Where Has Divine Madness Gone?

By Anton Lysy

Originally printed in the MARCH-APRIL 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Lysy, Anton. "Where Has Divine Madness Gone?" Quest  96.2 (MARCH-APRIL 2008): 63-67.

Of madness there were two kinds, one produced by human infirmity, the other . . . a divine release of the soul from the yoke of custom and convention. . . . The divine madness was subdivided into four kinds—prophetic, initiatory, poetic, and erotic—having four divine beings presiding over them.

The Prophetic was the inspiration of Apollo.
The Initiatory was the inspiration of Dionysus.
The Poetic was the inspiration of the Muses.
The Erotic was the inspiration of Aphrodite and Eros.
—Plato's Phaedrus (265a-b)

Theosophical Society - Anton Lysy has been Dean of Studies of the Olcott Institute since 1994. He is a national speaker and is on the board of directors of Far Horizons and the Theosophical Gift Book Institute. Dr. Lysy, along with David Bruce, director of the Department of Education, have just completed When You are One with Every Heart That Beats—an e-Learning course on the seven International Presidents of the Theosophical Society.I WAS ONE OF THREE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY members who attended a "Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy" at the University of Arizona in Tucson last February. As we arrived near the Law School Library, we were shocked to encounter two green dumpsters overflowing with books. Considering possible causes for this apparent crime against literacy, I immediately thought of the Phaedrus, a dialogue where Socrates points out that the written word is unable to defend itself from faulty interpretations by readers who will distort the author's intentions.

While continuing to wonder if this encounter were an omen, we resumed our journey to the program entitled "Plato and Socrates on the Nature and Teaching of Virtue" which included fifteen presentations by philosophy teachers from universities around the United States. The twenty hours of presentations and discussions took place during an intense period beginning on a Friday morning and lasting through Sunday noon. Although all three of us Theosophists, like HPB, love and respect the two Athenian philosophers, we were exhausted by the sheer amount of information and the rapid-fire exchanges of the presenters with the audience of specialists in the field of philosophy. I longed for some time to meditate and to refresh my exhausted powers of listening and reflection through the reinvigorating force of participating in the sacredness of silence. Then, perhaps, a form of Divine Madness would surface from deep within me or swoop down (supervene) from above to transform my prosaic consciousness.

Since Paul Woodruff from the University of Texas in Austin was the only presenter at the conference that I already knew of through his two recent books, I will limit my comments to his writings and presentation. Author of Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue (2001), and First Democracy: The Challenge of an Ancient Idea (2005), the paper he presented was entitled "Are Platonic Virtues Thick or Thin?" an intriguing distinction that I had never before encountered.

Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue

To these ideals of truth and purity we must add one that is lacking in modern life: the ideal of reverence for what is noble, of adoration for what is higher than oneself. Modern life is becoming petty because we are not strong enough for reverence. It is becoming base, sordid and vulgar because people fear that they will sink if they bow to that which is greater than them. But worship of that which is higher than yourself raises you; it does not degrade you. The feeling of reverence is a feeling that lifts you up; it does not take you down. We have talked so much about rights that we have forgotten that which is greater than our rights. It is the power of seeing what is nobler than we have dreamed and bowing before it till it permeates our life and makes us like it. Only those who are weak are afraid to obey; only those who are feeble are afraid of humility.
—Annie Besant, World Parliament of Religions, 1893

If one enters the word "reverence" into the search engine of the CD-ROM Theosophical Classics that includes HPB's collected works, one will get a quantitative sense of how important the concept was for her. She defined it as "to regard one with fear mingled with respect and affection." She also quoted Coleridge's rendering of it as "the synthesis of love and fear." And yet, she stressed that the great awe, deferential regard, and deep respect expressed through reverence is in no way the same as worship.

HPB and Colonel Olcott had, for example, made a powerful impact on the Indians of Bombay who witnessed their arrival and Olcott's striking gesture of reverence. When he left the ship, Olcott kissed the first granite step to show his regard for the "sacred soil" the two had reached after their important journey from New York. According to historian Bruce Campbell, "Their respectful and even reverential attitude toward India won them the admiration of Indians."

I first encountered Paul Woodruff inadvertently on the PBS Now program with Bill Moyers. The following exchange between the two men caught my attention immediately:

Bill Moyers: How do you define reverence?
Paul Woodruff: I think reverence is the capacity for awe in the face of the transcendent.

BM: The transcendent being—
PW: It's whatever we human beings did not create: God, justice, and the truth . . .

BM: Beauty.
PW: Nature, beauty.

BM: Death?
PW: Death is one of the most awe-inspiring facts of our lives. And I think complementary to the awe in the transcendent is a felt sense of our own mortality and our own limitations, our own tendency to make mistakes . . .

PW: The best clue to how reverent we are is how we treat the weakest people around us . . .
BM: You say, simply put, reverence is the virtue that keeps human beings from trying to act like gods.

Since hosiotes, the Greek word for reverence featured in Woodruff's book, is not a familiar term to most of us, the concept can perhaps best be understood in contrast to the more familiar Greek term, hubris. Hubris is the inflated, grandiose, and arrogant pride that leads one wrongly to feel superior to others (to tread on the territory reserved for gods in ancient Greece).

The Theosophical Society's First Object, to form a nucleus of the universal brotherhood of humanity without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste, or color, for example, is incompatible with hubris. And those who allow their affection for animal welfare/rights or anything else to interfere with their compassion and sense of kinship with human sisters and brothers would seem to lack reverence for the rough processes involved in evolution and transformation that are inherent in the Divine Plan.

Plato had Socrates, in the Republic (415a), resort to telling a "noble lie" to maintain an artificial sense of reverence for the division of labor demanded in that ideal city. This arrogant lie maintained that God mixed the rulers with the greatest privileges with gold. The next group in the hierarchy was mixed with silver, and finally, downward to the farmers and laborers who were mixed with iron and copper. If everyone accepted his or her "ore," there would be harmony in the state. In contemplation of the "noble lie," Woodruff concludes "Power without reverence is aflame with arrogance, while service without reverence is smoldering toward rebellion" (4).

The Theosophical Society's motto, There Is No Religion (Dharma) Higher Than Truth, can be interpreted with an interesting correlation to its First Object that is both honest and compassionate about the full range of human differences in ability and opportunity. Woodruff adds, "Reverence sets a higher value on truth than on any human product that is supposed to have captured the truth" (39). It is the truth seeking of the inquiry (the hunt) rather than the reported truth of the publication (the feast). There is no "nobility" in lying that will not be seen through by an honest youth like the one who noticed and remarked that the Emperor's delusional vestments were not visible. Woodruff writes, "It is a natural mistake to think that reverence belongs to religion. It belongs, rather, to community" (5). In Theosophy, the community includes all beings, all places.

