Shhh! It's a Secret! Grappling with the Puzzle of Freemasonry

Printed in the issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Kinney
, Jay. "Shhh! It's a Secret! Grappling with the Puzzle of Freemasonry" Quest  101. 3 (Summer 2013): pg. 94-99.

By Jay Kinney

Theosophical Society - Jay Kinney was the founder and publisher of Gnosis: A Journal of the Western Inner Traditions. His book The Masonic Myth has been translated into five languages. He is a frequent contributor to Quest.Much of the public's ongoing fascination with Freemasonry has to do with its reputation as a secret society. Yet that reputation—like so much about Masonry—is paradoxical. Given that for much of the past two centuries, Masonic lodge buildings have been a ubiquitous presence on town squares across America and that, by some estimates, nearly 10 percent of the adult male population were Masons, Masonry would seem to be one of the least secret societies of all time.

Another paradox: as part of their initiation rituals, Masons are admonished not to reveal any of Masonry's secrets, but exactly what those secrets may be is never defined—a situation that leaves many new Masons scratching their heads.

A secret society that is hardly secret and a society with "secrets" that no two members can agree upon—is this any way to run a railroad? (as my father used to say).

However, if we look back to the origins of modem Freemasonry in Britain, this emphasis on secrecy becomes more understandable. Prior to the 1600s, Masonic lodges were basically stonemasons' guilds or unions. Their "secrets" were the closely held trade secrets of how to construct massive buildings for both church and state. Secret modes of recognition between masons, be they certain handshakes or passwords, were a means of job protection and quality control in an industry where skilled workers often moved around from project to project. Properly skilled masons were taught those modes of recognition as part of their training, which helped distinguish them from unqualified would-be masons hoping to pass themselves off as the real thing. 

In the course of the 1600s, for reasons that are still not entirely clear, lodges began to accept members who were not stonemasons at all, but gentlemen or other worthies who were interested in architecture, mathematics, and other more arcane pursuits. Over time, these so-called "speculative Masons" came to outnumber the working "operative masons," and eventually modern Freemasonry was born. (I must add that this summary barely scratches the surface of a historical sequence that has been the subject of numerous competing theories and conjectures. For a more detailed discussion, see my book The Masonic Myth.)

This newer and more philosophical Masonry maintained the tradition of secrecy, including modes of recognition and the protection of "secrets," but the secrets were no longer building trade secrets. Rather they were largely the wording of much-elaborated initiatory rituals and a collection of symbols alluding to philosophical concepts, moral values, and spiritual ideals. Most of the symbols were derived either from the Bible or from stonemasons' working tools, and the whole motif of stonemasonry was preserved in symbolic form (for example, the wearing of stonemasons' aprons).

None of these secrets were (or are) particularly earth-shattering, nor were they exactly secret. Eighteenth-and nineteenth-century Masons were fond of parading in public processions with symbol-laden aprons, banners, officers' jewels, and other regalia. Anti-Masonic conspiracy theorists have tended to view this as a diabolical public flaunting of secret symbols, but a less sensational interpretation would be that it served as an early form of guerrilla marketing and branding for what was essentially a fraternal order. "Curious what these symbols mean? Become a Mason and find out!" 

Still, there are other possible reasons for a tradition of Masonic secrecy, and these lead us back again to the 1600s, the century when lodges evolved from "operative" to "speculative." This was a time of enormous social upheaval in Scotland and England, including religious conflicts, the deposing (and beheading) of the Stuart king Charles I in 1649, the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, the return of the Stuart kings in 1660 (followed by their exile again after the Glorious Revolution of 1688), the Great Fire of London, and the beginnings of modern science.

Furthermore, the anonymous release of the Rosicrucian manifestoes in Germany in the early 1600s set off a great ferment across Europe among mystically inclined intellectuals eager to contact the mythical brotherhood.

Portrayed as a hidden order of esoteric healers founded by an allegorical figure named Christian Rosenkreutz, the Rosicrucians were a literary construct employed by its anonymous authors to advance ideas of universal reform and religious freedom at odds with the Holy Roman Empire (see Yates and McIntosh).

Despite numerous attempts to locate the order, contact was never made, but the initiative succeeded in stimulating a dialogue among intellectuals inspired by its ideas. 

It is suggestive that the two earliest Masonic initiates on record in England (Robert Moray and Elias Ashmole) were both interested in matters Rosicrucian, mystical, alchemical, and scientific. One could speculate that such gentlemen might be attracted to Masonic lodges by their secret nature, as a venue where new or controversial ideas could be discussed in private. In an era when one could be burned at the stake for advocating a heliocentric cosmology or challenging religious authorities, secrecy might simply be a matter of self-preservation. 

In such a context, Masonic secrets wouldn't necessarily be Masonic as such, just private discussions among learned men on any range of subjects. What one's guess. Perhaps they were on one side of the room discussing chiseling techniques while their speculative brothers were on the other side discussing the Philosopher's Stone. The few records that have survived (mostly Scottish lodge membership rolls) are of little help in tracing this era. There are no detailed meeting minutes to refer to.

