Viewpoint: Seeing versus Seeing

Printed in the Winter 2014 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Boyd, Tim."Viewpoint: Seeing versus Seeing" Quest 103.1 (Winter 2015): pg. 2-9.

By Tim Boyd

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.When I was twenty years old I unexpectedly found myself in contact with a number of psychically sensitive people. I had not sought them out. Before making their acquaintance I had not known anything about them or what they did. I was in college at the time and had never given much thought to the whole subject of psychic perception.

A year earlier, while on spring break from school, I had traveled from New York to Chicago. While there I was introduced to an intriguing man. My cousin, whom I was visiting, regarded him as quite wise and had brought me to meet him. If you had asked me at the time, I would have said that I did not want to take time away from my vacation to meet this man. In my nineteen-year-old mind I had better things to do than listen to someone talk about “spirituality”—a subject that was not uppermost in my conscious thought.

I went to see him, not once, but twice. Over the course of those two visits a chain of events was set in motion that profoundly altered my thinking and my direction in life.

It turned out that this man was deeply  involved in working with young people. His name was Bill Lawrence, but the young people around him called him the â€œOld Man.” He was a member of the Theosophical Society and also a highly developed clairvoyant. Although my first meeting with him did not make a deep impression on me, the second was quite different. At that meeting I sat in rapt attention for several hours listening to him talk about the truths of the Ageless Wisdom. He talked in a way that made these ideas that seemed so new, but also strangely familiar to me; instead of high-sounding abstractions, they were powerful tools I could apply in my own life. Over the course of that evening he seasoned his talk with several quite specific details of my personal life which I thought only I could have known. That visit made a very deep impression on  me. I left his house early in the morning and returned home to New York.

Back in New York I found myself thinking about the things he had said. I took time alone on long walks in the park trying to remember and understand what he had shared. It was on one of those walks that I had an experience that irrevocably shifted my way of seeing the world. Literally in an instant everything changed. At the time I did not have the background of study to describe what had happened. I still don’t, but from my immersion in Theosophy and the Ageless Wisdom teachings it is clear that the best way to describe what happened is to say that it was a mystical experience—a sudden movement from a conventional way of seeing the world to a greatly expanded view that revealed
levels of meaning and purpose, powers and energies, patterns and gradations of consciousness that, though always present, were previously invisible to me. This experience and the profound effect it had on my sense of priorities were the reasons why one year later I found myself back in Chicago and suddenly surrounded by all of these psychics.

One by-product of my experience was the realization that even though it had been profound and life-altering, with a little distance from its initial impact it seemed to raise many unanswered questions. What was the nature of this expanded consciousness that had suddenly opened to me? What was the mechanism that made it possible? Was this condition of seeing repeatable? How? I needed answers, and the only place I knew that I could find them was in Chicago with the Old Man. Responding to my pressing need to know more, I did what seemed the logical thing. I took a term off from school; wrote to the Old Man; and on his invitation traveled to Chicago for a series of “classes” that
he said he would be giving for some of his students. 

When I arrived I found that there were a number of young people around my age “studying” with him. Most of them had a strong fascination with psychic phenomena. As time went on I discovered that some were themselves quite sensitive to the psychic world, but unclear about how to integrate these sensitivities into a spiritual life. Astral projection, clairvoyance, clairaudience, and “readings” were new terms that I quickly became familiar with in conversations with my new fellow students.

Because of my background, I arrived at the Old Man’s house with certain preconceptions about the terms “study” and “classes.” At the university these words had clear meanings that implied a formal structure of learning with which I was familiar. In my case, the Old Man initially prescribed a course of reading across a range of Theosophical literature. I greedily devoured the books. He could not give them to me fast enough. He began by giving me one book at a time, then discussing it with me after I had read it. When he found that I was finishing one or two a day, he just pushed a stack of books across to me. In my mind this was study. I soon noticed that none of the other “students” were engaged in such intense reading. While I was in my room reading I would hear them downstairs laughing and talking with the Old Man. I began to feel that his
approach to study might be different from my ideas.

The day arrived for the first of the classes I had been anticipating. It was not like anything I had expected. The Old Man had invited a number of interested friends to come over. He had also invited four or five psychics that he knew. Even though the Old Man never gave readings, or promoted an awareness of his abilities, he was known and highly respected within the circle of sensitives. Then there were six or eight of us—his students. His only advice to us was to watch and listen.