In Protagoras (320d—322d), Plato had the famous Sophist tell a creation story about how the gods had delegated to Prometheus and Epimetheus the task of distributing differing powers to different species. When interpersonal conflict was about to destroy humanity, Zeus sent Hermes to give conscience and justice to humans—to all humans, not to only a few as in the distribution of skills and abilities. This combination of conscience and justice when added to humility and honesty about one's limitations would clearly be a composite capable of holding in unity a dazzling array of differences. Woodruff states, ". . . without reverence, things fall apart" (13).
Throughout his book on the subject, Woodruff shows his reverence for Plato while disagreeing with many of Plato's teachings. As Nietzsche held, we repay a teacher poorly by not going beyond her or his teachings. Our contemporary American philosopher asks us to remember who we are in a broad and deep historical context:

Remember that you are human: this is the central message of ancient Greek reverence. "How could I forget?" you ask? Very easily, especially if you are so rich, so powerful, or so successful that you push every thought of failure away from your mind—every thought of human error, madness, or death. But you will err, if you are human; you will do crazy things, no matter how hard you cling to the notion that your mind is sound; and you will die.  Between now and death you will have many opportunities to crash down from whatever height you have reached, and you will fall harder if you forget that the human path is strewn with stumbling blocks. (81)

First Democracy:
The Challenge of an Ancient Idea

If you had not seen it, you would never believe how much more freedom pets have in this democratic community compared with any other. The dogs really do start to resemble their mistresses, as the proverb says. . . . And everything else is just as saturated with freedom . . . (563c)

Taking all this in consideration, the long and short of it is that the minds of the citizens of a democracy become so sensitive that they get angry and annoyed at the slightest hint of enslavement. . . . And they're so worried about the possibility of anyone having authority over them that they end up . . . taking no notice of the laws either, whether written or unwritten. (563d)

—Plato's Republic

Plato has Socrates conclude "that dictatorship is bound to arise out of democracy" (564a), a conclusion that has frightened me more and more every four years since 1960. Woodruff's First Democracy, on the other hand, gives one a form of hope that is grounded on a commitment to work on becoming a better citizen:

In truth, the idea of democracy served the Athenians far better than the Athenians served democracy. Yes, democracy is hard to achieve: yes, it is impossible to make perfect. But democracy is not a utopian ideal, because it takes human imperfections into account better than any other ideal of government. The ancient inventors of democracy knew that even the best of us can be distracted by ambition or fear from doing what is right. They knew how easily success leads to pride and pride to arrogance. From an ancient tradition of poetry, they knew by heart how arrogance leads to blindness and blindness to catastrophic mistakes. Democracy was born out of a reverent awareness of human folly, and it was designed to prevent its leaders from having the unchecked power that could lead even the wisest of them from arrogance to foolishness. (5—6)

The Second Object of the Theosophical Society, to encourage the comparative study of religion, philosophy, and science, seems to spring from the same source that envisions democracy. It embodies a profound mission of inquiry into differences that can develop understanding and tolerance as well as respect and reverence. At the Feet of the Master by J. Krishnamurti teaches "You must learn that no ceremonies are necessary; else you will think yourself better than those who perform them. Yet you must not condemn others who cling to ceremonies."

Woodruff, looking at contemporary American democracy in the light of the ancient Athenian form, illuminates the roles of "Freedom from Tyranny," "Harmony," "The Rule of Law," "Natural Equality," "Citizen Wisdom," "Reasoning Without Knowledge," and "Education" in successive chapters writing with simplicity and clarity that one rarely finds in the columns of our newspaper, journal, or blog pundits from anywhere on the political spectrum.

The book ends with a chapter entitled "Are Americans Ready for Democracy?" The last paragraph raises the following questions for inquiry and discussion:

Are we ready to shake off the idea that we are already a perfect exemplar of democracy? Are we ready to put the goals of democracy foremost in our political minds, as many Athenians did? Are we ready to admit our mistakes and learn from them, as they did?  Are we ready to have a national conversation about democracy? Most important, are we ready to keep the great dream alive, the dream of government of the people, by the people, and for the people?

In other words, are we willing to do the work that will forever disprove Plato's contention "that dictatorship is bound to arise out of democracy?"

Are Platonic Virtues Thick or Thin?

We know well enough what it is like not to know the virtues; Plato gives us many examples of people who think they know and do not. He also gives us a shining example of someone who knows he does not know the virtues—Socrates. I call his example shining because Socrates, unlike the others, does not seem much the worse for his ignorance. Apparently, he has found a good life without moral knowledge.

We do not have a clear picture, however, of what it would be like to know a virtue. If justice is, in its true nature, what readers of Plato call a Form or Idea, then—as Aristotle pointed out—we cannot see clearly how knowing that Form would help us make moral decisions in our own world of change and confusion. Or, to put the matter in terms of Plato's allegory, if we are living entirely in a world of shadows, as in a cave, how would it help us to know what things are like outside the cave?

The distinction between "thick" and "thin" at the presentation turned out to be based on whether a principle was involved.

A thick account of courage would harbor a principle. . . . A thick concept (if there is such a thing) is an inseparable bundle of description and attitude; examples are lewd, tactless, honest, patronizing, etc. Thick concepts seem to straddle the gap that a principle is supposed to guide you across.

Plato conceives all virtues as thin; that is, none of them are susceptible to a definition that harbors a principle that would determine how we should act in all given circumstances.

Woodruff concludes that, for Plato, "knowledge of virtues could not be a matter of principles," and, consequently, "that the shadows of the cave are not to be measured in that way" since they "are not objects of knowledge." That "shining example" of a human being, Socrates, however, can be named and used as a model that exemplifies good or bad behavior. But what he is cannot be defined.

The Third Object of the Theosophical Society, to investigate unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in humanity, seems to recognize the thick/thin distinction. The humans who we have considered to be exceptional, advanced, or evolved (the Dalai Lama, Mother Theresa), are people who show us a new set of possibilities in their very presence, not merely in what they say. The reverence that Annie Besant spoke of at the 1893 Parliament was based on the recognition of a superior state of being that one emulated as a paradigm. What had been latent in the young Socrates was later manifest in the "World Teacher" who displayed principles of loyalty to his home state of Athens and its laws, principles that would not allow him to escape from drinking the hemlock that would end his life.

