The forgotten spirit is constantly searching: for identity, self-worth and truth, among other things. “Who am I?” is one of the fundamental questions we need to ask ourselves if we are to rediscover inner peace. We may not immediately define the answer, but we can begin, initially, to move toward self-knowledge by recognizing what we are not. We are not our bodies and we are not essentially any of our roles in life – partner, friend, sportsplayer, and so on. Some of our roles are important, others less so. But the fundamental reality lies somewhere deep inside ourselves, and is unaltered by the choices we make – to follow one profession rather than another, to marry, to have children, to canvass for votes in local politics, or to cycle to work.
The spirit or self is the precious thing that we, uniquely, are. To live a fully satisfying and purposeful life, we need only become fully acquainted with this inner “I”, to realize our true self and to understand and use the real extent of our energy. The inner temple of the self first needs to be located (it may take some effort to clear the jungle that surrounds it), then appreciated for its potential, then renovated, then maintained. This may sound like hard work, but, in fact, care of the spirit is self-rewarding. We have great peace, love, power and beauty at our disposal, and the blessings we obtain by discovering these qualities within ourselves, and sending them out to the world at large, are beyond measure.
How do I see and experience myself? This is a fundamental question, to which many of us in the modern world tend to give wrong answers. We have fallen asleep to a true awareness of self and we define ourselves by the external rather than the internal. We are programmed to identify ourselves with things that we are not: our physical form (obsession with appearance); our job (with action); our worth in relation to others (with status); our material possessions (with surfaces). In reality we are not these incidentals of fortune or choice, but the energy of consciousness that they clothe.
We are neither the sum of our memories, nor of our relationships with others. These factors are closer to the truth, because they offer a unique profile formed from others’ claims to “know” us. If we have lived responsibly and creatively, our past and our relationships will be precious to us, and they will provide a picture of our lives to others. Yet these things are like a comet, making a bright, beautiful arc in the night sky. We are the fiery heart of the comet, the animating energy. We are the spirit that animates the body: identity and spirit are synonymous. Spirit is self, and its highest expressions are the radiant spiritual qualities of peace, love, truth, power and happiness.
Once truly absorbed, this realization is liberating. A great deal of personal misery is caused by the tension between the public “I” and the profound sense of an inner (frequently unfulfilled) self. If we identify ourselves too much with the public role, we become vulnerable. For example, if we lose a job or a partner we might feel that our identity is shattered. This is an illusion caused by attachment. The reality is that identity cannot be shattered. We only have to wake to it, and we will see that it is indivisible. In dealing with identity issues, a therapist might peel away one layer of illusion at a time, like an onion. The spiritual path, however, is transcendent, and revelation can happen in a moment. We journey within, with the help of quiet reflection to find the core of light that is our true identity.
The exercise below adapts the Buddhist symbolism of the Wheel of Existence, with Buddha unmoving at its centre, as the basis for a visualization of identity.
1. Imagine your worldly self as the rim of a wheel. Try to see the daily round of your life, the people you meet, the tasks you perform, as the force that spins the wheel.
2. Now move inwards. The rim is held in place by a set of spokes. Picture each spoke as one of your personal characteristics, good or bad. One may be patience, another a tendency to see many points of view at once. Imagine as many of these spokes as you can. Notice how, when the wheel is spinning quickly, they blur and appear as a solid form. But when the wheel is turning slowly, you can examine each characteristic at leisure, and see how each contributes to your external identity.
3. Now imagine the hub of the wheel as your perfect self. You can see how the characteristics flow out from the centre, and how the rim turns about you. The nearer you get to the centre, the slower you seem to turn, until, at the absolute centre, you are perfectly still. Like your true, spiritual identity, the hub controls the wheel’s speed and direction, but at its very centre it is motionless.
The 18th-century Scottish philosopher David Hume claimed that there is no such thing as the self. What any of us calls “I” is really just a momentary constellation of perceptions, appetites, opinions and actions, given an illusion of continuity by our memories. Any successful program of spiritual growth has to reject this influential brand of pessimism. We can begin by pursuing an analogy, in which all our thoughts and feelings do in fact form bright, shifting constellations, vast and awesome when considered up close. Yet from the perspective of a spirit that fills and animates the whole universe, even the largest star-clusters dwindle into insignificance.
Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control – these three alone lead to sovereign power.
•
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
(1809–1892)
Spiritual growth is a process of learning how to become the rulers of our own internal universe. We can measure our progress by the mastery we have over our thoughts, feelings, needs and decisions. If we awaken to the truth that spirit is what constitutes us all, and live by that truth, we enjoy the confidence that whatever external factors put pressure on us, we remain vital and creative, and our essential spiritual nature cannot be changed.
