Quest Magazine

by PABLO SENDER
Ojai, Calif.: Fohat Productions, 2018. xxvi + 201 pp., hardcover $34.95; paperback $24.95.

Theosophists are often reproached for failing to put their somewhat abstruse teachings into practice. Many people believe that the principles of Theosophy are so abstract and lofty that they are of no practical use in the real world. In the present book, Theosophical teacher Pablo Sender rises above such criticism by presenting Theosophical theory as it was put forth by its original teachers (H.P. Blavatsky and the Mahatmas) and showing how it can be put to work on a practical, everyday level.

Following a brief preface and an introduction setting out the purpose, the book is divided into two parts appropriately labeled “Theory” and “Practice.” This is followed by a short but very complete glossary of Sanskrit and other technical terms commonly used in Theosophical texts.

The theoretical analysis is largely based on the unique Theosophical system of seven “principles” into which the human constitution and that of the universe can be divided. This system is grounded in the simple threefold division (spirit, soul, and body) presented in Isis Unveiled (1877), which evolved over the next few decades into a much more elaborate and complicated sevenfold division. This system, which is characteristic of modern Theosophy, is easily recognizable, even when it is presented by other writers using variant terminology.

The system was originally presented orally by H.P. Blavatsky to two English students, A.O. Hume and A.P. Sinnett, and was further elaborated by her trans-Himalayan collaborators. It was explained from many angles in later writings, including The Secret Doctrine. During the last years of her life, HPB added details and offered refinements. This early material, including some private teachings only recently made available to the public, forms the basis for the present book.

The first chapter explains the human constitution and the three “streams” of evolution explained in The Secret Doctrine: the spiritual stream, the physical stream, and the intellectual stream, which brings together the other two. The spiritual stream traces the journey of the Monad (atma-buddhi) through the kingdoms of life with the ultimate goal of establishing “spiritual self-consciousness.” We see the fruits of the physical stream in the human body and the other living organisms around us. The third or intellectual stream brings about the development of manas or mind, which becomes the “human soul” or “reincarnating Ego.” The goal of this Ego is, as Sender writes, “to become the master of the lower Principles and to merge with the spiritual monad.”

After this introduction, the author moves on to a detailed discussion in chapters entitled “Atman: The Higher Self”; “The Monad”; “Manas: The Ego”; and “Kama: The Animal Soul.” In these chapters, he describes the universal spirit and the three aspects of “soul”—spiritual, human, and animal. The explanations are clear and well-written, and they are supplemented with helpful quotations from the original literature of Theosophy. Useful tables and charts are sprinkled throughout the text to illustrate the points. For the most part, these are original with the author and offer new perspectives on several issues. The theoretical part of the book is completed by the chapters “Communication with the Higher Consciousness” and “Evolution of the Higher Ego.” These tell us what is to be accomplished in order to complete the course of human evolution and bring all three streams to fruition.

The second part of the book, “Practice,” was written in the stated hope that “the more these ‘abstractions’ become a reality to us, the more they will have a bearing on our actions.” The guiding principle in this discussion is the concept of manas taijasa, a Sanskrit term that can be translated as illumined mind. This term was introduced by Mme. Blavatsky, who explained it as “the human soul illuminated by the radiance of the divine soul, the human reason lit by the light of the spirit.” To achieve this state, it is necessary to abandon negative qualities or attitudes while cultivating positive ones. The exercises and meditative practices that follow are meant to enable the reader to carry out these goals.

The chapters “States of Consciousness” and “The ‘Thought-Producer’” are well worth studying, and the time invested in trying the exercises and thought experiments will be amply rewarded. This is not easy material, however, and the exercises require a serious commitment. The book closes with a chapter on “The Sense of Space,” which expands and elaborates upon HPB’s instructions in her diagram of meditation. Once again, the goal is practical realization, and serious effort is required.

Despite the author’s effort to make these teachings accessible and practical, some readers may still find this book to be abstract and hard to follow in places. This is inherent in the nature of the teachings themselves, which, as HPB explained, are not for the lazy or mentally obtuse.