The evening began with normal socializing. Everyone there was new to me, so the Old Man took time to introduce me as his most recent student. In conversation he would have the psychics share their personal stories with me. The dynamic between him and them was fascinating. They all seemed to recognize that he functioned on a different level, a higher level, and they clearly held him in high regard. Later in the evening everyone gathered in the living room. It was time for some of the psychics to take center stage. Two of them took turns working with the group. Each seemed to operate in a different way. One man apparently was being told “messages” to pass on to specific people in the group by people who had passed on who, he said, were on “the other side.” This man was a well-known spiritualist minister. As each message was received, he would say, “Thank you, kindly spirit.” His messages were detailed, and different people would recognize the information as specific to them and to people they knew. A number of times he said the name of the person who was communicating with him, or described their appearance and details of their previous life.

Another woman was a psychometrist. She would ask for a person who wanted a reading to give her some object that they frequently had on their person—a ring, a key, or a watch: some object that she said “carried their vibration.” She would hold the object in her hand, then start telling the person what she saw. At one point a woman who had given her a ring turned quite pale when the reader described an incident in some detail, but refused to say more in front of others because, as she said, “You know what I am talking about, don’t you?” The woman quickly took back her ring.

On another occasion the Old Man had a class that  focused on healers. The setup was the same—friends who were interested in or in need of healing were invited, a few healers, and us. Not all, but most of the healers also seemed to be quite psychically sensitive. They not only applied their nonphysical healing methods, but they also diagnosed the various illnesses without doing any sort of physical examination. One of the healers was exceptional. Her name was Evelyn. She was a simple woman, uneducated, and deeply religious. During the course of the evening she worked on a number of people. Her method was that she would stand in front of the person, then start talking about how she saw their malady. Then she would command the illness, or the “spirit” causing the illness, to release its hold “in the name of Jesus.”

Even though this was forty years ago, I have a vivid memory of two of the people she worked on that night. One was my older brother. He had spent a part of the summer visiting with me in Chicago. He was in that phase of life where he had graduated from college, but was deeply uncertain about what to do next. Until she addressed my brother, all of the people Evelyn had worked on had some physical symptoms. When she came to him she immediately said, “This one needs a mind healing.” Although I could not see it at the time, a few months later he would experience a profound mental crisis.

The second memorable incident occurred with a woman who did not attend the meeting. She was a nurse who did not know about this type of healing. While Evelyn was doing her work, unexpectedly the Old Man got up and walked outside. Later he said that he had gone outside to meet someone—although at that moment he did not know who. While standing on the front porch he saw a neighbor, Mrs. Jones, coming home from work. They greeted each other. Then he walked over to her and asked, “Are you well?” She  responded, “I am so sick. Tomorrow I am going into the hospital for surgery.” He asked her if she would allow Evelyn to see her. Mrs. Jones came into the house and stepped in front of Evelyn. Immediately Evelyn said, â€œI see that you have a hole in your stomach, and it’s bleeding.” Next she put her hand on Mrs. Jones’s belly and started to command the hole to close. She worked on her for several minutes. When she was through, she said that the hole had closed.

For years after that night, on numerous occasions I would hear Mrs. Jones recount the story—how she went into the hospital the next day; how she insisted on being tested again before the operation; how the surgeon came to her perplexed that there was no sign of the bleeding ulcer that had been the reason for the surgery; and how it never returned.

As fascinating as the meetings were, the aftermath was more so. When everyone had gone, late into the night the Old Man would talk to us about what had happened. He would expand on what the psychics had seen, on what had happened with the healings. He would describe in greater detail what the psychics were looking at. He spoke in terms of planes and subplanes of consciousness. He talked about the psychics and their level of seeing, about the things they left out, or couldn’t see, or unintentionally altered because they could not help it. Everything they saw was necessarily colored by the filter of their own personalities and development.

Most of the readers and psychics felt that they had been given their “gift” by God. Many even believed that it was God “Himself” who was showing them the things they saw. Many of them were ministers with their own small churches, but when you looked closely at the way they conducted their daily lives, it was clear that their psychic sensitivity had little effect on their morality, stability, or clarity. Some few were exceptional in their religious fervor and devotional temperament. Others were manipulative, petty, and self-centered. As Annie Besant said, “While it is not true that the great psychic is necessarily a spiritual person, it is true that the great spiritual person is inevitably a psychic.”