Historian Marsha Keith Schuchard, in her book Restoring the Temple of Vision, proposes that the poets, playwrights, and other courtiers in the Stuart royal orbit were variously interested in Rosicrucian, Kabbalistic, and Solomonic tropes, evidence of which she finds in their literary output, correspondence, and personal libraries. These allegorical forays constituted a kind of proto-Masonic discourse unbound by lodge secrecy or institutionalized formality. Traces of these elements can be identified in later Masonic ritual and symbols, though the mystical and occult interpretations may have been minimized as the Enlightenment succeeded the late Renaissance. 

Schuchard and others have conjectured that a more esoteric Freemasonry may have accompanied the Stuarts on their exile in France in the eighteenth century, and there are indications of Stuart courtiers helping propagate Masonry there. What seems certain is that Masonry's evolution on the continent took a more elitist and aristocratic turn than the relatively egalitarian variety back in Britain.

British Masonry traced its roots to humble stonemasons' lodges, but there was no such organic growth in France and Germany. There, various Masonic entrepreneurs, such as Count Alessandro di Cagliostro and Baron von Hund, introduced orders largely plastered over any esotericism, this was hardly the case with the continental orders, many of which purported to impart esoteric secrets, often courtesy of "Unknown Superiors" or veiled Masters. It was to this latter stream of "Eastern" Masonry that H.P. Blavatsky credited her Masonic knowledge, wearing a Rose Croix jewel said to have once belonged to Cagliostro (and which she later passed on to Annie Besant).

Setting aside for the moment the question of the actual depth or content of this supposedly more esoteric Masonry, it should be clear by now that "Freemasonry" is an umbrella term covering all manner of streams and tributaries, many in competition with each other, and many sharing only the most general characteristics. What at first glance may appear to be an interconnected international brotherhood is in reality a smorgasbord of brotherhoods (and in some cases, sisterhoods), not all of whom see eye to eye or share a common history.

This is like the rather fractured state of Christianity, where one may speak of the Church, or Christendom, or the community of believers, but the reality on the ground is one of hundreds of denominations separated from each other by all manner of doctrinal, political, social, and national differences.

Traditionally, Freemasonry has tried to avoid such divisions by broadly accepting members with a variety of religious beliefs and, in many of its branches, by banning religious and political discussions within its lodges. Yet some jurisdictions, such as the Grand Orient of France, have encouraged and valued the discussion of social issues within their lodges, to the point of taking political stands, something that would be unheard of in most other Masonic jurisdictions.

Despite such variations and inconsistencies, what characteristics are shared by all Masonic bodies? First, a commitment to performing initiatory rituals (degrees) that are intended to inspire the candidate and impart moral and spiritual lessons of a nonsectarian nature. Second, an attempt to encourage the practice of a universal brotherhood that transcends national, political, and religious barriers. And third, an effort toward some form of community service, which affirms that there is a greater good to be sought than just one's personal advancement.

If this is so, then one might ask, why the need for secrecy? That is indeed a good question and one that is not easily answered. Some Masons have suggested that the most effective initiatory ritual is one that takes the initiate on an unanticipated journey. Few fans of detective mysteries would want to have the mystery solved on the very first page. Much of the emphasis on secrecy in Masonry is akin to such thinking: let's not spoil it for the candidate by blabbing about what is to come. And let's not cheapen the whole experience by having it become a subject of public discussion. 

Of course, such pragmatic secrecy comes at a cost. Outsiders resent the keeping of secrets. Anti-Masonic conspiracy theorists assume that such secrecy is a cover for diabolical machinations and elitist power plays. Yet when all is said and done, Masonic secrecy is more gesture than substance.

Beginning in the early to mid-1700s, Masonic "exposures" were regularly published that revealed the degree rituals' wording and contents. Indeed Masons often utilized these unauthorized exposures as study aids for memorizing ritual parts that were otherwise difficult to absorb in a strictly oral tradition.

In other words, from nearly the beginning of modern "speculative" Freemasonry, the much vaunted Masonic secrecy —at least in terms of rituals —has been a kind of facade, an instance of wishful thinking believed by both its proponents and its opponents, but not supported by what's really out there.

This has led to the second line of defense of Masonic secrecy within Masonry itself. To wit, the secrets themselves don't matter so much as the moral efficacy of keeping a secret. If you vow to keep a secret—no matter how trivial or already "exposed" it may be —the keeping of that secret is itself an act of moral fidelity and a valuable tool for training character.

This may be so, but it carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. Keeping a secret that is, in fact, not a secret is psychologically debilitating. It sets up an internal emotional double-bind within the person required to keep such a secret. One feels like a hypocrite in denying or refusing to acknowledge the reality of what one knows is so. Given Freemasonry's emphasis on ethical straight dealing and honesty—admirable values at odds with business-as-usual —an underlying sense of hypocrisy due to bogus secret-keeping undermines the whole operation.

Of course, Masonic secrecy extends beyond just the ritual wording and symbolic interpretations. Masons promise to keep other Masons' confidences to themselves —a somewhat formal version of the assumptions at work between good friends in daily life. Anti-Masonic critics have leapt at the opportunity to see this as an invitation for abuse or corruption, but it strikes me as more akin to lawyer-client or physician-patient confidentiality. All such relations rely on a sense of trust between participants.

