The Dark Side of Light

By John Algeo

Originally printed in the March - April 2005 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Algeo, John. "The Dark Side of Light." Quest  93.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2005):65-69.

An old kabbalistic motto holds that Demon est Deus inversus, "The devil is God upside down," or "The devil is God's complement." The Irish poet William Butler Yeats took, as his mystical name in the kabbalistic Order of the Golden Dawn, the initials of that Latin motto, D.E.D.I. Those letters, however, also spell the Latin verb dedi, which means "I have given" and thus punningly suggests that the diabolic is a divine gift.

Yeats probably learned the motto from Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, who had been his teacher and had used it as the subject of one section in her great book, The Secret Doctrine. So what is the secret doctrine about this motto and the dark angel of whom it speaks? Blavatsky says of it:

This symbolical sentence, in its many sided forms, is certainly most dangerous and iconoclastic in the face of all the dualistic later religions or rather theologies—and especially so in the light of Christianity. (SD 1:411)

She adds that Christianity certainly did not invent the figure of Satan, for such a concept has always existed. The name Satan in Hebrew means "adversary"; he is consequently a personification of the inevitable balancing forces that must exist in nature: the shadow by which we recognize light, the night that separates the days, the cold without which we have no sense of heat.

To say that the Devil is the inverse, the complement, of God is dangerous, however, because it invites misunderstanding, especially by those whose thinking is molded by dualism, who see spirit and matter, soul and body, the righteous and the reprobate, the saved and the damned as eternal opposites. Those who think in simple dichotomies have great difficulty seeing the underlying unity beneath all diversities. They find it hard to conceive that Demon and Deus, the dark and bright angels, are equally messengers of the Absolute One. They find it hard to give the devil his due.

Yet in our relative world of mayavic reality, all things have their opposites. To know anything is to know it by contrast with something that it is not. Knowledge implies opposition. Without low, there is no high. Without far, there is no near. Without pain, there is no pleasure. Without death, there is no life. Without the dark angels, there are no bright ones. Without Demon, there is no Deus. In eternity, none of those exist. In time, none can exist without its complement. So for the Elohim to be, Satan must also be.

"Homogeneity," says Blavatsky, "is one and indivisible," and "heterogeneity in its dualistic aspect, is its offspring—its bifurcous shadow or reflection," so "that divine Homogeneity must contain in itself the essence of both good and evil" (SD 1:411—12). There are two aspects of this doctrine that are equally important and indeed are complementary, without either of which the doctrine "is certainly most dangerous" because subject to misunderstanding and perversion.

The first aspect is that what we call evil and good are both derived from the divine absolute:

One cannot claim God as the synthesis of the whole Universe, as Omnipresent and Omniscient and Infinite, and then divorce him from evil. As there is far more evil than good in the world, it follows on logical grounds that either God must include evil, or stand as the direct cause of it, or else surrender his claims to absoluteness Everywhere the speculations of the Kabalists treat of Evil as a force, which is antagonistic, but at the same time essential, to Good, as giving it vitality and existence, which it could never have otherwise. (SD 1:413)

This first aspect of the Wisdom teaching about good and evil holds that both of those qualities are equally present in the divine source of all things. That teaching is also found in the great religious documents of all ages and cultures. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna identifies himself with everything in the universe, bad and good: "I am the gambling of the cheat, and the splendor of splendid things" And in the prophesy of Isaiah (45:7), the Almighty is quoted as saying: "I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things." The God of our good is likewise the God of our evil.

The second aspect of the doctrine is that evil is not an independent reality but merely the complement, the shadow, of good:

There is no malum in se [self existent evil, anything inherently evil of its own nature]: only the shadow of light, without which light could have no existence, even in our perceptions. If evil disappeared, good would disappear along with it from Earth. (SD 1:413)

So evil is a reality, derived from the source of all reality, but also evil has no independent existence, being simply the complement by which we recognize good. Those who accept the first aspect but deny the second are dualists or atheists or cursers of God. Those who deny the first aspect but accept the second reject the evidence of their own senses and maintain against all reason that pain and sorrow do not exist.

But the Occultists . . . who recognize in every pain and suffering but the necessary pangs of incessant procreation: a series of stages toward an ever growing perfectibility . . . view the great Mother [Nature] otherwise. Woe to those who live without suffering. Stagnation and death is the future of all that vegetates without a change. And how can there be any change for the better without proportionate suffering during the preceding stage? (SD 2:475)

To solve "the great problems of life, pain, and death," we must experience them. To use the idiom of those today who pump iron: "No pain, no gain."