As captivating and exciting as these demonstrations were, I came away with the clear realization that psychic does not equal spiritual; that psychic powers or awareness of other planes are no more or less connected to the Divine, or to the deeper powers of compassion, kindness, happiness, wisdom, and stillness, than the normal five senses that everybody uses.

The Old Man felt it was important for us to see these things up close. He organized the classes so that we could be exposed in a safe way. Particularly for those students with varying degrees of psychic sensitivity, it was important to see and experience in the most immediate way possible some of the scope and limitations of the astral world—what it is and what it isn’t. The main advice he gave was to aim higher: absorption in psychic matters was just like being absorbed in diet, or body building, or any other personal concern. It would certainly yield results, but would do little to enhance the more potent qualities of spirit. He liked to say that all of the psychic abilities would necessarily blossom in a stable way, as a result of a genuine and extended focus on the spiritual life—a focus that is substantially different and more demanding than the development
of a more limited way of seeing. The distinction Annie Besant made was that “the spiritual life goes inwards: all psychic powers go outwards.”

There are two tendencies that need to be recognized and avoided: glamorizing and fearing psychic experience. Because conscious perception of the astral world seems unusual or abnormal, inexperienced people easily elevate the experience, or the person seeing it, to unwarranted heights. The equal but opposite approach is to belittle or even demonize the person or experience based on valid but only partially understood teachings.

In The Voice of the Silence, speaking of the tendency to idealize astral experience, H.P. Blavatsky wrote, â€œHaving learnt thine own Agnyana [ignorance], flee from the Hall of Learning [the astral realm]. This Hall is dangerous in its perfidious beauty, is needed but for thy probation. Beware . . . lest dazzled by illusive radiance thy Soul should linger and be caught in its deceptive light.”

Whether we are speaking of the astral, the physical, or the world of mind, the world is not the problem. Our relationship with the world is the problem. Until we realize that it is possible to touch without grasping or pushing away, to taste without devouring, we will continually find ourselves caught in the “deceptive light” of whatever realm in which we invest our attention.

It is possible for us to see without any of the senses, to feel beyond reaching or touch, to know without reference to “my” mind. Spirituality is the realization of Oneness, and it exalts every sense that turns in its direction. Let us try to remember, and choose accordingly.

All of the Annie Besant quotes have been taken from her London Lectures of 1907.


From the Editor's Desk Winter 2015

Printed in the Winter 2014 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Smoley, Richard."From the Editor's Desk" Quest 103.1 (Winter 2015): pg. 2.

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical SocietyFew spiritual issues are as vexed as psychedelics.Theosophy, like most esoteric schools, has generally condemned them. Pablo Sender and Pyarvin Abbasova ably state this position in this issue.

Another, more nuanced view is offered by Jay Kinney, who was (as he says) a member of the TS at the high point of his psychedelic investigations in the early '70s. (I can't imagine that he was alone.) With his usual wry wit, he says essentially the same thing as the great scholar of religions Huston Smith. In an influential article on this subject, entitled "Do Drugs Have Religious Import?", Smith concluded, "Drugs appear able to induce religious experiences; it is less evident that they can produce religious lives."

I cannot say that I completely agree.

I was born in 1956, which meant I came of age at the tail end of the great countercultural impulse. So I had some exposure to psychedelics. They were plentiful at college. I could take them or leave them when offered, but usually I took them. The experiences were sometimes colorful and pleasant, sometimes grim, but all in all they produced no great effects on me. I did not use these drugs for a long time afterward.

Then, in 1987, at the advice of my psychiatrist (I was living in San Francisco, after all), I was introduced to psychedelics in quite another way—as a serious means of insight and spiritual exploration. I was by no means the only person who did this; there were and no doubt are still many, although of course they have to keep their practice completely private. Nor was I looking for a quick way out of a meditation practice, since I had already been meditating for many years.