If one is seeking advice, for instance, one would prefer not to have one's chosen confidant turn around and broadcast one's problems or worries to the world at large. (Unless, of course, one is seeking advice from Dear Abby or Ann Landers, in which case the advice seeker is actually angling for a public, though anonymous, exposure.) 

Yet after a dozen years' immersion in Masonic culture, I've concluded that the primary reason for the continuing emphasis on secrecy in Freemasonry is its inherently conservative traditionalism. Speculative Masonry evolved within a lodge system that protected trade secrets and, once those secrets were largely irrelevant, it still maintained a tradition of secrecy—often for its own sake.

It attracted men who liked the idea of being in on the "inside stuff" and who embraced the tradition of keeping it inside, even though the stuff itself was hardly earth-shattering, as Masonic exposures have demonstrated. The relatively unchanging nature of the ritual work, the ongoing rote memorization of degree "lectures" that were originally conceived in the eighteenth century, the preservation of regalia that strike the modern eye as archaic—all these things are attractive to men who, perhaps, love the past more than the present, who enjoy a certain formality of interaction, and who like having secrets.

If this explanation of mainstream Masonry seems rather anticlimactic, what of the more esoteric "Eastern" Masonry into which Mme. Blavatsky claimed initiation? As best I can determine, this was not some ancient "Oriental" stream of Masonry, but most likely one or more of those European rites that claimed exotic origins. Cagliostro dazzled French society for a spell with his "Egyptian" rite, and HPB stoutly defended his bona fides against charges of charlatanism.

In the early years of her Theosophical endeavors, HPB displayed a patent from the Ancient and Primitive Rite of Masonry (A&PR), which titillated journalists and aroused indignation among mainstream Masons. 

Unfortunately, the A&PR loomed larger on paper than in real life, but HPB defended such "Eastern" Masonry while disparaging what she called "Western" Masonry, that is, mainstream Freemasonry in the U.S. and U.K. (Blavatsky 2:371-404). 

The advantage of promoting a nebulous and self-proclaimed esoteric Masonry—which is what the Ancient & Primitive Rite put forth—is that its secrecy assures an opaque canvas upon which one can paint one's own picture. If HPB was intent upon promoting the virtues of occultism over those of spiritualism or Christianity (which seems to be the gist of her message in writings of the 1870s, such as Isis Unveiled), it was advantageous to imply that there was a truly deeper Masonry, one perhaps with unspecified occult secrets, that she was privy to and certified to discuss. But promotional campaigns run their course as situations change.

If there truly was a deeper esoteric Masonry with which HPB was conversant, it likely did not derive from her A&PR diploma. It could have stemmed from her youthful reading of her great-grandfather's Masonic books in Russia or from published exposures of higher degree systems. It might have been supplemented by discussions with Charles Sotheran or Albert Rawson, New York Masons fond of higher degrees who were present at the founding of the TS. With them HPB and Henry Steel Olcott discussed constituting the Society as, in Olcott's words, "a Masonic body with a Ritual and Degrees; the idea being that it would form a natural complement to the higher degrees of the craft, restoring to it the vital element of Oriental mysticism which it lacked or had lost" (Olcott, 1:468).

Then again, HPB may have really been an initiate of "Eastern" Masonic rites that she never named (apart from displaying the A&PR patent to journalists). As with so much about her, we may never know for sure. What is clear is that she played up Masonic secrecy when it suited her and disparaged and exposed it when it suited her. Isis Unveiled featured the keys to no less than four Masonic ciphers, an instance of nose-thumbing at "Western" Freemasonry. 

Once HPB and Olcott departed for India at the end of 1878— which marked an ever further "Eastern" turn—esoteric Masonry and Egypt were soon water under the bridge, replaced by engagements with Hinduism and Buddhism. These later cross-cultural encounters had an immeasurable influence on global history, but HPB's earlier preoccupations with Masonry, Jesuits, and other controversies of her time tend to get lost in the "old news" shuffle.

Nevertheless, an interest in Freemasonry lived on within Theosophical circles. The TS itself, in the period of Annie Besant's and C.W. Leadbeater's leadership in the early twentieth century, encouraged participation in Co-Masonry, an esoterically oriented system that accepts both men and women and which has continued to this day, despite a number of splits and schisms. 

Leadbeater's books The Hidden Life in Freemasonry and Glimpses of Masonic History offered clairvoyant insights into a deeper Masonry, though one perhaps that was not identical to HPB's conception. Like most individuals seeking a more esoteric Masonry—including HPB herself, Cagliostro, and numerous others — Lead-beater brought his own esotericism with him. In this respect, these figures did not so much discover Masonic secrets as create them, for the following reason. 

Regardless of the supposed differences or rivalries between esoteric and mainstream, or between "Western" and "Eastern" Masonries, the Masonic secrets that matter most are the individual Mason's subjective experience of the degree rituals and his (or her) unique interpretation of the symbols employed. 

Freemasonry may be one of the few international spiritual/ethical/moral institutions that encourage the priority of symbols over holy writ or ideology. Symbols lend themselves to multiple interpretations, none of which can claim complete rightness.

In view of that, every initiate is granted the right to interpret the numerous Masonic symbols in his own fashion. This explains why Masons who are it possible to carve out their own interpretation of Masonry's symbolic components and meaning.