In folktale and myth there are heroes who wear a cloak of invulnerability. Our awareness of self as spirit also makes us invincible, although not in the form of a cloak, which can be mislaid or stolen: spiritual invulnerability is at the very core of the self.
Mind (self-experience and creativity), intellect (analysis and discernment), personality (habitual behaviour patterns) and the senses (messengers to spirit) may be considered the four ministers within the self’s court. To rule ourselves effectively, we take advice and evidence from each of them. A benevolent dictatorship works better than a harsh tyranny. We can even accept our limitations, so long as we do not think of them as inevitable or insurmountable. In our sovereign state, we sit at ease on our thrones, happy in possession of the kingdom within. When emotions threaten to bubble up rebelliously, we know that we can harness and transform them through the power of intellect, chief of the four ministers.
When sensual appetites tempt us, we know that we have the strength of mind and personality to resist addiction. When criticized, we retain dignity and self-respect, rather than succumbing to defensiveness or anger. After making a mistake, we move quickly through guilt and repentance, and begin effectively and without delay to look for a solution to the problem. Emotions are recognized and acknowledged – but are allowed to pass through and beyond us, where they can do us no harm.
If we are truly in control, we realize that everyone else has the same power, and we know that we cannot control them. Nor do we have any wish to do so. Yet this type of self-sovereignty automatically translates into a form of leadership, through inspiration and influence. We shine a light that draws people to us, and inspires them to follow. We light the path of self-knowledge and thereby show others the way. And, in ruling the kingdom of self in so exemplary a fashion, our blessings spread far beyond its boundaries.
A scientist once suggested that, because co operation was such a powerful weapon in the battle for survival, early humans thrived by being “docile”, or easily swayed by social pressure. It could be argued that we are a species of conformists, which is why we can be manipulated by ad-men, marketeers, war-mongers, religious zealots, and others. Certainly, we are constantly invited to compare ourselves with other people – to imitate them or to hate them, or to aspire to their wealth, beauty or power – and we may bend under the sway of such influences. Deep down, however, we have an inbuilt capacity to understand, value and preserve what is unique about every one of us – the beauty and value of the self, the treasure of our spirituality, whose discovery is the basis of self-esteem.
There are two main schools of thought about human nature. Followers of the 17th-century English thinker, Thomas Hobbes, hold that we are all essentially brutish, and have to be tamed by society. However, the 18th-century Romantic philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau, believed more optimistically that we are naturally free, virtuous and noble, and that it is society that corrupts us and forces us to conform to its unnatural and alien patterns.
Spiritual awareness may be seen as the process of connecting with and nurturing a sense of this incomparable, beautiful inner core, and working to keep ourselves from being poisoned by negative influences from others, whether individual or collective.
There is nothing egotistical about insisting on our own uniqueness. After all, being unique is the least unique thing about us: it is the one quality that we share with absolutely everyone. Furthermore, an egotist needs followers, and all we are claiming is our right not to be led.
This is an important freedom, because everybody grows at a different rate, and if we are to reach an awareness of our spirituality, we have to reach it along our own path, at our own natural pace.
Next time you are in a crowd of people, perhaps on a bus or a train, or in the supermarket, or at a football or baseball stadium, try to think of yourself not as part of an anonymous mass, but as a flower in a vast garden.
Man makes holy what he believes, as he makes beautiful what he loves.
•
Ernest Renan
(1823–92)
All around are other flowers, but all belong to different species – no two are alike, as you will see if you scan the faces that surround you. You do not feel psychic pressure in this crowd: your identity is not compromised. Ignore any negative feelings you detect among the others – impatience, for example, or grumpiness, or aggression. Instead, try to pick up the positive feelings enjoyed by others around you – the sense of freedom, exhilaration, hopefulness, and other positive energies. All crowds have something of this positive energy. You recognize everyone in the crowd as your spiritual equals. Yet, at the same time, you have a strong sense of self, and the unique beauty at the heart of self. Think of Ezra Pound’s haiku about subway commuters: “The apparition of these faces in a crowd: / Petals on a wet black bough.”
Many of us experience difficulties in reconciling the two concepts of freedom and responsibility. Yet, paradoxically, these states are not only consistent, but they depend upon each other intimately. One of the most stirring affirmations ever made about the dignity of the human spirit, the American Declaration of Independence, states that all are “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that these include Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”. But these rights are unalienable only by virtue of our common vigilance, and our willingness to assume responsibility for maintaining them.
What is true socially is also true in the personal realm. Freedom and responsibility are like the two sides of an arch leaning in upon each other, with a truthful self-image acting as the central keystone. Unless we are free, in the sense of being able to do and say what we believe in, rather than being determined by others, responsibility means nothing but conformity.
Conversely, unless we are responsible, and live by our belief in what is right, our freedom is an indulgence – wasted, because it will bring us nothing of worth. Taking responsibility for ourselves frees us from the false dictates of society. Freedom is the only medium in which we can live virtuously.