Thus began four years of regular psychedelic use (every three or four months), under the guidance of a knowledgeable medical eye. Unlike the rubbish that floated around at college, these materials (chiefly LSD and Ecstasy) were of the highest quality. The set and setting were safe, protected, and comforting. There was someone stone-cold sober at hand to get you a glass of water or send away people who might come knocking at the door. Soothing, ambient New Age music was playing on the stereo. Lying down with eyeshades on, you explored whatever inner realms you were destined to confront.

Certainly the experience was mixed. Most of the trips were benign and even beatific, but others were dark. In any event I was not doing these materials to avoid my life—I was doing them in order to see my life more clearly and face it more effectively. Some of the  decisions I made as a result of these insights were, in retrospect, bad; others were good. Viewing the whole thing as fairly as I can, I’m inclined to say that the mistakes I made were ones that I would have made anyway, while the good decisions were things that I might otherwise have missed. 

The biggest mistake I made while using these materials was failing to stop when I should have—because after about three-and-a-half years I was being prodded by some inner guidance during the trips to give them up. I did not heed this warning. I continued to do them for another year before I stopped for good in September 1991. Practically all of the unpleasant experiences I had took place in that last year.

Since then I have had no interest in using these materials. Would I do it all over again? All things considered, I probably would do it—or most of it—again. Did I punch holes in my aura with these reprehensible violations of occult law? I couldn’t begin to tell you. But then we are all walking around with a wound or two.

I say all this not to preach in favor of psychedelics, or for that matter against them. I am nobody’s psychiatrist and nobody’s guru. But I am convinced that any sober and judicious evaluation of psychedelics must also consider this kind of use.

Another, more personal point: There are stages, particularly in later life, when you have to look back at where you have been and take stock of it. Usually you judge it in the light of whatever worldview you then hold. If you are a Catholic and Catholicism says something is wrong, you accept this (usually unconsciously) as if it were your own opinion based on your own experience. The same holds true if you are a Buddhist, or a Theosophist.

It is quite another thing to match these teachings up against your own experience, because even with the best and finest teachings, experience and doctrine never jibe completely. There is always some discrepancy.

This discrepancy, this difference between what it’s supposed to be like and what it’s really like, is awkward to deal with. At the same time it is also precious, because it constitutes what you know of yourself and not because some book says so. In fact only this can be called knowledge in the true sense. As the Greek tragedian Aeschylus wrote: “He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”

Richard Smoley


President's Diary

Printed in the Fall 2014 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Boyd, Tim."President's Diary" Quest 102.4 (Fall 2014): pg. 154-155.

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.Here is an understatement for you: it has been a busy time since my last diary. Although it was just a few weeks ago (I'm writing this in mid-July), April seems a lifetime away. Toward the end of the month was the time to count the votes in the election for the international president of the TS—April 27 to be exact. The way the process works is that each national Section sends out the ballots to its members, receives them back, counts them, and sends the results on to the international headquarters at Adyar. On the given day for the close of the voting, the results received from the sections around the world are tallied up. At Adyar they count all of the votes from those bodies within the TS that do not have enough members or lodges to be full sections, along with the few lodges and members associated directly with Adyar. Then they add them all up and announce the result by e-mail to the candidates and all of the TS bodies around the world.

On April 27 at 4:55 p.m., India time, I got the e-mail announcing that I had been elected the eighth international president of the TS. I had arrived in Chennai, India, the day before in anticipation of the results. By 6 p.m. I was in a taxi pulling up to the headquarters building at Adyar. Because I had not announced my travel to India, my presence at the headquarters so shortly after the declaration of the results came as a surprise to both the election committee and the executive committee, who had gathered to confirm the results. The members of the two committees and I sat down for some short conversation and to arrange the details for a formal inauguration ceremony. We decided that White Lotus Day, May 8, would be the occasion for the inauguration, and that a gathering to introduce myself to Adyar staff and volunteers, and the local press, would be held the next day.

After that, things shifted into high gear. I remained at Adyar for the next three and a half weeks, coming into the office daily and trying to get up to speed on the multilayered business, history, people, and traditions of our international headquarters. Every day, often several times a day, members and people from the Chennai community would stop by the office to introduce themselves and share some piece of history or relationship specific to them.

Congratulatory e-mail streamed in from around the world. At first I tried to answer each one individually. Quickly I realized that this was a losing battle and decided that my well-wishers were generous people and would understand both my appreciation and the overwhelming level of mail I was receiving. So, to all of you who sent your good wishes, thank you for your kind thoughts.

