Quest Magazine

Christianity-Theosophy Conference: What is a Christian?

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2001 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hoeller, Stephan A. "Christianity-Theosophy Conference: What is a Christian?." Quest  89. 4 (July-August 2001): 135.

Observations stimulated by the Theosophy-Christianity Conference
November 5-7, 2000

By Stephan A. Hoeller

What is a Christian? Can one define oneself as Christian? Or must someone else so designate one, and if so, who? If someone believes or experiences spiritual truths that others find to be outside their definition of Christianity, can that person still claim to be a Christian?

The Theosophical movement since its inception in the nineteenth century has numbered in its ranks numerous persons who considered themselves Christians. Some of these have been ordained clergy and lay communicants of mainstream Christian churches; others, like Charles W. Leadbeater and Geoffrey Hodson, belonged to small, esoteric Christian bodies. Yet many contemporary voices that loudly proclaim their own Christian status in our culture would not recognize any of these fine people as Christians.

Arbitrary definitions of what constitutes a Christian have existed during the two turbulent millennia of the Common or Christian era. The third-century prophet Mani, who identified himself as "an apostle of Jesus Christ" and evidenced an overwhelming devotion to Jesus, was regarded as the worst sort of enemy of Christianity by the mainstream church. Uncounted members of the Cathar faith, all of whom considered themselves Christians, were burned at the stake by the inquisitors. In our own times, Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, Christian Scientists, and Seventh Day Adventists have often been regarded as non-Christian by mainstream denominations.

More recently, evangelical and fundamentalist groups, who have gained prominence in the public arena, have insisted on even more rigid and idiosyncratic criteria for what constitutes a Christian. Moreover, it would seem that these folk have managed to convince the public media of the normative character of their definitions. Thus, when one hears the word "Christian" on radio and television today, the meaning attached to it is almost invariably taken from the vocabulary of sects who but a few short years ago were generally regarded as existing on the fringe of Christendom, rather than at its center. (The same is true of the political extension of these groups in the "Christian Right").

By the definitions of the fundamentalists, the Patriarch of Constantinople, the Pope of Rome, and Martin Luther are not Christians, for none of them are participants in such phenomena as being "born again," "baptized by the HolySpirit," or most important, "accepting Jesus Christ as their personal Savior."

What conclusions are then to be drawn from these considerations? Here are a few. First, when desirous of a dialogue, Theosophists ought to seek out persons from within the historic mainstream denominations, particularly those who have an interest in ecumenicity. All that glitters is not gold, and not all who call themselves Christians are suitable parties to such a dialogue.

Second, those in our ranks with dedications of a Gnostic or EsotericChristian nature should make it known that they consider themselves Christians and that they ask for a hearing as brothers and sisters in Christ, albeit of a certain, somewhat unusual kind.

Third, one may consider the virtue of pluralism not just for others, but for oneself as well. Not a few Theosophical and related works of the past have conveyed the message that the particular esoteric teachings they advocate are in fact the true or real Christianity, and that our Christian partners in dialogue are simply ignorant of the authentic teachings of Christ.

In addition, early Theosophical literature contains many statements derived from dated sources, concerning the lack of the historicity of Jesus, the purely derivative origins of the Bible, and the lack of uniqueness of the Christian message. To include such nineteenth-century polemics in a dialogue with contemporary Christians is not useful.

In preference to such ideas, we ought to emphasize that our own esoteric approach may have some merit along with others, and that such a view accords with the current emphasis on pluralism.

Stephan Hoeller is director of the Gnostic Society of Los Angeles, an organization concerned with the study of Jungian psychology, Kabbalah, Tarot,classical Gnosticism, and myth. He is the author of several Quest Books,including Freedom: Alchemy for a Voluntary Society, The Gnostic Jung and the Seven Sermons to the Dead, Jung and the Lost Gospels, and The Royal Road: A Manual of Kabalistic Meditations on the Tarot. His work in progress is an overview of Gnosticism. This paper is the third in a series of reflections on matters considered by the November 2000 Christianity-Theosophy Conference.

