A GREAT deal has been said
and written during the
past few years about "entering the silence," as the phrase goes.
Without doubt, most of the teaching under this head is of great value.
We live in a nervous, hurrying age, and too much cannot be said about the
resources of the meditative life. Nevertheless, certain vaguenesses have
crept in, and some people have followed the wrong clue in their search
for the values of silence. Recent tendencies have been so largely mystical
that it is now necessary to differentiate more sharply than when the first
edition of the present book was published. Moreover, certain problems have
arisen that were not previously considered. It is important, then, to investigate
the whole field afresh, not now for the purpose of suggestively describing
the experience but for the sake of clearness.
1. The most superficial objection
to the method that has been made is that, to "enter the silence"
is to fall asleep. In such cases it may be that the experimenter needed
rest, and if so nothing
could have been better than sleep. Or, it may be that there was too much
relaxation, a mere "letting go" rather than a change of activity.
But mere relaxation is only a beginning. The essential is uplifting, enriching
meditation, and meditation is not mere quietude. It is doubtful if a purely
passive mental state is a possibility for any individual, under any circumstances.
Hence, to surrender all activity is to lose consciousness in sleep. On
the other hand, to meditate successfully is to combine wise, discriminative
receptivity with uplifting activity. It is not then a question of eliminating
activity, but of substituting reposeful for nervous activity. It is the
nervous wear and tear that works mischief. To stop this is to be ready
once more to return to work. Usually this nervous activity is restricted
to a very limited region. To conquer the nervousness one must approach
it with "the power of silence." The emphasis is upon the "power"
rather than upon the "silence."
2. A faithful devotee of the
doctrine once triumphantly exclaimed that now, at last, she could "enter
the silence," for she could make her mind a "perfect blank."
Now, it is often desirable to fall into a revery, with no definite thought
in mind. But to make the mind a "blank" would be to fall asleep.
During the waking hours the stream of consciousness constantly flows, and
it is a question what trains of thought to give attention to, what ones
to disregard or inhibit; for one must always give attention to something.
One cannot empty the mind. But one may fill it with a chosen series of
thoughts. To withdraw the attention from particular objects would be to
scatter one's powers and cultivate mere vagueness. This is precisely the
course one should not pursue. For it is development that is desired, not
reversion to the great "undifferentiated." To the cultivation
of this habit of vagueness is due nearly all that is undesirable in spiritual
meditation.
3. The notion that the mind
should be made a
"blank" is closely connected with another mis-
understanding, namely, in regard
to concentration. In the first place, it has been erroneously supposed
that the mind can concentrate with no definite object to dwell upon; and
in the second place, it has been though that concentration is a sustained
act of voluntary attention. These suppositions are psychologically as ungrounded
as the notion
that there can be a mental state of pure
passivity.
It is a very common error to
conclude that if the attention shifts one lacks the power of concen- tration.
But careful observation confirms the statement
made by Professor James, that "there is no such thing as voluntary
attention sustained for more than a few seconds at a time. What is called
sustained voluntary attention is a repetition of successive efforts which
bring back the topic to mind. The topic once brought back, if a congenial
one, develops . . . . no one can possibly attend continuously to
an object that does not change."
Successful concentration consists, then, in continuous acts of attention given to various details of the object under consideration. No one can long attend to one idea. In fact an idea lingers but a moment. The succeeding moment brings, at best, only an idea that resembles it. It is not only impossible to hold the attention in one direction, without a break, but it is undesirable to try to do this. No one should be discouraged who finds that the attention shifts from phase to phase of the general trend of consciousness. This is the way of nature. Consciousness lives; it is not a dead affair. In all life there is change. The attainments which eventually come out of the realm of change are due to a succession of little movements. Unity is won by moving in a general direction. And likewise with the mind, unity or concentration is attained by continually bringing the attention back to the point. One should give no thought to the wanderings of attention, but simply turn the mind once more in the chosen direction.
To concentrate, then, is
to gather the scattering lines of consciousness and focus them upon a unifying
idea. Concentration is a highly active mental state, not mere passivity,
or "letting go."
To concentrate is to exclude.