The inauguration ceremony was held in the main hall at Adyar and was attended by a couple of hundred people. It was a brief, simple recognition of the change. The results were announced; I was introduced; some words were said by the international vice-president; then I delivered my inaugural address (reprinted International President's Inaugural Address). After that there was a beautiful ceremony in which all of the people lined up to place flower petals at the foot of a white marble statue of HPB and Olcott that stands in the main hall. Then it was photo time. A number of the people attending had brought traditional scarves and garlands to place around my neck. By the time it was all over I had quite a collection.

On May 12, while I was still at Adyar, the results of the American Section's elections were announced with a similar result—me as president.

Later in the month of May I left India and flew directly to Miami for the Florida Federation's convention. I had not been to Florida in several years and was looking forward to reconnecting with my many TS friends in the area. Nori Rao, a coworker and friend of many years, is currently president of the federation. A year in advance she had invited me to participate. Also presenting were our national secretary, David Bruce, and national speaker, author, and good friend Terry Hunt. Terry has the advantage of being bilingual (in Spanish and English), which has made it possible for him to travel and lecture both in the U.S. and throughout Latin America.

A little over 100 people attended over the course of the weekend. On Sunday I had a chance to meet with our local Spanish-speaking members. Close to forty people came for that meeting. My part was translated by Nori. My association with the very active Spanish lodges in the area goes back about twenty-five years, to the days when RenéRevert was alive and active. One of the special moments for me came in a phone conversation with René's wife, Christina. I had not seen her since his passing. It was a deeply satisfying and emotional moment for both of us.

I returned to Olcott on May 20. Walking in the front door, I was greeted with a surprise welcome from our staff and volunteers. The floor entering the lobby was covered in rose petals, and as I walked in, more petals were raining down from the balcony. Everyone had gathered in the lobby to wish me well. It felt good to be home.

Theosophical Society - Inter-American Theosophical Federation. Prayers of the Religions at the IATF Congress
Prayers of the Religions at the IATF Congress

Within a few days we had swung into action preparing for the Inter-American Theosophical Federation Congress. More than seventy people from countries throughout the Americas attended. The places represented were Cuba, Argentina, Venezuela, Brazil, Chile, Puerto Rico, Scotland, the U.S., Colombia, Dominican Republic, Canada, Honduras, Mexico, and Costa Rica. The theme for the congress was "Theosophy as Service."

I have described the event as "super-high energy." There was everything from spiritual upliftment to intellectual stimulation to the emotional and physical expression of poetry and dance. There was something for the entire human being. During the course of the congress new officers were elected. Outgoing president Ligia Montiel, from Costa Rica, was replaced by Isis Resende, from Brazil. By virtue of being the president of the TSA I am one of the members of the IATF board. From my observations and participation in the meetings, I can say that it is a healthy organization with good people running it.

Two days after the end of the IATF my wife, Lily, and I were on a plane again, this time headed for Italy and the 100th annual convention of the Italian Section. The Section is actually 102 years old, but was unable to conduct two conventions because of World War II.

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd and Renato Mazzonetto in Italy
Tim Boyd in Italy with Renato Mazzonetto


The convention was held in northern Italy in the city of Vicenza. The location was a lovely country club and spa outside of the center of town. More than 100 members gathered from all over the mainland and Sicily. There were also a few from Switzerland and France. Ricardo Lindeman, from Brazil, was also one of the invited presenters. I had just left Ricardo a few days earlier in Wheaton, where he had also presented.

The meetings were highly participatory, involving groups from all around the country in sharing new ideas and effective group practices. Again I received an overwhelming welcome from the members. In an unexpected turn of events, I was even adorned with another ceremonial scarf. This time it was given by Renato Mazzanetto, a TS Italy member and longtime student of the Karmapa, the head of the Karma Kagyu lineage of Tibetan Buddhism. The scarf had been blessed by the Karmapa himself. The attention that was shown to us by hosts Antonio Girardi (president of the TS in Italy), Patrizia Calvi (longtime official in countless capacities and a boundless source of energy), and the entire Vicenza team was heart-warming and inspiring.

While there, in addition to speaking at the convention, on one evening I spoke at the Vicenza Lodge, which is also the TS Italy headquarters.