All in all, this is an excellent book. It brings together a wealth of authentic Theosophical material from its original sources. Students familiar with this literature will find it stimulating, and those who have not been exposed to the early Theosophical writings will find it to be an excellent introduction.

Doss McDavid

By Roger Lipsey
Shambhala Publications

Surely there’s a great deal of ground covered in Roger Lipsey’s formidable new tome on the spiritual master Gurdjieff that has been well tracked over before. Yet the word reconsidered is well applied here. Armed with new information, only recently available, and many years deep involvement in the Gurdjieff Work, Lipsey has done some lapidary reconsidering, cutting more deeply, clarifying, and divulging buried gems in the mass of stories about G.I. Gurdjieff. It can’t have been easy, as there was so much to assimilate, to parse; so much to challenge objectivity. Gurdjieff’s metaphysical ontology, his powerful teachings about escaping the slavery of sleep, his redefinition of the human condition, his startling methods for liberation from our mechanical responses to the world, was counterbalanced by his colorful, enigmatic style, the historical uncertainties of his life, and his tendency to attract negative press.

Gurdjieff Reconsidered… offers us nine bulging chapters comprised of hefty paragraphs, which, despite a certain denseness of data, are entertainingly written. Perhaps the book’s considerable scope and depth will appeal mostly to fervid Gurdjieffians, but then again Lipsey frequently opens hidden doors between Gurdjieff and other traditions. Theosophists will be interested to learn, here, that Gurdjieff read most of Madame Blavatsky when young, and even tried, unsuccessfully, to confirm some of her claims in his quite arduous travels. Lipsey tells us that Australian scholar Joanna Petsche has initiated a detailed study of parallels between Gurdjieff’s ideas and Theosophy—the parallels are many, especially in Gurdjieff’s cosmology. Some of this is probably due to Blavatsky and Gurdjieff both having gathered input from the same esoteric traditions, including Christian mysticism, Neoplatonism, Plotinus, Tibetan Buddhism, esoteric Hinduism, and quite possibly the Hermetica of Hermes Trismegistus. But when prominent student of the work Louise March asked Gurdjieff about Madame Blavatsky, he said she “was almost right.” Coming from Gurdjieff, that is a big admission.

Gurdjieff’s memoir, Meetings with Remarkable Men, tells of his early travels with the Seekers of Truth, a group which sought for an underlying esoteric revelation, a primal teaching, that would decrypt the secret of life. A sort of backroom controversy in Gurdjieff studies has been the question of his claim in Meetings… of having traveled extensively in Tibet. Did he or didn’t he? No record is found of his having been there—however, as westerners weren’t encouraged to visit Tibet seekers had to travel to its sacred places in disguise, and under false names. And Lipsey offers the indirect evidence of well-informed inferences: Gurdjieff’s knowledge of Tibetan cookery, the particulars of Tibetan tea, the extreme conditions of life in the Pamir mountains. He had bullet scars, visible in the sauna, that fit the accounts of woundings by stray bullets in his memoir, including one he received in Tibet. In his gigantic parable, Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson, in which he tucked bits of real history, Gurdjieff’s description of massacres carried out by British soldiers under Younghusband concurs with historical fact. Lipsey quotes his casual descriptions to a group of students in Paris, elucidating his travails in Tibet, including arresting details:

He tells how he used to have to butter his whole body, then cover with rubber underdrawers (made in Germany), then over all about six inches of thickness of fur garments—and even then he was cold in Tibet—only part of body have satisfaction was face under hood, warmed by breath. Such cold you never can imagine. Also such smell after many week!

Such an account has the redolence of reality. His “Movements”, an intricately choreographed series of dances (which were also exercises in developing inner harmony and consciousness), were partly drawn from temple dances and a sort of dance/yoga he’d seen in esoteric monasteries, and they too are recognizably connected to real traditions. All this is very reassuring to Gurdjieffians troubled by accusations of falsity--accusations coming from those who, as Ouspensky said, awarded Gurdjieff “his fair share of slander”. Some of the confusion arises from Gurdjieff’s tendency to try to create “legominisms”—works of art that symbolically express sacred truths. Art has its fanciful side, and Gurdjieff’s tendency to insert parables as part of his autobiography can make researchers frown.