Buddhism recognizes the idea of the Boddhisattva, or Buddha-to-be, the soul who postpones its passing into Buddha-hood to help other souls achieve salvation. This is a great responsibility. If we value ourselves, valuing others is the natural next step, and although we may stop short of full-time, self-sacrificing altruism, we will certainly want to enact good works as much as our energy and time permit. When motivated by the energies of the spirit, duties cease to be chores and instead become ways to project our creative vision onto the world. Satisfying our physical appetites and indulging in creature comforts are pale and unfulfilling by contrast.
Responsibility does not mean being held to account for the thoughts or actions of others, but it does involve taking upon ourselves the charge of enlightening others by actively disseminating our energy among the people with whom we come into contact. To this extent, a completely solitary life might be interpreted as incomplete. However, it is unwise to be too prescriptive, as who could deny the possibility that a solitary mystic, through his writings, might touch the souls of millions with his insights and bring about positive changes in their lives?
The mystic hermit stands at one extreme of a spectrum. Meanwhile, at the other extreme is the tireless worker for charity who does good works instinctively and unthinkingly, and spends no time on self-discovery, meditation or any other intentional spiritual exercises. We cannot say that such a person is neglecting the spirit if their virtuous energy pours out in such limitless abundance. Ten minutes of contact with them would be enough to convince us of the purity of their calling. Somehow, perhaps by some route not touched upon in this book, they have found the truth of spirit and their own way to enact it.
We live in a world where quantity and quality are regularly and horribly confused. Value is measured in terms of amount, and people are constantly telling us that more is better. Lists are issued comparing the relative wealth of people who are all so rich that comparisons are meaningless. Is a personal fortune of $100 billion really more satisfying than one of $50 billion? We “know” that Picasso is the greatest artist of the 20th century because his paintings fetch the highest prices. Satisfaction of all sorts is measured in terms of how often and how much. But it is impossible to give a numerical value to the facets of the spirit, such as peace, love, truth, power and happiness. More is not better. Better is better.
However, is it not the case that the more precious something becomes, the more we have to guard against its enslaving us? The truth is, it is hard for us to care for the things we need: instead, we tend to care about whether we have them or not. Need is an all-or-nothing state of mind: there is little room to man oeuvre between these two extremes in order to assign a scale of values to our experiences. If we need something, our appreciation of its qualities tends to be corrupted by a helpless attachment to it, or by the spiritually crippling fear that we are going to lose it.
Paradoxically, it is in the qualities of the spirit that need and value meet. For although we need love, purity, truth and creativity in order to enjoy fulfilled lives, these are already ours, eternally and ineradicably. We can value these absolute spiritual necessities precisely because they are absolute, because we need never feel that we are without them, or fear that we are going to lose them. Most of us live our lives to some extent by other people’s values – perhaps those of a boss, spouse or parent. The values we find for ourselves within our being, however, provide a more reliable compass on life’s journey.
We explore our personal values through the choices we make. How do we respond if we are challenged to prioritize between a number of different valuable commodities? We may find that some of the commodities have equal value, and we cannot decide between them.
Imagine a shelf with seven jars on it. A genie is waiting nearby for you to give him one of the jars, and you know that he may return again and again in the future, taking one jar at a time until only one is left. Picture the jars carefully. The first is plain clay, caked with mud, but you can see some archaic patterns where the surface is exposed: this contains ancient wisdom about the workings of the spirit. The second is shaped like a beautiful soaring bird, and contains positive thoughts. The third is still gift-wrapped, and contains the good wishes we have for our friends. The fourth is like a perfume bottle, and contains a magical balm, which will soothe away all our worries. The fifth is a spherical container, balanced on the shoulders of a porcelain figure, and contains emotional support from your closest friend. The sixth is clear glass, with handfuls of diamonds within – these are the creative talents. The seventh is shaped like a pair of cupped hands, and contains blessings from your parents. Choose which jar to give away immediately, and then decide in what order you will give them up in future, should you ever have to do so.
If we believe in the sovereignty of the self, are we not in danger of falling prey to egotism and arrogance? If fulfilment of one’s spiritual potential involves journeying into oneself, how can we justify this in relation to our care for humanity as a whole? These questions bring us to one of the most challenging paradoxes of the spirit – the way in which our inward journey spreads its blessings outward into the world at large. By cultivating the individual soul and harvesting its truths, we become more inclined and better equipped to give – to radiate love to those all around us.
In the intellectual order, the virtue of humility is nothing more nor less than the power of attention.
