 

What Is, Is

Apart from being an acronym for "Erhard Seminar Training," the word "est" is also Latin for "it is," and if the training was ultimately about one thing, it was about what is. It was about cultivating the Zen-like ability to be with and align oneself with the way things are. It was about allowing life to be exactly as it is-and as it isn't-and likewise allowing oneself and other people to be exactly who they are-and aren't. As noted author Byron Katie has put in her book Loving What Is, by adopting such an attitude we stop having an argument with reality.

One profound benefit of allowing others to be as they are — to grant them to be — is to realize that underneath all the emotional baggage we carry, beneath all our hurts and resentments, there lives a fundamental quality of unconditional love. It became crystal clear to me during the est training that at the core, people love each other when given half a chance. Love is what is waiting to emerge when we release everything that is in the way of love. (I remember one woman protested, "But my father never told me he loved me," and Werner responded, "Your father loved you, and the way he expressed it was by never telling you.")

For me, the most astounding personal example of such ubiquitous love came at the end of the training, as I stood in front of my 250 fellow-participants — complete strangers only one weekend before — announcing that I needed a place to live and would be happy to live with anyone in the room! This coming from someone who, until that time, could count on one hand the number of people on the planet with whom I would choose to cohabit. Although I was experiencing a temporary euphoria of love and connection that would fade soon enough, it nevertheless revealed to me a space of possibility; a way of being in the world, to which I would forever after aspire.

The Voice in My Head

Perhaps the most important teaching from the est training that has stayed with me these thirty years concerns my very identity. Simply put, that chattering voice living inside my head, calling itself "I" and "me," constantly narrating the story of my life, is not who I really am. Rather, the training revealed it as nothing more than an automatic and mechanistic thinking machine that sometimes has great ideas, but more often simply perpetuates a grim, problem-riddled interpretation of life, and is thoroughly ill-qualified to be in charge of me and my decisions.

One est trainer, Ron Bynum, told the story of his first wedding. While standing at the altar, about to say "I do," he heard himself thinking, "You're making a huge mistake." The words haunted him and the marriage didn't last. Several years later, following his own transformation — the transformation of his relationship with his own mind — he remarried, and as he stood at the altar, he again heard the voice say, "You're making a big mistake." This time, he simply replied internally, "Thank you for sharing" and moved confidently forward into a happy marriage.

The voice had not changed or gone away, but his relationship to it had fundamentally altered. The trainers likened this to trying to drive a car by holding onto the rear-view mirror instead of the steering wheel, resulting in our continuously crashing into things. Shifting dominion over our lives from the predictable, machine-like chattering mind, back to an authentic spacious self is to get our hands back on the steering wheel. We begin to have an intimation of this self as the context in which the content of our previous identities and ongoing life-stories appeared. We begin to see this "I" as an object within our consciousness, rather than as the sole ruling subject. It is this singular shift that launches us onto the spiritual path (as the est training actually did for thousands of people), calling into question and illuminating the fundamental nature of the very "I" which has been posing as us.

Alas, ninety-nine percent of spiritual aspirants who experience such an awakening will inevitably fall back asleep and seemingly lose, or somehow forget, what had seemed suddenly obvious, true, and liberating. Akin to spiritual amnesia, it is like finally getting the cosmic punch line, but later being unable to remember the joke. Erhard used to say it was as if a person was already in Baltimore but didn't know it, and was trying to get to Baltimore. Any move in any direction would only take the person further away from Baltimore.

I felt desperate to get back to Baltimore. For the next three decades I would try everything to get "it" back, for having once tasted the freedom of such a realization, even for a moment, one can never again get a truly good night's sleep. It is as if an irresistible urge or perpetual restlessness of the soul has been set in motion to retrieve what has been lost, through any means possible.

Thus began the endless cycle I have been caught in since, of retreats, workshops, meditation techniques, and other consciousness-altering methods, including psychedelic drugs, all manner of bodywork, New Age psychics, healers and shamans, immersion in religious traditions, and so on. Werner once said that people will do anything and give up anything to get enlightened, except the one thing required, which almost no one will give up: People will not give up that they are not enlightened!

This was certainly true in my case. Somehow, I found continuing the great search far more entertaining and less demanding than living the already-enlightened life of contribution. For in fact, est did provide many of us a visit to the inner temple of the true self, yet most of us later felt tossed back out on our butts, with the unspoken admonition to clean up our acts before we could come back. 

The Path of Service

What is the best way to regain admission to that inner chamber? Near the end of our second est weekend, our trainer quoted a passage from the Ramayana, in which Hanuman (the embodiment of selfless service to God) says to Ram (God): "When I don't know who I am, I serve You; when I know who I am, I am You." The verse is a reminder that one age-old method of moving from there to here — from sleeping to waking, from the ego-mind to self — is through selfless service; a path that tends to take one's attention off the relentless pursuits of the personal ego.