Lipsey quotes a student in Paris, Alice Rohrer, who asked Gurdjieff if some of the more colorful imagery in Meetings with Remarkable Men was just fable. Gurdjieff replied that the book was true; “only ten per cent fantasy”. Thus he “owned” his tendency to weave fable and factuality.

 Gurdjieff Reconsidered offers us more detail than we had before on Gurdjieff’s wife, Julia Osipovna; he gifts us new anecdotes about the famous Institute for the Harmonious Development of Man at Le Prieure, and he renders new spins on the already familiar stories. Lipsey’s chapter on Beelzebub’s Tales to His Grandson offers acute observations and fresh insight on that gargantuan work.

Toward the end of the book, with gratifying honesty, Lipsey recounts the turbulent 1930s, as Gurdjieff—having suffered a brutally injurious car accident, and the loss of his institute headquarters—struggles for steady progress toward the long-term goals he’d set for his work. The chapter is called Lux in Tenebris…light in darkness.

In the latterly chapters Lipsey explores Gurdjieff’s poignant years in Paris during World War II; he tells us of Gurdjieff’s final years, a tired, secretly ill elderly man working feverishly to finish revising his magnum opus, Beelzebub’s Tales… and his final, highly arduous work on his Movements, continuing to within days of his death. These are the efforts of a man who deeply believes in his life’s work.

In a chapter called Derision, Lipsey takes on Gurdjieff’s detractors, demonstrating that for the most part that these outside observers hadn’t a clue as to what Gurdjieff’s teaching was really about. Most of them seem inspired by a single book authored by Louis Pauwels in 1954. Pauwels’ malicious misinterpretations of Gurdjieff’s methods set in motion a concatenation of misunderstandings which duly echoed through the untutored proclamations of later detractors—for example, the much-repeated canard that Gurdjieff failed to sufficiently illuminate his students; that none of them became conscious. Anyone who has seriously investigated the life of his greatest student and the woman he set to carry on his work, Jeanne de Salzmann, knows that isn’t true. Numerous other spiritual powerhouses emerged from his school: Henry Tracol, Lord Pentland, Louise March, Paul Reynard, Michel de Salzmann, to name just a few; certainly Pyotr Ouspensky, A.R. Orage and John Bennett were profoundly altered. The Fourth Way vibrance passed on by such people brought us such luminaries as James George and Jacob Needleman.

Of course, you’ll find failings in Gurdjieff’s comportment, as you will in examining any man’s life. Great men and great women are still just men and women, and that goes for beloved spiritual teachers. Gurdjieff sometimes drank too much, and he produced children with the wives of some of his followers. Alan Watts had a drinking problem and a tendency to irresponsible relations with women, and so did Chogyam Trungpa; I could name many other potent spiritual teachers who stumbled on the steep path up Mount Analogue, and fell into the pit of their own vanity, or slid into the quicksand of self-indulgence. Gurdjieff seems to have had a somewhat erratic connection with the higher conscience that he extolled, but he at last settled down to the deadly serious business of transmitting his own dharma, and that transmission has had vast repercussions.

John Shirley

John Shirley is the author of Gurdjieff: An Introduction to His Life and Ideas and numerous novels, including Doyle fter Death and the forthcoming Stormland.

CYRUS RYAN
Alresford, Hampshire, U.K.: Axis Mundi, 2018. 219 pp., paper, $23.95.

What is an esoteric group? Often it consists of a collection of people sitting around and discussing a standard text like The Secret Doctrine. This can be a useful activity—at the worst it is harmless—but one wonders if esoteric groups have greater possibilities than this..

