Quest Magazine

Originally printed in the Fall 2011issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Bull, James L. "Turning Inward: The Process of Personal Recovery." Quest  99.4 (FALL  2011):133-135.

James L. Bull, Ph.D. 

He poured us each a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table as I got out a tape recorder. 

I don't know if I can describe what the hole was like at Folsom to you, but it was pretty soul-shattering, I guess. I just really took a good look at myself and went through quite a psychological thing there, and just decided I was going to get the hell out of there and I was going to get out of prison and get out of the whole kind of pattern that I had lived all my life. I had been, you know, a criminal ever since I was this high; I had grown up with that sort of thing and had just been fortunate that I had never been caught till I was twenty-eight years old. So I really just made up my mind that I was going to change, that's all. There was no future in it for me . . . I was in there four months.

I had gone through that kind of change to a much lesser degree a number of times before. When I first got busted and did five years, I felt like, "Maybe I'm on the wrong track; maybe this isn't heading anyplace." But I always came back to that feeling, "Hell, if I can't have it the way I want it, to hell with it." Well, I arrived at the point where I just felt like this was not for me; I had to do something different. It was either that or go under; either that or resign myself to being in Folsom for the rest of my natural life. I had never been so thoroughly trapped before in my life. I really think for a man to make a profound change in his life, he has to go through some kind of experience that shakes him to his roots . . . otherwise, he goes along in the rut and makes half-hearted changes.

This man, whom I will call Frank, was put in the "hole"—solitary confinement—after being captured during a brief and failed escape attempt from Folsom Prison, a very old high-security prison in California. (The truck he escaped in had run out of gas on Folsom Dam, behind the prison.) Note that his effort was strikingly individual: because it was directed at and made use of the values of a community that existed outside the prison walls, it could receive no immediate validation. It was necessary for Frank to separate himself from the prison community. As he put it, "There are activities available, but they are all convict activities. In order to do anything that really gets you involved with the world, outside of prison, you have to develop activities on your own." Frank went on to become involved in a number of activities in prison—an art show, a drama group, a Toastmasters affiliate—that were oriented toward the outside world.

Frank was the first person that I spoke with in a study of personal recovery. I had wanted to meet some people whose lives had at one time been seriously misdirected but who had recovered a measure of indisputable success. I decided that talking with ex-prisoners was a good way to begin. When I first spoke with Frank, he had only recently been discharged from parole. I later realized that an equally appropriate pool of recovered persons could have been found at any local meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

After I talked with recovering ex-prisoners, I reviewed some observations made by the nineteenth-century Danish philosopher Saren Kierkegaard. At one point—in Either/Or, volume two—Kierkegaard speaks (through a character, Judge William) to a young man whose existential condition resembled Frank's: 

One is not tempted to pity you but rather to wish that some day the circumstances of your life may tighten upon you the screws of its rack and compel you to come out with what really dwells in you, may begin the sharper inquisition of the rack which cannot be beguiled by nonsense and witticisms. Life is a masquerade, you explain, and for you this is inexhaustible material for amusement; and so far, no one has succeeded in knowing you.

Kierkegaard described a stage of spiritual development and a lifestyle which he called the aesthetic. This refers to much more than the appreciation of art and beauty, and includes the pursuit of the immediate things of life—including pleasures and sensations and the erotic and the sensuous generally. It refers to that which is experienced immediately and nonreflectively. The ability to experience pleasure is taken for granted. Choices are made toward the acquisition of unquestioned values; one is oriented toward "getting the most out of life." Because such experiences cannot be fully conveyed to or shared with others, they must be experienced to be fully appreciated. (As examples, consider skiing or sky diving, or marijuana smoking.) Disdain for nonparticipants is well-expressed by the phrase "Don't knock it if you've never tried it." Note that this consumption-oriented life does not lead to self-examination, nor does it does foster intimacy. This is especially true of intoxicants. Drinking does not unite alcoholics; it prevents them from being together on a deeper level; they are only experiencing stimulation in concert. Indeed intoxicant use prevents them from examining the facts of their lives that make such use necessary. They are trapped, and only radical change will extricate them.

Kierkegaard suggests that the pursuit of a life continually oriented toward externals leads to boredom and despair. Thoreau said the same thing: "A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind." Kierkegaard maintained that the aestheticist is in despair whether or not he is conscious of it. For the person who is consciously hurting, there is more hope than for the one who is able to stumble through life, compensating for one pleasure grown stale with another fresh with novelty. (How well this pattern applies to the stereotype of the playboy or the jet-setter. Perhaps I could have chosen the despairingly wealthy instead of prisoners as a study group!)