July - August 2001

Theosophical Whitman

 By Walter Raubicheck

Theosophical Society - Walt Whitman, America's greatest poet, was also a theosophist, even though his greatest poem, "Song of Myself," was published twenty years before the Theosophical Society was founded in New York in 1875. The principles of Theosophy underlie all the central images and themes of the poem, and the lack of awareness of these principles has led critics astray in their attempt to elucidate Whitman's meanings. In particular, the concept of the "self" in "Song of Myself" can be fully understood only from a Theosophical standpoint. Throughout the poem, every use of the words "I," "Soul," "Self," and "Body" is consistent with the ideas brought forth in the writings of Helena P. Blavatsky, A. P. Sinnett, and William Q. Judge, three Theosophical contemporaries of Whitman's.Walt Whitman, America's greatest poet, was also a theosophist, even though his greatest poem, "Song of Myself," was published twenty years before the Theosophical Society was founded in New York in 1875. The principles of Theosophy underlie all the central images and themes of the poem, and the lack of awareness of these principles has led critics astray in their attempt to elucidate Whitman's meanings. In particular, the concept of the "self" in "Song of Myself" can be fully understood only from a Theosophical standpoint. Throughout the poem, every use of the words "I," "Soul," "Self," and "Body" is consistent with the ideas brought forth in the writings of Helena P. Blavatsky, A. P. Sinnett, and William Q. Judge, three Theosophical contemporaries of Whitman's.

Whitman certainly drew on his own mystical experiences when creating this poem and indeed all the poems that comprised his one, ever-expanding volume of poetry, Leaves of Grass. However, in attempting to understand these experiences, he drew upon his readings in Hindu scriptures and the writings of Western mystics such as Swedenborg and Whitman's own contemporary, Emerson. The result was an astonishing body of work, which I believe is the nineteenth century's most important literary expression of "cosmic consciousness." At the heart of Whitman's achievement is the longest, most remarkable poem he ever wrote, "Song of Myself."

In Theosophy, the self is composed of seven levels. As Judge (30) remarks, "This conviction that man is a septenary and not merely a duad, was held long ago and very plainly taught to everyone with accompanying demonstrations, but like other philosophical tenets it disappeared from sight." In Sanskrit, the trinity of the essential man is called atma, buddhi, and manas. Atma is pure spirit, a spark of the Absolute, buddhi is its vehicle for manifestation, and manas is mind. Actually, manas is conceived as having a higher and lower aspect: the former is pure intuition and a direct link to buddhi and atma, while the latter is centered on intellectual thought and merges with the lower quaternity of the septenary self: desire and emotion, physical life energy, the astral body (the ethereal model of the outer body), and the physical body itself.

This overview of Theosophical psychology helps to identify the layers of Whitman's self in the poem.

In "Song of Myself," the speaker of the poem is lower manas, what modern psychology would call the ego. At times the ego addresses his Soul--higher manas, buddhi, and atma--while at other times he refers to his Body--the lower quaternity. The Soul is also referred to as the "Me myself." After listing a series of historical and personal influences ("People I met, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation"), the speaker declares:

These come to me days and nights and go from me again,

But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary...

Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

["Song," sec. 4]

Here Whitman is making a clear distinction between the speaker and the "Me," or the higher self. The ego (lower manas) is influenced by heredity and environment, but the "Me myself" is not.

The speaker never addresses his body because lower manas recognizes a union with the physical man which is more immediate than his connection to the "Me." However, in moments of inspiration ("I am afoot with my vision") lower manas becomes a "channel" for the spiritual insights that higher manas contains because of its union with buddhi and atma.

Despite Whitman's celebration of the body ("Through me forbidden voices, / Voices of sexes and lusts" [24]), he is at the same time aware that desires are only a portion of what he is himself: "and am not contained between my hat and boots" [7]). These declarations are not paradoxical when one realizes that this is a song of a multilayered self and that Whitman's psychology understands the body as the only way the Soul can function in nature.