Cyrus Ryan’s Living on the Inner Edge provides a welcome perspective on this question. The book is about some esoteric practitioners who gathered initially at the TS lodge in Toronto. They began to pursue group work under a man named only as RN, whom the author first encountered as “a short, round oriental gentleman in a sports jacket and tie.” Ryan and a small collection of other students pursued work under RN’s direction for over thirty years until his death in 2011. Its sources were diverse: “Our Work follows the Sanatana Dharma, Ageless Wisdom, or the Esoteric Traditions that have existed for ages, only trimmed down and made applicable for the Western world. Along with the teachings of the Master D.K. as presented by Alice A. Bailey, we studied different schools of Hinduism and Buddhism, plus Kabala, Sufism, Western traditions and the teachings of Gurdjieff as given out and explained primarily through the writings of P.D. Ouspensky and Maurice Nicole [sic].”

The group had higher contacts as well: “We were contacted by one of the Masters to see what would happen to a group of Western aspirants subjected to various spiritual energies and events. We were contacted by one of the Masters in 1978. It was not at all as we would have imagined. . . . The Master didn’t magically send letters through space as they did with H.P. Blavatsky, nor did the Master appear and dictate lessons as in the case of Alice A. Bailey. . . . The contact was very short without any explanation. The Master gave  us a ‘word of power,’ a mantra with a particular tune, rhythm, and focus. . . . This word of power was like a seed and in time, through trial and error, grew into a tree of knowledge.”

RN focused on the Fourth Way approach of Gurdjieff, because it takes place in and through ordinary life, without retreat or isolation. Nevertheless, Gurdjieff’s teaching is skimpy on love and compassion, so the group turned to other teachings as well. Ryan says, “Our group was a blend of Theosophical knowledge and Vajrayana Tibetan Buddhism.” The book features a number of esoteric diagrams which show the influence of Gurdjieff, the Kabbalah, yoga, and Buddhism.

Ryan’s account, both accessible and fascinating, takes us through the group’s adventures, including inner practices (“Our chanting was creating a ‘cone of fire’ which not only protected the group, but also allowed for the downpour of energy from the higher planes”); journeys to India and Tibet; and the dynamics of relations among the members. Ryan discusses “elemental” attachments to the sexual center by describing the relationship of one member, Samantha, to another, Frank. “They went out for some time and Samantha was definitely ready to settle down and hope for marriage. Frank . . . had an elemental in his 5th [sex] center. He liked to keep women hanging, he couldn’t make a commitment. RN gave him a special discipline so he could truly face the force of the center, learn to observe the thoughts and feelings it created and then counter it. But it was very powerful and one night we found him rolling on the floor yelling like he was in pain, but it was the elemental force causing this. This elemental, as all elementals, didn’t want to be made visible. Once it was seen, then the process of detaching from it and overcoming it was possible.”

As this suggests, the work was often laborious and painful. Finally, though, “by early 2000, the group had become very tight and close knit in an occult sense. Each individual knew what they had to do, both for themselves as aspiring souls and for the group. Each group member knew every other group member in an Essence intimacy, the beginning of true brotherhood, disciple relating to disciple. The Work became more esoteric and intense in discipline, to the point that we really couldn’t discuss what we were doing with outsiders, even other spiritual people.”

I myself don’t know any of the participants, so my only knowledge of this group comes from this book. Nevertheless, it has an authentic ring to it. It resembles certain esoteric groups that I have known: small; eclectic; led by one teacher who was, however, not a guru; willing to take knowledge where they could find it; and indifferent to publicity. I believe that groups of this sort represent the best possibility for spiritual development today.

This book also fills a real gap in esoteric literature, which has tended to pass over group work. Indeed the only other book I would recommend in this area is School of the Soul (originally published as School of Kabbalah) by the British Kabbalist Z’ev ben Shimon Halevi. But Halevi’s work is a manual for practice: it does not describe the history of any particular group. Living on the Inner Edge is a fascinating, persuasive, and inspiring account of how collection of spiritual seekers have tried to lift themselves up by one another’s bootstraps.

Richard Smoley

Printed in the  Spring 2021  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Van Gorp, Andrew, "The Study of Our Home" Quest 109:2, pg 10-11

By Andrew Van Gorp

There is no such thing as separateness.
—H.P. Blavatsky

Who is to say what small actions led to the burgeoning environmental movement we see today? After all, long before Rachel Carson walked onto the dewy grass of this cosmic plane, H.P. Blavatsky observed that nothing in this reality is disconnected from any other aspect of it. Her writings ring out along with those of John Muir in his sentiment that “when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” The ripples of our actions in time here on this beautiful planet can never be truly measured.