The key, then, to radical change is despair. Mere misfortune may only cause the individual to redouble his efforts toward the same objectives. Thus Frank, upon finding himself in solitary confinement, might have responded with a familiar convict phrase, "I can do that time standing on my head." Failure, on the other hand, may call attention to the hopelessness of the entire game. Thus finding oneself in the hole in Folsom Prison or in the gutter on skid row may be an important event. It may direct attention to the entire pattern of which the present situation is only a symptom. The task is for the individual to choose himself, and it is the choice to be made, for his survival is at stake. When oneself is chosen as a task and a challenge, one is transformed, for one has turned attention inward for the first time. The individual may now feel some self-determination—not in the pursuit of externals but in setting the course of his life. He has taken possession of his life. As Kierkegaard states, "He does not become another man than he was before, but he becomes himself, consciousness is unified, and he is himself."

Consider the case of another ex-prisoner whom I will call Pablo. He had been out of prison for about six months. During this time he had abstained from alcohol and drugs but had maintained an otherwise unchanged life style of thefts, con games, etc. He eventually resumed drug use and decided to go to Synanon, a residential recovery house. However, after a short stay he felt that he was institutionalized again and decided to make a complete break with his old life. In throwing himself into the world, so to speak, he called upon God to not let him die:

I told myself, "Whatever happens, I'm not going to use; I'm not going to drink; I'm not going to steal." I had remembered something said about, "If you do what's right, God is obligated to you," and I knew that emotionally I had problems . . . It was going to be hard for me to become independent, and I knew I needed help. I made, like, a bargain with God. I said, "Look, I'll do what is right, but you've got to take care of me. You've got to take care of me." I was, like, right up against the wall. "You've got to, man, because I can't make it. But I'll do my part: I won't use no stuff, I won't drink, and I won't hustle. I'll try to make it on the righteous." This was the beginning of a change in my way of life.

Upon leaving Synanon House on Christmas day, Pablo hitchhiked to downtown Los Angeles. There he decided to take the first bus he saw to its destination, where he would begin his new life. The bus took him to the nearby community of Glendale, where he located an Alcoholics Anonymous center and attended a meeting that evening. The following day, he began ringing doorbells, asking to do yard work. For over the next year, he attended AA meetings at least daily. When I interviewed him years later, he had a roofing company with four trucks.

Pablo's previous releases from custody were largely the constructions of others or were simply manipulations to get out—"can openers" in prison jargon. Those releases were part of the chain of events, including use, arrest, etc., that had been his life. This time he was not being released; he was releasing himself. He was not getting out of someone else's prison; he was getting out of his own. By beginning at rock bottom he could take responsibility and credit for what followed. Such a leap of faith was only possible through an act of faith. Again, Kierkegaard:

So it is too that in the eyes of the world it is dangerous to venture. And why? Because one may lose. But not to venture is shrewd. And yet, by not venturing, it is so dreadfully easy to lose that which it would be difficult to lose in even the most venturesome venture...one's self. For if I have ventured amiss—very well, then life helps me by its punishment. But if I have not ventured at all—who then helps me? And, moreover, if by not venturing at all in the highest sense (and to venture in the highest sense is precisely to become conscious of oneself) I have gained all earthly advantages...and lose my self! What of that?" Therefore, it requires courage for a man to choose himself;...for when the passion of freedom is aroused in him he chooses himself and fights for the possession of this object as he would for his eternal blessedness; and it is his eternal blessedness.

And to venture in the highest sense is precisely to become conscious of oneself.

Such choice lifts the individual to the next stage of Kierkegaard's progression: the ethical. What is of importance in ethical choice is not so much what is chosen but the transformation experienced by the chooser. Such a choice initially puts the individual in a very exposed and vulnerable position, and much more dependent on others—or, in Pablo's case, on God. Such vulnerability may also open the person to others. Another man explained:

I was going to walk across the street to get a toothbrush, and the realization hit me that I couldn't trust myself. I was afraid that if I went across the street to the drugstore, I wouldn't get back—that I'd go out and get loaded. It was the first time I ever really asked for help. I turned to my friend and said, "Hey, Tom, will you do something for me?" And he said, "What?" I said, "Walk across with me. I'm afraid to go." He was the first guy I could pour out my life story to. I don't think I held anything back.