The doctrine of the wisdom tradition thus holds that there is but one inexhaustible source of reality from which all things come and apart from which nothing is. And it further holds that intelligent forces derived from that source bring into existence the universe we know, and in so doing they necessarily operate with dualities of many kinds, including those we call good and evil. The process of achieving good involves the strain of suffering evil.

The Dark Creative Forces

Some of the intelligent forces or angels, as we also call the creative agents in the cosmos, work to make the substance of the universe dense, to immerse consciousness in matter, and to isolate separate individual existences. These forces devoted to density, unconsciousness, and separateness are the dark angels whose goal is the emergence of the many from the One, the involution of matter, life, and spirit. They are the centrifugal, creative forces that bring forth the many from the One.

Other forces work to refine substance into subtler states of existence, to increase consciousness, and to connect separate selves into a network of cooperation and sympathy. The forces dedicated to subtlety, consciousness, and reunion are the bright angels whose goal is the conscious, voluntary reintegration of the many into the One, the evolution of the universe to its omega point. They are the centripetal, regenerative forces that return the many to the One.

Blavatsky describes the world process as proceeding on three parallel lines: physical, intellectual, and monadic or spiritual. Those three lines lead respectively to the development of substance, consciousness, and unitary awareness.

On the physical or substantial line of development, matter at first becomes increasingly dense until it reaches some nadir of density, some singular state of inconceivable compaction, as in one of the black holes of the universe where physical law, as we know it, does not hold. From that point of maximum density, matter evolves into complex but also more rarefied states—the matter we know being more empty space than substance and therefore already very subtle. The future of matter is an increasing etherealization.

On the intellectual or conscious line of development, awareness is progressively restricted as it moves through the elemental kingdoms, until it reaches its nadir in the mineral state, where its responses are limited to those restricted ones we call chemical reactions and the like. Thereafter it evolves through the vegetable and animal kingdoms, in which responsiveness to the environment and to other beings becomes increasingly acute, as plants respond quickly to the physical conditions around them and animals to other beings. When awareness reaches the human kingdom, interior reflection and self consciousness flourish. Humanity is well along the road to increased awareness of the universe, but before us still lie vistas of perception and knowledge that we can yet scarcely imagine.

On the monadic or spiritual line of development, the Oneness of the source is progressively divided into smaller and smaller, more and more restricted and limited units. Ultimately, to be sure, there is only one Monad (from the Greek, meaning "unity"). But as that Monad is reflected in evolved matter and the developed kingdoms of life, it is continually refracted, so that it seems to itself to become increasingly limited and fragmented. Thus the One apparently divides into the many.

This process has also been described as one of "group souls" that individualize. In the mineral kingdom, vast areas and types of substance are ensouled by one aspect of the Monad. In the vegetable kingdom, the domain of each ray of the Monad is much restricted but still encompasses whole species of plants. In the animal kingdom, the Monad is even more restricted, expressing itself through an ever- decreasing range of physical forms. Among the higher animals, a single group soul (which is one separate ray of the Monad) may express itself through only a few separate bodies at a time. Finally, in the human kingdom, the monadic line of development reaches its nadir, for each human being is a distinct individuality, a persisting bit of separateness from the primal unity of existence.

In this sense, we humans, far from being the crown of evolution, as we are vaingloriously wont to imagine ourselves, are actually the nadir of spiritual development. As the most individual of all beings, we are the most separate from the divine Unity and thus the farthest of all beings from our common source. In us the monadic development reaches its lowest point. Our future is to reestablish connections, to forge the links that will bind us back to the Unity, to become One—consciously, deliberately, of our own free will. At the omega point of evolution, we are to merge without losing our identities, to recreate the Unity, but then a Unity that knows itself and has chosen its state. Through the outgoing phases of these three lines of development—the densification of matter, the limitation of consciousness, and the individualization of spirit—the dark angels are the governing forces. They guide the involution of the universe. They make it solid, unresponsive, and fragmented. They bring the world into being. They are the creators.

But once the nadir on each line of development has been reached and the forces turn backward to evolve out of those limitations, the bright angels become the guides of evolution, and the work of the dark angels becomes evil in the sight of those who are evolving. The work of the dark angels continues, however: Black holes are still compacting matter throughout the cosmos; consciousness still flows into the mineral forms and so is restricted; living creatures still move toward the spiritual separation of individuality. The impulse of the dark angels—the involution of matter, consciousness, and spirit—is all around us. But the human path now lies in a different direction, and so for us their work has become evil—not evil in itself, not malum in se, but evil relative to our direction.

