Transforming Fate into Destiny: A New Dialogue with Your Soul

Robert Ohotto
Foreword by Caroline Myss. Carlsbad, Calif.: Hay House, 2008. $14.95. 207 pages.

Why am I here? What is my purpose in life? How can I fulfill my destiny? In Transforming Fate into Destiny, his first book, Robert Ohotto treats these questions clearly and succinctly using his own years of personal experience as well as his work as an intuitive and astrologer.

The terms "fate" and "destiny" are often thought of as the same kind of mysterious force. Ohotto contends that fate and destiny are very different, though collaborative, agencies. Fate is the mysterious preincarnate design of our life that is written in the stars. Destiny, by contrast, is what you make of this design. Ohotto calls the negotiation between fate and destiny your "Cosmic Contract." By means of this contract, we can choose what to do within our mortal limits in order to be more successful as well as less anxious and resistant to life. He writes, "We must embrace consciously that a choice was made when our soul met with our body incarnate, and we made a soul 'decision' to be bound to a contract with Fate....The ego often finds this baffling. How many of us have looked at our lives and wondered why didn't I pick the lot of Bill Gates?" Nevertheless, he adds, "if you are in touch with your true passion, a creative obstacle is meant to help you bring it out more effectively in the world." At this point your free will, in contact with Fate, becomes what the Chinese call wu chi — both crisis and opportunity for personal evolution.

Fate can take the form of a loss, an accident, a rejection. It can confront us as a shock, but it can be an opportunity as well. What our consciousness and ego do with these shocks is the point of the book. Ohotto calls this life-enhancing struggle "a dialogue with the soul": Our Cosmic Contract stipulates that we must come to terms with the fate point, the juncture at which we encounter our mortal limits and must realize our personal potential within those limits.

In this book, Ohotto goes chapter by chapter to explain the process of working with these obstacles, employing lessons and practices that establish new ways of attracting "a way to destiny" in order to clarify and in some cases remove psychological burdens and issues. In the latter half of the book, Ohotto moves into some deeply intuitive areas, illuminating new ways to cope with the shadow, the personal unconscious, and synchronicity. In the end, the book helps us genuinely find ways of doing what we must do anyway, and it helps us to do so with consciousness and intention.

Erin Sullivan

Erin Sullivan is a consultant astrologer, author, and lecturer. Her works include Saturn in Transit: Boundaries of Mind, Body and Soul; Astrology of Family Dynamics; and The Astrology of Midlife and Aging.

Marty Bax
Amsterdam: SUN, 2006. — 42.90 607, pages.

A genuine work of art encompasses an artist's whole being in the inspiration, ideas, and feelings that it expresses. What prevails of the greatest value in art is the spiritual dimension. Paul Klee said it succinctly: "Art does not reproduce the visible but makes visible."

The major exhibition by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in 1986-87 titled The Spiritual in Art: Abstract Painting, 1890—1985, proved that, even in modern times, the spiritual is very much a part of art. Both the exhibition and its catalogue showed that while much of modern art has become so abstract that it appears to be lost in pure form rather than (as we commonly expect) representing our ideas of the physical world, this abstraction reveals a search for the spiritual. The exhibition pointed to Theosophy (and other strains of esoteric wisdom) as a leading impulse for this search, particularly for artists such as Piet Mondrian and Wassily Kandinsky, who are considered the fathers of abstract art. The essential idea was that if the search in art was to express the spiritual, which is formless, only abstract forms could serve that purpose by avoiding the distractions and limitations of concrete objects. This kind of art tried to make visible what cannot be seen, although it can be experienced. Since the time of Mondrian and Kandinsky in the early twentieth century, the Theosophical influence has become more dispersed in a variety of currents from New Age to Zen.

With notable exceptions such as the Los Angeles exhibition, the absence of spiritual study is the norm in milieus where art is usually taught and practiced. (I can testify to this, having taught in such environments for over forty years and found that the subject is virtually taboo.) A sense of the spiritual is absent from the social establishment of collectors, critics, and museums that is responsible for formulating the public perception of "good art." The establishment's valuation mostly reflects a materialistic view of artists and artifacts, focused on their market value. Academic art history, on the other hand, generally examines its subject through visual analysis of form and style rather than through the ideas that lie behind them. Since they tend to overlook the spiritual interests of artists, scholars and historians who have discussed this relationship generally prove to have only a superficial knowledge of Theosophy and similar currents. Therefore they can offer no insight into the phenomenon, nor can they understand the values and controversies that surround this material.

