Quest Magazine

VOLUME 89, NUMBER 2

Contents

Reincarnation: the Evidence
By John Algeo

Christianity-Theosophy Conference:
Christian Exclusiveness and Theosophical Truth
By Jay G. Williams 

Quantum Yoga: A View Through the Visionary Window
By Amit Goswami  

The Next Stages in Human Spiritual Evolution, Part One
By Robert Ellwood 

The Theosophy of the Tao Te Ching, Part Two
By Richard W. Brooks

 Viewpoint: The Web of Life
By Radha Burnier

Originally printed in the March - April  2001 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Williams, Jay G. "Christian Exclusiveness Theosophical Truth." Quest  89.2 (MARCH - APRIL  2001):

By Jay G. Williams

I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.
No one comes to the Father except through me. --John 14.6

Few sentences in any scripture have led to as much diabolical mischief as these words from the Gospel of John. They have been the basis for Christian claims to absolute truth and hence have been the inspiration for crusades and pogroms, for inquisitions and tyrannical oppression. They have led to the view that all outside the Christian Church are of darkened mind, pitiable heathens who can only be saved through conversion to the truth. And, of course, since some Christians believe that many other Christians do not understand Jesus, the words have bred bewildering sectarianism and all those bloody struggles which, in the past, have wracked Christendom. It is no wonder that H. P. Blavatsky turned in sheer disgust from the Christianity around her.

How, we must ask, could a Gospel that purports to teach the supremacy of love have led to such terrible results. Did the Gospel writer really claim for the Christian religion such an exclusive grip upon truth, or is there some other, more theosophical way to understand these words? Clearly there is. Indeed, a careful reading of John reveals that Christian claims to absolute, exclusive truth are based upon a very bad misreading of these words.

The Gospel of John begins with a very dramatic and well-known prolog, which must be kept in mind throughout the whole Gospel, for it explains what John (and Jesus) are talking about. From God, says the Gospel, flows creative power which has produced and produces everything that is. This power John calls the Logos. It is the source of all reality, the manifestation of God in the world. In one sense, God the Father, is totally hidden and unknown, what the Kabbalah calls En-Sof. But this Logos, which proceeds from God, is God with us. It is the way through which humans can know the divine.

People in every culture and clime have had spiritual inclinations because this power is the light and life of every human being. We live in the light, and the light lives in us. It is the Way to God. Wherever people have found God, therefore, they have glimpsed the light. It is the root of all spirituality. The Logos, which is the life and light of all humanity, is the source of humanity. It is what we, in the center of our being, are. Transcending all boundaries of race, ethnicity, gender, and religion, the light is the power that binds us all together.

The problem is that, although the light is the very core of our being, we humans regularly forget who we are. We see the diversity and enmity, not can only. We become enamored of worldly position and pleasure and are drawn away from our own true and eternal nature. As John says, we walk in darkness.Therefore, Jesus comes, not as an alien from outer space, but as a manifestation of the light to reveal to us what we all really are. He comes, transparent to the light, to wake us up to our common humanity.

When he proclaims, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life," he speaks, not as a historical character, but as the divine light, the light presumably known to all the wise sages of every age. From these sages have come many traditions. Thus, in God's house there are many mansions. What John teaches, however, is that no one can find the Ultimate through human organizations or scriptures or philosophies alone. Every tradition is, by itself, a dry stream bed, now lacking the water that formed it. To know the Truth one must find that living water, that ineffable light within and among us. All the rest--the stories, the doctrines, the rituals--are but fingers pointing to the source, to the esoteric, unspeakable Reality. That, it seems to me, is a very theosophical idea.

 Jay G. Williams, PhD Columbia University, is Walcott-Bartlett Professor of Religious Studies at Hamilton College in Clinton, New York. He is the author of two Quest Books, Judaism and Yeshua Buddha. This paper is the second in a series of reflections on matters considered by the November 2000 Christianity-Theosophy Conference.