But what of the speaker's identification with the emotions and desires of others, which characterizes many sections of the poem? At these points does the speaker become a cosmic "I" that is no longer directly related to the personal Walt Whitman? I think not. What we have here are examples of the perfect compassion that is achievable when lower manas unites with higher manas. As Blavatsky (79) says about Buddha and Christ, two "Masters" who achieved this union permanently, "The teachings of both are boundless love for humanity, charity, forgiveness of injury, forgetfulness of self...[They] both...make no difference between meum and tuum."

In "Song of Myself," after citing "boatmen" and "clam diggers," the speaker describes the marriage of a trapper to an Indian girl and the predicament of a runaway slave, and then lists a wide range of American types in section 15. At the end of this section the speaker says:

And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,

And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,

And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

The speaker is not proclaiming an identity with others, whom he still refers to as "them." Yet the "song of myself" contains "one and all." The highest reaches of spiritual intuition break down the barriers between individual selves; love of neighbor creates the feeling of oneness that the speaker describes. His compassion for all the people who populate the poem brings them within the compass of the multilayered self he is: "And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral dressed in his shroud" (48).

This same intense compassion accounts for the speaker's ability to empathize with historical figures as well, to transcend the barriers of time: "I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured" (46). In describing the rescue of the passengers on a wrecked steamship by a courageous skipper, the speaker claims, "I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there" (33). After picturing the capture of a runaway slave, the speaker says, "I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person" (33). Again, this identification depends on Whitman's conception of the self: through genuine love--the charity of Christ or the compassion of Buddha--this self comes to include all others. Psychologically this state is achieved by uniting higher and lower manas and seeing the world through the visionary perspective that results.

Thus an understanding of the speaker's supreme compassion enables us to see that the "I" who claims he is "A Southerner soon as a Northerner . . . a Yankee bound my own way ready for trade . . . a Kentuckian walking the vale of Elkhorn in my deerskin leggings" (35) is also "Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son" (41). The speaker explicitly claims that "Song of Myself" is the product of a "vision," of a psychological moment--symbolized by the famous erotic encounter between the speaker and the soul in section 5--when the seven layers of the self are all operative: at such times the speaker can communicate a range of experiences inaccessible to the mere ego, although they are all communicated through the ego, the thinking, language-using aspect of the self.

One of the themes of the poem is the ability of the multilayered self to survive physical death. Theosophy, of course, teaches the concepts of karma and reincarnation. At death the physical body is discarded, the astral (or emotional) body subsists for some time on a somewhat higher plane of existence until it too has exhausted its residue of desire, and the trinity of atma-buddhi-manas enters the state of heaven or "devachan," a realm of rest and regeneration. Eventually the higher trinity is reincarnated in a new physical vehicle, and manas is again divided into higher and lower aspects. The soul never dies; it is continually evolving; and the discarded matter of the physical body is integrated into the ongoing physical processes of nature.

Whitman shares the Theosophists' view of an ever unfolding cosmos, of an ongoing development of life that is not interrupted by physical death:

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and did not wait at the end to arrest it,

And ceas'd the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. [6]

Within this conception of a progressive universe, the soul is seen by Whitman as a particular entity that is also evolving, similar to the Theosophical idea of the "Monad," that "immortal part of man which incarnating in the lower kingdoms and gradually progressing through them to Man, finds thence way to the final goal--Nirvana" (Blavatsky 351). Thus the Monad unfolds its latent powers through the centuries as spiritual evolution progresses:

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven,

And I said to my spirit "When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?"

And my spirit said"No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond." [46]

That Whitman believed in reincarnation is clear from some of the poem's most powerful declarations: "And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, / (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before)" (49); "Births have brought us richness and variety, / and other births will bring us richness and variety" (44); "I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I am an encloser of things to be. . . . On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, / All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount" (44).