The est teachings took this idea a step further, pointing out that the highest form of service was to serve one who serves. While presumably this might refer to any number of possible servers, it was obvious to us that Werner himself was such a one, and opportunities for volunteering our time to serve his cause were abundantly available. To nail this point at the conclusion of the sixty-hour seminar, trainer Randy MacNamara's last words to us were, "There are now at least three people alive on the planet who know who you are, you know who you are, I know who you are, and Werner knows who you are."

Sitting in an expanded state of newly awakened consciousness, one tends to be vulnerable to suggestion, much as ducklings can be imprinted at a critical point in their development. In that moment, my heightened experience of self was inextricably linked to Werner, and I had the uncanny (perhaps naïve?) sense that Werner himself really was the source of my spiritual awakening, and I felt a deep kinship and gratitude toward this man I had never met.

But this idea of Werner as a source, coupled with the notion that one must serve one who serves, set in motion a potentially cultish commitment among us to serve Werner, believing it to be both our best shot at personally progressing towards the grand spiritual prize, as well as being a truly benign way to forward the noble cause of transforming the entire planet, one est graduate at a time, until we had a world that works for everyone, with nobody and nothing left out. It was a very heady adventure. 

Surrender

In the arena of master-disciple relationships, and our relationship to Werner was no exception, there is a long tradition of the disciple's decision to give up all personal rights and to serve the master and to do what one is told, no matter how unreasonable. In fact, it is precisely the unreasonable demands that most quickly elicit our protestations and resistance, and thus present us with opportunities to "get off it" and be released from the stranglehold of our own addiction to being right and doing it our way.

I once assisted at an advanced est course called the Six Day, that involved volunteering twenty hours a day for nine consecutive days. If there was a marine boot camp of the human potential movement, this was it. The conclusion of the Six-Day included the dismantling of an outdoor ropes course by the assistants, who had to haul the heavy equipment down a fairly steep mountain trail. One roundtrip took an hour and the task required three roundtrips apiece. Collapsing sleep-deprived and exhausted at the foot of the mountain following my third trip, I was informed that there was one more load that needed to be brought down.

That was the moment I truly grasped what working for Werner Erhard was about: just when you've reached utter and total exhaustion and believe you've reached your absolute limit and can do no more, you're literally asked to run up a mountain. (Which is a good experience to have once!)

Yet from the outside, this can look like madness and manipulation. A classic example of surrender from the Tibetan tradition, describes Marpa ordering his student Milarepa to build a house, stone by back-breaking stone, and upon completing it, commanding him to tear it down and rebuild it in another location. This cycle repeats itself until Milarepa is completely spent.

Imagine the headlines if this scenario were played out in today's world: "Innocent Youth Enslaved to Power-Crazed Tibetan Cult Leader!"

I joined countless others, thrilled with the benefits we received from Werner's training, understanding the personal advantage to be gained through engaging in the practice of service. We joyfully volunteered millions of collective hours of free labor in support of Werner's mission, which was to spread the possibility of transformation far and wide, through sharing the training with others.

Was this an elaborate, abusive scheme to feed more money and power back to the source, or a legitimate avenue of spiritual development? Or was it both? How was one to judge? Could one gain the enlightening benefits of selfless service through serving a person or system revealed in the end to be possibly corrupt? Recalling the old teaching adage that, "it is the purity of the disciple that determines the outcome," I would say yes.

In the end for me, it was not about the teacher, but the teaching, and the teaching was sound: The passionate, full life we yearn for is not waiting for us somewhere, someday, in the future. In the very moment we truly relinquish waiting — for anything — we awaken to the extraordinary beauty and mystery of this: our life as it always already is.

Seen through eyes unclouded by our insistence that "this isn't it," we can stop arguing with reality. Through one judo-like step to the side, we can cease being "at the effect of" life by acknowledging we are "cause in the matter," completely responsible for how we experience living, based on the choices we make and our ability and willingness to "get off it," and get on with it. Thirty years later, this is still it.


Eliezer Sobel is the author of the recent novel, Minyan: Ten Jewish Men in a World That is Heartbroken, winner of the Peter Taylor Prize for the novel, as well as Wild Heart Dancing. See www.eliezersobel.com .


HPB and Her Letters--The Formative Period

Originally printed in the May - June 2004 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Algeo, John. "HPB and Her Letters--The Formative Period." Quest  92.3 (MAY-JUNE 2004):96-101

By John Algeo

Theosophical Society - John Algeo was a Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Georgia. He was a Theosophist and a Freemason He was the Vice President of the Theosophical Society Adyar.