Originally printed in the March - April 2003 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Abdill, Edward. "Awakening the Inner Self." Quest  91.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2003):60-64.

By Edward Abdill

We human beings have always made assumptions about our origin and destiny. Over the centuries, widely accepted views have been codified into tenants of religious faith or presented as scientific theories, and most of us have accepted what we have been told by those who claim to know. To borrow an idea from The King and I, we are convinced that what we really do not know is so.

Contrary to the belief systems offered by many religions, the Theosophical view is that we must discover Truth within ourselves. It must result from our experience rather than from our belief.

To experience Truth is to understand a principle. That understanding comes to us in a sudden, timeless flash. One minute we do not understand, and the next we do. There is no measurable time between knowing and not knowing. When such insight illumines the mind, belief is replaced by understanding. The result of that intuitive flash is an experience of integration, wholeness, peace, and in some cases even bliss. For a timeless moment, we may say that our mind has become one with the universal mind, with Truth itself. The knower and the known have become one and there is no longer self and the truth, but only Truth.

To say that Truth must be experienced is not to say that intellectual knowledge is unimportant. There are many critically important facts that we must learn, such as our home address, the number of miles between our city and another that we wish to visit, or where we keep our coat. There are, however, other kinds of knowledge that we get only from experience. For example, we may read books on how to ride a bicycle, but we'll never be able actually to ride until we get on a bicycle and learn to manage it by trial and error.

What ancient sages have said or what our contemporaries teach may fascinate us. The words of others may even stimulate us to search further. Yet, believing something simply because someone has told it to us is much like reading books on bicycle riding, remembering what was said, and thinking that we now know how to ride a bicycle.

Even though the Theosophical Society has no creed or required beliefs, we who are members of the Society are not exempt from the centuries during which humanity has been conditioned to rely on authority rather than to discover for ourselves. We, too, tend to believe what we are told by those whom we admire or by those who appear to know what is true. We, too, often rely on some authority figure such as Helena Blavatsky, Annie Besant, or a contemporary member of the Theosophical Society.

In less than twenty-five years after the founding of the Theosophical Society, one of HPB's adept teachers noticed that the members of the Society were falling into the same old rut of belief. While saying that they had no dogma, they were taking his words and those of others as a creed, even though they insisted that no member had to believe those words. They, like many of us now, felt that they knew the truth because someone they respected had told them.

Blavatsky, like other wise teachers, insisted that Truth could not be taught in words. "The teacher can but point the way," says The Voice of the Silence (fragment 3). Words can do no more. We can express our beliefs and theories in words, but we cannot cause others to experience a truth simply by telling them.

Moreover, belief and theory alone are not only insufficient; when they crystallize into a belief system they can actually block our understanding and spiritual development. That can be illustrated by a simple example: Some friends describe their home to us. They tell us about the various rooms, about their garden and front lawn, and even about the surrounding neighborhood. All they say is completely accurate. We form a picture of their house and its environs as they talk, and we are invited to visit. However, when we actually see the house and the neighborhood, they are different from what we had imagined. A description can only prompt us to discover the reality of the thing described. To know our friends' home, we must experience it for ourselves. When we do, it is different from what we believed, based on the description.

Likewise, if friends describe a delicious but rare tropical fruit that we have never seen or tasted, their description may be completely accurate. It is sweet, they tell us. It tastes something like a blend of mango, peach, and pineapple. Having heard their accurate description, do we now know its taste? Of course not, we must taste it ourselves in order to know, and when we do, it will inevitably taste different from what we imagined.

In the same way, when we hear or read a teaching or doctrine, we form an idea out of our own experience of what it refers to. But if we have not ourselves had the experience that the teaching refers to, the ideas we form about it are inevitably false.

To say that Truth cannot be conveyed in words does not mean that we should abandon Theosophical theories or reasonable assumptions about reality. The theories may be quite accurate, the teachings sound. Yet unless we verify them both outside and inside ourselves, we will be caught in error. What we are asked to do is to realize that all theories are maps, they are not the places the maps represent.

