Three Books of Occult Philosophy

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, translated by Eric Purdue
Rochester, Vt.: Inner Traditions, 2021: 808 pp., three volumes, hardcover, $195.

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s Three Books of Occult Philosophy are a cornerstone of the Western esoteric tradition. They have exerted enormous influence since they were first published in 1533.

These books were not translated into English until 1651, when one “J.F.” published a version in London. It has attracted a certain amount of veneration, but even apart from its archaic language, it is highly flawed. In certain places, one has the impression that J.F. himself did not understand what the Latin meant.

No one else translated the text into English for the next 370 years. Finally, a new version has come out from Eric Purdue. It is remarkably clear and readable, partly because Purdue has followed Agrippa’s style, which is, considering the complexity of the material, reasonably straightforward and matter-of-fact.

Purdue has had to face a number of difficulties in dealing with this text. Probably the most acute has to do with its long lists of plants, animals, and stones. Agrippa promulgated the doctrine of correspondences—“as above, so below”—and, like many occultists, connected each of the planets with different things on this earthly plane. The problem here is often identifying which things he meant. It is complicated by the fact that Agrippa followed the pattern of learned men in his day: he reproduced material from esteemed, often ancient, sources, such as the Natural History of Pliny the Elder, possibly without knowing himself what these words referred to in some instances.

To give some idea of the two translations, here are J.F.’s and Purdue’s versions of a passage chosen at random, from chapter 22 of book 3. To begin with, J.F.’s:

Therefore in what virtue thou thinkest thou canst most easily be a proficient in, use diligence to attain the height thereof, that thou mayest excel in one, when in many thou canst not: but in the rest, endeavor to be as great a proficient as thou canst: but if thou shalt have the overseers of nature, and religion agreeable, thou shalt find a double progress of thy nature, and profession: but if they shall be disagreeing, follow the better, for thou shalt better perceive at some time a preserver of an excellent profession, than of nativity.

Here is Purdue’s:

Therefore, attend to that virtue with which you can most easily progress to the highest honor and that you can excel in where all cannot. Yet, in other [virtues], strive to be as proficient as you can. Disregard nothing. If you have harmonious guardians of nature and profession, you will see a double progress and growth in both that nature and profession. However, if [these two geniuses] are unequal, follow the best: for you will sometimes receive a more distinguished profession than in the nativity.

This chapter deals with the three daemons or genii that rule over the human being: the divine one; the daemon of the natal astrological chart; and the daemon of the profession one chooses, “which the soul, when it chose this body and began to dress itself in the character, secretly desired.” This paragraph, the last in the chapter, deals with which one an individual should follow. If the daemons of the natal chart and the profession are in agreement, the individual will prosper in both areas. But if they are not, then, Agrippa is saying, follow the genius of the profession rather than the one of the nativity.

I read the Latin of the last clause differently from both translations: nam melius aliquando fomentum percipies egregiae professionis quam nativitatis. Fomentum here seems to mean something like comfort or even satisfaction; one online Latin dictionary gives solace as one of its meanings. So I would translate this, “For sometimes you will experience more satisfaction from a distinguished profession than from a nativity.”

This at least gives some idea of the issues a translator faces. A great deal of a translation’s success has to do with combining fidelity to the original with clarity and readability. Often this requires sacrificing a literal translation in favor of one that recasts the original grammatically or even restates it in other words. The Italians say, “Traduttori, traditori”: “Translators are traitors.”

In any event, Purdue’s translation is a useful and welcome one. But it does not, to my mind, supplant what up to now had been the most popular edition of Agrippa: an edition of J.F.’s translation with notes and comments by Donald Tyson, published in 1993. Tyson’s edition has notes that are much more detailed and comprehensive than Purdue’s. If I were to study the text carefully, I would read Purdue’s translation with Tyson’s at hand.

Inner Traditions has done justice to this text. It is published in a three-volume slipcased edition, which, though expensive, is handsomely executed. I believe that anyone with a deep interest in the Western occult tradition will want to own it.