H. P. Blavatsky was a prolific writer. In addition to her two major works, Isis Unveiled and The Secret Doctrine, of two volumes each, and her shorter books, The Key to Theosophy and The Voice of the Silence, her periodical publications and miscellaneous writings in English and French fill fourteen volumes, which do not include her Russian works, yet untranslated into English except From the Caves and Jungles of Hindostan and "The Durbar at Lahore." There are also the transcriptions of her remarks in The Transactions of the Blavatsky Lodge. The quantity of HPB's publications is phenomenal, especially considering the fact that most of them were produced during the last few years of her life, when she was chronically ill.

But in addition to her public writings, intended for publication, there is a mass of private writing—her correspondence with a great variety of people: her family in Russia, as well as friends and acquaintances in America, Europe, and India—scientists and spiritualists, journalists and generals, professors and preachers. Her correspondents included a distinguished Russian philosopher, Alexander Aksakoff; an American general, Francis Lippitt; a professor at Cornell University, Hiram Corson; a scholar of Platonism, Alexander Wilder; a British naturalist who anticipated Darwin in formulating the theory of natural selection, Alfred Wallace; and the inventor of the electric lightbulb, the phonograph, and other technologies, Thomas Edison. She wrote her letters in three languages: English, French, and Russian (and sometimes in a mixture of the three). Much of that correspondence—probably most of it—no longer exists, having been destroyed or lost. But what does remain gives a direct and intimate view into the mind and heart of the "Old Lady," as her intimates used to refer to her.

Even of the surviving correspondence, much no longer exists in autograph, that is, in its original form in her handwriting, but rather only in copies made by others or in published forms, the originals having long since disappeared. Many of the copied or published letters are clearly inaccurate, having been altered by the copyist or editor, sometimes accidentally and sometimes deliberately to make some point. The nonautograph letters are obviously of lesser authority and reliability, but when they are all that survive, one must, for lack of anything better, accept them as evidence, albeit flawed, of what HPB wrote. When there is no surviving original but several copies made at various times by different persons, those copies often differ from one another, sometimes only in minor details, but sometimes extensively in content.

A complete collection of Blavatsky's correspondence was begun by Boris de Zirkoff, her second cousin once removed, but he died before completing the collection or publishing any of it. De Zirkoff left his library, papers, and unfinished work to the Theosophical Society in America, where it is now archived. His manuscript collection of her letters comprises several large volumes. The American Society first arranged for John Cooper, an Australian interested in Theosophical history, to take on the task of completing the collection and editing of HPB's correspondence for publication by the Theosophical Publishing House, Wheaton. Cooper also planned to use an edition of the early letters for his doctoral thesis at Sydney University. However, Cooper died suddenly, with the projected first volume of the letters only in preliminary form and unedited professionally.

To complete the work, I assumed the editorship, with the assistance of my wife, Adele, and an advisory committee consisting of Daniel Caldwell, Dara Ekund, Robert Ellwood, Joy Mills, and Nicholas Weeks. We soon discovered that the texts of many of the letters were inaccurate, and we concluded that a reader would need fuller notes and explanations to understand the letters in their historical context. It became clear that more editorial apparatus was called for and that the text of every letter would have to be verified by comparing the copy we had with the original or with the best existing version. As HPB wrote to people all over the world, her letters are now deposited all over the world. Thus getting to see the prime versions, in order to ensure the accuracy of the texts to be published in The Letters of H. P. Blavatsky, entailed a pilgrimage around the globe. To give an idea of the vastness of the hunt, I will mention some of the places one must look to find the Old Lady's letters.

The Adyar Archives are the richest depository of HPB's correspondence. In addition to whatever correspondence has been there from the days of HPB's residence in Adyar, Annie Besant and others gathered as many of her letters as they could find and deposited them for safekeeping at the international headquarters of the Theosophical Society. But many of those letters are now in poor condition from the ravages of the years. Every effort is now being made to preserve them properly, but earlier damage cannot be undone.

Adele and I have spent long hours pondering the distinctive, but sometimes difficult to read, handwriting that we came to recognize as HPB's. We worked together, puzzling out whether a particular squiggle was an s or an a or just a squiggle. Deciphering HPB's script is a little like working a crossword puzzle: You go at a particular piece of it for a couple of hours, then put it aside and do something else for a while. When you return hours or days later, sometimes the mysteries solve themselves, and you immediately recognize what the message says. At other times, however, the puzzle remains a mystery, and you can only make an educated guess at the intention. But the work is fascinating, and when you finally succeed in making sense of an orthographical puzzle, you feel as though you have passed an initiation into the esoteric mysteries of HPB.

A number of other archives also contain letters or copies of letters by HPB. They include those of the Theosophical Society in America at Wheaton, Illinois; the Theosophical Society with international headquarters at Pasadena, California; the British Library; the College of Psychic Studies in London; the Thomas Edison National Historic Site in West Orange, New Jersey; the Grand Lodge of Freemasons at Freemason's Hall in London; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the Philosophical Research Society in Los Angeles; the Kroch Library of Cornell University in Itahaca, New York; the Society for Psychical Research in the Cambridge University Library; the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.; the India Office Library (containing correspondence of the Political and Secret Foreign Service Office) in the British Library; and the private HPB Library in Toronto.