If your "silence" is to be of an uplifting sort, you must wisely
select a line of profitable thinking, then give your mind so fully to it
that undesirable thoughts will be shut out. If the consciousness of sensation
intrudes, never mind the intrusion; fill your mind more
actively with the thought which you wish to meditate upon. To be restfully
silent is of course to be calm within. But it is a choice between activities,
not between activity and passivity. If you are to meditate in peace you
must be peaceful. But to be peaceful you must be so strong in your attitude
of inner poise that no other activity can break into your concentrated
repose. "Power through repose" is Miss Call's phrase, that is,
the power of repose, not the weakness of it. The majority of people are
rather loosely put together. What they need is not to dangle and "let
go," but to take hold of themselves and turn their reorganised life
into a wise channel.
Again, some devotees of the
"silence" have thought
that there was some sort of mysterious
power or feeling which one might
enter into by opening the mind in what they called a "spiritual"
direction. Hence they have entered
the silence with no particular idea in mind. Now, it is desirable to help
people out of the thought of "mysteries," not into them.
It is the clear-cut, the intelligible idea, that is the desirable. To set
out upon a vague search for the mysterious is to open the door to all sorts
of abnormal mental experiences. It is because of this that so many have
found it altogether imprudent to try to enter the silence at all. But the
trouble lay in them- selves. We find what we look for. If you believe in
the occult, you will invite it. If you are in search of the sane, the quicker
you cut loose from all vague groping after the mysterious the better.
For the majority, then, it is
far wiser to choose an entirely definite idea, such as a passage from Scripture,
and make the silent hour a decidedly intelligent religious experience,
with clear-cut ideals in view. For it is fineness of thinking, the kind
of thinking which refines, uplifts, purifies, that brings about the desirable
states of repose. Such thinking clarifies the brain, whereas the vacuity
above referred to muddles it. Some people in these days have given themselves
over to this vagueness to such an extent that they seem to have lost the
power of discrimination. But unless one can discriminate one had better
not try to enter the silence. If, then, you are unable to discover a refining
thought of your own which will make your meditation definite, it would
be well for you to read some uplifting book until you find an idea that
is worth thinking about.
Do not then begin your meditation
with a revery. After you have actually settled down into
restfulness, and found a desirable idea to dwell upon, that is, after you
have thought for a while, you
may well yield yourself to the mood you find yourself in. But it is the
active linking which
leads to this, and what goes
on in a state of revery is
subconscious "brooding" over some absorbing idea. Hence it is
that a revery is oftentimes very productive. Granted an interesting thought,
the mind is able to develop
it. But if you put no corn in your mill you will have no meal; if you
put in poor material you will
produce poor results.
It is plain that we are considering
the same thing under two heads. To concentrate is to discriminate, and
one cannot discriminate unless one gives selective attention. The trouble,
then, has been vagueness in regard to what the whole process of "entering
the silence" is for. The feeling side of life has been cultivated
at the expense of the intellectual. But to know what it is well to feel,
that is, what sentiments are worthy of increase, one must first use one's
wits. Mere indiscriminate "letting go" is never desirable. But
to go apart from "the madding
crowd" and think for one's self in wise solitude is highly desirable.
Moreover, it is well to know how to absent one's self from any environment
one may chance to be in. To possess this power one must know how to concentrate.
Concentration, then, is the beginning; and this is far simpler, after all,
than many have thought. The essential is first to have a clear idea of
what concentration is not, then busy one's self with what it is,
that is, the persistent doing of whatever line of activity is chosen. We
are concentrating all the time, while we go about our daily tasks. There
is nothing mysterious about it. Why not "enter the silence,"
then, in the same common- sense sort of way that you would set about to
make bread or kindle a fire? You can make a fine art of housework as well
as of anything else. And there is more that is sound and wise in the well-ordered
home than in all the occult gatherings that were ever gathered to meditate
upon the indiscriminate.
4. Again, we see the vast importance
not only of a sound theory of first principles but of intellectual standards,
definite conclusions in regard to what is worthwhile. Vagueness concerning
spiritual meditation springs largely out of the tendency to revert to Oriental
pantheism and the Yogi practices. To accept mysticism in theory is to accept
it in practice. To reject it philosophically is to reject it in conduct.