As human beings, we value the work of the bright angels, because we are well along the paths of refined substance and increased consciousness, and we have turned the bend on the path of spiritual unity—although we have just made the turn, so the old forces of separateness are still strong within us. But however much we sympathize with the upward path of evolution and the work of the bright angels, we should not scorn the other. The work of the dark angels—to solidify matter, to funnel consciousness into it, and to make separate, distinct centers of identity—must come first. The work of the dark angels is necessary to the total ecology of the universe. Without them there would be nothing to evolve, and the bright angels would have no role to play.

The Dark Angel Within

However, while we respect the work of the dark angels, we must take care not to become a part of it. Our destiny, our dharma, is elsewhere. Yet there is still a temptation within us to follow the dark path. That temptation does not concern the densification of matter, for black holes are far from our condition in time and space. Neither does it much concern the limitation of consciousness, for we evolved from mineral unresponsiveness eons ago. Only exceptionally and pathologically do human beings sink back to animal or vegetative states of unconsciousness, and then it is no more than a temporary regression, not lasting beyond the bounds of a lifetime, and seldom as long as that.

Spiritual regression, however, is another matter. We have only just made the upward turn in monadic evolution; we are newly emerged from the nadir of spiritual isolation and separateness. Before our individualization, the dark angels were our friends and guides. We have old ties with them that are not easily unknotted. We sympathize still with their forces; we resonate still with their discordant melodies. They are still within us.

One of the teachings of the wisdom tradition is that we are composite beings—not simply souls with bodies but compounds of principles evolved separately over the eons and brought together to make up our natures. The elements that compose us are like distinct rays of light of various colors and intensities that are focused together to illuminate a scene in a play. The lights become one illumination, but they are projected from several lamps and reflect the nature of those lamps.

The creation myth of Blavatsky's The Secret Doctrine has an episode in which the progenitors of humanity are discussing our making and what must go into us to produce a complete humanity (Anthropogenesis stanza 17; SD 2:105). The Earth gives our gross physical body, the Solar Spirits give our life energy, the Lunar Ancestors give the model of our personality, the Heat of the Sun gives our desires; but humanity needs also "a mind to embrace the Universe," and none can give humanity that intellect, until the Sons of Wisdom add their light to the others. This creation myth has various interpretations, but one of its significant meanings is that we are composites of evolutionary impulses that are historically independent of each other, though they have combined in us.

Our prehuman development was directed toward making us spiritually independent, to bring us to the unique isolation which is the human state—the condition of individualization. The dark angels made us human by building up the individual ego. We are the creatures who are alone. As we evolve from the human to the superhuman kingdoms, we will move from spiritual isolation to spiritual connectedness, integration, interdependence. However, our natures have been molded by the dark angels of spiritual isolation and separateness. And the effects of their labors remain strong within us.

The biblical myth of the Fall can be seen as alluding to this human individualization and its consequences. In that myth, Adam and Eve, who are proto-humanity, are led by the serpent (the dark angel) to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. The knowledge that the fruit imparts is of their own separate identities. In their disobedience to the divine prohibition against eating, they assert their separate wills—they become choosing individuals. That is the Original Sin, whose punishment is expulsion from the unity of the Garden of Eden into the diversity of the fallen world. And the first man and woman retain and pass on to their descendants the consequences of their separation—a fallen nature and a susceptibility to the wiles and temptations of Satan, the adversary, the personification of spiritual separateness.

Within the stark simplicity of the myth of the Fall and original sin lies a great truth. We inherit the effects of our past, and an action that may have been necessary—a quest for knowledge, a coming of age, an attainment of independence—can have consequences that, if unchecked, are inappropriate for our further development. Good things of the past may become bad things of the future.

The dark angels guided us to human independence and still have a place in our lives, for they are the impulse to self-survival. They are ego exalting. They are self-assertive. Human society has not yet reached a stage at which we can do without such motives to action. And indeed, although in mature humans those motives must become transformed into something less violent and more considerate of others than they have been in the adolescence of our species, we will never be able to do without them altogether. For the world can progress only when all of us in it are pulled between the twin poles of good and evil—of unity and separateness. As Blavatsky put it:

In human nature, evil denotes only the polarity of matter and Spirit, a struggle for life between the two manifested Principles in Space and Time, which principles are one per se, inasmuch as they are rooted in the Absolute. In Kosmos, the equilibrium must be preserved. The operations of the two contraries produce harmony, like the centripetal and centrifugal forces, which are necessary to each other—mutually interdependent— "in order that both should live." (SD 1: 4161)

To preserve the equilibrium and produce the harmony within the human constitution, all forces need to be balanced—including those of the dark angels. Their forces have been called collectively the Dweller on the Threshold, and Jungian psychology personifies them as the Shadow. In Christianity they are spoken of as one's personal devil.