Where Is the Madness?

A religion old or new that stressed the magnificence of the universe as revealed by modern science might be able to draw forth reserves of reverence and awe hardly tapped by the conventional faiths. Sooner or later, such a religion will emerge.

—Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot

Just as it had been great to see Paul Woodruff with Bill Moyers on Now to develop a sense of the man within his writings, it was wonderful to witness his presentation and to hear him speak informally with his colleagues between lectures. He had to leave before the last day because of family obligations but I felt some of the same qualities in his presence as I had at the 1993 Parliament when the Dalai Lama was near.

Before the last session on Sunday, there was a commotion outside of the classroom. At break time, I found out that a falcon had swooped down on a pigeon. The discarded books in the dumpsters before the conference again came to mind. And now there was this display of power and destruction in the animal kingdom at the end reminiscent of the Sophist in The Republic who claimed might was right.

I was grateful to have listened to the many speakers, even more grateful for the compilation of papers presented that I could reread and ponder later. But I had not experienced the joy and enthusiasm I usually feel at the end of programs that I attend that are filled with ample time for reflection and meditation.

If there was any prophecy coming from Apollo, it seemed to be conveyed via the symbols of the dumpsters filled with books and the falcon attacking the pigeon. There had been no sense of an Initiation or a new beginning, Dionysian or otherwise, just a termination. My notes were filled with diagrams and logical symbols, smeared ink on the yellow legal pad, and no sign of anything from the Muses.

But still there was a renewed sense of the love of wisdom and a deeper reverence for the many people who have inspired me throughout my life. And there was a deep sense of gratitude knowing that my companions, Martin and Susan Leiderman, would be with me at Far Horizons, our Theosophical Camp in the Sierras of California, to offer a program entitled Beyond Plato On Love before Labor Day. The pace of our program would be slower and, hopefully, its range would be both deeper for the inner life and extend higher outside through the star filled sky. For the mountains teach reverence quietly and majestically and invite the four sources of inspiration to occur as naturally as breathing deeply.

At the end of Phaedrus, Socrates ends with this prayer to Pan:

O Dear Pan and all the other gods of this place,
Grant that I may be beautiful inside. Let all of
My external possessions be in friendly harmony
With what is within me. May I consider the
Wise man rich. As for gold, let me have as much
As a moderate man could bear and carry with him. (279c)

Perhaps in our time, Reverence itself, as Woodruff has delineated it, is a fifth form of Divine Madness, one that will guide us through an unprecedented period of development—an inspiration from the essence of the Great Orphan Humanity as it gets to know itself outside of the Cave.


References

"Bill Moyers Interviews Paul Woodruff," http://www.pbs.org/now/printable/transcript_woodruff_print.html.

Woodruff, Paul. First Democracy: The Challenge of an Ancient Idea. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.

———. Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue. Press New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Anton Lysy has been Dean of Studies of the Olcott Institute since 1994. He is a national speaker and is on the board of directors of Far Horizons and the Theosophical Gift Book Institute. Dr. Lysy, along with David Bruce, director of the Department of Education, have just completed When You are One with Every Heart That Beats—an e-Learning course on the seven International Presidents of the Theosophical Society.


Explorations: Theosophy and Orthodoxy

By Pedro Oliveira

Originally printed in the MARCH-APRIL 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Oliveira, Pedro. "Explorations: Theosophy and Orthodoxy" Quest  96.2 (MARCH-APRIL 2008): 68-69.

Theosophical Society - Pedro Oliveira joined the Brazilian Section of the Theosophical Society in 1978 and worked in several capacities. He served as international secretary at Adyar between 1992 and 1996. In 2001, he was elected president of the Indo-Pacific Federation of the TS, and re-elected in 2004. Pedro works as education coordinator of the TS in Australia and has lectured extensively in Australia, the Indo-Pacific region, and other countries as well.HENRY S. OLCOTT, president and cofounder of the Theosophical Society, whose death centenary was commemorated on February 17, 2007, may have sounded the essential keynote of the work before the fledgling Theosophical Society when he said in his Inaugural Address at the Mott Memorial Hall in New York, November 17, 1875:

We are of our age, and yet some strides ahead of it, albeit some journals and pamphleteers more glib than truthful, have already charged us with being reactionists who turn from modern light (!) to mediaeval and ancient darkness! We seek, inquire, reject nothing without cause, accept nothing without proof: we are
students, not teachers.

In "The New Cycle," Collected Writings, vol. XI, his colleague and coworker, Helena P. Blavatsky, may have gone a step further in declaring one of the central aspects of the Society's work: "In its capacity of an abstract body, the Society does not believe in anything, does not accept anything, and does not teach anything."

The above statements, by two principal cofounders of the TS, clearly delineate the fact that though deriving its name from the Greek word theosophia (divine wisdom); the Theosophical Society does not make of Theosophy an orthodoxy nor an ideology. In other words, the position of "official" Theosophical teacher has been declared vacant from the very inception of the Society! It encourages its members to inquire, to investigate, and to study for themselves the vast breadth and depth of the Wisdom Tradition and to come to their own realization of its eternal truths.

Alas, the energetic vision of the founders did not prevent some members over the decades from erecting pedestals to "authorities" in the Theosophical philosophy, going so far as to say who was right and who was wrong. But the Theosophical Society, as an organic body, has always refused to buy into the authority game and has remained faithful to its three Objects which point to a non-sectarian and non-dogmatic direction for its life and work.

At the very core of the great spiritual traditions of the world there is a compelling call: one must see with one's own eyes. When religion, philosophy, or even science become an ideology, that is, a set, irreversible, exclusivist worldview, the beauty and transformative power of direct seeing is absent and the forces of separation and suspicion grow stronger, thus making the world a darker place. When we see for ourselves any intrinsic truth, like suffering, it leads to a new understanding as well as to compassionate action, for it represents the awakening of a deeply integrated perception within ourselves called buddhi in the Theosophical tradition. In such a perception, seeing and acting are one.

As long as the Theosophical Society remains true to the spirit that animated its foundation it will remain relevant in a turbulent world. The words of Madame Blavatsky, in her message to the American Convention of 1888, deserve reflection and consideration:

Orthodoxy in Theosophy is a thing neither possible nor desirable. It is diversity of opinion, within certain limits, that keeps the Theosophical Society a living and a healthy body, its many other ugly features notwithstanding. Were it not, also, for the existence of a large amount of uncertainty in the minds of students of Theosophy, such healthy divergencies would be impossible, and the Society would degenerate into a sect, in which a narrow and stereotyped creed would take the place of the living and breathing spirit of Truth and an ever growing Knowledge.