Richard Smoley

           


Oneness Is Not Sameness

Printed in the  Spring 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Goldsberry, Clare "Oneness Is Not Sameness" Quest 110:2, pg 12-13

 

By Clare Goldsberry

Clare GoldsberryWe often hear people say, “We are all one.” Yet I have never found anyone who can explain that statement. Most people who throw it out into the air believe that we are all one if we are all the same: if we have the same religious and political views—the two issues that would seem to divide us more starkly than any other.

The primary reason no one can explain this statement is that the minute we say “we,” we admit separateness. “We” = “you and I,” and that is the acknowledgement of separateness.

Transpersonal psychologist Ken Wilber says, “Consciousness and the universe are not separate entities.” We merely perceive them as separate because we objectify the world in which we live. In fact, there is no object “out there,” for everything is created by and in our mind. “Falling into the real world, where the observer is the observed, it becomes obvious that you and the universe are not, were not and never will be separate entities” (Wilber, 90). Separation is an illusion.

Unity, which Wilber describes as “nondual awareness,” is difficult to experience on this level of consciousness, which is grounded in duality and opposites. For example, there is “self” and “other”—or at least that is the way we perceive the separateness between my “self” in here and “you” out there. Duality is the conventional truth of the existence of all phenomena; using the senses, the ego perceives that all phenomena exist “out there” separate from me,“in here.”

The Russian philosopher P.D. Ouspensky says, “Duality is the condition of our knowledge of the phenomenal (three dimensional) world; this is the instrument of our knowledge of phenomena. But when we come to the knowledge of the noumenal world (the world of many dimensions), this duality begins to hinder us, appears as an obstacle to knowledge” (Ouspensky, Tertium Organum, 265; emphasis in all quotes is from the original).

What do we mean by “knowledge”? The Hindu philosopher Sri Aurobindo writes that “knowledge of the ONE is Knowledge”: the only true knowledge, or ultimate Truth in the Eastern philosophies. This is knowledge that goes beyond duality: “Most people have only a superficial knowledge, which Aurobindo calls “the Ignorance.” It is a “separative knowledge,” which is limited to duality—seeing things as distinctly “other”—which means “there is no essential unity between them,” making reconciliation impossible (Aurobindo, 567).

Ouspensky tells us that “we must train our thoughts to the idea that separateness and inclusiveness are not opposed in the real world, but exist simultaneously without contradicting one another . . . Dualism is the chief ‘idol’; let us free ourselves from it” (Ouspensky, 266).

Unity can only be experienced in pure Mind; one consciousness: the All That Is. Even the statement “I am one with you” is erroneous, because it reflects an illusion. There is no self; there is no “I” that exists “in here” or a “you” that exists “out there.”

Experiencing ultimate Reality, which is nondual awareness (as opposed to conditioned reality or illusion), allows mind to realize its oneness with All That Is. Because there is only one universal Mind, we can only experience unity when we have embraced the duality as part of the One. Therefore it is futile to chase after a constructed unity on this level of consciousness—a forced unity that fails to recognize a duality in which the One is present.

In his essay “Plato; or The Philosopher,” Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “In all nations there are minds which incline to dwell in the conception of the fundamental Unity. The raptures of prayer and ecstasy of devotion lose all being in one Being. This tendency finds its highest expression in the religious writings of the East, and chiefly in the Indian Scriptures, in the Vedas, the Bhagavat Geeta, and the Vishnu Purana. Those writings contain little else than this idea, and they rise to pure and sublime strains in celebrating it.” (Emerson, 425–26).

Buddhism, which grew out of the Hindu tradition, speaks of the duality of self and otheras merely a perspective. To me, I am “self.” To you, I am “other,” and vice versa. The example is used of the idea of friend or enemy—words that convey a perspective, a judgment, or a label that we put on each other. Today you are my friend; tomorrow you are my enemy. What changed? Nothing except my perception of you!

Emerson addresses this issue in his essay on Plato: “The Same, the Same: friend and foe are of one stuff; the ploughman, the plough and the furrow are of one stuff; and the stuff is such and so much that the variations of form are unimportant.” Emerson quotes Krishna from the Bhagavad Gita: “You are fit to apprehend that you are not distinct from me. That which I am, thou art, and that also is this world, with its gods and heroes and mankind. Men contemplate distinctions because they are stupefied with ignorance . . . The words I and mine constitute ignorance . . . The knowledge that this spirit, which is essentially one, is in one’s own and in all other bodies, is the wisdom of one who knows the unity of things” (Emerson, 426).