A person who has limited his options, his relationships, and his experiences—who has painted himself into a corner of life, so to speak—has little flexibility left. He may possess sophisticated skills needed to survive within his specialized world, and he may be adept at handling all the dangers and contingencies involved, such as learning how to do time in prison. But all such threats are external, and they leave him unprepared to cope with deeper anxiety. Hence a man who has spent his life as a sophisticated hustler, thief, and drug dealer leaves Synanon only through an act of faith. And another, with similar credentials, is afraid to walk across the street alone to buy a toothbrush. These are acts of greater courage than either man has yet exercised, for in taking these risks they confront, not concrete situations, but their own capacities. This time the threat is not in being arrested, but in losing oneself.

A shift has taken place in which strength is shown, not through toughness, but through vulnerability. Kierkegaard notes, "But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all." How precious this vulnerability, which reveals us at last to ourselves and to others—and even to God.

These examples involve persons whose lifestyles had progressively closed them off from themselves and from intimate contact with others. Any form of addictive behavior provides an extreme example, in which one's attention becomes exclusively focused on the objective, the appetite, the obsession. In these examples, a radical shift was necessary in order for them to begin a deeper and far richer life. Note that our economic system tends to focus attention on commodities, acquisitions, and pursuits. How important for all of us, then, to maintain a capacity for reflection, intimacy, and self-discovery.

James L. Bull, Ph.D. is a semiretired psychologist. His article "Saving Nature: In Praise of Frugality" appeared in the March-April 2007 issue of Quest.

VOLUME 99, NUMBER 4

CONTENTS

Turning Inward: The Process of Personal Recovery
James L. Bull, PhD.

How to  Evaluate Inner Guidance
Corinne McLaughlin and Gordon Davidson

The Task of Becoming Sixth-Race Man
Seymour B. Ginsburg

The Pistis Sophia: An Introduction
Raul Branco

From the Editors Desk
Richard Smoley

The Dalai Lama Comes to Chicago
Richard Smoley

Presidents Diary

Originally printed in the Summer 2011 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Shirley J. Nicholson. "How the Masters Know Truth." Quest  99. 3 (Summer 2011): 114 - 115.

by Shirley J. Nicholson

How do we know anything? Those who study thought processes tell us we work mostly with concepts, maps, descriptions, not with the reality they describe. We can see this for ourselves through observing our thinking. We may find that too often inaccurate perceptions are the basis for a mistaken concept, and that we form opinions and biases without being aware that they color our perception of the truth. We tend to exaggerate the size and importance of what we feel is our best interest. For example, studies show that underprivileged children perceive coins as being larger than do more affluent children. But we can move toward truth if we can learn to distinguish opinion from fact and see things as they really are, unmixed with our wishes and fears, which throw a kind of veil over the bare, direct truth.

Ordinarily we get knowledge from what the senses tell us, providing us with facts from which we make deductions. Sherlock Holmes is a good example. He might see a corpse, a bullet, a shoe print, or other physical evidence. He would use his "little gray cells" to deduce that a six-foot farmer had been present at the scene of the murder. Holmes used the scientific method of making predictions from hypotheses and concepts based on physical evidence. He also used intuition. He intuitively knew where to look for clues and how to put the pieces together. He used empathy as well. He had knowledge of the criminal mind and could feel as another would have felt.

The Master Koot Hoomi, the principal author of The Mahatma Letters, a book of letters from two Masters to two early Theosophists, hints that Masters know truth in a different way from our usual modes: "Believe me, there comes a moment in the life of an adept when the hardships he has passed through are a thousandfold rewarded. In order to acquire further knowledge, he has no more to go through a minute and slow process of investigation and comparison of various objects, but is accorded in instantaneous, implicit insight into every first truth. . . . The adept sees and feels and lives in the very source of all fundamental truths—the Universal Spiritual Essence of Nature" (Barker and Chin, 55).

Like Sherlock Holmes, the Masters use empathy to perceive, but their capacity for perception clearly surpasses ordinary human means. There is much evidence that K. H. and other adepts knew in ways scarcely available to us. At one point K. H. relates an incident that occurred when Henry Steel Olcott and H. P. Blavatsky had a serious disagreement. Olcott, on shipboard, was thinking dark thoughts about her. K. H. wrote to Olcott that he was aware of these thoughts and counseled him about them (Jinarajadasa, 50).