Pedro Oliveira joined the Brazilian Section of the Theosophical Society in 1978 and worked in several capacities. He served as international secretary at Adyar between 1992 and 1996. In 2001, he was elected president of the Indo-Pacific Federation of the TS, and re-elected in 2004. Pedro works as education coordinator of the TS in Australia and has lectured extensively in Australia, the Indo-Pacific region, and other countries as well. This article is adapted from the Campbell Library Newsletter, March 2007.


A Practical Path to Theosophy: AA's Twelve Steps

By Mona Sides-Smith

Originally printed in the MARCH-APRIL 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Sides-Smith, Mona. "A Practical Path to Theosophy: AA's Twelve Steps." Quest  96.2 (MARCH-APRIL 2008): 47-51.

Theosophical Society - Mona Sides-Smith is president of the Serenity Retreat League, Inc., a non-profit corporation in Memphis, Tennessee, that offers Twelve Step related retreats and workshops in the U.S., Mexico, Canada, and on cruise ships. She is the daughter-in-law of Dr. Bob Smith, cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous. A retired addictions and family therapist, Mona organizes and facilitates retreats, counselor training workshops, and community leadership programs. Mona is a member of the Theosophical Society and active in the Memphis Lodge. (And if you are ever in Memphis, ask her about the Three Kings Tour.)IN HER "VIEWPOINT" from the January-February 2003 Quest magazine, President Betty Bland included a quote found in HPB's Collected Works, vol. XIII, which reads:

There is a road steep and thorny, beset with perils of every kind, but yet a road, and it leads to the very heart of the Universe: I can tell you how to find those who will show you the secret gateway that opens inward only, and closes fast behind the neophyte forevermore. There is no danger that dauntless courage cannot conquer; there is no trial that spotless purity cannot pass through; there is no difficulty that strong intellect cannot surmount. For those who win onwards there is reward past all telling—the power to bless and save humanity.

The power to bless and save humanity is quite the reward. Betty concluded with, "As we move along; let us hone our skills for the service of others. Let us make this a year of true initiation." Both service and initiation are important principals in the Twelve Step program as well as Theosophy.

I have been involved with Twelve Step programs for almost forty years now and with the Theosophical Society even longer. Over the years, the two have enhanced each other. Theosophy made my Twelve Step path better and the Twelve Step's practical path to learning gave me a step-by-step way to get to the spiritual concepts of Theosophy and eventually incorporate them into my work as a therapist.

I discovered Theosophy by accident. During the early 1960s, I lived in Aurora, Illinois and worked at a printing company that published the American Theosophist. At that time, I worked in quality control reading press proofs for the print shop. There was a new kind of typesetting being developed called "cold" (as opposed to the "hot" poured lead type in use), and the company sent me to school to learn how to work with it. In between reading proofs, I also set type for the -. (As a matter a fact, it was one of the first publications to be published on cold type.) When the page proofs were ready, I would bring them to Wheaton where Virginia Hanson would read the galleys, and then I would take them back. I started noticing the events that were planned at Olcott and timed my proof reading visits with Virginia to coincide with when programs were taking place.

To set the type in those days you had to read the material at least three times. I was reading these theosophical articles three times and did not understand most of them any better the third time around than I did the first. I had trouble correctly pronouncing the Sanskrit words and peoples' names. Pronouncing "Krishnamurti" takes practice. It was very interesting for me and I continued, off and on through the years, to absorb the lifestyle of Theosophy into my lifestyle of the Twelve Step program. Even now I get the two mixed up and stirred together because they are so similar. My daughter Elaine explains how she separates the two by thinking of Theosophy like a "sky road" while the Twelve Steps are like an "earth road." The Steps give one a more practical or down to earth way to walk through life, while Theosophy is an elevated search. You can travel back and forth between the two as long as you balance the lofty abstractions with some down-to-earth practicality.

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) is not as old as the Theosophical Society (TS). The Program has its foundation in the old Oxford Group, a non-denominational Christian Evangelical association which was the source of AA concepts such as meetings and sharing for witness, finding a higher power, making restitution, and rigorous honesty. Alcoholics Anonymous has some interesting statistics. The book, Alcoholics Anonymous, referred to as the "Big Book," is the number two all time best-selling book in the world, running second only to the Bible. The Twelve Step programs are also the largest users of hotel facilities in the United States. It is an interesting statistic that always gets laughs when mentioned, but with conventions, conferences, and retreats taking place somewhere almost every weekend, there are many, many hotels around the country that are regularly utilized by Twelve Step programs.

AA began in 1935 in Akron, Ohio when word started getting around that there was a doctor who could fix drunks. Loving relatives, and not so loving relatives, began dropping off their loved ones. From those small first meetings of four individuals, AA has grown to millions of people worldwide. The international convention held in Minneapolis in 2000 drew over 50,000 people and hosted the largest AA meeting in its history.

Annie Besant, the second international president of the Theosophical Society is a hero of mine. In her lecture on "Purification" found in her book From the Outer Court to the Inner Sanctum, Annie Besant speaks about the mountain as a metaphor for spiritual growth. She asks that we visualize ourselves up in space, looking down on a large beautiful mountain and on this mountain we can see the history of our behavior. Not just of how we are now, but how we have trudged and bumbled along, and sometimes excelled. As we look down at the mountain and see the roads that circle and wind around (anyone who has ever driven in the mountains knows that the roads do not go straight up the side of the mountain), we also see there are cut backs which are very steep. Some of us try to climb straight up the mountain and end up falling down backwards. Along the way, we may get lost, try short cuts, or get distracted, as Annie Besant says "hither and thither" along the way, and we fall off the side of the mountain.

There are also stations along the way where we stop and stay awhile, reaching a plateau and resting. Sometimes, there are towers, offering a better view and as we climb up, it feels like progress, but in reality, we are just going up and down in the same place and not really moving along. We are repeating the same action and expecting different results. We climb and expect growth, but we just mark time in the same place. We do that in both our spiritual and practical life, but the road ends at the summit on this mountain.

Besant continues in her lecture describing a temple at the top of this mountain. The temple is the goal. We can look at it with closed eyes and it can be so beautiful. It is radiant. It has peace, serenity, and love. When we look with our hearts, we see these as symbols of the pure soul. The people who are at the top of this mountain have finished their course, at least for this mountain. Although their journey is finished, they remain there to help others climb up. This temple is built as the holiest of holy places. This is in the center; it is the heart, the spirit within us, God, the Higher Power, a Higher Authority. Besant mentions that there are gardens around the holy place at the top. The garden has only one gate, and as we proceed from below, climbing up the mountain to the mountain top, we eventually must go through this gate. This garden surrounds the outer court of the temple and within it is an inner court or inner sanctum.