In the end, these are secrets that cannot really be revealed, because they are uniquely subjective and inaccessible to others who have not undertaken the same ritual and symbolic experience. They could be shouted from the rooftops, but any outside interpretation would be confused and at the mercy of the hearer's projections. These, not the keys to ciphers or descriptions of ritual, are the true Masonic secrets. And somewhat ironically, the only way to discover them is to become a Mason yourself.


Sources

Blavatsky, H.P. Isis Unveiled. Two volumes. Los Angeles: Theosophy Co., 1968.

Kinney, Jay. The Masonic Myth. San Francisco: Harper One, 2009.

McIntosh, Christopher. The Rosicrucians: The History, Mythology, and Rituals of an Esoteric Order. Rey 3d ed. York Beach, Maine: Samuel Weiser, 1997.

Olcott, Henry S. Old Diary Leaves. Six volumes. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1974.

Schuchard, Marsha Keith. Restoring the Temple of Vision: Cabalistic Freemasonry and Stuart Culture. Leiden: Brill, 2002.

Yates, Frances A. The Rosicrucian Enlightenment.

JAY KINNEY was publisher and editor in chief of Gnosis magazine during its fifteen-year span from 1984 to 1999. His book The Masonic Myth has been translated into five languages. He has been honored with the 33rd degree within the Scottish Rite, Southern Jurisdiction.


The Open Secret of the Esoteric Orders

Printed in the Summer 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Gilchrist
, Cherry. "The Open Secret of the Esoteric Orders" Quest  101. 3 (Summer 2013): pg. 90-93, 120.

By Cherry Gilchrist

Theosophical Society - Cherry Gilchrist is an award-winning author whose themes include mythology, alchemy, life stories, esoteric traditions, and Russian culture.I want to find an order, a real order!" We are driving along Nevsky Prospekt in St. Peters­burg, in the heady postcommunist days of the early 1990s. The man next to me is a music entrepreneur, Andrei Tropillo, known as "the midwife of Russian rock." Russia has exploded chaotically into a new era, to which the manic traffic and hectic trading evident all around us bear witness. Everyone wants to get rich and acquire a fast car and fashionable clothes. But while browsing in some of the more hushed, wealthy empo­ria, I have noticed signs of a different sort of interest creeping in. Glass showcases hold ceremonial swords and regalia. They are enigmatic and expensive, the attributes of high ritual. They speak of order, not the order on the streets or in government, which is sadly lacking, but the kind of secret or exclusive order that the rich, the famous, or the worthy may find or buy their way into.

Andrei is admired by the young and feared by the newly burgeoning music industry, who brand him a music pirate. He has cash to splash around and is cur­rently sponsoring a children's early music school, which I am also helping, hence our otherwise unlikely con­nection. Is his impassioned outburst a sign of genuine seeking, or is it simply expressing a desire to move into the higher echelons of society? It's not really up to me to judge his motivation, but I might be able to tell better if he asks me questions rather than just making a demand. After all, time-honored wisdom decrees that one should be above all receptive when in search of an authentic esoteric tradition. Andrei does not seem to be operating in this mold: as one of his interviewers says, he "loves talking ... He speaks fast. Sometimes furiously fast . . . It is almost impossible to break in with questions." 

Looking back on this episode now, which took place on the very street where teachers G.I. Gurdjieff and P.D. Ouspensky ran esoteric study groups nearly eighty years earlier, Andrei's words still have an impact on me. Even if the rock king's motivations were mixed, it was a remarkable testimony to the impulse that con­tinues to spring up after decades of social repression. Nothing, it seems, can quell the desire to seek out the hidden orders that bring a different kind of majesty and vision into human life, something a political creed or a fleet of Mercedes can never provide. And Andrei recognized this. I could not necessarily have pointed him towards an authentic Russian order, but I might have been able to help him to search better if I'd man­aged to open up the conversation at that point. I have pondered his words since, and my thoughts here about esoteric orders are in some sense a response to how I might have tried to answer the questions that he never asked.

We could say that there are four essential compo­nents of an esoteric order. First, there is the implica­tion, from the word "order" itself, that it is methodically organized. The way the term is used in various com­mon contexts also sheds light on the nature of an eso­teric order, indicating that there is a hierarchy involved, whether it's between the orders of different life forms, as in biology, or by confirming the status of a member in terms of rank or grade, as in various social or profes­sional organizations. In addition, both for esoteric and various public orders of honor, there is a ceremonial nature, with the use of rituals and insignia as a part of its operation. Finally, in both cases again, there are spe­cial conditions for admission, which may be granted as an honor or as an acknowledgment of common status and purpose between the candidate and its members. 

So we can expect an esoteric order to be struc­tured and organized. It won't be a democracy, or offer membership to anyone who wants to join. We can also deduce that such "ordering" may involve rank, hierar­chy, ritual, instructions, training, and privileges. Furthermore, a specific esoteric order is not likely to be a completely self-contained organization, but will take its place within a wider spectrum. (I'll give an example of this from Sufism later in this article.) We can also see this principle at work in the broader span of human orders, in groupings such as the orders of chivalry, orig­inally constellated around knightly ideals, and spiritual others, constituted around religious practices. (These cannot be entirely separated from esoteric orders, and may share common origins with them.)