But the first truths that the Master referred to as a prize of adeptship are much grander. They are fundamental, primary, first principles from which other truths can be derived. They are changeless, eternal. In logic, these first principles consist of axioms, assumptions, theorems on which patterns of reasoning are built. In physics, gravity is an example of a first truth; falling apples and the orbiting behavior of spaceships are its effects.

The principles of Theosophy can be considered first truths. The fundamental truth is unity, the one source that is behind all interconnections and brotherhood. As the late Theosophical teacher Ianthe Hoskins said so often, quoting HPB, "Existence is one thing."

Another principle can be found in the cycles that occur everywhere in nature, of which reincarnation is an instance. Still another is the unfoldment of consciousness from within, which gives rise to evolution in the kingdoms of nature, as well as to races and rounds. This is associated with emanation of forms from higher or more ethereal levels of being to lower or denser ones. The planes of nature derive from this universal principle.

We know basic truths primarily as concepts, through words, thoughts, theories of which we are convinced. But Theosophical teacher and author Joy Mills tells us that we must learn to distinguish first truths from the mental concepts that derive from them. The Masters experience these first truths, not through thought processes, but as "instantaneous, implicit insight." This kind of knowing is a function of consciousness itself. Concepts and constructs have their place, but they cannot replace this fundamental knowing. Indeed such instantaneous insight suffers in the translation into content or ordinary knowledge. As is said in the Mahatma Letters, "‘Truthâ— is One; and cannot admit of diametrically opposite views; and pure spirits who see it as it is with the veil of matter entirely withdrawn from it—cannot err" (Barker and Chin, 67; emphasis in the original).

We live primarily in the personality, the physical body, the emotions, and the lower or concrete mind, whereas adepts are centered in the higher individuality: atma or essential being, buddhi or higher intuition, and manas or spiritual insight and knowledge. Adepts live, not in truths, but in Truth.

The adept sees and feels and lives in the very source of all fundamental truths—the Universal Spiritual Essence of Nature, that from which all emerges—Ultimate Reality. Noted Theosophical author I. K. Taimni has said that in Ultimate Reality all truths of existence are contained in an integrated and harmonized form. They appear as partial and different truths of infinite variety in the realm of manifestation. In occultism only Ultimate Reality is referred to as Truth.

Trying to portray a state of total contemplation, the sixteenth-century Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross says that he passed beyond all ordinary knowledge and reached a state of knowing beyond words. Similarly, the Tao Teh Ching says that the Tao (the essential reality) that can be said is not the true Tao. The third Chinese Châ—an Buddhist patriarch advised that if you stop talking and thinking, "there is nothing you will not be able to know." Our ordinary state of mind is subject to distortion, fantasy, dreams, maya or illusion. We must quiet this mind in order to see Truth.

The Idyll of the White Lotus, a work by the nineteenth-century Theosophist Mabel Collins, says: "The principle that gives life dwells in us, and without us, is undying and eternally beneficent, is not heard, or seen, or smelt, but is perceived by the man who desires perception" (Collins, 123). If we can still our minds and learn to perceive it, we move a step above our "land of dream and fiction" to the Mastersâ— "Truth land" (Barker and Chin, 440). It is then possible to have moments of "instantaneous, implicit insight."

References 

Barker, A. T., and Vicente Hao Chin Jr., eds. The Mahatma Letters from the Mahatmas M. and K. H. in Chronological Sequence. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1998.

Blavatsky, H. P. The Secret Doctrine. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1979.

Collins, Mabel. The Idyll of the White Lotus. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1952.

Jinarajadasa, C., ed. Letters from the Masters of Wisdom, First Series. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1948.

Shirley Nicholson, former chief editor for Quest Books, served as director of the Krotona School of Theosophy in Ojai, California, and later as administrative head of the Krotona Institute. She is corresponding secretary for the Esoteric School in North America. She is author of two books on Theosophy, compiler of several anthologies, and has written many articles for Theosophical journals.

Originally printed in the Summer 2011 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Pablo D. Sender. "Mahatmas versus Ascended Masters." Quest  99. 3 (Summer 2011): 107 - 111.

by Pablo D. Sender

H. P. Blavatsky was the first person to introduce the concept of the Mahatmas (also called adepts or Masters) to the West. At first she talked about them privately, but after a few years two of these adepts, known by the pseudonyms of Koot Hoomi (K. H.) and Morya (M.), agreed to maintain a correspondence with a couple of British Theosophists—A. P. Sinnett and A. O. Hume. This communication took place from 1880 to 1885, and during those years the knowledge about the Mahatmas became more and more public. The original letters are currently kept in the British Library in London as a valuable historical item, and have been published under the title of The Mahatma Letters. This book remains an unparalleled first-hand source of information about the Mahatmas and their teachings.