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd with Vicenza Lodge president Enrico Stagni
Tim Boyd with Vicenza Lodge president Enrico Stagni

From Vicenza it was on to Venice, where I met with and spoke at the Venice TS Lodge. We also allowed for some leisure time to tour and visit the city. It is truly one of the remarkable cities on earth for its wealth of artistic and architectural beauty. 

Next month (August) I go to Paris, Holland, and back to Adyar. One of the remarkable aspects of all this travel is that, except for the Adyar portion, all of it was scheduled before anyone had any idea that there would be an international election. Life is funny that way.

Tim Boyd


From the Editor's Desk Fall 2014

Printed in the Fall 2014 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard. "From the Editor's Desk" Quest  102.4 (Fall 2014): pg. 122.

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical SocietySometimes it seems to me that there is a sort of membrane surrounding the human mind. This membrane makes us see the world in a distorted way. It leads us to view ourselves as isolated and fragmented beings and to view others as competitors, enemies, or possibly victims. We feel as if we exist only to take advantage or to be taken advantage of.

Paul Levy's disturbing article on page 146 of this issue gives a name to this psychic membrane: wetiko. The word "wetiko," taken from a Native American language, may sound funny to you. What is wetiko? It is a pathological need for excess, for selfish gratification. It is (to use Levy's metaphor) a kind of psychic virus that makes people indifferent to, and contemptuous of, the feelings and needs of their fellow humans. Because it is so persuasive, it often goes unnoticed.

The most ambitious literary treatment of this theme appears in Doris Lessing's 1979 novel Shikasta, which is half science fiction tale and half fable.

In this novel, beings from a benevolent world in the system of the star Canopus create a colony of creatures on a small planet, which they name "Rohanda" or "the fruitful." For ages the beings on this planet live in harmony, sustained by benign "astral currents" transmitted from Canopus. But an unforeseen cosmic realignment breaks the connection between Canopus and Rohanda, leading to a deficit of the "substance-of-we-feeling" in Rohanda's inhabitants. They become subject to a degenerative disease that makes individuals put themselves ahead of others. The result is war and destruction. The Canopeans try to fix things, but their attempts are thwarted by the influence of another, evil planet. Eventually the Canopeans change the name of Rohanda: they call it "Shikasta," meaning "the broken." Only after a holocaust that wipes out almost all of the human race are the few survivors able to start fresh.

Lessing makes it clear that the history of Shikasta is the history of humanity from the start of recorded time. The madness reaches its climax in the twentieth century, and the final holocaust is a third World War that, she suggests, is coming in the near future.

I remember the effect this book had on me the first time I read it. Not only did it sound plausible, but for a day or so I found it impossible to believe that the situation of the human race had come about in any other way.

So you can call it wetiko, or you can call it a deficit of "the substance-of-we-feeling," or you can give it any of its other innumerable names: the yetzer ha-ra ("the evil impulse") of the Kabbalists, the ego as understood by some Eastern traditions, or even the Devil, if you can set aside the Halloween character that conventional Christianity has made of him. Whatever you want to call this psychic disease, and however it originated, the problems that face us today will not be resolved until it is cured.

Most people may agree with what I have said so far. But somehow it is always the others, always them, who are at fault. The world would be a lovely and peaceful and wonderful place if not for them. On this everyone is in accord. They only differ about who these them are.

In the United States today, there are several large blocks of people who are united by their hatred of particular versions of them. This hatred is enormously useful, although not to the people who possess it. It's useful to any number of powerful interests who manipulate the hatred of them.

You could stop here and direct your wrath against these powerful interests. Many do. But then you just have another version of them.

"If only it were all so simple!" wrote Alexander Solzhenitsyn. "If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"

You can easily see wetiko, the absence of we-feeling, in them. It is a much trickier project to see it in yourself and to root it out. But there is no alternative. Let me turn again to Doris Lessing: "To outwit their enemies, Shikastans must love each other, help each other, and never take each other's goods or substance."

People long for the End Times. Admittedly it's tempting to believe that a supernatural savior will appear in the skies, reward the good, punish the evil, and bring the scales of justice into balance. But more and more we are coming to understand that that is a hopeless fantasy and that if we are to have any saviors, they will have to be ourselves. It is a sobering realization—but also a thrilling one.

Richard Smoley

 


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