For millennia we have been taught that each of us either has or is a soul, a spirit, an inner self. Without proof, many choose to believe that. Without proof, others choose not to believe it. Surrounded by a multitude of conflicting theories and beliefs, can we ever really come to know truth from falsehood?

Theosophical and other spiritual literature offers clues that may lead us to awakening our inner self and to discover that we not only have a soul but are it. Those clues are not a series of facts to be learned. They are not instructions for setting up a scientific laboratory in which we can prove to ourselves and others the truth or falsehood about the inner self. Rather the clues are guidelines for living in such a way that we actually become the scientific laboratory ourselves.

At the very heart of this way of life leading to certain knowledge are two essential principles:

• A relentless pursuit of Truth
• Compassion

The first of these, a relentless pursuit of Truth, is implied by the Theosophical Society's motto: "There is no religion higher than Truth." But what is Truth? When Pilate asked that question, Jesus did not answer. He was silent perhaps because, although ideas, theories, and opinions can be put into words, Truth cannot.

In Helena Blavatsky's affirmation, "The Golden Stairs," two of the requirements for reaching the temple of divine wisdom are an open mind and an eager intellect. The temple of divine wisdom is synonymous with the inner self. To reach that temple is to awaken the inner self.

Most of us would like to think that we have an open mind and an eager intellect. But when it comes to Theosophical or other spiritual literature, do we acknowledge inconsistencies, contradictions,errors in fact, and even blatant prejudice if we find it? Or do we explain it away or ignore it like those who believe blindly in the doctrine of their choice? Moreover, do we clearly see our own failings,inconsistencies, and inadequacies? Are we searching for understanding or are we defending our beliefs?

If we persist in holding on to our beliefs in spite of evidence to the contrary, we may fall into a subtle form of selfishness that Blavatsky's adept teacher, Kuthumi, called a dangerous selfishness "in the higher principles." As an example, he states that there are persons "so intensely absorbed in the contemplation of their own supposed 'righteousness' that nothing can ever appear right to them outside the focus of their own vision . . . and their judgment of the right and wrong" (Mahatma Letters, chronological no. 134, 3d ed. no. 64).

The adepts claim that they teach only what they know for themselves. If one of their brotherhood claims to have discovered a principle, no adept will accept it until it can be verified and reverified by the other adepts. Since the adepts will not accept any doctrine without verification, why should we? They reject blind belief, and they encourage us to do the same. Kuthumi writes:

[A student] is at perfect liberty, and often quite justified from the standpoint of appearances—to suspect his Guru of being "a fraud" . . . the greater, the sincerer his indignation—whether expressed in words or boiling in his heart—the more fit he is, the better qualified to become an adept. He is free to [use] . . . the most abusive words and expressions regarding his guru's actions and orders, provided . . . he resists all and every temptation; rejects every allurement, and proves that nothing, not even the promise of . . . his future adeptship . . . is able to make him deviate from the path of truth and honesty. (Mahatma Letters, chronological no. 74, 3d ed. no. 30)

It should be self evident that pursuing "the path of truth and honesty" is ultimately best for everyone. Yet few are willing to make the personal sacrifices necessary to do it. Many are so attached to their beliefs that they identify with them. They think of themselves as Christians, Jews, or atheists. The search for Truth is not an effort to prove what we believe. The search begins with an open mind and an acceptance of our ignorance. But pride, vanity, and status stand in the way. We do not want to take a courageous stand that may alienate us from the community. We tend not to want evidence that might contradict our beliefs because a challenge to our worldview threatens our security. We prefer the comfort of an acceptable worldview held by many. To step outside of that requires not only courage, but genuine humility. Lacking those qualities, we accept conclusions that feel comforting rather than Truth, which may require radical self-transformation. We see the emperor fully clothed when he is indeed naked.