In 1930, fifty years after this correspondence began, Guy Ballard, a former student of Theosophy, was allegedly contacted during a hike on California's Mount Shasta by a mysterious nonphysical character. This figure identified himself as one of the Theosophical Mahatmas, the eighteenth-century occultist known as the Comte de St. Germain. He charged Ballard with the task of transmitting the lessons of "the Great Law of Life," giving rise to what became called "the I AM movement."

Ballard and his wife Edna soon gained a wide following with their version of St. Germain's teachings, creating the Saint Germain Foundation in 1932. The I AM movement reached its heyday in the late 1930s; Guy Ballard's death in 1939, combined with subsequent legal challenges, including a suit launched by the federal government alleging postal fraud, caused it to diminish. The organization continues to exist today, but keeps a low profile (Hanegraaff, 2:587).

The Ascended Master movement reached another stage in 1958, when Mark Prophet, a former student of the Saint Germain Foundation, claimed he was commissioned by "the Ascended Master El Morya" to transmit the teachings of the Great White Brotherhood through an organization called the Summit Lighthouse. Upon Mark Prophet's death in 1973, leadership of the organization was taken over by his wife, Elizabeth Clare Prophet, who changed its name to the Church Universal and Triumphant. In 1999, Prophet retired from her activities with the church; she died in 2009 (Hanegraaff, 2:1093—96).

Today, largely as a result of the I AM movement and the Prophets' activities, the idea of the Ascended Masters is prevalent in the New Age. Since the Ballards and the Prophets used the names and portraits of the Theosophical Mahatmas for their Ascended Masters, many people assume that they are the same. However, as we are going to see in this article, they differ in some very important respects.

Ascended or Living?

The Ascended Masters, as their name suggests, are supposed to be Masters who have experienced the miracle of ascension, as it is said Jesus did. The original teaching, channeled by Guy Ballard, was that a new Ascended Master would not die but would take the body up with him. This teaching of ascension is in direct opposition to the Theosophical teachings. Mahatma K. H. refers to the idea disparagingly in one of his letters to Sinnett: "There was but one hysterical woman alleged to have been present at the pretended ascension, and . . . the phenomenon has never been corroborated by repetition" (Barker and Chin, 5). HPB also rejects ascension as a fact, calling it "an allegory as old as the world" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings 8:389; see also 4:359-60).

After Ballard (who was supposed to have reached the stage of ascension) died of cardiac arterial sclerosis but did not take his body with him, his wife, Edna, said that one could actually ascend after the body died. Thus the idea of ascension changed during the years, and today Ascended Masters are regarded as disembodied spirits, having transcended their physical bodies. This, again, is contrary to the Theosophical teaching about the Mahatmas. In the early days of the TS, before people in the West knew anything about the Masters, Henry Steel Olcott began to receive letters from some of them. In one early letter, the Master Serapis wrote: "The time is come to let thee know who I am. I am not a disembodied spirit, brother. I am a living man" (Jinarajadasa [2002], 2:23). That they are living men was verified by HPB, who lived with some of them near Tibet for several years while undergoing her occult training. Later Olcott and several other Theosophists also met some Mahatmas in their physical bodies at different times and in different parts of the world.

The fact that the Mahatmas retain their bodies is of great importance. They are enlightened yogis, similar in certain respects to those traditionally known in the East. But there is a difference. An enlightened one, after having realized Truth, has gained the right to merge with the All in a state of absolute bliss (called moksha or nirvana). This prevents him from being in touch with humanity, since he has to abandon the lower vehicles of consciousness. By contrast, the Theosophical Masters, out of compassion, decide to give up entering into nirvana so that they remain able to help us in our struggle to realize Truth: 

The Master must be in a human body, must be incarnate. Many who reach this level no longer take up the burden of the flesh, but using only "the spiritual body" pass out of touch with this earth, and inhabit only loftier realms of existence. (Besant, 49)

The Mahatmas are in this respect what the Mahayana Buddhists call bodhisattvas. They choose to retain the body, not because of any fault in their development but as an act of self-sacrifice. Possessing a physical body subjects the adepts to certain unavoidable limitations. As Blavatsky said, they "are living men, born as we are born, and doomed to die like every mortal" (Blavatsky [1987], 288). Being perfect yogis, they have learned how to take care of their bodies so that they can live much longer than ordinary human beings; nevertheless, the bodies must eventually die.