Perhaps we fail to find oneness because we cannot acknowledge and accept our differences, looking instead for sameness to create oneness. But oneness must be seen as harmony among differences, much like playing a piano, where eighty-eight different keys, with eighty-eight different tones, when played in synchrony, create a beautiful harmony. The gnostic being, whom Aurobindo defines as one who lives from the Divine within, will accept and harmonize all differences:

Our mental rendering of oneness brings into it the rule of sameness; a complete oneness brought about by the mental reason drives towards a thoroughgoing standardization as its one effective means—only minor shades of differentiation would be allowed to operate: but the greatest richness of diversity in the self-expression of oneness would be the law of the gnostic life. In the gnostic consciousness difference would not lead to discord but to a spontaneous natural adaption, a sense of complimentary plenitude . . . For the difficulty in mind and life is created by ego. (Aurobindo, 1046–47)

Aurobindo notes that the law of the higher mind “is unity fulfilled in diversity.” This Higher Mind “sees everything from the standpoint of oneness and regards all things, even the greatest multiplicity and diversity, even what are to the Mind the strongest contradictions, in the light of that oneness, its actions proceed upon that basis.”

When we recognize the whole world and all living things “as a manifestation of Vishnu, who is identical with all things,” quotes Emerson from the Bhagavad Gita, “and is to be regarded by the wise as not differing from, but as the same as themselves,” we can realize the true oneness of all without any thought of sameness (Emerson, 426).

The Trappist monk and mystic Thomas Merton said that when this realization or recognition occurs, we don’t necessarily discover “a new unity.” What we discover is “an older unity . . . We are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are.” Merton calls on us to “recover our original unity” (Merton, 308).

But what is that original unity? Certainly we can see the differences in all of us as individuals, yet we are told that we are one, made in the image and likeness of God. Surely this does not refer to the physical level, where our differences are quite obvious, but to a level of spirit and spiritual consciousness or higher Mind.

At that point we can not only acknowledge and accept our differences but celebrate them. These differences do not require special laws of accommodation or recognition, because we have gained the ability to see the One in the Many, as the Many are in the One. We can then embrace our oneness with grace. Merton says. “Grace is not a strange, magical substance which is subtly filtered into our souls to act as a kind of spiritual penicillin. Grace is unity, oneness within ourselves; oneness with God.”


 

Sources

Sri Aurobindo. The Life Divine. 3d ed. Pondicherry, India: Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust, 2013.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. The Essential Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson. New York: Modern Library, 2000.

Merton, Thomas. The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton. New York: New Directions, 1975.

Ouspensky, P.D. Tertium Organum. Great Britain, Aziloth Books, 2014 (first published in English in 1922).

Wilber, Ken. The Spectrum of Consciousness. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1977.


Clare Goldsberry

Clare Goldsberry’s new book, The Illusion of Life and Death: Mind, Consciousness, and Eternal Being, is reviewed on page TK of this issue.


Viewpoint: Beyond Duality

Printed in the  Spring 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hebert, Barbara "Viewpoint: Beyond Duality" Quest 110:2, pg 10-11

 

Barbara Hebert
National President

Barbara HebertMany spiritual concepts seem paradoxical. A less tenacious student may look at the contradictions in such ideas and drop the subject entirely. However, those who are willing to dig more deeply and ponder the contradictions may find spiritual treasure. One such paradox is the idea that duality exists within the unity of all life. It is helpful to contemplate these two seemingly disparate concepts in more detail.

Contemplation of the unity of all life brings the idea of a whole: an undivided, harmonious, Oneness. This Oneness is fully inclusive. All life is contained within it, without differentiation, division, or separation.