•
Simone Weil
(1909–43)
People of a sceptical nature might interpret the inner quest as an act of ego, or a symptom of an inflated ego, but to think in this way is to misunderstand. Ego is the most serious disease of spirit, and certainly a terminal condition of spiritual awareness. Deep spiritual healing is no more nor less than the eradication of ego. And when we consent to undergoing the healing process, it is as if our egotism and our spirituality contend for mastery within the arena of the self. Self-awareness, self-understanding and self-worth are on the side of the spirit; selfishness, pride and insecurity are on the side of the ego.
But what about self-importance? This is actually one of those terms whose meaning in common speech is at odds with its literal meaning. If I feel that my life, my comfort or my convenience is more important than that of someone else, then I am profoundly and spiritually misguided. On the other hand, if I feel that my spiritual health is not important, then I am committing an equally grave error.
Our spiritual well-being is, in fact, the key to living happily and helpfully as a human being, for how can we love others if we do not have profound respect for ourselves as a starting-point? Hence the crucial importance of the journey within: it is not an ostrich-like withdrawal from the priorities of life, but an essential act of orientation, to arrive at a true perspective on ourselves in the context of everything that is not ourselves (other people, material phenomena, time, and everything that makes up our surroundings).
In certain mystical traditions there is a strand of self-hatred – the belief that an individual human soul is worthless when seen in the light of the divine. Nothing could be further from the understanding that lies at the heart of this book. Each individual human soul has an eternal connection with the source of spirit. Although we may have lost awareness of this personal relationship with the divine, we are all the bearers of its highest spiritual qualities. Our original nature has qualities reflective of divinity, which we hear in the voice of our conscience and see in the spontaneity of love.
To clarify this further, we can think of the battle between spirit and ego as a battle between the broad-sighted and the narrow-sighted. If the ego gains a foothold, I see my life in the narrowest perspective, in terms of short-term gains. I will treat other people as a means to my own selfish ends. If, on the other hand, I become spiritually aware, I see my own life in the widest perspective. Other people acquire tremendous importance in this broad understanding of things. My purpose is to rain my spiritual gifts upon others, to radiate love in all directions. The paradox of an authentic spirituality is that a proper respect for the sacredness of the self leads to selflessness.
Truthfulness is honesty – fidelity to the facts. But truth is something different – less literal and more profound. The important thing is truth to ourselves – fidelity to our inner voice, the voice of profound wisdom (not always the same as popular wisdom), conscience (not to be confused with peer pressure or inherited dogma), and instinctive self-understanding (not the same as instinct per se).
Truth is best seen as a benchmark of the spiritually-aware life. ‘Are we being true?’ we might ask ourselves. ‘Are we true to ourselves and others?’ If the answer is no, something is amiss. It is as if at our spiritual core we still carry our original state of ‘trueness’, a deep memory of our consciousness in its purest, truest form. It tells us what is accurately aligned to truth and what is not so that, usually, we will know the answer deep down, without having to think. Truth finds its way to the surface. That is not to say, however, that we will not unconsciously put obstacles in its way. Both the ego and any emotional disturbance will interfere with our intuitive capacity. Full self-knowledge means that we understand these obstacles. Living according to that self-knowledge – in spiritual awareness – means that we remove these obstacles.
I speak the truth, not so much as I would wish, but as much as I dare; and I dare a little more, as I grow older.
•
Michel de Montaigne
(1533–92)
Perhaps, for various reasons, some of us will find the question of whether or not we are being true more difficult to answer. We might think that we are being true (truthful is not quite the same thing), but we may be uncertain. If so, we know that we need to work at something in our lives. If we are in a fully aware state, we will answer yes with complete confidence. How does truth relate to veracity – that is, giving a literally factual answer to a question, or making a statement that could be verified by checking the facts? This is a fundamental moral issue, which can be boiled down to a simple question: is it acceptable to tell a lie?
We all know how bad it feels to lie – our discomfort shows us that we are aware of the truth, even though we choose not to use it. We feel guilty when we are serving our own interests by lying, or being cowardly. In fact, these feelings are a sign that we know the difference between what is right and what is wrong. We might lie for the sake of someone else, to avoid hurting their feelings or to prevent them from facing up to an unpleasant or painful situation. However, our motivation, though seemingly altruistic, may in fact be self-interest in disguise. When we withhold information (for example, failing to tell a friend that we disapprove of an aspect of their behaviour), are we really being selfless, or are we censoring the truth for the sake of our own peace of mind? As we know deep in our hearts, issues absorb energy: when we jealously guard our secrets, we may be opting, unconsciously, to preserve our energy. The key to understanding ourselves is to be watchful of such tricks of the ego.
Truth can be a powerful agent for change, and when we release it into the world we must do so with accuracy and care. What we say to others is one of the gifts that derive from spirit, even if our message at times is necessarily unpalatable. Not to be aware of the impact of our words would be an arrogance, a failure of empathy. To give truth excessive emphasis or to let it out too quickly can sometimes be just as regrettable as neglecting to tell the truth at all.