The Mahatma Letters have several statements about the limitations intrinsic in leading a physical existence. For example, Mahatma K. H. wrote: "I was physically very tired by a ride of 48 hours consecutively" (Barker and Chin, 398). He also stated that he is limited to his physical senses and the functions of his brain "when I sit at my meals, or when I am dressing, reading or otherwise occupied" (Barker and Chin, 257).

But the physical body is where the Masters' evolutionary development is the least apparent. It is said that if we see an adept on the physical plane, we may not even recognize him as anything more than a good and wise man. Yet on the inner planes, his nature is far beyond that of those who are still caught in the illusion. In their letters, the Mahatmas differentiate between the "inner man" (the spiritual Self of the adept which is relatively omniscient and beyond limitations) and "the outer man," which is a very limited expression of the spiritual Self working through the psychophysical personality. This is why K. H. wrote: "We are not infallible, all-foreseeing ‘Mahatmas' at every hour of the day" (Barker and Chin, 450). As he explained: "An adept—the highest as the lowest—is one only during the exercise of his occult powers" (Barker and Chin, 257).

These adepts, then, are not like the Ascended Masters of the New Age, who are said to become godlike, all-powerful beings beyond the laws of nature. In their teachings, the Mahatmas even denied that such beings exist. K. H. wrote: "If we had the powers of the imaginary Personal God, and the universal and immutable laws were but toys to play with, then indeed might we have created conditions that would have turned this earth into an Arcadia for lofty souls" (Barker and Chin, 474). In their letters, the Mahatmas constantly talk about the "immutable laws" of the universe, and say that they can help humanity only within the limits of these laws. They cannot produce a New Age magically; whether we like it or not, this is our job.

Proponents of the Ascended Masters sometimes attempt to account for these discrepancies by claiming that when the TS was founded most of the Theosophical Mahatmas were still "unascended Masters." This leaves room to detach the Ascended Masters from the limitations that all the Mahatmas, "the highest as the lowest," are said to have. But according to the Theosophical teachings, the higher the adept, the less we are likely to hear from him:

The more spiritual the Adept becomes, the less can he meddle with mundane, gross affairs and the more he has to confine himself to a spiritual work. . . . The very high Adepts, therefore, do help humanity, but only spiritually: they are constitutionally incapable of meddling with worldly affairs. (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 6:247)

Another feature of the Ascended Masters teachings is that they are mainly concerned with the "form aspect" of the Masters (their appearance, names, character, etc.). The Theosophical view, when properly understood, is very different. Blavatsky wrote, "The real mahatma is then not his physical body but that higher Manas [the spiritual Mind] which is inseparably linked to the Atma [the real Self] and its vehicle [the spiritual Soul]." And she adds that whoever wants to "see" a Mahatma has to elevate his perception to the spiritual planes, because "higher things can be perceived only by a sense pertaining to those higher things." The spiritual planes, where forms and separation vanish and unity prevails, are far higher than the psychic planes, which are the ones contacted by natural seers. Those who can reach the high state of consciousness that transcends all sense of separateness "will see the mahatma wherever he may be, for, being merged into the sixth and the seventh principles, which are ubiquitous and omnipresent, the mahatmas may be said to be everywhere" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 6:239).

The real Mahatma is thus seen mainly as a spiritual state of consciousness, and the forms assumed by his personal aspect are just shadows. To be sure, we can find descriptions of the form aspect of the Mahatmas in the Theosophical literature, not because this aspect is important in itself, but because it provides something for our limited minds to grasp and comprehend. But this personal aspect is meant to be transcended, and whoever is content with it is stuck in the world of illusion.

The Masters' Work for Humanity

Today thousands of people claim they are channeling the Ascended Masters. It is clear that these Ascended Masters have their attention focused on this physical plane, doing little more than communicating with us through channels. This is, again, another basic difference with the Theosophical teachings. In Theosophy, as well as in most serious spiritual traditions, this physical plane is seen as an illusion. The Maha Chohan, one of the highest adepts, said: "Teach the people to see that life on this earth, even the happiest, is but a burden and an illusion" (Jinarajadasa [1988], 1:6-7). This concept echoes the teachings of Plato, who said this world is just the shadow of Reality. It is also related to the first Noble Truth the Buddha taught after his enlightenment: "All is dukkha (suffering) in this world."