The devil within may not, like C. S. Lewis's Wormwood, get letters from his uncle Screwtape, or have quite as distinctly human a personality, or be as fully committed to the Christian variety of dualism; but the personal devil is more than a literary convention. Each of us has impulses, habits, and proclivities that cluster and can be imbued with a personality something like Wormwood's. The dark angels are cosmic powers that guide the involution of the universe, but they are also psychological forces from our past that shape our responses to the present.

The dark angel is a part of ourselves with which we must come to terms. As the impulse to separate ourselves from others, it is the mirror image of the bright impulse to unite with all life. Our omega point is to realize both impulses harmoniously—as separate individuals, to unite with all other separate individuals in a single pattern of compassion and benevolence. Thus the bright angels and the dark angels are both necessary to us. And what is most necessary is that we learn how to deal with both in their proper times and places and according to their proper powers.

At the end of her discussion of the kabbalistic motto, Blavatsky describes an image of:

the "Magic Head" in the Zohar, the double Face on the double Pyramid: the black pyramid rising against a pure white ground, with a white head and face within its black triangle; the white pyramid, inverted—the reflection of the first in the dark waters, showing the black reflection of the white face...Demon est Deus Inversus (SD 1:424)


John Algeo is professor emeritus University of Georgia and international vice-president of the Theosophical Society. This article is reprinted from Maria Parisen's book, Angels and Mortals: Their Co-Creative Power.


For Others

Originally printed in the March - April 2005 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bland, Betty. "For Others." Quest  93.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2005):6

Theosophical Society - Betty Bland served as President of the Theosophical Society in America and made many important and lasting contributions to the growth and legacy of the TSA.

As my friend explained the complicated ins and outs of his current minor difficulties, I lightly said, "I believe I had better start praying for you." Immediately my friend became agitated and insisted on not being the recipient of any prayers. To my incredulous questions he replied that in his experience, whenever people prayed for him, the intention was to direct or control him in some way—to impose their will on him.

After my first moments of shock, I realized the truth of this in many instances—especially in the context of praying so that someone "will see the light." The "light" is always defined as seeing the prescribed truths according to the one doing the praying.H. P. Blavatsky writes in The Key to Theosophy that this is not prayer at all, but a kind of black magic:

But woe unto those Occultists and Theosophists, who, instead of crushing out the desires of the lower personal ego or physical man, and saying, addressing their Higher Spiritual EGO immersed in Atma-Buddhic light, "Thy will be done, not mine," etc., send up waves of will-power for selfish or unholy purposes! For this is black magic, abomination, and spiritual sorcery. (67-69)

In other words, we cannot call on that universal power unless we first search our own hearts and fill them with a humble spirit, recognizing that we have no idea how to define the greater good even for ourselves, much less another. With this attitude we can align with highest spirit and truly pray a prayer of power.

Like the center of a walnut, there is within each person a strength of purpose which will unfold when the conditions are right. The outer husk may be tough and prickly and the center surrounded by bitter sheaths, but deep within is a soft, sweet core with the power to produce a mighty tree.

When we truly pray unselfishly for the good of another person, we support this center and call forth its power. We are not accomplishing something because of our own will, but when we tune in to the will of the infinite deific presence accessible in the still, secret chambers of our hearts, we can indeed move mountains. Continuing her discourse in The Key to Theosophy, HPB speaks of this God-Power within in the following way:

Please say "God" and not a God. In our sense, the inner man is the only God we can have cognizance of. And how can this be otherwise? Grant us our postulate that God is a universally diffused, infinite principle, and how can man alone escape from being soaked through by, and in, the Deity? We call our "Father in heaven" that deific essence of which we are cognizant within us, in our heart and spiritual consciousness, and which has nothing to do with the anthropomorphic conception we may form of it in our physical brain or its fancy: "Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the spirit of (the absolute) God dwelleth in you?"

In other words, this God essence is so all-pervading that it cannot be escaped. It is always present in ourselves and others but hiding under the crust of our day-to-day anxieties. Yet it is there, waiting in silence to be summoned forth. It is a transformational power that we can trust to be a steady force in our lives.

When I was visiting our daughter in Germany some years ago, I was struck by a political poster for the Green party. It depicted a patch of cracked asphalt with a triumphant blade of spring-green grass pushing its way through into the sunlight. The slogan proclaimed "Gruen bricht durch," or "Green breaks through." This powerful image has always stuck with me as a metaphor for the spiritual power trapped beneath the surface of our minds, waiting for the moment to break forth. It is a mystery rather than something to be understood intellectually. Committed intensity and pure intention, aligned with the universal good, bring the waters of unfoldment into the cracks of our consciousness, allowing the spiritual power to blossom forth against all odds. HPB refers to this as a transformational, alchemical process:

Nor, as just remarked, that a prayer is a petition. It is a mystery rather; an occult process by which finite and conditioned thoughts and desires, unable to be assimilated by the absolute spirit which is unconditioned, are translated into spiritual wills and the will; such process being called "spiritual transmutation." The intensity of our ardent aspirations changes prayer into the "philosopher's stone," or that which transmutes lead into pure gold. The only homogeneous essence, our "will-prayer" becomes the active or creative force, producing effects according to our desire.