Clearly Whitman believes in the constant evolution of the soul, on earth and in spiritual realms, an evolution that began long before he actually became a human being: "Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, / I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, / and took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon" (66). This idea accords well with the Theosophists' notion that the Monad unfolds its powers starting from the spiritual and physical energy of the smallest atom until through successive reincarnations it manifests as a human being. However, once the human stage is reached, there can be no regressing to lower forms of life. The essence of the cosmic vision of both "Song of Myself" and Theosophy is this continuous unfolding of the potential of lifeC"Urge and urge and urge, / Always the procreant urge of the world" (3)Con both physical and spiritual planes.

As to the fate of the physical body at "death," Whitman always celebrates the ongoing chemical processes of life in some of the poem's most famous lines: "And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, / I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing"(49); "I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, / If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles" (52). All aspects of the septenary self continue to fructify and grow as the cosmic evolution proceeds.

Whitman's vision was clearly genuine and intensely personal, yet he communicates it by using ideas from a wide variety of spiritual traditions, the same ones the Theosophists cite as containing the same basic elements of the universal religion. In addition to the references to the Shastas and Vedas, the Koran and the Gospels, Whitman alludes to Osiris, Isis, Brahma, and Buddha (41). Like Theosophy, Whitman's theology claims to include every faith, to reveal that the same truth is contained in all. And at its core is the septenary self that is the subject of Whitman's "Song," his own contribution to the great sacred texts of the world.

References

  • Blavatsky, H. P. The Key to Theosophy. Pasadena: Theosophical University Press, 1987.
  • Judge, William Q. The Ocean of Theosophy. Los Angeles: Theosophy Co., 1987.
  • Whitman, Walt. Poetry and Prose. New York: Library of America, 1982.

Theosophical Society - Walter Raubicheck is a Professor of English at Pace University in New York. He has published articles on education, popular culture, and American literature.Walter Raubicheck is a Professor of English at Pace University in New York. He has published articles on education, popular culture, and American literature.

The Ever-Present Reality

Originally printed in the July - August 2000 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Burnier, Radha. "The Ever-Present Reality." Quest  88.4 JULY - AUGUST 2000): pg 146-147.

By Radha Burnier

Theosophical Society - Radha Burnier was the president of the international Theosophical Society from 1980 till her death in 2013. The daughter of N. Sri Ram, who was president of the international Theosophical Society from 1953 to 1973, she was an associate of the great spiritual teacher J. KrishnamurtiAmong members of the Theosophical Society, it would be hard to find materialists who deny the existence of anything beyond the scope of the human senses and the human mind. But there are people, particularly in India, who are inclined to imagine that the Theosophical philosophy is a form of theism, accepting a God of some kind. This could be attributed to the general tendency to study insufficiently, or to wishful thinking based on desire for crutches and unwillingness to break old habits of thought, or to the belief that their own ancient religion, with many encrustations, can be subsumed under the name "Theosophy."

J. Krishnamurti's insistence that neither the word "god" nor the idols and mental images that people invent and call "god" have anything to do with the truly sacred is of immense relevance for the progress of humanity. Religions have put the stamp of authority on a god or gods fashioned by the human mind and provided with attributes characterizing the average human being. Gods are not infrequently pictured as behaving like erratic or errant human beings, demanding praise and flattery, rewarding mindless obedience and punishing "enemies."

The Theosophical view of the sacred, ever-existent Reality is different. The well-known Mahatma Letter number 10 (chronologically no. 88) makes this clear:

The God of the Theologians is simply an imaginary power, un loup garou [a bogeyman]. . . . Our chief aim is to deliver humanity of this nightmare, to teach man virtue for its own sake, and to walk in life relying on himself instead of leaning on a theological crutch, that for countless ages was the direct cause of nearly all human misery.

Even today, when the majority of people think they are living in an age of progress and in spite of whatever intellectual emancipation the study of science has achieved, the concept of god and the authority of churches are causing havoc. The bitterly destructive hatreds and feuds between the faithful of different religious denominations--in Bosnia, the Middle East, Ireland, the Indian subcontinent, Indonesia and so on--bear witness to the folly of humanity's continued belief in a mind-projected God.