Some of HPB's letters now survive only in published form in early magazines and newspapers. These publications, some of which still appear and some not, are diverse. They include general periodicals like the Calcutta Review, Ceylon Times, Hindu, New York Daily Graphic, New York Sun, New York World, and Times of India. Others are Theosophical journals like the Path (of London), Path (of New York), Theosophical Forum, Theosophical Nuggets, Theosophical Quarterly, Theosophic Isis, Theosophist, and Word. Others include specialized periodicals like Banner of Light, Carrier Dove, Harbinger of Light, Human Nature, Link, Madras Christian College Magazine, Medium and Daybreak, Rebus, and Spiritual Scientist.

Other letters survive only by quotation in whole or part in books. Such books include Contribution la Histoire de la Société Théosophique en France by Charles Blech, Modern World Movements by Jirah Dewey Buck, Life and Teachings of Swami Dayanand by Vishwa Prakash, Life of Dayanand Saraswati by Har Bilas Sarda, The Theosophical Society, Its Objects and Creed by Arthur Theophilius, and Madame Blavatsky by K. F. Vania.

The hunt for HPB's correspondence is a quest, and, like all quests, it is never completely finished, for there always remains the yet undiscovered letter somewhere over the horizon. As recently as 2002, a letter written by HPB in 1889 turned up in a minute book of the Bradford Lodge in England, and there are doubtless others waiting to be found elsewhere. But the collecting of her letters is not just a pastime or an antiquarian activity. HPB's personal letters are of interest for what they show about her many-faceted personality, about her inner experiences, about her ideas as they were forming, about her view of her own mission, about the way the Theosophical Society came into existence and developed over the years, and about us as readers as we respond to those letters.

The letters in volume 1 of the Collected Writings edition of H. P. Blavatsky's correspondence include all known surviving letters written before she and Colonel Olcott arrived in Bombay in 1879 to transfer the center of Theosophical activity from America to India. To get some sense of what those letters are like, I will quote from a few of them to show the range of her correspondence.

The first letter by HPB for which we have evidence is undated but was written to her relatives probably about 1863, when she was just a little over thirty years old. She had been traveling widely in Caucasian Georgia, especially in mountainous and wild country, and she apparently studied there with native magicians called kudyani, as a result of which she became known for the healing and parapsychological powers she was developing. During this time, she had a shamanic-like experience, in which she led a "double life." She was fasting, had a light fever, and would enter into a kind of meditative state, in which (as she later commented) she nevertheless "understood all, for I was never delirious." She describes the state in this letter to her relatives:

Whenever I was called by name, I opened my eyes upon hearing it and was myself, in every particular. As soon as I was left alone, I relapsed into my usual, half dreamy condition and became somebody else. . . . In cases when I was interrupted during a conversation in the latter capacity—say, at half a sentence spoken by either me or some of my visitors—invisible of course to any other, for it was I alone to whom they were realities—no sooner did I close my eyes than the sentence which had been interrupted continued from the word it had stopped at. When awake and myself I remembered well who I was in my second capacity and what I was doing. When somebody else—I had no idea of who was H. P. Blavatsky. I was in another far off country, quite another individuality, and had no connection at all with my actual life.

This experience or training seems to have lasted for several years, and during it she had only imperfect control of her own developing abilities. But it came to a head, a sort of crisis, in 1865, which was a watershed in her life. As a result of her experiences in the Caucasus during the preceding few years, her parapsychological powers, which had been active to varying degrees since her childhood, came increasingly under her conscious control, and her life took a new direction. In a later letter of March 1, 1882, to Prince Dondukov-Korsakov, HPB wrote, "Between the Blavatsky of 1845-1865 and the Blavatsky of the years 1865-1882, there is an unbridgeable gulf." When HPB finally left the Caucasus to go to Italy in 1865, she was never to return there again. She expressed her sense of freedom and release in a letter to her relatives, probably written about the time she left the Caucasus:

Now I will never be subjected any longer to external influences. The last vestige of my psycho-physiological weakness is gone to return no more. . . . I am cleansed and purified of that dreadful attraction to myself of stray spooks and ethereal affinities. I am free, free, thanks to Them whom I now bless at every hour of my life.

During the next five or so years, HPB was traveling in eastern Europe and the Near East. They are sometimes called the "veiled years" because we know so little about her whereabouts or activities then, but she seems to have contacted the Druzes and other esoteric and mystic groups in the course of her travels. By 1873 she was in Paris visiting a cousin and intending to settle down there. But unexpectedly, she received a letter from her adept teacher directing her to go to America. When her teacher spoke, HPB did not hesitate. So within two days she boarded a ship bound for New York, where she arrived on July 7, about a month before her forty-second birthday, and where it was her destiny to begin her public esoteric work.