One of the greatest gifts given to us struggling human beings is the gift of being able to access this philosopher's stone for the good of all. Even if we don't say the right words, or know the most helpful hopes for the person for whom we are praying, we send a caring vibration through the universe that is carried on the wings of intentionality to help. The power of energy and support gently envelops the targeted recipient with the strength to reassert the natural impulse to wholeness and order.

So don't hesitate to participate. Tune in to an open, caring concern for your friends, neighbors, enemies, and strangers all over the world, and nourish those little blades of hope springing up and penetrating the darkness. Just as my friend finally concluded that he did indeed want to be included in my prayers, no one will want to hide from this kind of prayer. Its strength has the power to break the ravening darkness of the struggles of life and convert it to the greening pastures of hope.


The Builders

By Judith Buchanan

Originally printed in the March - April 2005 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Buchanan, Judith. "The Builders." Quest  93.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2005):51-52

 

There's a long white robe up in heaven for me
There's a big gold harp up in heaven for me
And I touch one string, and the whole heavens ring
And I ain't gonna be here much longer.

In my mind, I could hear my dad's clear tenor voice, harmonizing with the family, singing one of our favorite spirituals. The song played and the tears flowed as I drove the family eastward. A few hours earlier, I had received the call no one wants to hear: "He's in the hospital . . .pancreatic cancer . . .a few hours or days to live. Come home now." It had to be a mistake. Just a few days earlier he had returned feeling fine from a vacation in Japan and China. It had to be something like liver flukes from bad water. The doctors were wrong.

As I drove, I began invoking the healing angels to minister to him. Then I got a picture in my head, as if on a TV screen. It was an image of my father in the hospital room, plugged into the usual medical paraphernalia. My sister and stepmother were there with the nurses and a doctor. Then I saw that there were beings that looked like pillars of light standing all around my father. They were not like any angels I'd ever seen before. "Okay," I thought, "he has guardians. He,s going to be all right."

When I arrived at the hospital, Dad,s room was exactly as I had visualized it. The family left me alone with him, and I started to work. I briefly greeted and thanked the light-column beings, then began an absolute frenzy of prayer work with a group of healing angels. We dove in, pulling the bad cells out of his body, flooding him with light and love. Suddenly I felt a firm force pressing me and the healing angels away from my father. I was driven from the room by the light-column beings. They spoke to me: "You may not come back until you are calm."

Out in the hallway, dealing with surging emotions—grief, anger, confusion—it was very difficult to meditate, but after several hours I found that place within, "the peace that passeth understanding." I ventured back into the room, humble, respectful now. The beings were still standing exactly as they had been: tall pillars like beams of light whose "heads" went beyond the ceiling. I could see no features, but each had a distinct presence. "Who are you?" I asked.

One replied, "You would call us Builders."

"Builders" didn't mean anything to me, but I surrendered to their terms of maintaining a calm, loving watch over my dad, just as they seemed to be doing. As my sister and I traded twelve-hour shifts to nurse our father, I saw an amazing transformation in the Builders. Over several days, as they stood where they had been encircling Dad's bed, their bodies seemed to spread out sideways until they joined. From outside the circle their joined bodies now looked like a huge white cone of light whose point extended through the ceiling. When I was beside my father inside the Builders, circle, their shape resembled a long white tunnel. And there at the end of the tunnel, in a scene Disney could have staged, were my grandfather and grandmother, smiling, waving, and assuring me they would stay there to meet their youngest child, my dad.

A few days later, another change occurred. A golden cord of light was wound around the outside of the cone, spiraling from the base to the tip. The cord seemed to have a beautiful tone that filled the room.

Those days of nursing my dear father were the sweetest and most poignant of my life. Dad had given us all so much love. This was my chance to return a little. It seemed like I was ministering to the body of the helpless infant Jesus and the torn and dying Lord at the same time. On the tenth day I was asked to do what I thought was an impossible task. It wasn't enough to peacefully accept my father,s dying; I was asked to help Dad cross over. At last leaving behind all hope of what I wanted in order to be true and obedient to a will much greater and better than my own, I imaged picking Dad up.