Consequently, as Annie Besant said of the Masters, "the least part of their work is done here," in connection with the physical plane (quoted in Codd [1988], 45). This is one reason why they live in seclusion—most of their activity takes place on the higher planes. This, in fact, is based on a profound knowledge of the structure of the cosmos:

It will be easily seen by any one who examines the nature of occult dynamics, that a given amount of energy expended on the spiritual or astral plane is productive of far greater results than the same amount expended on the physical objective plane of existence. (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 5:338-39)

So what is the Masters' work on these higher planes? This complex subject is beyond the scope of this article. When asked about this, Blavatsky answered: "You would hardly understand, unless you were an Adept. But they keep alive the spiritual life of mankind" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 8:401).

By contrast, channeled communications from the Ascended Masters display a great concern with the physical lives and desires of their followers. The Ascended Master literature is filled with promises of magical miracles of health, limitless wealth, and perfect happiness, and "decrees" are given to enable people to "manifest" these things in their lives. This attitude is the exact opposite of the Theosophical one.

Theosophy says that the psychological ego is false, that the idea that we are this body, emotions, and mind is a mistake of perception and the source of sorrow. It says that real happiness comes only as an unsought by-product of reducing rather than increasing our attachment and identification with the personal. This is why Blavatsky wrote that "Occultism is not . . . the pursuit of happiness as man understands the word; for the first step is sacrifice, the second renunciation" (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 8:14). K. H. agreed with this when he wrote: "We—the criticized and misunderstood Brothers—we seek to bring men to sacrifice their personality—a passing flash—for the welfare of the whole humanity" (Barker and Chin, 222). The Theosophical Mahatmas would never pay attention to personal desires. During the early times of the Theosophical Society, some members, completely misunderstanding the nature of the Mahatmas, would bring HPB some personal requests to ask of them. In a letter Blavatsky explained:

The Masters would not stoop for one moment to give a thought to individual, private matters relating but to one or even ten persons, their welfare, woes and blisses in this world of Maya [illusion], to nothing except questions of really universal importance. It is all you Theosophists who have dragged down in your minds the ideals of our Masters; you who have unconsciously and with the best of intentions and full sincerity of good purpose, desecrated Them, by thinking for one moment, and believing that They would trouble Themselves with your business matters, sons to be born, daughters to be married, houses to be built, etc. etc. (Jinarajadasa [1923], iv; emphasis here and in other quotations is from the original)

And yet this is exactly the kind of thing the Ascended Masters seem to be concerned with. They even teach alleged ways to dissolve unpleasant karma, a conception that the Theosophical Mahatmas emphatically opposed. K. H. wrote:

Bear in mind that the slightest cause produced, however unconsciously, and with whatever motive, cannot be unmade, or its effects crossed in their progress—by millions of gods, demons, and men combined. (Barker and Chin, 77-78)

The Ascended Masters are portrayed as cosmic fathers who will take care of their followers' problems. In contrast, Mahatma M. said: "We are leaders but not child-nurses" (Eek, 605). The adepts are impersonal, universal forces, and respond only to those who are developing in that direction:

Although the whole of humanity is within the mental vision of the mahatmas, they cannot be expected to take special note of every human being, unless that being by his special acts draws their particular attention to himself. The highest interest of humanity, as a whole, is their special concern, for they have identified themselves with that Universal Soul which runs through Humanity, and he, who would draw their attention, must do so through that Soul which pervades everywhere. (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 6:240)

The Mahatmas do not communicate indiscriminately with people who fail to realize the illusion of the personal self, or who are driven by desires, fears, and ambitions:

They work on this plane through two kinds of agents: direct and indirect. Any person sincere and unselfish working in the line of the Masters' work may receive their inspiration even if they do not know it. Their direct agents are their accepted disciples, who work consciously with the Masters. (Codd, [2000], 9)

Their influence is always available for those of us acting with selflessness and compassion, even though we may be completely unaware of this. As K. H. wrote to Annie Besant: "At favorable times we let loose elevating influences which strike various persons in various ways" (Jinarajadasa [1988], 1:123-24). Thus any philanthropic act we perform may be part of the Mahatmas' work. However, only accepted disciples have a conscious and personal relationship with them. The moral and spiritual qualifications needed to be an accepted disciple are very deep and demanding, and very few in humanity are at the level of spiritual maturity to achieve this.  (For a description of these qualifications see At the Feet of the Master and Light on the Path.)