On the other hand, some individuals may perceive duality as two conflicting forces that oppose one another. Examples of these opposing forces might be up/down; in/out; push/pull. Others may perceive duality as the difference between subject and object. If I am the subject, then everything I observe is the object. Duality is based on differentiation, division, and separation: the exact opposite of unity. Paradoxically, then, duality exists within the unity of all life.

The Theosophical perspective provides some of the treasure that underlies this paradoxical statement. Although continued contemplation may lead to even more gems of wisdom that can only be found by looking within, let’s consider some of the valuable insights that are provided in Theosophical literature.

From Theosophical teachings, we learn that duality (differentiation or separation) only occurs in the manifested universe. In The Secret Doctrine, H.P. Blavatsky writes, “The ‘Manifested Universe,’ therefore, is pervaded by duality, which is, as it were, the very essence of its ex-istence as manifestation” (1:15).

Because duality occurs only in the manifested world, it is in the physical realm that we perceive differences and see separation. As I walk down the street, I see the trees as separate from me and from one another. I compare the dark green of the leaves to the vivid blue of the sky and perceive they are different things. In the pasture, I see cows and horses grazing on the green grass. Again, I perceive them as separate from me and from one other. Furthermore, I perceive that they are different kinds of animals. My brain has further separated them into categories: cow and horse. If I pay enough attention, I realize that my brain has categorized the brown cows into one class and the black and white cows into another.

Certainly duality or differentiation is a part of the manifested universe and the way our brains perceive the world in which we live. Many other examples of differentiation are at hand. In the international president’s message for the Theosophical Society’s 146th International Convention in late December 2021, Tim Boyd said, “Our experience is fragmented—joyful/sad, here/there, before/after, outer/inner.” In addition, we can look at other ways in which we separate ourselves and the world in which we live: male/female, old/young, me/you, them/us.

Yet according to Theosophical teachings, we are not separate at all. At the core of our being, we are one. In The Secret Doctrine, HPB tells us that there is “one absolute Reality which antecedes all manifested, conditioned being” (1:14). Moreover, “the opposite poles of subject and object, spirit and matter, are but aspects of the One Unity in which they are synthesized” (1:16).

In discussing duality in relation to Theosophy, Vic Hao Chin writes, “Theosophy is a nondualistic philosophy. It posits an Absolute principle beyond all manifestations and dualities. It is only in manifestation that there is duality and multiplicity.”

We realize that the manifested world in which we live, while it is real to us as we exist within it, is illusory from the perspective of the Absolute. Therefore, duality, division, and separation are also illusory if we view them in a more universal or higher way.

What we have discussed to this point has been theoretical. In his article “Essentials of Theosophy,” published in The Theosophist in May 1981, John Algeo writes:

 

There are two aspects of Theosophy whose essentials need to be considered: the theoretical aspect and the practical. The word theory comes from the Greek theoria, “a view or way of looking at things.” A theory is a window on the world. Sometimes, indeed, the word is used to refer to something unreal or impractical, as when we say, “Oh, that’s just theory.” But to reject theories is to reject windows and therefore to remain in a closed and viewless room. As “The Golden Stairs” tells us, we need open minds; and for the mind to be open, it must have windows—that is, theories—and it needs more windows than one.

In addition to being theoretical, however, Theosophy is also practical. The word practice comes from the Greek praktike, “a concern with action,” from the verb prassein, “to pass through, experience, act.” Theory is looking; practice is doing. The two are complementary, each being indispensable to the other. If we wish to sail across the “perilous seas,” we need both a chart to guide us and a skilled crew to run the ship. Lacking either, the ship is lost. So theory without practice is a map that is not followed, whereas practice without theory is a journey with no direction.

Therefore, while theoretical discussions about the Absolute, Duality, and Oneness are fascinating and can keep us enthralled in discussion for quite some time, it is essential that we look at its counterpart. From a practical perspective, we may ask, “If duality is an integral component of physical life, what are we supposed to learn from it? What is the value of duality in my day-to-day life?”

It has been said that to appreciate light, one must know darkness; to experience happiness, one must experience sadness, and so on. Therefore, in order to know Oneness, we must experience separateness. How would we know Oneness without having first experienced separateness?