In The Voice of the Silence (fragment 2) we read:

The "Doctrine of the Eye" is for the crowd, the "Doctrine of the Heart," for the elect. The first repeat in pride: "Behold, I know," the last, they who in humbleness have garnered, low confess, "thus have I heard." . . .

Be humble, if thou wouldst attain to Wisdom. Be humbler still, when Wisdom thou hast mastered. Be like the Ocean which receives all streams and rivers. The Ocean's mighty calm remains unmoved; it feels them not.

Wisdom (or Truth) and the inner self have a very curious relationship. More than a relationship,it is an identity. The Voice of the Silence (fragment 2) also says:

Have perseverance as one who doth for evermore endure. Thy shadows live and vanish: that which in thee shall live for ever, that which in thee knows, for it is knowledge, is not of fleeting life:it is the man that was, that is, and will be, for whom the hour shall never strike.

The search for knowledge, Truth, and wisdom are intricately woven together with compassion. Annie Besant once said, "Love is the response that comes from a realization of oneness." Compassion is impersonal love, and it is a response that comes from a realization of our deepest unity. While the search for knowledge alone may lead to selfishness, the search for ultimate Truth leads toward realization of unity, and the response to that realization is universal compassion.

Perhaps the most powerful statement on compassion ever written is in The Voice of the Silence (fragment 1):

Let thy soul lend its ear to every cry of pain like as the lotus bares its heart to drink the morning sun. Let not the fierce sun dry one tear of pain before thyself hast wiped it from the sufferer's eye. But let each burning human tear drop on thy heart and there remain, nor ever brush it off, until the pain that caused it is removed.

These two principles—the relentless pursuit of Truth and compassion—are the hallmarks of the true Theosophist, and they lead to the awakening of the inner self, an altruistic life, and the "regenerating practical Brotherhood" that the adepts say they want. They lead to those results, that is, if our motive is impersonal and without thought of self.

If in our search we are motivated by hope of personal gain, then we are "laying up treasures on earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt." But if we are motivated by what Helena Blavatsky calls "an inexpressible longing for the infinite," then we cannot go wrong.

The great search requires study, meditation, and service. It requires above all that we forget self. If we will do that, we can awaken the inner self. When that happens, for a fleeting eternity, we are one with the infinite. Out of that timeless flash there comes bliss, joy, and the peace that passes understanding. Yet even though we experience that awesome reality, we have not yet won the victory. It is only after the first awakening that the arduous work begins, the work of gaining complete mastery over our whole nature.

Like Plato's wild horses, our bodies, emotions, and mind drag us in all directions, and we feel helpless to master them. Have we not all noticed that at times our body demands that we overeat, oversleep, or under-exercise? Is it not also true that when we allow our emotions to rage or to drag us down in depression we cannot think and work effectively? As to the mind, the most difficult of all to master, it leads us where it wants to go with its apparently unending stream of thoughts and memories. We become distracted and unable to focus the mind, to make it one pointed, to direct it to the area of search rather than the repeated thoughts stored up as memory.

Once the inner self has been experienced, the great work begins, the work of gaining mastery over our whole nature. We begin to learn how to direct our bodies, emotions, and mind from that unspeakable center while yet functioning in the everyday world. Self-transformation such as that requires effort and perseverance. It is not accomplished in a moment or even in years. It takes lifetimes.

To follow the spiritual path is not easy. It is steep and thorny. Yet, if we persevere to the end, we will reach the temple of divine wisdom, which is at the very heart of our universe. When victory is won, the reward past all telling is there. We will have awakened the inner self and we will be it.

Edward Abdill served six years on the National Board of Directors of the Theosophical Society in America and has been the President of the New York Lodge and manager of their bookstore. He has lectured throughout the United States and in Australia, Brazil, England, and New Zealand. His video course on"Foundations of the Ageless Wisdom" is used internationally.