So taking all these factors into account, one should expect a degree of organized membership and cere­mony in an esoteric order. It may have a view of its posi­tion within a cosmic hierarchy, and will probably have some kind of internal hierarchy as well. As mentioned, democracy does not usually play a prominent role, even though harmony and cooperation may be found there. But with the idea of clearly defined roles and hierar­chy comes a sense of identity An esoteric order has a shape, a form, and a purpose. Esoteric orders may have elements in common, but each order is different, and no single one can include all others. Orders involved with magic will have a different kind of operation from those connected with spiritual teaching, for instance. Others perpetuating an esoteric tradition of prayer will not work in the same way as those concerned with trying to fight injustice through the inner planes. The notion of a "universal order," though well-meaning, misses the point. Nevertheless, there can be a more generalized sense of purpose that connects esoteric others, even though each one will have its own kind of work. If an esoteric order sees its place within a greater hierarchy of spirit, it can act by mediating between higher realms and human life. This, I suggest, is another key element of many, if not all, esoteric orders. 

With this comes the sense of offering service. At this point, we can leave the more intellectual forms of definition behind and turn to something more vision­ary: Chapter twenty-one of the book of Revelation sets out a schema of the Holy City, whose twelve gates and walls, studded with twelve jewels, can be seen as a template for twelve orders, twelve types of work that lead their members in and out of the Holy City and the presence of the divine. This vision has certainly been a direct inspiration for some orders based in a Western or Christian tradition. For example, a group with which I studied used the twelvefold schema of the Holy City to formulate twelve basic types of orders. They were classified as Teachers, Prophets, Magicians, Lawgiv­ers, Traders, Artists, Craft Workers, Life Tenders, Warriors, Perpetuators, Priests, and Explorers. Each of these could be seen as essential functions of human work and service, with an esoteric core. There are also said to be twelve orders within Sufism, and on a visit to a Sufi tekke (center) in Turkey, I learned from the elders there that these orders give gifts to one another, both in recognition of the relationship between them and in celebration of their difference.

In a more general sense, such service as esoteric orders perform may be primarily on a worldly level with a spiritual component, or may be seen entirely as a service of a higher degree. For instance, an order might see its role as that of furthering contact between human beings and angels on the inner planes, or it might have a clear external focus, such as the Order of Knights Hospitaller (Knights of St. John), formed in the Middle Ages to "aid and succor the pilgrim" on journeys to the Holy Land. An order should usually have an avowed aim, in the same way that an intention for any ritual should be dearly formulated. However, the implemen­tation of its aim may encompass both esoteric and exo­teric work. The Knights Hospitaller, along with their colleagues or rivals, the Knights Templar, whose job it was to defend in more military style, were both reputed to have esoteric teachings and spiritual aspirations at their core of their external endeavors. The Knights of St. John are still in existence today in Britain, and judg­ing by the chapels, ceremonies, and initiations that it still maintains, it keeps something of that esoteric fla­vor, as well as offering almshouses to the poor and wonderful service to the sick under the banner of the St. John's Ambulance service. So when using the term "esoteric" in conjunction with an order, it's worth keep­ing in mind that its work may span both inner and outer worlds, the spiritual and the everyday.

This highlights another feature of others: through their intention to carry out a task, which they perceive to be of benefit to the universe, they offer their mem­bers the chance to belong to something bigger than themselves. And in every order that does have an eso­teric or spiritual level to its work, membership means the chance of entry into another level of consciousness. It may also include acceptance of the realm of higher beings or forces, and thus too the opportunity to sense their presence in a more direct way. If, on the other hand, an order appears to be purely self-serving, as a means to confer status, or simply for members to scratch one another's backs, then it is unlikely to be genuine. It may be a harmless organization that has fossilized or something covert to foster dubious privilege. If you come into contact with an order, check out whether it is both a gateway to higher realms and a means of offering something to mankind. 

Remember that such service doesn't necessarily have to be in a material form. The significance of prayer may be relevant here; Sister Wendy Beckett, a nun who is both a contemplative hermit and a renowned expert on art history, says that prayer is simply "to stand unprotected before God"; a moment of naked, painful awareness in the depths of a night is a kind of prayer, and it marks us out as human. (See her book Sister Wendy on Prayer.) We can thus see a possibility that humans may choose to further this vital, precious rela­tionship with the divine through the work carried out in esoteric orders; prayer takes many forms. And it also shows how a close relationship may exist between the more esoteric orders and those (for example, of monks and nuns) which exist within the context of specific reli­gions, such as Buddhism and Christianity.

The question of how national orders of chivalry fit into today's world and also relate to esoteric orders would take far longer to explore than space permits here. Again, the boundary isn't fixed, and one type of order may change into another over time, or present a public face while offering an esoteric kernel of wisdom at its heart. Ceremony and service are key features of even the most well-known, publicly scrutinized orders. In Britain, for instance, the New Year's Honors list is always eagerly awaited to see who will receive an OBE, or Order of the British Empire, or will be admitted to another order, each with its special robe and insignia. The orders of Russia are even more elaborate (see The Orders of Russia by V.A. Durov). Surprisingly, many of these seem to have been carried forward into the cur­rent Russian Federation, though older rules for admis­sion requiring a candidate to own several hundred serfs have been abandoned! Overall, such orders of chivalry seem to embody a nation's ideals of honor and service to the people, and are based far more on merit nowa­days than on decaying notions of aristocratic entitle­ment. So it could be said that they carry something of the spirit of esoteric orders, even if they don't act in the same way. 