As I carried my father's cancer-ravished body through the tunnel, I finally understood the words of that old Negro spiritual our family used to sing. A person traveling through the tunnel and emerging through the top would seem to be wearing a long white robe. The gold harp was the single strand that wound around the outside of the cone with a tone so sweet that "the whole heavens ring" in resonance. Their work completed, the Builders gradually disappeared.

I've seen the Builders again in the hospital rooms of dying patients. Then I know it,s not a time for healing activity but for quiet, peaceful support. And I let the beautiful words of that spiritual sing in my mind.


Judith Buchanan is an active member of the Ann Arbor lodge in Michigan.


Parenting and Spirituality: Can There Be Harmony?

Originally printed in the March - April 2002 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Hebert, Barbara. "Parenting and Spirituality: Can There Be Harmony?." Quest  90.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2002):44-47, 63.

By Barbara B. Hebert

Theosophical Society - Barbara B. Hebert currently serves as president of the Theosophical Society in America.  She has been a mental health practitioner and educator for many years.Parenting is not a subject discussed very often in Theosophical circles, yet many Theosophists are parents. Perhaps the lack of discussion is due to a seeming dichotomy between spirituality and parenting. When I think of someone who is spiritual, I imagine a person sitting quietly and meditating, centered in the midst of strife and difficulties, studying the ancient wisdom, and contemplating metaphysical truths. When I think of a parent, I visualize someone falling asleep while trying to meditate, too busy to sit quietly, living with strife and difficulties (without being centered), and whose only contact with what is ancient is the way the parent feels at the end of a long day. Are spirituality and parenting dichotomous? Or can they come together?

Kahlil Gibran writes:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with
His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Gibran speaks to the hearts of parents who recognize the spirituality inherent in their children and in themselves. His words touch a cord within many who desire to raise their children in an environment filled with harmony and an understanding of the universality of all life, who desire to provide opportunities by which their children can fulfill their dharma. Yet, Gibran's words, though beautiful as well as thought-provoking, may not always speak to parents involved in the nitty-gritty details of everyday life.

Think of an advertisement in a newspaper's help-wanted pages:

Wanted: Strong multi-tasked individual who can fulfill the duties of housekeeper, cook, nurse, and chauffeur. Must be able to mediate arguments, fights, and disagreements at all hours of the day and night. Individual must be willing to repeat instructions, stories, rules, etc. ad infinitum. Must place own life on hold to cater to needs of others. No vacation, no time off, hours are 24/7. No pay.

In the experience of many people, that advertisement describes parenting more realistically than does Gibran. Does such experience explain why parenting and spirituality are seldom discussed together? Is it impossible to be spiritual while also being chief cook and bottle washer, mediating arguments, and wishing for a night of undisturbed sleep, all at the same time? Or can we bring together both Gibran's words and the reality of parenting?

Parenting is in fact applied Theosophy, applied spirituality. Parenting presents us with an opportunity to grow spiritually by focusing on aspects of ourselves that may otherwise go "unscrubbed" for several lifetimes. Through parenting we face the internal struggle of wanting to live a spiritual life. We face the internal struggle of wanting to be the best possible parent for these children who are, as Gibran says, not our children, who have their own karmic lessons to learn and their own dharma to fulfill. And we face the internal struggle of realizing that we are less than the perfect spiritual beings and perfect parents we wish to be.

As parents, we struggle daily with our own needs and wants—spiritually, psychologically, and physically—and we likewise struggle with our children, as they strive to meet their own needs and wants. We do not want to hinder their individuality or stifle their psycho-spiritual growth; yet, on the other hand, we are the parents who need to set boundaries to provide a safe environment. We want our children to grow into loving, compassionate, caring individuals, but how do we encourage such qualities? Is there a way for us to become parents who manage to walk the razor-edged path of providing a healthy psycho-spiritual environment for our children while living in the "real world"?

Diana Baumrind, a social scientist and researcher, has created a model of parenting styles that addresses the issue of parenting in a psycho-spiritual sense. She looks at two primary factors: (1) the demands that the parent makes on the child (including expectations for appropriate, mature behavior, requirements for being a part of the family as a whole, willingness to confront the child if necessary, and willingness to discipline the child) and (2) the responsiveness of the parent to the needs of the child (including the encouragement of independence, assertiveness, and self-regulation by the child). Using these two factors of demandingness and responsiveness, Baumrind identifies four different parenting styles: indulgent, authoritarian, authoritative, and uninvolved.

Indulgent parents (who are also called permissive or nondirective) tend to demand little of their child while being very responsive. These parents are lenient with the child, allowing much self-regulation and requiring little maturity on the part of the child. Indulgent parents tend to avoid confrontation with their child. They have few rules and provide very little structure. These parents encourage their children to make their own rules. They are inclined to say, "I'm not going to raise my children with all those stupid rules my parents gave me!"