What is the alternative? It is obviously not a return to materialism, which has promoted crass selfishness and the greed, cruelty, and other evils of which selfishness is the progenitor. To be a Theosophist is not necessarily to believe in and pay allegiance to any special god or deity. As Madame Blavatsky wrote:

One need but worship the spirit of living nature, and try to identify oneself with it. To revere that Presence, the invisible Cause, which is yet ever manifesting itself.

Life functions in dazzling ways in the minutest of forms as well as in the greatest. Annie Besant quotes from Giordano Bruno's Della Causa, Principio ed Uno in her series of lectures on Bruno delivered at the Sorbonne:

Be it ever so small a thing, it has in it part of the spiritual substance, which, finding appropriate conditions, expands into a plant or an animal. . . . There is not the minutest particle which does not contain such a portion in itself, which is not ensouled.

Bruno also wrote in another work, Del' Infinito, Universo e Mondi, that "as all proceeds from good, so everything is good, works towards good, and ends in good." This fact in itself is a marvel that could change the human heart when it takes it in.

The Mahatmas are clear that the universal, all-pervading Life is the only God:

If people are willing to accept and to regard as God our ONE LIFE, immutable and unconscious in its eternity, they may do so. . . . It penetrates, nay is the essence of every atom.

Recognition of the Divine Presence in everything, whether it appears animate or inanimate, must be encouraged and become part of every person's education, for it is the only kind of religion that can, in the present day, save the human and other kingdoms, as well as the planet. Such awareness forms the basis for the unfolding of human consciousness to ever higher levels and for establishing harmonious and respectful relationships among human beings and between human and other forms of existence.

The number of people interested in saving the environment is increasing, but environmentalists and ecologists do not necessarily experience life's sanctity; they have plans, they organize, at times ruthlessly, culling animal herds or manipulating nature according to their own ideas. Likewise, holistic philosophy does not always turn into compassionate action.

A new world religion must be founded on a sense of the sacredness of all life, all forms of life being manifestations and revelations of the transcendent Reality. As Light on the Path says: "The principle which gives life dwells in us, and without us, is undying and eternally beneficent." This is the truth of truths propounded from the time of the Vedas: "The one Reality lies hidden in all beings, is all pervasive, is the innermost core of all things."

When the manifested god is ever present, ever near, what need is there of invented gods? In the words of Dr. I. K. Taimni in his Glimpses into the Psychology of Yoga:

This outer physical universe is a projection or reflection of the inner spiritual universe, a fact which is hinted at in the occult maxim "As above so below."

And in this outer universe we can see, even with our ordinary physical eyes, the extraordinary beauty, the wondrous and inexhaustible creativity, the harmony and order of Life even in this small part of existence in which the Reality manifests itself to our perception, that is, in Nature and in human consciousness. Then why invent?

Radha Burnier is the international President of the Theosophical Society, as well as of the Theosophical Order of Service, and is a lifelong worker for both organizations.

Mandorlas, Halos, and Rings of Fire

Originally printed in the July - August 2000 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Callicott, Burton. "Mandorlas, Halos, and Rings of Fire." Quest  88.4 JULY - AUGUST 2000): pg 124 - 127.

By Burton Callicott

Mandorla—not your common, everyday word. It is the word found in art-history texts for the large oval shape behind the representations of single sacred figures. "Mandorla" is the Italian word for almond. The term is well chosen, for in Christian art the shape most commonly used resembles the shape of the almond. In some instances in Christian art, however, the shape is more elliptical and in others it is circular or nearly circular.

In texts describing these background shapes in Hindu and Buddhist art, the term "mandorla" is still used, despite the fact that few of them are actually almond-shaped. More often they are circular, horseshoe-shaped, fan-shaped or leaf-shaped. Sometimes the mandorla is composed of two overlapping circles, one about the head of the figure and a larger one about its torso. Projecting from the outer edges of many of these mandorlas are representations of tongues of flame.