Assuming that experiencing separation allows us to more consciously know Oneness, we recognize the value of living in a world that is dualistic in nature. We realize that it is a spiritual challenge on our journey: to exist in a world that is filled with differentiation and separation yet become consciously aware of the unity that exists beyond the duality. Our spiritual journey compels us to move beyond division and separateness toward the essential Oneness.

If the manifest world is inherently dual in nature, then we must move beyond the manifest toward the unmanifest. We must reach beyond the temporary components of ourselves: the physical as well as the emotional and “lower” mental aspects of our being. We must attempt to touch the higher aspects of our nature. As we do this, we reach toward that Oneness.

The question then becomes: how do we attempt to touch the higher aspects of our nature? Each individual’s journey is different, yet striving toward a connection with the higher aspects of our nature is an important component of our spiritual quest. Some may connect through contemplation or meditation; others may connect by spending time in nature; others, through interactions with others; still others, through an intuitive leap during intense study. Regardless of how we come to this connection, we are, at least for a moment, touching that higher aspect of ourselves.

While connecting with that higher aspect of ourselves may last for only a brief moment, a split second, we have accessed the Eternal. We have come, as much as possible, to a conscious understanding of the unity of all life.

With this conscious understanding of Oneness comes a deepening moral and ethical perspective. The way we perceive our world and those who inhabit it are changed. We no longer see ourselves as separate from and perhaps competing with others; rather, we see ourselves as united at our core. We work for the benefit of all living beings. We realize that what happens to one of us happens to all of us, because we are the same.

This is at least part of the treasure we find buried under the paradoxical statement that duality is inherent within the unity of all life. In order to consciously experience Oneness, we must first experience duality and differentiation. Experiences rooted in separation compel us toward an understanding of the essential unity of all life. As we move in this direction and touch those higher aspects of ourselves, we change. As we change, the world changes.


Sources

Algeo, John. “Essentials of Theosophy.” The Theosophist, May 1981: https://theosophicalsociety.org.au/statics/the-essentials-of-theosophy.

Blavatsky, H.P. The Secret Doctrine. Two volumes. Wheaton: Quest, 1993.

Chin, Vic Hao. “Duality.” Theosophy World, accessed Jan. 3, 2022: https://theosophy.world/encyclopedia/dualism.


From the Editor's Desk Spring 2022

Printed in the  Spring 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard "From the Editor's Desk" Quest 110:2, pg 37-39

Richard SmoleyIf you look at the word nonduality, it’s really quite peculiar. It tells us that there is such a thing as duality, and something that is not duality. So you have two things. So you still have duality.

In fact, it is often hard to understand what people are thinking of when they use this term. Many of them leave you with the distinct impression that duality is bad or inferior to nonduality. But how does that get you past duality?

As A.V. Srinivasan’s article in this issue shows, nonduality has a very specific meaning in Hindu thought. It is a translation of advaita, which means not dual. It refers to different schools of the Hindu darshan (perspective) on the Vedas called Vedanta, and has to do with the existence of a personal God—Ishwara in Sanskrit.

Dvaita (dualistic) Vedanta asserts the existence of a personal God and the existence of individual selves, who worship him.

Advaita Vedanta denies that this is the case. It insists that there is no ultimate difference between the Self (atman) and Brahman, that is, between the Self and God. Any differences between the two are merely illusory.

Then there is the intermediate position of Vishishtadvaita, or qualified dualism, which holds that Brahman, the individual soul, and the physical world are all real, distinct, yet inextricably interrelated.

In the West, dualism means something quite different. In theology, it refers to the belief in the existence of two independent principles in systems like Zoroastrianism and Manichaeism, which posit a fundamental cleavage between the good and the bad—the light and the dark—in the universe.

Secondly, dualism has been used to characterize the metaphysics of Descartes, who claimed that there is a radical difference between mind and body, which, he said, run on separate tracks, connected in some unexplained way in the pineal gland.

Still another use of dualism has to do with other schools of Hindu philosophy, notably the Samkhya (usually translated as something like enumeration but probably more accurately rendered as analysis). Here the duality is between purusha and prakrti, which mean consciousness and the contents of consciousness respectively. Glen Kezwer’s article in this issue delves into this duality: he points out the difference between the Knower, as experienced in meditation, and what the Knower perceives—experience at all its levels, both internal and external.