Authoritarian parents tend to be highly demanding and directive, but they are not very responsive to the needs of the child. They are parent-centered and expect their instructions to be obeyed without question or explanation. Authoritarian parents tend to be controlling and rigid in their rules and expectations. In other words, authoritarian parents are most likely to say, "It's my way or the highway, young person." Children who grow up in that sort of environment are rarely allowed to create their own rules and structure, a restriction that may cause difficulty when the children find themselves in a situation with no clear directives.

Authoritative parents are both demanding and responsive. These parents impart clear rules and structure, but they are not restrictive. They encourage assertiveness and independence on the part of the child as well as responsible and appropriately self-regulated behavior. They are neither child-centered nor parent-centered. The focus of the authoritative parent is on the needs of the family as a whole. Authoritative parents create rules and structure that provide a feeling of well-being and security for the child. Authoritative parents are also willing to discuss rules with the child, to compromise in certain situations, and to allow the child some latitude in creating rules when the child is mature enough to do so. These parents expect the child to participate with the family as a whole and to recognize the needs of other family members as well. Family meetings or discussions are frequently an integral aspect of authoritative parenting.

Finally, the uninvolved parents are neither demanding nor responsive. Parents who are uninvolved generally provide no structure, discipline, or supervision for their children. In the worst-case scenario, these parents may even neglect or reject their children. Frequently these children feel abandoned.

Baumrind's model of parenting styles can be extended into a more spiritual dimension. Parents who are committed to a spiritual way of life want their children to be assertive, independent, and able to regulate themselves and their behavior. They want their children to experience success, not necessarily in a strongly material sense (although most parents will surely agree that it is important for children to be able to support themselves when they are grown). They want their children to grow, learn, and expand their horizons. Baumrind's model of parenting can supply guidelines to help parents reach these goals—and thus to serve as Gibran's stable bow.

A great deal of research has investigated these parenting styles (as the references at the end of this article indicate). This research indicates that the parenting style with the best impact on children is the authoritative one, which impacts the academic, social, and psychological well being of children in positive ways. With its consistent rules and boundaries, its attention to both demandingness and responsiveness, and its emphasis on the attainment of assertiveness, independence, and self-regulation, authoritative parenting seems to provide a strong environment of stability and safety for the child, thus allowing parents to be Gibran's stable bow.

One of the most important aspects of authoritative parenting, as well as of spiritual parenting, is to impart clear and consistent rules and structure to children. A lack of rules means a lack of boundaries. A lack of boundaries means a lack of safety. Most of us at some time have found ourselves not knowing what was going to happen next or what we were expected to do. Do you remember the anxiety it produced? The same is true for children.

A two-year-old needs rules and boundaries—not to run into a busy street or touch a hot stove. These rules are for the child's safety. As the child grows, clear and consistent rules and boundaries continue to provide a safe and stable environment. And as the child matures, it is reasonable to encourage discussion and negotiation regarding rules. In this way, we can slowly help our children learn to regulate their own behavior, and that learning has a positive impact on their self-esteem.

Being honest and open with the child about our feelings allows the child to have a clearer understanding of the world. Talking and—most important—listening to our children, thus allowing them to become a part of the decision-making process (within carefully structured boundaries), clearly signals that the parent perceives the child as a valued individual, a person whose opinion is important. These messages and their inherent impact are exactly what we strive to impart as spiritual parents.

Certainly, it seems very simple to have clear boundaries, to be consistent, to allow our children to participate in decision-making, to talk and listen to our children in order to impart valuable messages. However, the reality is not quite that simple. A few examples of authoritative parenting may be useful. Your 12-year-old daughter wants to go to the movies with friends. She asks you to pick her up thirty minutes after the movie ends. She explains that she wants to visit with her friends after the movie. Many parents may be uncomfortable with this scenario. A discussion of the pros and cons of the situation is reasonable. You and your daughter may decide to compromise and allow her to stay for fifteen minutes after the movie has ended provided she does not leave the front of the movie theater.

In another example, your ten-year-old son wants to spend the night with a friend whose parents do not supervise as well as you would prefer. You do not allow him to do so. Discussing this issue with your child, specifically your concerns about the kind of difficulties that may ensue because of the lack of supervision, as well as specifically naming your fear of his being hurt or getting in trouble, is not only appropriate, but clarifies for your child that decisions are made for his safety. Discussion and possible compromise allow the child to begin to learn self-regulation. Rules, structure, consistency, discussion, and compromise are important aspects of parenting and of providing an environment for our children that not only feels but actually is safe and secure.