Behold the truth before you: a clean life, an open mind, a pure heart, an eager intellect, an unveiled spiritual perception, a brotherliness for one's co-disciple, a readiness to give and receive advice and instruction, a loyal sense of duty to the Teacher, a willing obedience to the behests of TRUTH, once we have placed our confidence in, and believe that Teacher to be in possession of it; a courageous endurance of personal injustice, a brave declaration of principles, a valiant defense of those who are unjustly attacked, and a constant eye to the ideal of human progression and perfection which the secret science depicts—these are the golden stairs up the steps of which the learner may climb to the Temple of Divine Wisdom.

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 inwardly only, and closes fast behind the neophyte forever more.
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 onward, there is reward past all telling: the power to bless and save humanity.
For those who fail, there are other lives in which success may come.

 

Originally printed in the March - April 2003 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Bland, Betty. "Excessive Happiness." Quest  91.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2003):42.

viewpoint

By Betty Bland, National President

To be free is to be happy without seeking happiness, to act with a spontaneous motion which is the resultant of an inward grace.

—N. Sri Ram, Thoughts for Aspirants

In the movie Patch Adams, based on actual events, Patch, a medical student, is almost expelled from school because he is guilty of "excessive happiness." When one is dealing with life and death matters, one must be serious. And yet the patients with whom he cavorts respond better to treatment and are generally happier and more cooperative because they are treated as unique individuals and because they can laugh—even in the midst of suffering. Humor has broken the clouds of despair and let the sunshine of grace pour in. The patients did nothing but become open to that grace. And their laughter created the opening for it to enter their lives.

Grace is a great thing to have, but how does one work for it? Or even put oneself in the firing line of grace, when by its very definition it is unmerited pine assistance? How can one earn something that is not earnable?

The secret is that grace is not something to be received, but something inside each of us to be discovered. Every living person has a seed of grace planted within, a seed that will sprout and come into full flower with care and feeding.

What can we feed this mysterious little seed? We want to force-feed it, to check every few days to see if it has grown yet. But attention is one of the things that smother it. Grace can only grow when left alone. What a dilemma! We can't force it; we can't control it; but we can become open to that which is all around and within us. We can let it happen.

I have already given one hint about how this might be so by mentioning that humor supports grace. A good belly laugh a day can surely keep the doctor away. Yet there are several additional ways to cultivate that illusive lily of life—namely, silence, thankfulness, and service.

First consider silence. In the silence is a profound stillness that gives rise to deep connections with the source of all life and joy. As it says in the Bible, "Be still and know that I am God." Under the gentle blanket of silence, our seed of grace sends down strong roots and shoots upward toward the sun. Yet, keeping silent can be a difficult task.

A friend recently confessed that she had no luck in meditating. Thoughts were always popping into her head, and she couldn't keep from fidgeting. She supposed that it was just beyond her. "But," she said, "I breathe little prayers of thanksgiving all day long. Every day I see the many good things and joys in life that far outweigh the bad, and I say a little thank-you."

You can be sure that I told her that breathing "little prayers of thanksgiving" is one of the most powerful meditations one can do. With this kind of prayerful attitude, the opening to joy is a natural outgrowth. Frequent acknowledgment that life and everything that comes with it are a gift, brings to us the treasure of a richer life—through grace.

If one has had any success at all with humor, silence, and thankfulness, then the conditions will be right for grace to flower in all of its splendor. The petals will unfold naturally in an outward-turned attitude of service. Such service does not necessarily involve intense activity, as one might have expected, although it may. It may just occur in very quiet ways, depending on one's circumstances. Universally, however, it incorporates a gentle sharing of oneself in the calm assurance that all will be well:

When all life becomes a poem of service, in the true, pure, inward sense, then all life grows exceedingly beautiful; it unfolds like a flower.

—N. Sri Ram,(Thoughts for Aspirants)

May the grace of excessive happiness bloom in your heart.