In fact, the ripples of one local Theosophist are still sloshing across time. With one simple statement, he changed my life forever: “You should start a garden here,” said Chris Bolger, IT guy extraordinaire. So we did!

Since 2015, our nonprofit, Sustain DuPage, has been building a sacred relationship with the Theosophical Society in America and the land they safeguard in Wheaton, Illinois. It began when the TSA graciously opened 600 square feet for our nonprofit to grow fresh produce communally. The partnership has since grown to include ecological forest healing, traditional skillcraft, community cooking classes, a sacred altar (“ofrenda”) to honor the Ancestors during the autumnal equinox, an urbanite keyhole herb bed, a permaculture fruit tree guild, a sun scallop bed, chinampa-style hydroscaping, a community composting station, vertical farming arbors, a market stand, a hand-dug detention pond, a willow coppice, and a performance art stage. 

The garden that was once a lawn is now in its fifth growing season and is fourteen times the size of the original few beds. There are many intentions woven into the design and operations of the garden. One is to demonstrate the ancient practice of communal land protection. The garden models various mediums for the growing of food in USDA Growing Zone 5b, but visitors would tell you they can sense that something much greater is occurring in the space. In the garden, we are showing our community members how to be in right relationship with the ecosystem of our bioregion, as we were once shown. We are engaging in powerful moments of spiritual healing for our community members, who are daily strewn against the rocks of contemporary life, yearning for the positive spiritual posture that can only be earned through the decolonization of our daily transactions with the world economy. 

Growing food without petrochemicals is a pursuit of integrity and moral uprightness. Faced with catastrophic climate change, the people in our world today, all of us, are complicit in a system that is blasting megatons of carbon into the atmosphere. Our garden is a space where we can gently discuss with community members the meaning of true ecoliberation: that no human society can find true liberation without a concurring liberation of the ecosystem. We hold it true that humanity is a part of the ecosystem. 

It is such a beautiful gift to watch all of these souls, incarnated into primate bodies, reexplore one of the most ancient and most human of traditions: agriculture. It is gratifying to see folks reach their hands into bowls to instinctively feel the satisfying tactility of seeds—to watch the memories held in our blood sing out as we drop them in the Earth  and smile; as we plant into her, we are planted into. As below, so above. It may be true that we live in a mostly cold and unforgiving universe, but I will carry the acts of love I’ve experienced in this garden with me as treasured gifts for as long as my soul endures, and perhaps beyond.

 Folks entering the garden in search of the labyrinth often linger to ask us a few questions: What is this place? Are we allowed to be here on this land? Who owns the land? We joyfully respond with information about the Theosophical Society of America, explaining the unique status of private land made public. We brag about our little equivalent of the library of Alexandria, with literature from every world religion and spiritual belief: a gem of interfaith study available to our local community! We explain that the grounds are open to be walked upon as long as the sun is up and as long as each footstep resounds with respect for this place. 

Many ask us if the yurt on the premises is used for sweat lodges, and we explain that it is used to thaw little Prairie School students in the coldest days of winter. They chuckle at that. So do we. It’s magical to watch how the distance from road noise and the soft kiss of green on our eyes allows for our people’s shoulders to release a little tension, for bellies to release laughter. 

We invite all TS members to visit with us during the growing season and perhaps pick up a few skills for the raising of food, fiber, dye, and medicine. Our nonprofit is incredibly grateful for the relationships we are building here. We look forward to our many fruit-(grain-veggie-tuber-and-nut)-ful years to come in this place!

Andrew Ruggiero Van Gorp, a lifelong DuPager, is a queer community organizer who sparked the creation of Sustain DuPage in DuPage County, Illinois, in 2013. As a Theosophical Society member, Andrew is most drawn to the Theosophical pillar of service as a standing meditation.