Living in a stable environment that is safe and secure allows children the freedom to assert their independence. Consciously or unconsciously, children know that the boundaries are provided in order to protect them. Therefore, they are willing to venture forth, knowing that their parents are providing an invisible safety net in case they fall. They learn how to make good decisions. They learn to express all aspects of their personality and to develop into the Self they are meant to become. It is from their decisions and possible mistakes—underlain by the safety and security that we provide—that our children learn and grow into Gibran's swift arrow. It is from providing an environment that is stable and safe that we become the stable bow. Our children meet their dharma as we meet ours.

Do our children fight rules and structures? Of course. Will they use every argument and manipulation they can to change our minds? Absolutely. Do they want the rules and structure? Surprisingly yes, although they will not admit it until they are adults. The boundaries—along with the discussion, the negotiation, and the compromise—provide the safe environment from which our children proceed forth into Gibran's "house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams." Through consistent authoritative parenting, we can meet the spiritual and psychological needs of both our children and ourselves. Being both demanding of our children and responsive to their needs provides the framework through which they can flower into the unique individuals they are meant to become. It is through boundaries, discussion, negotiation, and compromise that we begin to bring together both the realities of the daily struggle of parenting and the beauty of being the stable bow that sends our children forth.

References

Baumrind,

Diana. "Current Patterns of Parental Authority." Developmental Psychology 4(1971): 1–103.

———.

"The Influence of Parenting Style on Adolescent Competence and Substance Use." Journal of Early Adolescence 11 (1991): 56–95.

———.

"Rearing Competent Children." In Child Development Today and Tomorrow, ed. W. Damon, 349–78. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 1989.

Gibran, Kahlil. The Prophet. New York: Knopf, 1982.



Barbara B. Hebert, MEd, LPC, is a third-generation Theosophist who has been a member of theTheosophical Society for more than twenty-five years. She has worked as a staff member at both Olcott, the national center of the Theosophical Society in America (where her oldest son, Jason, was born) and at the Krotona Institute of Theosophy (where her youngest son, Chad, was born). Barbara works as a school counselor and a licensed professional counselor in Covington, Louisiana.


Thinking Aloud: Strength or Weakness?

Originally printed in the March - April 2002 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Burnier, Radha. "Strength or Weakness?." Quest  90.2 (MARCH - APRIL 2002):66.

By Radha Burnier


(extracted from "On the Watch-Tower" in the Theosophist, November 2001)

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. KrishnamurtiEvery earnest member of the Theosophical Society should know clearly that the Society does not offer a theology or dogma, a god, guru, or authority; it does not impose beliefs or encourage dependence. As Annie Besant stated, "We hold that Truth should be sought by study, by reflection, by purity of life, by devotion to high ideals." If the Theosophical Society were to offer a less daunting path to follow and were to set up a succession of gurus, preferably identifiable by means of vestments, pronouncements, and trappings, it might attract a much larger number of people to its fold. But what purpose would it serve?

There are persons who would like to see the Society's membership grow fast and its popularity increase.They want to please the public with psychologically comforting things that have little or nothing to do with the universal brotherhood which is the main Object of the Society, or with the common search and aspiration for truth that binds the far-flung Sections and members together spiritually in an affectionate bond of union. They regard it as a weakness in the Society that it does not cater to the wants of the public and change its aims to gain popularity.

The Society's clear policy is not to entertain the world with what it wants, but to aid people to discover the source of wisdom within themselves. This is not a weakness, but a strength. As the Mahatmas have stated, the Society's aim is not to instill belief and dependence, but "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." This statement by the one known as KH is reinforced by his Adept friend M, who wrote to a member: "A constant sense of abject dependence upon a Deity [we might also say a guru] which he regards as the sole source of power, makes a man lose all self-reliance and the spurs to activity and initiative."

As the universe is governed by law in the grosser as well as the subtler planes of existence, and because cause and effect are inextricably connected, each person receives only what he or she merits. Following the Theosophical path means that by study, reflection, purity of life, and unselfish devotion to high ideals, enlightenment must be earned.

The Society's uncompromising policy is and must remain one of encouraging, not belief, but enquiry; not dependence on god or guru, but faith in the light of spiritual intelligence within one's own heart, and the determination to let that light shine by adopting the well-tested means to disperse the darkness of the selfish and ignorant mind.


 

Radha Burnier, who was born at Adyar, the Theosophical Society's international headquarters in India, is in her fourth term as international President of the Society. She has a Master of Arts degree in Sanskrit studies from Benares Hindu University and an honorary doctorate from Nagarjuna University. As a young woman she was an exponent of Indian classical dance, playing a major dramatic and dance role in the critically acclaimed Renoir film The River.


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