 Dualism, then, is hard to avoid. At certain levels of meditative practice, you can still perceive a self and an other, but the relation between these has shifted radically. Ordinary consciousness identifies with the body and personality as opposed to an external world out there. By contrast, at these levels of meditation, the orientation shifts: there is the Knower, which realizes that the true Self is quite distinct from the body and the personality, which are mere composites of physical sensations, emotions, thoughts, and ideas. These can be observed from a distance in meditation. If you can see something from a distance, it follows that you are not there; furthermore, you are not it.

Is there a state beyond? Yes, and it points to nondual experience. If consciousness is the distinction between self and other, then, if self and other vanish, there is no consciousness. As Glen Kezwer indicates in this issue, it is a state very much like deep sleep. In certain meditative states, awareness persists, but it is objectless. As such, it is paradoxical to describe or understand conceptually.

Is this objectless awareness the Absolute—the furthest you can go? Here it is amusing to look at the dialogue between Eastern and Christian mystics. Christians sometimes say that this objectless awareness is merely a forecourt to the encounter with the living personal God. Some Hindu mystics say that the experience of the personal God—Ishwara—is merely a prelude to objectless absolute consciousness.

Who’s right? It’s impossible to say. That’s because experience may be absolute in itself, but the mind interprets this experience in terms of its own cognitive structures, including religious ones. Even though the experience of the mystics of all religions may be remarkably similar, they will express it in light of the theologies they have internalized.

 At this point, you may be asking, “Who cares about all this intellectual mumbo-jumbo? What does it all matter?” Actually, this kind of discourse is a form of yoga, called jnana yoga, or the yoga of knowledge. It is distinct from bhakti yoga, the practice of devotion; karma yoga, the practice of action; or hatha yoga, the yoga of breathing and bodily postures. But it is no less legitimate or important. It holds that contemplating these deep questions with the intellect is itself a means of inner transformation.

In any event, some seem to think that it’s important to overcome duality. Of course, that’s impossible: if you are overcoming duality, you still have you and duality, which are two things, so you still have duality.

 It may be best to close with the conclusion to Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus: “Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen.” Meaning, “What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.”

Richard Smoley

               

               


Piercing the Trance: The Wholeness Process

Printed in the  Spring 2022 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Sugg, Judith "Piercing the Trance: The Wholeness Process" Quest 110:2, pg 37-39

        

By Judith Sugg

JuithSuggAt our Source, we are the same, yet an individual’s interaction with the world is distinctive. Psychology refers to the sum of our habitual responses and tendencies as personality, and these patterns and biases can prevent us from experiencing life directly. If we believe we are the sum of these patterns rather than an emanation of the Source, we remain ignorant of our true nature.

Those on a spiritual path align their lives with ideals such as Truth and Love. Sadly, our best intentions are shattered by those same biases, habits, and knots (granti) of personality. Millennia ago, the Katha Upanishad (3.5) taught that a person “who has not understanding (avijnana), whose mind is not constantly held firm—his senses are uncontrolled, like the vicious horses of a chariot driver” (Hume, 351). We see this truth every day, in ourselves and others.

Meditation is the most prescribed tool for holding the mind firm, yet its course is arduous. As Annie Besant and C.W. Leadbeater noted, internal silence is a rarity, and even though no one else hears the chaos in our mind, that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Thoughts are energy and form, often existing in conflict, fueling emotions and self-interest.

I have long been intrigued by the mechanics of the mind as viewed in both psychology and meditation. How do we align higher ideals and intentions with personality patterns that seem so entrenched? Having taught yoga and meditation for thirty years, I have a deep respect for the potential power of practices, but I also know the hazards and struggles they involve. This article attempts to link our highest intentions for living with love and clarity with a psychological tool that deepens meditation.