At last we have a book that looks into the fusion of Theosophy and art from an author who has substantial knowledge of both. Marty Bax's work is presently available only in Dutch [redundant, as already included at the beginning]. This scholarly 600-page work examines the complex web of factors in the relationship between art and spirituality. Bax saw a real need to study the ideas that generated this interest, the social context in which it took place, and the various effects it had on individuals and groups in Theosophy, art, and culture. Her methodology underscores the need for other art historians to use a similar approach if they are to offer any genuine understanding of the subject.

Rather than limiting her discussion to "fine art" (painting and sculpture), Bax also includes architecture and design on the premise that these disciplines not only have equal value but influence one another, especially from an esoteric perspective. The unfortunate intellectual tendency to separate design from fine art represents a gross misunderstanding that ignores the intention behind the artifact. Instead it imposes value based on function in society, implying that "fine art" is the "highest" way to practice art, while architecture or "applied" or "decorative" art (metal and ceramic work, furniture and product design, book and graphic design, etc.) is "lower" because of its commercial or functional intent. But spirituality does not limit its perspective to a single mode of expression. From a Theosophical perspective, both the creative artifact and the artist himself are vahanas ("vehicle" for the spiritual in Sanskrit)—an idea that comes to light in this book and which was a major theme for some of the figures discussed here.

Although this book focuses on Dutch artists and their culture in the first half of the twentieth century, one can draw further inferences from it about how esotericism has affected art in general. Because I am of Dutch origin, I felt that I could relate more easily than the non-Dutch to the social, geographic, and historical issues described here, and was at first somewhat critical of portions in the study that appeared too detailed for a non-Dutch audience. However, the more I read, the more I valued such details, which enable even non-Dutch readers to understand the larger context of the ideas and insights discussed. In any event, the picture goes far past Dutch art as such, if only because Dutch artists played such a preeminent international role in this period, especially in design.

The author has tried not only to understand Theosophy but to grasp how Theosophists think and live, as well as how this has influenced the practice of art and its social environment. The book presents the underpinnings of ideas that led up to the interest in Theosophy: the social and ideological context; connections to freethinkers such as Baruch Spinoza; the Freemasons; and parallel trends in art in other countries (especially French Symbolism).

Bax goes on to show how artists shared Theosophical ideas among themselves and how these ideas manifested through individuals and groups. A main example of the latter is the Vahana Lodge of the Dutch TS, created specifically (though not exclusively) for those interested in art, design, and architecture. Mathieu Lauweriks, a principal advocate of both Theosophy and Theosophical theory in art, taught ideas ranging from cell and geometric systems (especially sacred geometry) to asymmetry and organics as vitalizing principles (Fohat, kundalini) for creation and unity. These esoteric elements influenced design styles, including the famous Amsterdam School of architecture and its creator, H. P. Berlage, who is generally considered the father of Dutch modern architecture, but whose Theosophical influence is usually overlooked.

Bax goes into some detail about three painters and their Theosophical interests: Herman Heijenbroek saw the blue-collar worker as a Promethean transformer of raw matter and sought to inspire this social group through his paintings; Janus de Winter saw his work as a visionary vehicle derived from the astral perspective; and Piet Mondrian, utilizing the underlying principles of cosmo/anthropogenisis, offered a glimpse of this ultimately invisible cosmic web. Bax does not, however, limit her study to those recognized by the art establishment but includes lesser-known artists, whose influences were nonetheless considerable, and describes how their work was accepted or rejected socially. She does the same for architecture and design, and how these affected each other.

Ultimately, this study reveals how a Theosophical orientation, based on freethinking and diversity, produced many different forms of expression, making it difficult to speak of "Theosophical art," since no iconography, form, or style entirely fits such categorization. Frequently artists were active in multiple disciplines (one reason Bax was compelled to cover the full panorama of art). This diversity becomes apparent through her case studies—an approach that also makes it easier to understand the influence of Theosophy on specific artists.

I found this to be an absorbing and insightful book that should be of value to all who want to understand the interface between Theosophy and art, and how this phenomenon helped shape the social environment and affected the future of modern art. The book's clarity, thoroughness, and cohesion are exemplary. They make me hope that this work, which deserves the attention of Theosophists, artists, and art experts alike, will become available in English soon.