The next five and a half years were the American period in HPB's life, and most of the letters in volume 1 of her correspondence date from that time. A year and three months after landing in New York, HPB met Henry Steel Olcott. They immediately struck up (or, it would be more accurate to say, renewed from past lives) a friendship that would last the rest of their lives in their current incarnations and that would generate the Theosophical Society.

Olcott and Blavatsky met at a Spiritualist séance, and her first published article was the result of that experience. Indeed, Spiritualism loomed large in HPB's plans, as she believed it was her calling to show two things: (1) that genuine—rather than spurious—Spiritualist phenomena showed the limitations of the materialistic science of her day and (2) that the phenomena were not what the Spiritualists thought they were. Much of HPB's early correspondence thus deals with Spiritualism—the challenge it posed for science and its misconceptions and foibles.

One of her correspondents at this time was Louisa Andrews, a Spiritualist. But their correspondence was not limited to that subject. Louisa wrote to HPB about a man who frightened her. HPB's answer was clearly intended to buck up the intimidated woman:

Fiddle dee stick! Milady—darling—I defy spirit or mortal, God or Demon to become dangerous to me. I was never controlled & never will be. I don't know a will on earth that would not break like glass in contact or conflict with mine.

Louisa Andrews's comment to a mutual friend was "What a woman she is!" And indeed what a woman she was.

HPB wrote to her sister, Vera, probably in late 1875, concerning the effect of materialism and false science on the then dominant worldview:

Humanity has lost its faith and its higher ideals; materialism and pseudo-science have slain them. The children of this age no longer have faith; they demand proof, proof founded on a scientific basis—and they shall have it. Theosophy, the source of all human religions, will give it to them.

About that same time, HPB was engaged in writing her first book, Isis Unveiled, and of that work she wrote to Vera:

Well, Vera, believe it or not, some enchantment is upon me. You can hardly imagine in what a charmed world of pictures I live! . . . I am writing Isis; not writing, rather copying out and drawing that which she personally is showing me. Really, it seems to me as if the ancient Goddess of Beauty in person leads me through all the lands of bygone centuries which I have to describe. I am sitting with my eyes open and, to all appearances, see and hear everything real and actual around me; and yet at the same time I see and hear that which I write. I feel short of breath; I am afraid to make the slightest movement, for fear the spell might be broken. . . . Slowly, century after century, image after image, float out of nowhere and pass before me as if in a magic panorama; and meanwhile I put them together in my mind, fitting in epochs and dates, and know positively there can be no mistake. . . . It stands to reason, it is not I who do it all, but my Ego, the highest principles that live in me; and even then with the help of my Guru, my teacher, who helps me in everything.

HPB's correspondence reflects the personality of those to whom she was writing as much as it does her own. One of those who was present at the initial formation of the Theosophical Society was an Englishman, Charles C. Massey, a barrister who had come to America to investigate the Spiritualist phenomena about which Colonel Olcott had published articles and a book. HPB wrote to Massey in a sophisticated, worldly, and allusive style quite different from that of much of her other writing. Here are some extracts from a letter of November 1876:

Hail Son of the West,--(End), adept of the Athenaeum, Seer of the Saville; may your shadow never diminish but dazzle the Elmo with its unfailing brightness. . . . Now that I have my infernal book off my hands, my heart yearns after the trans-Atlantic brace of Iamblicho-Apollonians, and Porphyritico-Hermetists. Are they treading with stone-proof and fire-proof sole the rugged path of truth, or wandering in the enticing fields of sense and juvenile fancy? . . .

Of all the flap-doodles, Cora Tappan's last is the greatest. Did you read her masterly dissection of the word Occultism? or her Symbolism on the mother, the letter M and the religion of the ancients? Really, the woman seems to have a Verbo-mania. She gallops furiously through the Dictionaries clutching adjectives, nouns, and verbs with both hands as she passes and crams them into her mouth. It's a perfect Niagara of Spiritual flap-doodle . . .

The cremation of the old Baron [de Palm] will take place next month if nothing prevents. He must be a pretty boy to look at now. The Newspapers begin ringing the bells already, and when the thing comes off you will see the liveliest excitement that this country has ever produced: I have a good mind to cremate myself in the sight of the public together with him (or rather what remains of him, for he has turned into a Baronial broth by this time) and then resuscitate again phoenix-like.