The outer court around the temple is large and open and also has one gate. In this outer court are groups of people, Theosophical lodges, study groups, AA groups, and Al-Anon family groups. There are far more people in the outer court than in the inner sanctum. The long climb up the mountain has been accomplished and here is where the serious study begins. The goal here is to serve in order to learn how to go on.

Sometimes, when we look at the masses of people around us who are struggling, we wonder how they go on. Years pass and they go on so slowly. We are often distracted, as Besant says, by butterflies and blossoms—which we can symbolize as in-laws, outlaws, marriages, divorces, and illnesses—but we keep climbing. We are still on the mountain. We are not back at the bottom.

The Twelve Steps are very functional on this climb to the top of the mountain. The first three steps are what I call the "armchair steps." We are asked to admit our powerlessness, believe that there is an accommodating Source for a solution, and become willing to learn to access that Source. We can do all of this sitting down.

The next six middle steps are the "working steps." They are about taking a tedious inventory, talking with God and another person about strengths and weaknesses we uncover, making a list of the people we need to make amends to, and making those amends whenever possible. Character defects are not things we do on purpose. It is hard work learning to redo things and recognizing character defects helps us see what we are missing within ourselves. This is the challenge in the outer court. Success here brings us closer to finding the gate to the Inner Sanctum.

The last three maintenance steps are about prayer, meditation, and service. They are about continuing to take inventory of ourselves and righting our wrongs, and continually seeking conscious contact with our Higher Power. The Twelfth Step is about carrying the message and our own spirituality. After spiritually awakening, we carry the message to others. We are performing a service as we practice these principles in all our affairs.

Some people who are not alcoholics practice the Twelve Steps. You do not have to be a member to practice the Twelve Step program. In fact, this program has been successfully adapted by many different groups. I recommend reading Bill W.'s book, The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, which is a collection of essays about the Twelve Steps.

The people in the outer court are well-defined. They have climbed this path and have found themselves. The soul is growing within these people. This Definiteness—a term Annie Besant uses—is earned. It has been earned a step at a time, a day at a time. It is not an accident. Personal strength and other personal qualities are achieved. Have you ever noticed that when a person starts growing, it is visible to others? They have a sight beyond physical matter. People who have "got it" look different or shine from within. Initiations of life, the trials and tribulations, experiences of life, are our lessons. They come daily and by these initiations, we grow so that we can help others.

Some of the truths we learn are from the ancient wisdom that Mable Collins talks about in her book Light on the Path. Much of what I read today, Bill W. and Dr. Bob also read. Both Bill W. and Dr. Bob knew Dora Kunz and were familiar with Theosophical teachings. At meetings, they read ancient wisdom texts as well as the Bible. People experimented with what would help or work in their lives because they knew there was more to recovery than just not drinking.

There are four rules or truths from Light on the Path that have helped me (and confused me) over the years. As I do Serenity Retreats for the Twelve Step program, I use theosophical teachings along with the Twelve Step material without telling people that it is Theosophy. I have incorporated Theosophical references into my retreat talks without people knowing; however when there are Theosophists in the audience, they will approach me later to comment on recognizing the material.

The first truth "Before the eyes can see, they must be incapable of tears" can be translated in the Twelve Step vernacular as someone saying "Stop whining about it and get on with your life." When I am working through something confusing to me, I often bounce concepts off my friend Ruby. We might be driving along and I will throw an idea out to her, and she might respond with, "needs work," or "you are getting closer." I just hang in there. What I understand Mabel Collins saying is that it is okay to feel sorry for oneself for a while, but then you must get over whatever it is and move along. The Soul must pass from sensation to knowledge. The windows of the soul are blurred by moisture. The tears blur the work of the soul, much like when it is raining, and we cannot see out the window.

This does not mean that big girls and boys are not allowed to cry. It means that when we are crying, just go ahead and cry, but do not try to see through it and give advice or make decisions. When we are done crying, we will see more clearly. Crying is not the resolution, but it is okay to feel sorry for yourself, then get over it. Tears are symbols of violent pain and pleasure. Tears pass and the light of knowledge will eventually shine through.

The second truth reads "Before the ear can hear, it must have lost its sensitiveness." Again, in the Program we would say, "Don't take it personally." The soul must reach a place of silence in order to hear the voice from the other side. The voice of the higher power, God, whatever you have sought and found, is always soft and sweet. Outer life sounds interfere with our hearing. We must get to a place of silence where we can bring meditation into our lives. Mantras and chanting "Om" can take us to that place of silence. Silence often feels like a pall or darkness. It initially feels scary, but after the silence is when a voice sounds from the other side. It is what Bill W. referred to as his "White Light" experience. Gradually we see the gleam of the temple, catch a glimpse of God, and hear the still small voice.

People reach an emotional bottom when they have no plan. But that is when we become teachable and the Voice may be heard. It comes in many ways. It may be a feeling or a color, but it will speak in a language of its own. It may not be English, but we will understand it. Once we hear it, we know it. No earth sound can ever dull it once we have heard it. We can hear it through anything once we know what we are listening for. Mabel Collins says that these eye and ear truths must be experienced first. We have to learn not to take things personally and to stop whining.

The third truth Collins shares with us is, "Before the voice can speak in the presence of the Masters, it must have lost the power to wound" or for Twelve Steppers, "lost the desire to control." In Twelve Steps, we might suggest that someone "lighten up." This is where we share our strength, hope, and experience. We learn that the purpose of our being is to appeal to the Source. In prayer and meditation the appeal goes up, echoes back down, and goes out to the world. There is great power in prayer and meditation. What we appeal for is knowledge of how to speak without wounding. The Eleventh Step reads, "We pray for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out." Perhaps Bill W. got the idea for this step from Mable Collins. The answer we get when we pray for knowledge is what we need—the power to speak the knowledge received. We intuitively "know" things. The condition that allows us to do this speaking is that the pilgrim becomes a link between the Higher Power and the earth.

We become a servant to deliver this message and that is what we are looking for. Not servitude, but service. We have to share it for humankind. The one gate to the inner court is labeled "Service to Mankind" and we no longer seek for self alone, but for the good of humanity. In serving humankind, we include ourselves, not just others.