All of this helps to show how orders may evolve and change their emphasis. This is natural and healthy, and in any case, esoteric or purely spiritual work will eventually find its way into the world and into the lives of ordinary people, if it is effective. The techniques of visualization, so popular now in areas from psychother­apy to weight loss, emerged into the light of day at least partly through the work of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in the late nineteenth century. In those days such practices were kept secret, and they took time to reach the outside world; even when I joined a Kabbalah group (not directly related to the Golden Dawn) in 1970, a type of visualization known as "path working" was something special, to be attempted only in a closed group, and under careful instruction. So in such a case, once the work has reached the outside world, an order could say, "Job done. Now, what's next on the agenda?"

This leads on to the question of secrecy, always a controversial issue. Some argue that secrecy is to safeguard powers so great that they could destroy the world if wielded by the uninitiated. The British magi­cian Gareth Knight, in his introduction to Dion For­tune's book Esoteric Orders and Their Work challenges this melodramatic interpretation, and argues that with modem means of communication, secrets tend not to last for long anyway. He is at pains, however, to indi­cate that there should be some safeguards, both for the psychological well-being of participants and for the work itself. I would agree that some degree of secrecy is necessary; researching into alchemy taught me that the sealed vessel of transformation cannot be exposed too early. (See my book Explore Alchemy, previously pub­lished as The Elements of Alchemy) If opened prema­turely, the precious substance that is being distilled may leak away, and disasters such as terrible explosions can occur. Both creative and esoteric work need protection while the process is in operation. Close-quartering your work does of course bring its own dangers, especially if it cannot be checked by others, or held to account for the effects it creates, but without an element of contain­ment, it cannot develop properly.

The level of secrecy in an order may vary, from one where even the name may not be whispered abroad to another which makes many if not most of its transac­tions transparent. Again, this can change: the Free­masons in the U.K., for instance, responding to public opinion, have taken pains to be more open about their work. In Bath, where I used to live, public invitations to view their meeting hall and to ask questions about Masonic beliefs and practices were very popular. (Not necessarily a comfortable experience for the members, though; I overheard some very trying exchanges cen­tered on Dan Brown–style accusations of fraud and conspiracy.)

To summarize, one way to discern the value and sin­cerity of an order that you are considering joining is to ask questions of the following kind: 

  • What is its main purpose or intention? Do I feel attuned to that?
  • Does it have a reliable structure, but one that is not overburdened with protocol?
  • Is the order aligned with a spiritual vision or reli­gious affinity that I can share?
  • Does it have an appropriate sense of discretion or secrecy?
  • What are its conditions for membership? Do I fit them, and do I agree with them?
  • Does it seem to be ethical in its dealings?

 

You may not be able to ask all of these questions directly, and finding the answers you need may depend on your own observations and investigations. But bear in mind that no order will be entirely tailor-made to one's personal notions and inclinations. Leaving behind the baggage of one's cherished whims is inevitably a part of joining an organization that operates on a big­ger scale. If you want to feel part of a greater endeavor, then something of the personal must be dropped to experience that. It's a question of balance: an order should honor individual difference and not expect a member to act purely as a cog in a machine. But if the order seems perfectly suited to your tastes, then be very suspicious!

And if you are searching for an order, as Andrei Tropillo was, you may find one in a place you would never think to look. Some years ago, I was having a chat with the cleaner who came to work each week in our house in Bristol. We were on friendly terms but, I thought, didn't have a lot in common. Then the con­versation took an unexpected turn, as she told me she was about to be initiated into a women's order, called the Glades. Its roots were said to lie in medieval times, when women would meet secretly in forest clearings at night. She was trying to learn what she needed for the ceremony, and confessed that she was afraid that she might forget her lines when the initiation took place! At that time, I had researched far and wide into women's traditions, but had no idea that an order like this existed, let alone that I would encounter a prospec­tive member in my own home. Even now, some twenty years later, it would be unlikely that I'd come across the Glades, as there is still little information about the group in the public domain or on the Internet. It was like a prod reminding me that the subject of orders may come up in curious ways and unlikely places, whether that is a street in postcommunist Russia or beside the kitchen sink.

 


Cherry Gilchrist has studied esoteric traditions for over forty years, and has written extensively about these in books such as The Elements of Alchemy, The Circle of Nine, and The Tree of Life Oracle. She is particularyy interested in wisdom found in traditional cultures and mythology, and after may trips to Russia wrote Russian Magic, published by Quest Books. Cherry lives in the U.K. and is a writing tutor for the universites of Ocford and Exeter.

 



Do You Remember?

Printed in the Summer 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation:
Boyd, Tim. "Do You Remember?" Quest  101. 3 (Summer 2013): pg. 88-89.

Tim Boyd National President

For sixty years I have been forgetful, every minute, but not for a second has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed. I deserve nothing.