Isis Unveiled was published in 1877, and HPB sent a copy to her relatives, with some trepidation, for her aunt (who was only a little older than she) was a devout Russian Orthodox Christian. Several of the letters to this aunt (who was more like a sister) struggle with trying to convey to her HPB's view of religion, as in the following passage for example:

You are wrong in expressing the opinion, my friend, that I only "cast a glance" towards Christ, but in reality yearn for the Buddha. I look straight into the eyes of Christ, as well as of Gautama the Buddha. That one of them lived twenty-five centuries ago and the other nineteen does not make the slightest difference to me. I see in both of them the identical Divine Spirit. . . . Neither Christ nor Gautama the Buddha nor the Hindu Krishna have ever preached any dogmas.

As the end of this period approached, much of HPB's correspondence was with people in India, to which she was preparing to travel, and that correspondence concerns the momentous change about to occur in her life. She and Colonel Olcott sailed from New York at the end of 1878. They paused for a brief period in England, and in January 1879, shortly before boarding ship in Liverpool to make the long voyage to Bombay, HPB wrote to her sister Vera, sending some photographs taken in England. This is the last letter in volume 1 of her correspondence:

I start for India. Providence alone knows what the future has in store for us. Possibly these portraits shall be the last. Do not forget your orphan-sister, now so in the full meaning of the word.

Good-bye. We start from Liverpool on the 18th. May the invisible powers protect you all!

I shall write from Bombay if I ever reach it.

Elena

This correspondence, in its fullness, of which only a few fragments have been included here, depict a remarkable woman, who was engaged in a remarkable quest: to bring timeless Wisdom to the modern world. She was no saint, but she was dedicated to her mission. She had remarkable powers, but she claimed no special status for herself. She was, in turns, tender and witty, considerate and arch, indignant about fraud and inspirational in her call to Truth. As one of her teachers wrote of her, she was flawed and imperfect—but she was the best available. And the letters she wrote show her in all those aspects.


A Tribute to Clara Codd

Originally printed in the May - June 2004 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Kreeger, Leatrice. "A Tribute to Clara Codd." Quest  92.3 (MAY-JUNE 2004):86-87

By Leatrice Kreeger

Clara Codd was one of the great ladies of the Theosophical movement and as she lectured on a worldwide platform she seemed to embody the very soul of Theosophy. With an unassuming, gentle approach, she played an important role in the rebirth of the occult tradition. Her audience was often unsophisticated workers, miners and farmers who sensed her sincerity and ability to talk directly to the turmoil of their hearts and questions of their minds. She shared a trait common to little children and the saints: She accepted people as they are.

Lest we lose the memory of Clara Codd, we should sweep away the dust that has collected on her books and permit the modern reader to discover some of the gems that sparkle with wit and wisdom. In addition, she encouraged the aspirant to work intimately through contemplation, meditation, and comparison in order to understand the spiritual philosophies of the ages. Inspiration by this approach, known as Lectio Divina, is illumination that occurred like a beam of divine light penetrating the student's heart like light through a stained-glass window.

Clara Codd was born in North Devon, England, in 1876, eldest of ten girls. The first years of her life were spent in a lovely old home surrounded by gardens and trees and attended by servant girls and grooms. Her father was inspector of schools and her mother, half Italian, was a great beauty who saw to their musical and artistic education. Clara and her sisters never attended school nor college but had a succession of governesses who did not stay long.

Her family had no particular religious affiliation but Clara had to learn by memory long passages of Christian scripture. This resulted in a great command of the Bible that would prove useful in her later lecturing years. She read Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Carlyle in her father's library and regarded these writers as the educators of her youth. She was exposed to spiritualism as a teenager, but this did not fulfill her spiritual needs.

Once a seeress told her that she would be on a platform talking to many people accompanied by a sound that resembled the music of Wagner. She also saw her pilgrimage walking always alone.

Clara joined the TS in 1903, and was general secretary of the Australian section from 1935—36. As first national speaker for the English Section in 1906, she became an international lecturer for the rest of her life. She wrote many articles, and books by her include The Ageless Wisdom of Life; The Key to Theosophy (HPB) Simplified Ed.; The Technique of Spiritual Life; The Way of the Disciple; Meditation: It's Practice and Results;The Mystery of Life; The Creative Power; Poems; Theosophy as the Masters See It; Introduction to Patanjalis Yoga; So Rich a Life (Autobiography).

Every morning Clara would set up for study and meditation various translations of a spiritual aphorism. She would then write what she felt the author meant, and compare them with great patience until illumination would flash in. Her classes in the Sutras of Patanjali are remembered to this day as very special by those who were fortunate enough to attend.

Clara's quest was for the way to find divine realization and to add her small voice in helping the rising tide of seekers after reality. She called reality a naked fact. It is everywhere with no name, no label, no partisanship. She succeeds in elevating the traditional orthodoxy of Christ's teachings to a new level, a new light of discovery, by touching an inner, forgotten realm that was common to humanity in our ancient past. She said we needed a large lantern for a large mind, a small lantern for a small mind. In the depths of our souls we come to terms with a greater horizon, one that can embrace the universal Wisdom Tradition.