The fourth truth, "Before the soul can stand in the presence of the Masters, its feet must be washed in the blood of the heart" has come to mean to me: You have to give it away to keep it.

Blood is the symbol of life. Without it humans are nowhere, gone. Empty the blood from our bodies and there is no life. You can take away an appendix, a kidney, or assorted other body parts. You can even replace them with store-bought body parts, but take away the blood and there is no life. Tears are the moisture of life and blood is life itself. We have to have the willingness to pour out this blood, this life. We must give our most precious life by being willing to serve. Bill W. used to say that we become "born" again before the term was commonly used. Our lives are our energy, our thoughts, and service. We must give this life to stand with the others who give their lives, whether it be for Theosophy or Twelve Steps.

Service can become a way of life. We can live in an attitude of service, but this can be very hard to do. I can go to the grocery store with an attitude of service, or because my family ate all the food in the house. If I serve my community because no one else wants do it and feel I have to, I will feel tired and resentful. However, if I serve with an attitude of replenishing my community, my outlook changes. When we live with an attitude of service, we stand beneath the point where all knowledge is received. According to Mabel Collins, we plug in to the cosmos. We know things we did not know before. We are able to handle situations that used to baffle us and realize there is always more to learn, more to gain. Like the onion layers that we peel off, there is always more knowledge to discover. We become the wounded healer, sharing the strength and knowledge gained through our experiences. Knowledge turned into service becomes our strength, nurtures our hope, and guides our lives.


Mona Sides-Smith is president of the Serenity Retreat League, Inc., a non-profit corporation in Memphis, Tennessee, that offers Twelve Step related retreats and workshops in the U.S., Mexico, Canada, and on cruise ships. She is the daughter-in-law of Dr. Bob Smith, cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous. A retired addictions and family therapist, Mona organizes and facilitates retreats, counselor training workshops, and community leadership programs. Mona is a member of the Theosophical Society and active in the Memphis Lodge. (And if you are ever in Memphis, ask her about the Three Kings Tour.)

These are the original Twelve Steps as suggested by Alcoholics Anonymous:

We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we
understood Him.

Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His Will for us and the power to carry that out.

Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Other twelve-step groups have adapted these steps of AA as guiding principles for problems other than alcoholism. In some cases, the steps have been altered to emphasize particular principles important to those fellowships, or to remove gender biased or specifically religious language.

 

 

 

 

Montessori and the Theosophical Society

By Winifred Wylie

Originally printed in the MARCH-APRIL 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Wylie, Winifred . "Montessori and the Theosophical Society." Quest  96.2 (MARCH-APRIL 2008): 53-55.

Theosophical Society - Winifred Wylie is a second generation Theosophist with a very rich history. She first visited the Olcott campus at the age of five where she met George Arundale and Rukmini Devi. She was also fortunate to hear L. W. Rogers speak on being a Theosophical lecturer. As a young woman, she was president of the Young Theosophists when Jim Perkins supervised the organizing of the youth circle at Olcott. After earning degrees in Classical Studies (she was interested in archeology) and Education, she received her Montessori Elementary Diploma in Bergamo, Italy and started the first Montessori school in the state of Michigan. Winnie is actively involved in the Ann Arbor Lodge in Michigan.MARIA MONTESSORI had her first acquaintance with Theosophy, early in the twentieth century, when she went to hear Annie Besant speak in London in 1907 after Montessori had established her first Casa dei Bambini (i.e., Children's House). Annie Besant spoke in praise of Montessori's work in education which pleased Montessori, and thus sealed their friendship.

There are many parallels between the lives of Montessori and Besant: both broke through barriers against women; both were interested in modern exact science and mysticism; and both were charismatic speakers who lectured throughout the world. But perhaps the most important parallel was their common vision of the evolution and the oneness of life.

Maria Montessori was born on August 31, 1870 in Chiaravalle, Italy, and died on May 6, 1952, just before her eighty-second birthday. By the time of her death, her schools were established all over the world. Her innovative ideas of having furniture designed to fit the size of children and providing climbing apparatus for them to exercise on, are both common in schools of today. Other teaching initiatives introduced by Montessori came after careful scientific observation of children and include the recognition that there are sensitive periods when children are ready to learn things, such as language, more easily than at other times in their development; the provision of mixed age classrooms where children help each other to learn; and also, a learning environment where children have the freedom to select their own materials to work with.

As a woman living in the Italy of 1870, Montessori was expected to marry and have children. But, over her father's objections, she insisted on going to technical school and then being trained as a doctor even though this was unheard of for a woman at that time. Maria Montessori would be surprised and encouraged to see how the role of women has expanded since her time, but unfortunately, she would also find the need for a new education that promotes world peace just as necessary today as when she wrote Education for a New World.

Montessori specialized in work with mentally challenged children, using ideas and apparatus inspired by early educators Itard, Seguin, and Froebel. She then designed new materials of her own to help the children learn. She was so successful in teaching these mentally challenged children that they passed the exam for normal children of their own age. Montessori felt that if these children could do so well, then normal children should be able to do much better, and she wanted the opportunity to work with them.

When the officials of Rome did a tenement clearance project in a very poor area called San Lorenzo, they were afraid that the children age five and under would mark up the walls because they were often left home alone. The officials invited Montessori to start a school for them. She agreed, and after careful observation of public school classrooms, she redesigned the San Lorenzo classroom with furniture made for the size of the children and also cabinets proportioned to their height to hold materials for them. She used the same materials she had used with the mentally challenged children and also designed new materials as the children learned quickly and needed them. The environment of the first Montessori classroom transformed the behavior of the children. They became independent, confident, orderly, and loving three, four, and five year-olds. This attracted the world's attention and began Montessori's life work of training new teachers and establishing new schools.

Montessori was sixty-nine years old when she first went to India. She was invited to give a Montessori Training Course at Adyar by the then international president of the Theosophical Society, George Arundale. He had made the invitation to Montessori while he and his wife, Rukmini Devi, were visiting her in Holland. It was fortunate that Montessori accepted the invitation and left Europe at that time. Later that year the Second World War broke out. All of the centers where Montessori had worked—Spain, Italy, and Holland—had become very dangerous places.

The Arundales went to the airport in Madras to meet Maria and her son, Mario. Despite her age, Maria was full of energy and eager to plan her training course. She felt very much at home at Adyar. It was a place where her mysticism was understood and could be shared with others. Theosophical workers arranged palm leaf huts and a palm leaf lecture hall at Olcott Gardens. Three hundred teachers and student teachers came from all over India to attend the training course. This was a much larger group than had been expected! They were eager to hear Montessori and put her ideas into action. Maria spoke in Italian, and Mario translated into English.