—Jullaludin Rumi

Theosophical Society - Tim Boyd was elected the president of the Theosophical Society Adyar in 2014. He succeeded Radha Burnier.As a young person growing up I used to find humor in some of the things my parents did. My fatherhad one particular habit that I could never understand. I would shake my head and wonder about it. It was something simple that I later realized many parents do, but it just did not make any sense to me. There were four of us kids, and sometimes when he wanted to call one of us for one thing or another, he would look at the one he was calling and cycle through each of our names until he got the right one. If we were out of sight when he called, it would be the same process. This did not happen every time, but to me it was remarkable that it happened at all. How could he not immediately know my name, or my broth­ers', or sister's? There was no way that I would ever call for Brandon when I wanted Ed or Becky. At the time I wrote it off as one of my dad's unintentionally humorous quirks. 

Years have passed since my youthful fascination with my father's behavior, and with it has come, per­haps not understanding, but at least the experience of a brain overcrowded with names, places, numbers, and countless random facts. Not too long ago I realized that I had crossed a line. I was sitting in a meeting with a number of coworkers. I was going around the table introducing a newcomer to the various people in the room. When I got to one of my coworkers, someone I see and converse with regularly, I drew a blank. For the life of me I could not remember her name. I played it off with some halfway humorous ruse, so that I was the only one who really knew what had just happened, but that vacant moment where something so familiar dangled just beyond my mental grasp made an impression on me. My father's peccadilloes of memory some­how seemed quite forgivable now that I had fallen heir to them.

The French have a graceful way of speaking about many things; middle age is one of them. The term they use for it is d'un certain age—of a certain age. It is a gen­tle and kindly indefinite way of saying that time is mov­ing on. When I mentioned my little blank moment to my friends of a certain age and older, I got two typical responses. The first was "It's normal"; the second was a variation of the first: "Welcome to the club." Frequently these conversations would veer off into narrations of more extreme forms of forgetfulness, Alzheimer's and dementia. Friends would tell stories of looping, repeti­tive conversations with parents or relatives suffering from Alzheimer's that were both painful and in hind­sight funny. Hearing these types of stories had a way of putting my momentary forgetfulness into a more palatable perspective. It also set me to thinking about memory and its opposite.

In Theosophy there is the idea that the human being is "Highest Spirit and lowest matter joined by mind." The extreme loss of memories connected with Alzheim­er's has been described as an interruption or severance of that link between higher and lower, the spiritual indi­viduality and the personality. It is a disruption in the function of the brain as a receiver for the impulses of the mind, preventing the normal connection between the personality and its "Father in Heaven" —the spiri­tual self. Whatever may be the causes, in this condition the bridge of the mind that connects the personality to the spiritual is cut off leaving the person to function using habitual responses developed over the course of a lifetime. 

Alzheimer's and other diseases of the brain are iso­lated and dramatic forms of distorted memory. The spiritual traditions of the world address a more uni­versal and pervasive level of forgetfulness. In countless ways the ageless wisdom traditions point to a process in which we are all engaged. It has been described as a path of outgoing and return, involution and evolution, or of forgetting and remembrance.

There is a story that pops up in spiritual tradi­tions around the world. It is one of those tales that is so ubiquitous that it cannot be attributed to any his­torical source. It is archetypal, the heritage of the entire human race. It is told in different ways depending on the culture, place, and time in which it appears. The basic story line is this: there is a great, wise, and power­ful king. Something happens to him that causes him to lose his memory. He forgets his identity and everything about his authority and position. He walks away from his throne, away from his family, ministers, counsel-on, and subjects. He wanders in the world outside his kingdom, having experiences, beginning a new family, working and living like the people around him, never knowing that he has another life, a different possibility. After many years of living like this something happens that restores his memory. He returns to his kingdom, takes up his kingly duties, and rules with a wisdom enhanced by his experience in the outer world.

Variations of this story are everywhere. In the West we are most familiar with the biblical story of the Prodi­gal Son, which depicts a journey to a distant land, a loss of memory and stature, a remembrance, and a journey home to be gloriously reunited with the father. These are grand stories that talk about a grand process. Like any truly great story they speak at many levels from the cosmic to the personal. In the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali there is a description of the process: "The purpose of the coming together of the purusha (Spirit) and prakriti (Matter) is the gaining by the purusha of the awareness of his true nature and the unfoldment of powers inher­ent in him and prakriti." This is a story of spirit becom­ing involved in matter, and evolving from matter. On the level of the individual it is a story of the sleep, awaken­ing, and "expansion" of consciousness. The depth of the tale of the Prodigal Son is limitless, but from the point of view of the individual there is one moment in the story which is critical. It is the point at which we now find ourselves —the moment of awakening. 

There is an African saying that "the disease that is hidden cannot be cured." During the period of our spiritual amnesia there is really nothing we can do. Our unawareness ensures a blind wandering from experience to experience, feeling unfulfilled, but as yet unquestioning. However, when the moment arrives that we remember, that we catch a fleeting glimpse of the forgotten majesty of our deepest self, many previ­ously unimagined possibilities open up for us. Among these is the possibility to "hurry home."