Hence the vast
importance of Christian theism in contrast with all pantheistic systems.
The crucial question is this:
Is God known through
sense? If we conclude that He is, we at once put Him on the same level
with ourselves. To lower Him to the sense-level is to reject all the
distinctions which make intelligible
our thought of
Him as the Father. When
all relationships have been reduced to a dead level, the door is opened
wide to all the illusions and errors of mysticism. It is then easy to say,
"I and God are one," to put the emphasis on the "I,"
and hence to arrive at the point where all mysticism arrives--unless it
is exceedingly careful--namely, at the stage of mere egoism, if not egotism.
It is but one step more to announce that " all is good," hence
to sweep away all ethical distinctions.
Christian theism very carefully
distinguishes between God, the Father, and man, the worsh- ipper.
The Father is always in some
sense above the personal self, or He is not known as the Father. To reduce
Him to the realm of feeling is to mistake physical sensation for religious
ecstasy, An untold number of illusions follow. Only in the attitude of
sonship does one maintain the right consciousness
of relationship. The fact of Father-son relationship implies many considerations
which lead directly away from pantheism.
One may of course hold that
the divine presence is far more directly made known in the intimate precincts
of the soul than through objective experience. But the closest relationship
is still a relation, not an identification. Whatever the facts of the highest
religious experience, it is clear that the experience means much or little
according to the values attributed to it. Each man's account of it betrays
his grade of development. As a matter of fact and as an affair of values,
the experience is plainly relative. Hence the description of it should
differentiate its various factors.
5. The fundamental error on
the part of those who confuse the religious experience is undoubt- edly
the misconception of the place and value of the intellect. Throughout religious
history one finds that the mystically inclined are either intellectually
deficient, or have arrived at the conclusion that truth cannot be known
through the intellect. This of course means that the revelation of God's
presence is theoretically limited to the realm of feeling. No conclusion
could be more inconsistent. For no one puts more emphasis upon the (intellectual)
inferences drawn from the facts of religious experience than the devotee
of mere feeling or mystic intuition. The chief difference between the rationalist
and the mystic is that the former pursues his
inferences to the end while the latter is satisfied with imperfect and
unscrutinised conclusions.
Now, it requires but little
reflection to discover that feeling comes first; immediate experience relates
the mind to something objective, then thought seeks the meaning of that
experience.
The devotee of mere feeling
in the religious world corresponds to the sensationalist in the world of
nature. It is the province of
the idealist to correct the inferences of both, and point out that
only by rational scrutiny may one learn what is real. The idealist is as
ready as anyone to recognise the primacy of given experience, but he points
out that, for better or worse, exper- ience has the reality and meaning
which ideas sign to it. Hence the importance of a fundamental inquiry into
the nature of experience.
It is precisely by virtue
of the searching analyses of reason that one is able at last to discrim-
inate the sound
from the unsound in the realm of feeling, to avoid the pitfalls of pantheism,
yet preserve the values which are rightly attributable to
the higher religious experiences. It may even be said that God is knowable
only through reason, for not until one rationally tests the pronoun- cements
of experience is one able to differentiate sensation from the finer sentiments,
to distinguish the human will from the divine love. Nothing is of greater
importance, then, in the inner life than a
sound idea of God. For the idea is the clue to wise adjustment, the principle
of right action. The clearer and more carefully considered the idea,
the saner will be the conduct that is shaped by it. There could be no greater
mistake, then, than to suppose it to be wrong to try to understand the
soul's relationship to God.
The relative worth of the intellect
once understood, one is in a position to pursue the empirical inquiry to
the end, to discover the values of the meditative life, and enjoy the benefits
of silence. For each new experience becomes food for thought, and hence
is of value for conduct. In the long run one learns that it is not mere
accumulation of feelings that gives power and worth to life. Simply to
pass through an experience is only to enter the first stage of development.
It is the thought and the conduct that follow which test the experience.
Hence the importance of mere receptivity should not be exaggerated.
In the long run, also, it is
systematic intellectual development that most directly helps the mind to
concentrate. For it is the intellect that organises, defines. The intellect
contributes the form, the method, makes clear the principle or law. Granted
the organisation, one is free to fill it with the spirit. Hence it is balance
between spirit and form that is desirable.