When World War II began in the fall of 1939, Italy entered the war on the side of the Germans and England interned all Italians in the British territories. Mario was interned in a camp for civilians in Amednagar and Maria was confined to the compound at Adyar. (She was allowed to spend the hot summer months at the hill stations of Ooty and Kodaikanal.) But Maria was very unhappy that she and her son were being treated like prisoners. After all, Montessori had already left Italy in protest of Mussolini's treatment of her schools. Many of Montessori's supporters protested to the authorities.

Finally, on August 31, 1940, she received a telegram from the Viceroy of India that read,"We have long thought what to give you for your seventieth birthday. We thought that the best present we could give you was to send you back your son." Mario and Maria spent the remainder of the war years working together in India and the Theosophical Society sponsored it.

My own acquaintance with Montessori began through the Theosophical Society and reading her writings. In 1940, when I was seven years old, my family moved to a farm northeast of Ann Arbor, Michigan. My father's dream was to make it a Theosophical community and, for a while, it was. In 1956 my former sister-in-law, Barbara Bailey, and I started the first Montessori school in Michigan. In 1970, I took the Montessori Elementary training course for teachers in Bergamo, Italy and while there learned that some of the Montessori Elementary educational materials had been designed while Montessori was in India.

Many features designed for the elementary children reflect Montessori's deep thought and mystical perceptions about the work of humans and the environment of planet Earth. The elementary curriculum, called"Cosmic Education" was designed around the history of the earth. Everything that was taught was traced back to when it had been discovered in history: the roots of history, language, mathematics, and geometry were all traced back. Montessori felt it was very important to have the children know and have great respect for all the humans from the past who had contributed to making their life easier.

When Montessori looked at children, she saw what others did not. People had preconceived ideas of what children were like and they often saw what they expected instead of what was truly there. Montessori told her teachers to look for the hidden child and that it would reveal itself through creative work. The job of the teacher, she taught, was to find the right work for each child and when he or she was quiet and deeply absorbed in the work to walk on tiptoe, not to disturb this magical stage of the child finding him or herself. She said creative work by one child created an atmosphere that attracted other children to make their own search for creative work, and eventually, the whole classroom would become quiet as if in a state of meditation.

Montessori's formal training had been in the field of medicine and science and these influences were important in the development of the Montessori Curriculum. For example, the Curriculum included time lines of human history paralleling the time line of planet Earth, showing four and one half billion years of development from the Pre-Cambrian to the modern era. Everything on the earth contributes to the whole as well as to its own interests. During the training course I took, Seeora Honegar told a story about one child in the Montessori classroom who said that he did not want to contribute to the whole so he was just going to sit and do nothing. Another child said to him that even if he just sat there he was still part of the oxygen cycle. Then the child said he would die. The other child replied that even if he died his body would become part of the earth and would be used by the plants that would then be eaten by the animals.

Montessori said that evolution is not marked so much by the power of tooth and claw, but by the development of the power of love. The earliest creatures, such as the spawning fish, gave birth to their young and did not recognize them. But evolutionary time went on and birds developed. They kept their babies warm and fed them, and even would give up their lives to defend their chicks. Then there are mammals who carry their young safely inside the mother. Humans have the longest childhood of any of the mammals. They go through wonderful sensitive periods when they learn the unique qualities which make them human, such as the ability to speak the language of their parents; which they learn to do perfectly, beginning at the remarkably early age of about two. They learn so perfectly because there is a sensitivity to what they hear which is unique to them, and, for the rest of their lives, this is called their mother tongue.

Among the elementary materials, there is a chart showing water evaporating off the ocean like children climbing a high hill, and then, the children are blown over the land, sliding down again as water droplets, as if in an endless joyous game. Likewise, the rivers of earth are compared to the rivers of blood in our bodies, carrying nutrients everywhere and cleaning the planet. These images make one think of earth as a giant being, just as some scientists have come to the concept of Gaia.

Our modern world is poised between what can be observed by our five senses, that is, the realm of science, and that which we sense by intuition and our heart, the realm of mysticism. Maria Montessori and Annie Besant were both pioneers in the exploration of the areas where these two realms intersect. Their work combined the vision of exact measurement and comparison with the deep empathy of intuition. It is no wonder they became good friends. They left a legacy of awareness and understanding of the wholeness of life, which the world is sorely in need of today.


Winifred Wylie is a second generation Theosophist with a very rich history. She first visited the Olcott campus at the age of five where she met George Arundale and Rukmini Devi. She was also fortunate to hear L. W. Rogers speak on being a Theosophical lecturer. As a young woman, she was president of the Young Theosophists when Jim Perkins supervised the organizing of the youth circle at Olcott. After earning degrees in Classical Studies (she was interested in archeology) and Education, she received her Montessori Elementary Diploma in Bergamo, Italy and started the first Montessori school in the state of Michigan. Winnie is actively involved in the Ann Arbor Lodge in Michigan.


Saving Nature: In Praise of Frugality

James L. Bull

Originally printed in the MARCH-APRIL 2007 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bull, James L. "Saving Nature: In Praise of Frugality." Quest  95.2 (MARCH-APRIL 2007):
74-76.

Theosophical Society - James L. Bull first learned about Theosophy from his mother, Evelyn Bull, who had a number of articles and poems published in The American Theosophist. Now a retired psychologist, he remains active as a hospice volunteer.

I've always thought of myself as an accomplished firewood gatherer. I have gone camping all my life—as I write this I am sitting beside the campfire—and cooking, as is my custom, on a small open fire. On arriving in camp, a first task is always to gather fuel. (I have childhood memories of tying a rock to a rope and throwing it over a dead branch to bring it down.) This is the sensible harvesting of a limited resource.
 

I have noticed that frugality is sometimes associated with scarcity. Since I grew up during the Great Depression, people have sometimes suggested that my frugality is scarcity-driven. The threat of not having enough, or scarcity anxiety may be a powerful force that makes frugality necessary. But according to Wendell Berry, frugality may be appropriately paired with abundance. This notion may strike us as odd, in today's commercial world—frugality and abundance? Properly considered, frugality is simply the sensible management of limited resources. It is through frugality that we can achieve sustainable abundance. All freedoms exist within boundaries, and sensible abundance takes into account the natural limits of resources.

Of course the commercial world wants no part of frugality. An important distinction here has to do with needs and wants. Frugality has to do with filling our legitimate needs; the commercial world would have us not only indulge our wants as well as needs, but expand our wants and buy even more. The purpose of advertising, after all, is largely to persuade us to want things we do not need. This constant and unlimited expansion of wants (and purchases) is the driving force of modern capitalism. There is no acceptance of limits in this way of thinking.