The teachings of the Mahatmas are calculated to help people rise above the personal ego and realize the spiritual Self. Approaches like those we see in the New Age have been characterized by the Tibetan lama Chögyam Trungpa as "spiritual materialism." While not denying the reality of the spiritual, these individuals attempt to put it at the service of the personal and material. This approach is appealing for many who are not ready to try to transcend the personal ego, and has turned the New Age into an important business.

Who Are the Ascended Masters?

Who, then, are these Ascended Masters that are communicating with thousands of channels around the world? We cannot be sure. But to appreciate this question it is necessary to realize that the inner planes are inhabited by all kinds of entities (elementals, thought-forms, deceased people, living people whose bodies are sleeping, etc.). Many of these entities enjoy impersonating Masters, saints, and other important historical figures. (For more on this subject see The Astral Plane and the pamphlet Difficulties in Clairvoyance, both by Charles W. Leadbeater.)

Even in the early days of the TS, mediums and sensitives began to channel messages from fake Mahatmas. For example, after a sensitive by the name of Oxley declared that K. H. had "thrice visited him ‘by the astral form' and . . . that he had a conversation with Mr. Oxley," the Mahatma had to ask his disciple, Djual Kool, to write to Mr. Sinnett saying: "Whomsoever Mr. Oxley may have seen and conversed with at the time described, it was not with Koot Hoomi" (Barker and Chin, 253).

In another instance, there was a medium who claimed to be in touch with characters such as Jesus, John the Baptist, Hermes, and Elijah. In a letter to Mr. Sinnett referring to this kind of psychic communication, K. H. wrote:  "Mystery, mystery will you exclaim. ignorance we answer; the creation of that we believe in and want to see" (Barker and Chin, 109).

We have to keep in mind that "the Psychic World of super-sensuous perceptions and of deceptive sights—the world of Mediums . . . is the world of the Great Illusion" (Blavatsky, [1992], 75-76). In that realm different entities can assume any form according to what they find in the seer's mind. Deep powers of clairvoyance, long training, and a strong spiritual maturity, are needed not to be fooled by these entities, because

The slightest wish-fulfillment there [on the psychic plane] takes shape and form. Such a thought-form can be ensouled by a Nature-spirit . . . and thus appear as an angel of light, telling us just what we want to hear. CWL [i.e., Leadbeater] always warned us to be wary of any vision or voice which flattered us. (Codd, [1988], 66)

In support of this, Blavatsky offers a suggestive historical fact. Writing in 1889, she observes:

Fourteen years ago, before the Theosophical Society was founded, all the talk [by mediums] was of "Spirits" . . . and no one by any chance even dreamt of talking about living "Adepts," "Mahatmas," or "Masters." . . . Now all that is changed. We Theosophists were, unfortunately, the first to talk of these things . . . and now the name has become common property. . . .

There is hardly a medium who has not claimed to have seen them. Every bogus swindling Society, for commercial purposes, now claims to be guided and directed by "Masters," often supposed to be far higher than ours! (Blavatsky [1987], 301-302)

The idea of the Ascended Masters is hard to believe for many spiritually minded people, who see in them nothing more than a reemergence of the tribal gods of old. Let us hope this article serves to remove some misconceptions.

References

Barker, A. T., and Vicente Hao Chin Jr., eds. The Mahatma Letters to A.P. Sinnett from the Mahatmas M. and K. H. in Chronological Sequence. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1998.

Besant, Annie. The Masters. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1985.

Blavatsky, H. P. Collected Writings. 15 vols. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1977-91.

——. The Key to Theosophy. London: Theosophical Publishing House, 1987.

——. The Voice of the Silence. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1992.

Codd, Clara. The Way of the Disciple. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1988.

——. Theosophy as the Masters See It. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 2000.

Eek, Sven, ed. Damodar and the Pioneers of the Theosophical Movement. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1965.

Hanegraaff, Wouter J., et al. Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism. Two volumes. Leiden: Brill, 2005.

Jinarajadasa, C. Early Teachings of the Masters. Chicago: Theosophical Press, 1923.

——. Letters from the Masters of Wisdom. Two volumes. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1988, 2002.

Pablo D. Sender has given Theosophical lectures, seminars, and classes in India, Spain, the U.S., and several countries in Latin America. He has published articles in Spanish and English in several Theosophical journals. They can also be found on his Web site, www.pablosender.com. His article "The Theosophical Path of Meditation" appeared in Quest, Winter 2011.