The foundation of composure
is philosophical conviction.
It is not faith without reason, but faith rationally scrutinised and developed
that gives this conviction. Hence we have seen the importance throughout
our inquiry of keen discrimination and the gradual development of a theory
of life. As valuable as first-hand experience may be, it is rendered far
more valuable by reflection. Moreover, we have seen the importance of discernment
between the lower and higher
levels of consciousness. It is the reduction to a dead level, the confusion
between higher and lower
that is responsible for many of the false inferences of the religious devotee.
The
experiences on the heights are
no doubt of great value, but reason is alone capable of discerning their
sanity. The higher carefully distinguished from the lower, one is free
to develop the resulting data into a system. The more highly developed
the system, the profounder is one's basis of repose. And after awhile one
no longer cares for aught that is mystical. Experience proves that it is
far more profitable to turn to the works of the really great philosophers
for inspiration than to the
works of rambling essayists.
6. Another objection to the method of " entering the silence" is that it is an artificial device made necessary, it may be, by the needs of our nervous, hurrying age. Ordinarily, it is said, one should avoid introspection.
This criticism is sound in
large part. The "silence" is a device, of temporary value, easily
leading into one-sided individualism, to the neglect of urgent social problems.
If men always maintained a sanctuary of the spirit in the inner life, it
would not be necessary to seek "the silence" self- consciously.
It is inner silence as a habit that is desirable. It is only necessary
to give specific attention to the process in so far as the objective life
intrudes upon the solitudes within. And introspection is only a passing
stage in the experience. The ideal is to penetrate beyond mere self-consciousness
to the holy of holies, to uplift the soul in worship, breathe a silent
prayer to the Father.
Yet from another point of view
the criticism is unfair, since it is a law of the spiritual life that renewed
consecration is the beginning of all fresh activity; and the silent communion
at its best is consecration. Regarded in this way, the experience is thoroughly
normal, sound and sane. It is not the device of the sickly, or the resource
of the nervously inclined; but is a glad moment of recreation on the part
of the man who worships God "in spirit and in truth." It is a
rediscovery of the primal sources of the spiritual life on the part of
those who no longer find values in external symbols. It is the natural
act of the self-reliant soul, an expression of the freedom of true indi-
viduality; and hence valuable
as a means to an end.
7. Let us then endeavour to
restate some of the values of the experience as concretely as possible.
In the first place, there is need of readjustment. Life has become for
the moment too complex, one is trying to accomplish over-much in
a given hour or day. Hence there is great waste of energy and withal increasing
nervous tension. The resource is to take the text "Suffic- ient for
each day is its own trouble." *
*This is the literal rendering of Matthew, vi., 34.
It is a revelation to many people who have sought to enter fully into the present to discover how largely their consciousness is ordinarily concerned with distant things. The attention is constantly turned here and there by thoughts that disturb one's repose. The past is regarded with regret, the future with fear and suspicion. Neglected duties occur to consciousness, and there is a sense of uncertainty in regard to what the mind ought to be engaged in. The thought occurs that perhaps one ought to be elsewhere, instead of taking time for a quiet meditation. One has set aside precisely half an hour for thought and one watches the clock lest one overstep the limit. The nervous, hurrying tide of our modern life pulses through all one's thinking, and not for one moment is the mind in repose.
Consequently, if you really
wish to profit by a half-hour's meditation make up your mind to put aside
everything else. If duties occur to mind, decide when you will attend to
them, and immediately dismiss them. When the past comes up laden with regret,
leave it to bury its own dead. Tell the future that you will attend to
it when it arrives. If part of your consciousness is flying north, part
south and the rest up and down, call it in from all directions, as if you
were drawing in an arm, gathering your forces unto yourself. Settle down
reposefully upon your chair. Let the present little environment contain
all there is of you. When the mind flies off again, bring it back. Yield
yourself to the moment in full enjoyment. Disconnect from the rushing currents
of modern thought, and become as moderate as if you were back in the old
stage-coach days, before the era of record-breaking express trains and
automobiles. Do not simply banish all thoughts from your mind, but whatever
you think let your thoughts radiate, as it were, from the eternal present.