Because the earth itself offers limited resources, our prudent use of them is necessary. The use of land by small farmers, as compared with industrial agriculture, is an example. According to Wendell Berry, industrial agriculture regards small scale family farming with contempt and insults. Peasants who save a part of their crop as seed are similarly regarded as standing in the way of progress—and profits, since they do not need to purchase new seed every season. In the eyes of industrial agriculture, many who protect the earth are obstacles to "progress."

Another casualty of global commercial development has been small-scale craftsmanship. Satish Kumar has pointed out that local craftspeople produce objects that are beautiful, useful, and durable, reflecting local styles and history. Such products become more beautiful with age and are often repairable when damaged, although in the world of commerce such items are regarded as old-fashioned. They have been replaced by mass-produced products which are often disposable. So much, these days, is disposable. (When was the last time you darned your socks?) We have come to regard our own possessions with the same disdain with which we view the original resources.

Global capitalism is built on the twin assumptions that growth (to be pursued without limit or question) equals progress, and the planet we live on is available for our exploitation. Taken together, these assumptions form an arrogant and chauvinistic mind set that saturates commerce and the media. Those who object are thought to be old- fashioned, obstructionist, or simply out of step, yet what we need is for many others also to be out of step.

To realize how much the idea of progress has become an unconscious part of our thinking, consider the fact that all economic thinking is growth-oriented. When was the last time you heard anyone promoting steady-state economics? Regarding the exploitation of the planet, consider, for example, the common assumption that all petroleum reserves should be extracted for our use. While it is true that the ethics of consumerism are being questioned and that many individuals and groups are consciously working to change our direction, it would be naive not to recognize the power and momentum of the global juggernaut now gathering speed, especially when driven by the combined force of government and corporate power. Countless native cultures are being undermined. The sweatshops of the working poor have been exported to distant lands, far from our worried glances.

In contrast to the commercial ethic, consider the statement by Gandhi that we should "Live simply so that others may simply live" and the Native American idea that "The earth does not belong to us, we belong to the earth." The two opposing ethics, the global commercial ethic and that of frugality, locality, and voluntary simplicity create what may become the defining polarity of this new century. The survival of countless cultures and languages, in addition to whatever wilderness which has not been destroyed already, is at stake.

The current national policy of relentless use of limited resources puts us on a collision course with some very significant economic consequences. There are warning signs already evident which should alert us, should we choose to heed them. First, there is global warming; second, the end of oil. We can think of these as messengers who have come to tell us that we must change our way of living on this planet. (How fortunate that oil reserves are limited! How disastrous the outcome if they were not!) Both of these developments call to our attention the necessity of frugality. These warning signs may be blessings, as sometimes blessings come wrapped in very strange packages. And although it may take a while to recognize the blessing for what it is, we should bless—not shoot—the messenger.

Today commerce rules. However, if we are to live in harmony with this planet that hosts our existence, commerce, although necessary, must no longer rule. We have been graced to live on this exquisite and rich planet, but we have developed an economic system that treats this sacred ground with disdain, greed, and exclusivity. Fortunately, the earth has its limitations, and we may be about to receive a lesson.

Consider the consequences of continued and unlimited development (i.e., destruction). Are we to allow the exhaustion of all wilderness areas—except a few token islands? Are native animals in their own territories to be extinct—only to be found in zoos? (What if all humans were reduced to living in prisons?) Does a lion in captivity continue to be a lion? What about the soul of the lion?

Americans have a love affair with technology, and it is easy to think that new technologies will solve our problems. I realize that there are technologies out there that may assist us in being less wasteful such as wind generators, solar panels, and straw bale houses, but technology alone will not save us. Only a shift in consciousness, in attitude, will change our way of life. Otherwise, we will simply have found more sustainable methods to carry out the same addiction to consumption and our appetite for speed, greed, and growth will continue unchecked. We would resemble the alcoholic who runs out of money but finds other ways to go on drinking. And consumerism has become very addictive indeed.

After all, the problem was not technological in the first place. The issues of global warming and the end of oil themselves are not the problem; they are indicators of the problem. Corrective technologies, therefore, will fix the symptoms, but not the cause. Just as endangered species are a symptom of encroaching development and the destruction of habitat, so global warming is the canary in the mine. Let us not just change the bird.

Thomas Berry has described our chauvinism extremely well:

The deepest cause of the present devastation is found in a mode of consciousness that has established a radical discontinuity between the human and other modes of being and the bestowal of all rights on humans. The other-than-human modes of being are seen as having no rights. They have reality and value only through their use by the human. In this context the other-than-human becomes totally vulnerable to exploitation by the human, an attitude that is shared by all four of the fundamental establishments that control the human realm: governments, corporations, universities and religions.

It would appear that there are two kinds of questions to be raised here. One is the macro, or economic question: how can the economic system reverse itself to become a steady-state, sustainable system, allowing for population growth only until zero population growth is achieved. The second is the micro or individual question, which I believe is primary: how can each of us separate ourselves from the false values and the addictions of the marketplace?

With regard to the first question, I suggest it is very unlikely that the leaders of global capitalism will just change their minds and decide to stop growing and developing new international markets, stop advertising unneeded products and promoting false values. Only the collapse of global capitalism seems to have the possibility of triggering a basic reevaluation of values necessary to bring about systemic change.

The second question is important: how can we as individuals slow down and become attentive to the small, the local, the particular, and the here and now? How can we calm our inner urgency and become quieter and less needy? Only then can we generate a cultural shift which forces economic change and find a way to live collectively in harmony with the planet.

The solution may be found in the contemplation of Nature. It is fitting that the counter-balance to our frantic lives is found in the opposite conditions of silence, the blessing of natural sounds alone, and solitude. Here we encounter the source of all life and the opportunity to heal ourselves.

Alone with nature, I am closest to my soul. Indeed, solitude is necessary to the appreciation of nature. When we encounter nature on a soul level with open arms and a quiet spirit, we may, from the source of all healing, heal ourselves.

As I write this, I sit on a cottonwood log and watch the autumn seed pods spiral to earth. A wisp of smoke from my campfire drifts upward. Birds sing; a hawk screeches. It is, of course, necessary to stop writing in order to be attentive and really present to what surrounds me. There is, after all, only one primary blessing, to which all others are secondary and derivative. It is that I am blessed to be here, in this place, in the natural space of this planet.


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