The Purpose of Meditation

I.K. Taimni, whose translations of Hindu texts are well known to Theosophists, published a short paper on the more profound aspect of meditation in The American Theosophist. He speaks to the motivation for meditation, hoping to move the theoretical discussion of yoga to a deep, serene, impersonal experience of Reality. Without an impartial perspective, we are likely to remain oblivious to the illusions in our mind. Taimni states that intensity of purpose is needed to “open up the channels between the lower and the higher and establish the center of consciousness on the spiritual planes of manifestation” (Taimni, 323).

When that happens, no matter the circumstances of life, the higher mind is present, “brooding in the background.” Here spiritual knowledge or intuition comes as a direct perception of Truth, and these glimpses, free of illusions of the lower mind, fuel steadiness in meditation. Does this spiritual knowledge or intuition result solely from effort and devotion? Maybe, but knowing how our lower mind is structured—and deconstructed—helps our practice become more reliable and purposeful.

Untrancing

There is an old story, told in many forms. A meditation teacher asks a novice to fetch him a glass of water. To fetch the water, the novice decides to walk down a trail. He meets a woman, falls in love, and has children. To his horror, the family’s lives are threatened by a flood! But then the family is rescued! And he is saved from sure death! Suddenly, in the middle of this drama, the novice feels a tap on his shoulder. A voice asks, “Where is my water?” While only a few seconds have passed in reality, the mind has conjured up a lifetime of events.

Trances are, by their very nature, enticing, unconscious, and seductive. Personality is the most elusive trance of all. Meditation elucidates how wildly pervasive it is: can we sit even two minutes before wandering off to memories, plans, and imaginations?

Guided imagery substitutes another trance, with good intentions and often good results, because it encourages relaxation and possibility. A more skilled meditator will eschew trance by tracking the breath, being mindful of the moment, or focusing intently on a chosen symbol or concept. As meditators wrench their awareness back to task when their mind wanders away, they exercise a mental muscle to break an impending trance. This effort takes courage and skill but results in increased clarity, stillness, and freedom from drama.

Shifting Consciousness

When I met psychotherapist Connirae Andreas and learned her Wholeness Process, I recognized something that was integrated with, and complementary to, meditation. This process hones the skill to manage the mind and pierce the trance of personality. This process is not everything needed to reach that deeper level, but it is an elementary how-to for shifting consciousness.

As I learned this process, I realized that what arises in meditation is not just a thought or sensation: it is a door opening to a colorful, enticing story. Until we can open or close that door at will, we have no control. For example, I start to meditate and notice my left arm itches. The door opens, and I wonder about the hike we took: we were warned about poison oak; now I feel scared; I don’t know if it got on my dog . . . Two minutes later, if I am lucky, I return.

The understandings behind the Wholeness Process arose from Andreas’ health issues. As a psychologist, she now uses the process with others to manage many forms of pain and distress. Starting with a problem or feeling at hand, she helps the client locate where in the body it is located and its sensory qualities. For example, the client locates it in her belly and notes that it is jagged and impermeable. There is no storytelling or history; understanding the story is not the purpose, because the story is part of the entrenched pattern. Here the objective is to dismantle or disentangle the mental structures that hold distress in place, leaving a person free to experience the moment in isolation. When that happens, experientially it feels like profound relaxation.

In meditation, the distress can be anything that arises. After relaxing, the meditator notes what remains after conscious relaxation. There is no expectation of what will arise or remain: it can be an internal voice, memory, feeling, or image. The location can be anywhere, inside the body or outside, although I have found that what remains is frequently inside. Tracking this location can be subtle work, especially for those unaware of the effects of thoughts on the body. For example, I have a thought about planning my day: “I should call my friend.” If I investigate, I note a tension in my left shoulder accompanying these words. For thoughts to have much traction, there is often a corresponding reaction in the body. When I uncover this linkage, I move deeper into the process of unraveling thought because I begin to see the linkages and knots of my thoughts.

To summarize, the meditator notes what remains after relaxation and then finds the location of the experience. Staying with the sensation, the meditator notes its qualities: Is it hot or cold? Fuzzy or clear? Hard or pliable? Hefty or light? Dense? Opaque? Vibrating or still? Notice that no story or meaning is given, and for those of us locked to our stories and explanations, this is a puzzling inquiry! Yet what makes thoughts invasive are the meanings we bestow on them. What makes us open to awareness is an impartial curiosity about the structure of thought.