Thomas Ockerse

This reviewer is professor of graphic design at the Rhode Island School of Design, a third generation Theosophist, and Life Member of the Theosophical Society. He served as Eastern Regional Director and on the Pumpkin Hollow board, and lectured at various centers here and abroad on the relationship of Theosophy and art.

Buddhist Goddesses of India

Miranda Shaw
Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Hardcover, $35.00, 571 pages.

Goddesses have always fascinated the Eastern mind, including Buddhists and Hindus, and there is good reason for this fascination. In these cultures, goddesses have presided over childbirth; helped farmers in agriculture; brought prosperity to households; offered the populace protection from disease, epidemics, and dangers; encouraged the arts, education, and learning; and, above all, provided the opportunity for spiritual awakening.

The use of the term "goddess," referring to female deities and divinities, is widespread in Eastern religious scholarship and is used extensively in South and Southeast Asian literature. Sharing the cosmology of the South Asian usage, Buddhism envisioned a universe inhabited by gods, goddesses, and other supernatural beings. Although Buddhists recognize the existence of a panoply of divine beings, they do not accord them moral or spiritual superiority, but simply count them among the array of sentient beings in the universe.

Beautifully written and illustrated, Buddhist Goddesses of India is a treat to read. It fills a growing need for information about Indian goddesses by chronicling the history, legends, rituals, and artistic images of these female deities. It also explains the complex role of goddesses in the cultures of India and the Himalayan plateau.

The reader will immediately notice how comprehensively Miranda Shaw has researched and explained the important attributes, character, powers, and traditions of nineteen goddesses, devoting a chapter to each. She has carefully divided these chapters into three sections, documenting the female pantheon as it evolved through (1) the ascent of the sacred female in early Buddhism, followed by (2) the Mahayana Mothers of Liberation, and ending with (3) the Tantric female Buddhas. She has also included two important human figures—Mayadevi, the mother of Shakyamuni Buddha, and Gotami, his foster mother and founder of the female monastic order. Even Hindu goddesses, such as the earth goddess Prthivi and Laksmi, the goddess of good fortune, find a place in this book. The method of treatment allows every chapter to be read independently.

In her epilogue, Shaw emphasizes how Buddhism, as a product of the Indian soil, evinced a rich and vital tradition of goddess veneration. The pantheon of goddesses reflects the religious sentiments and ideals of the Buddhist populace over the centuries, including the forms of divine assistance they have sought, and the types of beings in whom they have vested their hopes for blessings, protection, and guidance. The goddesses embody wisdom, knowledge, artistic aspiration, and spiritual realizations. We also find them associated with such natural phenomena as the earth, trees, plant life, the planetary system, mountains, and rivers.

But there is much more to fascinate the reader. Shaw offers sixteen beautiful color plates and scores of black and white pictures. Collected from museums and archeological sites across the world, they are among the best available anywhere in the field. These illustrations are the essence of the book, helping us to understand the subtle meaning behind these divine figures—why they exist, why they appear as they do, and what they teach us about Buddhist thought, practice, history, ritual practices, and other Hindu and folk traditions. Moving among these various representations, Shaw creates compelling accounts of each deity's religious significance.

This comprehensive book is for anyone directly or indirectly interested in topics connected with Buddhism, India, goddesses, Southeast Asia, Indian art and architecture, comparative religions, or religious art. Its stories and pictures engage and delight. The scholarship is impeccable, and Shaw's expertise is evident in her insightful interpretations. It is both a masterpiece and a very significant contribution to Buddhist literature. There is no question that this work will remain an important resource for some time to come. I recommend it very highly.

C. Jotin Khisty

The reviewer is professor emeritus of urban planning at the Illinois Institute of Technology in Chicago.

Grammar for the Soul: Using Language for Personal Change

Lawrence A. Weinstein
Wheaton, IL: Theosophical Publishing House, Quest Books, 2008. Hardcover, $16.95, 361 pages.

With his recently published book Grammar for the Soul, Lawrence Weinstein has perhaps created a new sub-category of self-help books: language as a means of personal transformation. When we visit the "self-help" section of our local bookstore, we generally find an assortment of books on yoga, meditation, positive thinking, visualization, and stress management techniques. Now we can add grammar to the list.