Remember that you are a soul dwelling in eternity. Live in the thought
of eternity for a while, and let the world of time rage on.
If you do not see what is wise
for you to do next year, what plans you ought to adopt for the coming month,
what you should do tomorrow, ask yourself if there is something for you
to do
today. The chances are that
you will find something that is very well worth doing today. Probably you
will find more in the living present than
you can attend to, and there you were borrowing trouble for next year!
When you have settled upon the wisest thing for today, do it as well as
you can. Put your whole soul into it, let it be an artistic, philosophical
performance. When that is well done you will readily see what to do next.
This resource never fails. When
in doubt about the future, when in need of guidance, we can, at least,
be true to the best we know now. That is all
that anyone can ask of us. It is not necessary to consult a book or seek
out a prophet. Within the
breast there is a guide for all. The wise tendency of the present is related
to the wisdom of all time. Brush all else aside, discover that tendency
and move forward with it, and the way into the future will open.
This is a perfectly familiar
thought--that the problem of today is sufficient unto today. Yet
it is no small attainment to
learn how to live in the present. It is a good rule to follow throughout
the day, not simply during one's half-hour of silent seclusion. The silent
time is needed largely as a preparation for the remainder of the day. Put
yourself into the present, make a fresh start, then make a determined effort
to stand by the present.
If you catch yourself scattering your forces, living past, present and
future all at once, call yourself back into the living today. Draw in your
mental arms, gather your powers into yourself, and once more start out.
It is really a source of genuine pleasure--this full participation in the
activity of life while it is yet here, as it passes. Not until we live
reposefully do we begin to experience the benefit of our powers. Each of
us has a certain amount of power. That power is sufficient to carry us
through life in health, strength and happiness, with abundant liberty to
do good and profit by experience. Our powers may, of course, be increased.
But right here and now we have sufficient power to live sanely if we
would but possess it, acquire poise and use our Power wisely. The waste
of energy in the average human machine is enormous.
We waste energy by the way we
walk, by nervous habits of eating, talking, working, and the like.
There is an economical, rhythmical way to spend our forces which will spare
us the nervous wear and tear. It is the little interior tension and excitement
which is most wearing. One need not become a slow-coach in order to avoid
this nervous waste of force. It is possible to move rapidly yet harmoniously,
reposefully. Possess yourself within, be at home in your own mental world,
and you may move as quickly as you please on the surface.
Some people wonder how it is
that others who do not seem to be physically strong are able to do so much
more in the same length of time. Here is one of the secrets. They have
learned how to work. They do one thing at a time, and they do that well,
moderately. They live for the time being in and for that particular activity,
and there is no wear and tear due to borrowing trouble from
other things.
Put in other terms, the attitude
of which I am speaking is optimistic. It is a state in which one
is willing to trust that the
future will bring what is wise and right. Pessimism scatters force and
borrows trouble galore. Optimism
conserves our energies and does not even anticipate plans.
Pessimism kicks against the pricks and creates friction. Optimism moves
with the harmonious tide of life, and is content to be carried
forward. All these states are within our control. All of us
may learn to live in the present. If the present is full of hardship, the
best way to overcome the hardship is to meet it here and now.
Our trials do
not seem so hard when we settle down to meet them in their own environment.
For the same circumstances which bring the trial also bring the power to
meet it. All that we need is here. There is
no need to complain of the universe. But we must do our part by learning
how to live wisely and profoundly in the eternal present.
Finally, life in the present
opens the way to the discovery of untold resources in the mental world.
For not until we begin the experiment do we learn the richness of our present
thoughts. There is much wisdom awaiting recognition. Ordinarily we are
too active to discover it. When we begin to settle down reposefully we
learn that the soul is a centre of revelation, an organ of the divine life;
that each individual point of view is of worth in relation to ultimate
truth. Much wisdom will be made known through us when we become silent
enough and receptive enough to perceive it. To live in the present is truly
to become ourselves, and to become one's self is to serve the higher Power.
We know not who and what we are until we thus begin to live. Thus to live
is to discover that we are also members of an eternal order of being where
time matters not at all.
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