In Christian art the mandorla occurs most frequently in the Romanesque style and most prominently, perhaps, behind the enthroned "Christ in Glory" on the tympana over the main portals of the cathedrals. It is also a common element in the succeeding style, the Gothic. It gradually gives way in the art of the Renaissance to a small circle of light—a halo—behind the head.

I am aware of no speculation about what the mandorla represents or about its origin. Nor do I know when and where the use of the symbol began. To the student of Theosophy, however, the inescapable notion is that the mandorla probably originated as the representation of the aura, the oval-shaped volume of light surrounding living physical bodies, as described by those with clairvoyant vision.

According to the esoteric tradition, the aura is a composite of the several subtle—astral, mental, and causal—bodies. (This composite does not include the etheric body which is almost entirely confined within the physical body.) Each of these bodies is composed of the matter of the plane on which it serves as the vehicle of consciousness. From the etheric to the causal, these bodies and worlds of matter are successively subtler, with complete interpenetration with one another and with the dense physical.

The human aura is said to be filled with color, with the prevailing brilliance and arrangement of the colors determined by the emotional, mental, and spiritual development of the person. Because the matter of those planes vibrates at very high frequencies, changes in coloration can be rapidly and suddenly brought about by shifting emotional and mental states.

In Man Visible and Invisible, by C. W. Leadbeater, first published in 1925, there are many fascinating color illustrations of auras displaying varying degrees of development, different temperaments, and different emotional-mental states. Leadbeater was an important early leader and teacher in the Theosophical Society who wrote many books and articles. In the course of his work and study, he attained clairvoyant vision through special training. He and his colleague, Dr. Annie Besant, singly and in collaboration through devoted and strenuous work, have given us a rich body of information about the invisible parts of ourselves and our multi-layered environment.

Today there is a growing awareness that what we call the aura, of which the mandorla in religious art is probably a symbol, is not unlike the force fields and energy fields described by modern science. In this context, the rings of fire around Hindu and Buddhist images are particularly significant. It is interesting to note, too, that in the tradition of the metaphysical philosophies, spirit is symbolized by the element of fire.

Fritz Kunz stated that the discovery and study of force fields prove the "existence of the immaterial" and should banish for all time purely materialistic notions about the nature of the universe. We are reminded of these eloquent words from Pitirim Sorokin's essay, "Three Basic Trends of Our Times" (from the journal Main Currents in Modern Thought, 1960): "Around a bend of quantum mechanics and at the foot of the electron ladder the basic notions of materialistic science, such as matter, objective reality, time, space and causality, are no longer applicable, and the testimony of our senses largely loses its significance." The subtle worlds and their contents elude physical vision and the finest instruments of science as well. According to the Ancient Wisdom, the irresistible evolutionary impulse will, in time, and only after the necessary and antecedent spiritual development, unfold all of the latent human cognitive faculties. This will enable human beings to function consciously in those dimensions of their world now largely closed to them.

In the meantime let us give heed to the sages and seers of all ages who teach that the surest and safest way to grow spiritually and expand consciousness is by the path of selfless service and the practice of brotherhood

MANDORLA

 

Two sculptured vertical arcs

meeting in points above and below

--in the shape of the almond--

framing the "Christ in Glory,"

in high relief enthroned

in the tympanum stone

above the cathedral's main portal,

configure the mandorla.

So knew some

in the Romanesque era

of the hidden aura

of light and energy--

of the subtle bodies

the invisible synergy.

Art reaches layers of consciousness that are inaccessible to verbal formulations and rational discourse. I believe that works of art actually emanate energies which have the power of resonating with and drawing responses at spiritual levels. --Burton Callicott

Burton Callicott is an artist and Theosophist who will celebrate his ninety-third birthday this year. This article, describing the mandorla form, is reprinted with slight modifications from The Love of Life, the journal of the Theosophical Order of Service. A painting by Callicott using the mandorla form is on the cover of this issue, whose "Viewpoint" considers the painter and his painting.

  1. March - April 2002
  2. Confounding or Amazing? The Multiple Deconversions of Annie Besant
  3. The Becoming Self
  4. Explorations: Watching the World Pass By

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