"I have come to view the realm of grammar," says Weinstein, "as a kind of rarefied gymnasium, where—instead of weights, a treadmill, mats, and a balance beam—one finds active verbs, passive verbs, periods, apostrophes, dashes, and a thousand other pieces of linguistic equipment, each of which, properly deployed, can provide exercise for the spirit like that which gym apparatus provides the body."

This reviewer found the title of the book intriguing, if for no other reason than that the subject of grammar is often associated with the caricature of punctilious professors of English inflicting their inscrutable "rules" of writing on a class of confused and slightly bored students. In the minds of many people, contemplating the rules of grammar has to rank right up there with thinking about going to the dentist or preparing one's taxes for the IRS.

The good news is that Grammar for the Soul is a delightful and creative approach to self-development. For anyone who spends any amount of time writing—whether letters, casual notes, e-mail to friends, or even writing done on a professional basis—this is a book well worth reading. Although Weinstein has taught at Harvard University (he now teaches at Bentley College), do not let his academic credentials scare you. His is not a book filled with esoteric canons for professional wordsmiths, but one that will be easily read by the layperson, although some of the subtleties may escape the reader the first time through. Weinstein's prose is both lucid and pointed; his style is suggestive but non-dogmatic. Far from being the arcane subject that has been reluctantly endured by generations of school children, Weinstein's approach to grammar is filled with humor, personal anecdotes, and colorful illustrations. It is reminisvent of the following passage from The Story of My Life, in which Helen Keller jubilantly acclaims, "The mystery of language was revealed to me . . . That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, joy, set it free!" I believe it is not too much of a stretch to suggest that reading Weinstein's book possibly will generate a similar excitement and renewal of interest in the process of writing, especially as it relates to the development of our soul, or, shall we say, character?

Language not only allows us to express ourselves and communicate with others, but it "helps determine what one thinks and feels in the first place." We are molded and conditioned, perhaps in quite imperceptible ways, by our choice of words and syntax. To paraphrase the biblical passage in Matthew 15:11, "It is that which comes out of the mouth that shapes the person."

A couple of examples based on the techniques found in Grammar for the Soul will give the reader a clearer idea of the way grammar can impact our psychological state. In the compound sentence, "I've applied for several jobs, but no one has hired me," the key word is the conjunction "but" which acts as a fulcrum between the two clauses. Now, witness the effect of reversing the position of the two clauses: "No one has hired me, but I continue to apply for jobs." The first example sets a decidedly pessimistic tone, while the second is upbeat and optimistic. Weinstein explains, "By filling in the 'but' clause, we exercise our right to declare which one is the more important, more salient, or useful of the truths."

Another interesting part of the book is the section on creative passivity. In Strunk and White's classic book The Elements of Style, first published in 1959, the authors strongly recommend the use of the active voice when writing, because "the active voice is usually more direct and vigorous than the passive." This has since become such an accepted dogma that when writing today in Word documents, the spell-check feature automatically highlights any passive construction with a recommendation to use the active voice instead. Weinstein, however, gives an excellent illustration of where it would be more appropriate and edifying for the writer (or speaker) to use the passive mode. Rather than reveal his specific illustration, I would offer a similar example based on the following fact: the recipient for the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize was the 14th Dalai Lama. If the Dalai Lama were to say, "I won the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize" he would be using the active mode. But if his Holiness were to say, "I was awarded the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize" he would be using the passive voice. Both statements are true, but when considered from a spiritual vantage point, one suggests humility while the other suggests preoccupation with the personal self. Had the Dalai Lama actually made such a statement, is there any doubt as to which mode of expression His Holiness would have used? Also, anyone who receives a major award is often assisted and helped by numerous supporters and collaborators working behind the scenes. To use the active voice, as in the above example, may be correct from a legalistic point of view, but articulating it that way ignores the valuable contributions and dedication of others who worked beneath the radar screen of public scrutiny to help make such an achievement possible. In other words—using the above example—the active voice is all about "me," whereas the passive voice implies an element of humility and selflessness.

There are many other nuggets of wisdom in Grammar for the Soul, but rather than reveal too much, this reviewer feels that they are best left for interested readers to joyfully discover on their own.

David P. Bruce

This reviewer is a long-time member of the Theosophical Society, and after a twenty-five year career in the industrial electronics distribution field, joined the staff at Olcott where he works full time as the Director of Education.