 Those familiar with Besant and Leadbeater’s work Thought-Forms will find that this type of inquiry jibes with their book’s abstract images of thoughts. Nevertheless, Andreas’ process lacks the interpretation after the fact: in fact, she adamantly avoids the symbolic interpretation offered by Besant and Leadbeater. Andreas’ approach helps relax the structure of thinking rather than ascribing meaning to thoughts.

Meditators talk about an “observer” of thoughts, or, in Andreas’ terminology, the “I who is aware.” Humans have the facility to mentally step out of their experience, gain distance, take perspective, and observe. We can debate the terminology, but ultimately this observation skill is a tool for awareness.

In the Wholeness Process, the “I who is aware” (the observer) is another manifestation of the thought complex. Consequently, the questions are the same: What is the location of “I who is aware”? What is the sensation? When I first asked myself these questions, I was startled to find a concrete answer.

Many find that the location of the “I who is aware” is not inside the body. For me, it is usually located above my head, and its characteristics are fuzziness, permeability, and darkness. It could be anywhere and have any qualities, but when meditators answer these questions, they let go of expectations about what it means.

The “I who is aware” is then “invited to open and relax . . . as the fullness of Awareness . . . There can be an allowing of this to happen in its own way” (Andreas, 87).  Then the original sensation is also invited to open and relax as part of Awareness. I have puzzled over these words, which turn out to be both powerful and beautiful in action. The words both facilitate trance and interrupt the existing trance. This dual action perhaps explains why I see this process as aiding direct perception. As our internal, unconscious structures dissolve upon exposure and kind direction, what is left is, for me, something more authentic.

Now return to the earlier example of a thought in meditation: “I need to call a friend.” I note the thought and feel it in my shoulder and arms. It is a gripping, dense sensation. The “I who is aware” floats above my head on the right, a fuzzy, grey, small orb. I invite the “I who is aware” to melt and relax into all awareness. I take the time to allow this to happen fully. I invite the sensation in my shoulders to relax and dissolve into awareness. They melt. I breathe, and for a blessed time, there is only awareness. I am clear and present.

Andreas suggests that over time, with practice, the “I who is aware” may fade, yielding to the “I who invites awareness,” This is another, subtler layer of thought. When we speak of a meditator who experiences the rise and fall of mental activity without being carried away into trance, we are talking about a presentation of experience without an automatic split in consciousness. In a sense, the old personality structure has, at least for the moment, dissolved. While this may be temporary, the skill to return to wholeness is being honed. It seems natural to expect that when our split in consciousness is healed, compassion arises. We are not a self in the world battling for ourselves; we are.

Whether or not you use this tool, the process highlights three aspects of understanding consciousness. First, the structure of our thoughts and personality is generally unconscious. We obsess about the content of our thoughts, but we don’t pay much attention to the structure. How do we create these thought forms? What is their form? Second, approaching an experience of direct perception deconstructs the unconscious structures of personality. It is not a mystery, at least at the initial levels, to disentangle our coding. Last, for students of yoga in particular, this work sheds light on the mechanics of avidya—how ignorance obscures the knowledge of our own true nature. With that knowledge, we are more likely to align our daily actions and thoughts with our spiritual ideals.


Sources

Andreas, Connirae. Coming to Wholeness. Boulder, Colo.: Real People Press, 2018.

Besant, Annie, and C.W. Leadbeater. Thought-Forms. Adyar, India: Theosophical Publishing House. 1999 [1925].

Hume, R. The Thirteen Principal Upanishads. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Taimni, I.K. “Some Interesting Aspects of Meditation.” TheAmerican Theosophist, 58, no. 11 (Nov. 1970): 320–28: https://www.theosophical.org/files/resources/articles/InterestingAspectsMeditation.pdf.


Judith Sugg, PhD, is a counselor, psychology instructor, and yoga teacher. Her graduate work was in the psychology of yoga and the Samkhya, and she wrote the Study Guide for the Yoga Sutras for the Theosophical Society.


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