One of the many paradoxes of the spiritual life is that as human beings we are future-oriented, but the future we point ourselves toward is something whose fullness is ever present around and within us. Our tendency is to approach the realization of the spiritual path, the "hidden splendor," or enlightenment, as though it is the culmination of some progressive unfoldment, which in a sense it is. However, in a deeper sense the moment of enlightenment can only occur when all impulses toward progress are stilled; when, in the words of the Prajnaparamita Sutra, we recognize and behave as though there is "no nirvana, no path, no wisdom, also no attainment." So we practice. We engage in a vari­ety of exercises to address the restless movement of the body, the emotions, and our ever active minds. We practice compassion, kindness, generosity, patience, perseverance, harmony, equanimity, truthfulness, love, and a thousand more virtues. We practice until prac­tice becomes irrelevant. We exert until all of the effort becomes effortless. In the words from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets, "the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." The search ends where it began. The striving exhausts itself, and our forgetfulness of the soul dissipates, when once again we remember.


From the Editor's Desk Spring 2013

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation:
Smoley, Richard. "From the Editor's Desk" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 42.

Theosophical Society - Richard Smoley is editor of Quest: Journal of the Theosophical Society in America and a frequent lecturer for the Theosophical SocietyIn many areas of human endeavor, our range of knowl­edge is immensely greater than it was a century ago. In one area, however, the only thing we have really learned is the depth of our ignorance.

I'm referring to homosexuality, both male and female (and its close relatives, bisexuality and transgen­derism). For most of Western history, educated opinion knew, or thought it knew, what these were: they were vices pure and simple. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the newborn discipline of psychol­ogy came to see homosexuality less as a vice and more as a mental disorder (caused by a smothering mother, a distant or absent father, or some such influence). But in the late twentieth century, psychologists and psychia­trists acknowledged that homosexuality was not a dis­order, but a natural variation that appears in humans and many animals. It is caused, we are told, by some combination of genetic, hormonal, and environmental factors—which is to say that the experts have no idea of why it exists at all.

If homosexuality is unnatural, then why has it per­sisted so long, often in the face of vicious persecution? But if it is natural, what purpose does it serve in nature? On the face of it, the very existence of homosexuality presents a serious challenge to the Darwinian theory of sexual selection, which, Darwin wrote, "depends, not on a struggle for existence, but on a struggle between the males for possession of the females; the result is not death to the unsuccessful competitor, but few or no offspring." What could possibly be more disadvanta­geous to reproductive survival than desire for the same sex? And yet homosexuality, permitted or persecuted, admired or denigrated, has always endured.

For the most part the esoteric traditions have regarded homosexuality as an aberration, as exempli­fied by the twentieth-century spiritual teacher G.I. Gurdjieff, who once said, "Only a person who is com­pletely normal as regards sex has any chance in the [esoteric] work. Any kind of 'originality,' strange tastes, strange desires . . . must be destroyed from the very beginning." And yet Gurdjieff spent much of the 1930s working with a group of women, nicknamed "The Rope," that consisted mostly of lesbians. For all the condemnation, explicit and implicit, it's safe to say that homosexuality has always been present among esoteri­cists, just as it has been in mainstream society.

I won't devote this page to arguing for acceptance of LGBTs. (This is the common acronym used to desig­nate lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transgendered peo­ple.) That has been done eloquently and movingly by the articles by Jimmy Creech and David Christensen in this issue. But I think it's worth devoting a bit of attention to a possible esoteric explanation for this mysteri­ous phenomenon.

The classic Theosophical literature has few if any references to homosexuality or its kin; rather it tends to extol brahmacharya or celibacy as the royal road to spiritual adepthood. Thus we have to go further afield for some esoteric explanation for homosexuality.

There would seem to be no fact more obvious than that in humans there are two sexes. And yet esoteric thought in its many forms teaches that there are three primordial forces that give rise to existence. They have been given various names. The Christians speak of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Kabbalists of Judaism speak of the three letters present in the Tetra­grammaton—yod, heh, and waw. The Chinese sacred ternary is heaven, earth, and man. And in Hindu phi­losophy there are the three guns or principles—rajas, tames, and sattva. Gurdjieff's terms for them are prob­ably the most transparent: "Holy Affirming" "Holy Denying," and "Holy Reconciling."

As above, so below'—this is probably the most commonly quoted dictum in esotericism. And yet here we seem to have a very palpable discrepancy between what is above—in the world of primordial forces—and what is below, as manifested in human biology. It leads me to ask, could the presence of a number of people who do not fit into the standard roles of masculine and feminine embody this missing third, "reconciling" prin­ciple in humanity?

To return to Gurdjieff yet again, in his convoluted allegory Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson he tells of a planet somewhere in the universe where beings repro­duce by way of three sexes, and whose offspring are, as he puts it, "ideal in our Megalocosmos." While his explanations of this process are far too intricate to describe here, they do hint that some embodiment of the third force is possible and perhaps even desirable in the sexes of living beings.

All of what I have been saying here is, of course, wildly speculative. But we are left with one inelucta­ble truth. Sex has to do with far more than reproduc­tion. It may even have to do with more than expressing love—however noble and beautiful that may be in its own right. The varieties of human sexual expres­sion are virtually infinite, and I think we should not be too quick to judge them. What to one person seems degraded or revolting is to another a source of ecstasy. In the end we do not really know why. This all suggests that the subject of sex, and its relation to love, should be approached with humility, open-mindedness, and an intense reluctance to condemn.

Richard Smoley


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