Clara was "one of those who are artists of life, who are courageous and resolute. They make life more beautiful. They elevate the atmosphere of all those they come in contact with." (Description from the Mahatma Letters—Adepts) Clara passed over in 1971, aged ninety-five, her life dedicated to selflessness and to helping humanity experience the beauty of its own power and wisdom.

We pay a tribute to Clara Codd, who loved beautiful hats and who wore many different hats during her long and inspiring career. She was a champion of the people, a Socialist who became a suffragette, a student of the Ancient Teachings who could distill the wisdom of the ages and inspire crowds of people. She was an animal lover who would weep at the funeral of a canary, a musician who could play the piano and sing to the delight of a Theosophical gathering, and a librarian who had no training except in reading books. After her father died, her mother took all the girls to live in Geneva, Switzerland. They lived in poor circumstances, with Clara teaching English and music in order to keep her sisters in school. She had a brief period of costume modeling from which she never outgrew her love for lavish hats. She earned money touring France and Switzerland singing and accompanying artists on the piano on the concert stage.

After hearing her first theosophical lecture by Colonel Olcott, she said she knew there were those who knew what life meant, where it was going, and what the goal was. She felt that she had come home at last and that one need not die in order to solve the mystery of the universe for it could be found here and now, and she exclaimed that she walked on air. She started her public career as a suffragette in England, becoming an ardent Socialist and champion of the poor and the weak. She became an activist striving to make changes in the age-old patterns of a structure that categorizes people into roles telling them what they can and cannot do. She was asked by the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU) to demonstrate, at a political gathering honoring Lloyd George by heckling him and shouting, "What about votes for women?" After disrupting the House of Commons, she and Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst were arrested and taken to jail. It is hard to visualize this refined, little woman confined to Holloway-Gaol, her home for a month. She was confined to a tiny cell, with a straw mattress and a Bible. Being a vegetarian, she found the food extremely limited and felt like a rat in a trap, but she managed to philosophize that prison harmed, rather than taught, the human spirit because it alleviated all responsibility to those imprisoned as well as denigrated their self-respect. She said that all human relations and ties are broken and one becomes a number, living a life calculated to destroy all initiative and hope.

Clara then decided that Theosophy held the key to her heart. After the first conscious spiritual connection, her life took on a pattern of flight that never ceased to have wings that carried her to an international audience, from book to book and from insight to wisdom, as she followed her heart. When she was first asked to speak in front of a Theosophical audience, she doubted her ability to do so, as both deep joy and fear filled her being. She was honored to work for a sacred cause. She knew she had to try. Clara acted on the principle that subsequently ruled her life, dedication to service to humanity through the Theosophical Society. Lecturing then became her life's work and gave her many precious experiences.

She said that we were on the eve of a New Age and that the Christ was a living Christ here and now. She taught that each of us is a living center of radiating light and that it is more important that our brother be happy than ourselves. The aspirant should ever be hopeful and courageous for the tremendous times to come, for it is an honor to be alive and witness the changes to come. The hours of affliction will presage the dawn of a coming age; it will be the first truly spiritually minded humanity to inhabit the Earth, and we will really be our brothers' keepers.

Love and courage were her by words. And we progress into this new millennium one could add that no lesson was learned, nor tear shed in vain, and that charity toward the past is the faith and hope of the future.


In Memory of Emily Sellon

Originally printed in the May - June 2004 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Weber, Renée. “In Memory of Emily Sellon.” Quest  92.3 (MAY-JUNE 2004):89-90

By Renée Weber

Emily Sellon’s life was shaped by love and unified in beauty. It was so remarkably fulfilled, so gifted and varied, enveloped by such abundant love, that it might have been several lives at once. Such a multilayered life was necessary to Emily, for she could settle for nothing less than an active relationship to the mystery of the vast universe. What her depth made necessary, her vitality made possible. Emily was blessed with a rare and seemingly inexhaustible energy on which she drew confidently and which remained with her to the end of her life. I believe, as she did, that it was the energy of love.

 

Her love expressed itself in action in many forms: devotion, support, friendship, dedication, companionship, altruism, selflessness, practical help; it could move from awe to wit or whimsy—whatever seemed appropriate. Emily’s love radiated to her close knit family and to the human family as a whole, to the world of plants and animals, to philosophical principles from East and West, and above all to Theosophy. It was the center of her spiritual life, its inspiration since her girlhood, when, as she put it, she fell irrevocably in love with it at her very first encounter. In its study, teaching, writing, and practical activities she found inspiration, challenge, and fulfillment; her audiences caught the enthusiasm, grateful for her erudition and her tireless dedication.

Through her Theosophical life she became associated with Fritz Kunz, a kindred spirit who inspired Emily for the decades she worked with him in various capacities on Main Currents in Modern Thought and with whom she could pursue the integration of the great theosophical principles, which they brought into the age of science, and with Greek theosophical predecessors. Emily was also close to Dora Kunz, one of her most trusted friends, and helped give birth to Dora’s books on healing and the human energy field. As president and vice president of the Theosophical Society in America, Dora and Emily initiated many novel events.

Although it was a group venture, Emily was instrumental in formulating “The Theosophical World View,” an eloquent condensation of the essence of Theosophy. To share just one phrase with you, here is her elegant credo near the end of that document: “Devotion to truth, love for all living beings, and commitment to a life of active altruism are the marks of the true Theosophist.” This credo was part of her, and by it she lived her life.

I have said that Emily’s life was shaped by love and unified in beauty, and so it was. Her search for their integration ran like a melody through her life. Before I share that perception with you, for it captured something utterly fundamental in Emily’s spirit, I want to turn from these high planes to evoke another, more personal side of my mentor and friend. For my friend she was! How blessed am I in these twenty some years of closeness with her. My delight in her being grew, and I never tired of talking with her. We would go on for hours on subjects serious and even frivolous, for her sense of humor was fantastic. Sometimes John would come in, feigning astonishment: “Are you two still at it?” he would ask, knowing full well that as far as we were concerned, we had scarcely begun a conversation that could have no real end. We talked on land, in water, in the air at 30,000 feet, and even under water, in the delight of snorkeling, which Emily taught me.

We enjoyed writing together. The same intensity, concentration, pleasure, and—yes—fun characterized our joint articles and other writings, lectures for symposia and conferences, book chapters, traveling together. Emily made everything seem special. She had the gift of investing anything she did with weight and meaning. Nothing was ever mundane to her; everything glowed and was special, luminous under her tutelage. She stamped it all with an immediacy and a contagious sense of adventure.

To many of us, she embodied the beauty and harmony, the elegance and simplicity, that she found in the great Platonic ideas. As above, so below. The hermetic dictum.The messenger became the embodiment, perfect or less than perfect: What did it matter when her irrepressible spirit lavished itself on the beauty she perceived?

Hers was a life shaped by love and unified by beauty. And so I turn to beauty, for this too contains the essence of the Emily I knew. She saw beauty as realized or as potential in all things, and where it was lacking, she created it herself, with her artistic talent and taste. But lest we misunderstand her, the beauty she sought and saw was no mere aestheticism, and her lifelong work on its behalf was no random busyness. What she shaped with love was the inner essence of beauty expressed in outer form, a beauty that existed beyond matter, time, and space. For Emily beauty evoked the other great Platonic realities, the true and the good, expressing the timeless in time.

Her window on the world was beauty. Through it she saw the spiritual source expressing itself in the material. To her, they were one. When Emily nurtured her garden, fed her birds or wild swans, and created environments of harmony, order, and peace, she was not decorating but making visible the great invisible universals that to her were reality itself. In nature, art, artifacts, ideas, and people, she saw the true and the good. For if her window was beauty, what she perceived through it she perceived with nonjudgmental eyes. Her compassionate spirit seldom forgot that it had chosen the path of love.

Emily was not sentimental. Hers was a vision akin to the pure vision of mathematicians, who see truth in the beauty of their equations. So it was with her. Beauty was but the beginning; the inner essence of it she knew best in meditation, a profound center of her life on which she chose to remain mostly silent.

The energy of Emily’s love gave one a sense of well-being. A stay with her and John was a gift: It nourished physically, intellectually, and spiritually. The sacred and the daily were interwoven, and one felt complete. “Man is a plant, whose roots are up in heaven”—Plato’s description fits Emily well. She loved the earthy flower she planted and nourished and the transcendent reality that made its existence possible.

One facet of Emily’s personality that revealed the depth of her spiritual aspirations was her diffidence. Despite the strong personality that thrust countless leadership roles on her, Emily often told me that her ardent wish in this life was to dwell in the background. A learning experience which she had set for herself, she espoused it with her whole being.

This diffidence I see as a paradox weaving through her life. It is as if she wanted to disappear into the great principles that she taught, wanted to become transparent to them, so that others would see the teachings and not her. But this was not to be. The more she tried to become transparent to the ideas, the more we saw the ideas because of Emily. Hence we perceived her in all her shimmering beauty and goodness, the one who made these wonders come alive for us. We loved her all the more because in those difficult and exalting discourses, the bridge was Emily.

Her form is gone, but she believed with all her being that the inner essence outlasts the form; that the spirit is made of stuff so powerful and subtle that nothing can destroy it; that it exists beyond time and death, transcending both in its continuing journey; and that nothing can part those who love one another, for love, she said, is the strongest force there is. And though I shall miss her painfully, I know that the timeless self of Emily is here, is now, is with us still, and continues to enrich our lives.


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