My theory, simply put, is that the desire to incarnate in a body, for any purpose other than that of liberating other souls from the prison of bodily incarnation, is essentially materialistic, and that, where the vast majority of incarnate souls are concerned, bodily incarnation is ultimately a failed experiment. Likewise, that procreation is an error which ought to be abandoned with all speed, not by force of will but through personal election.
Everywhere, we see evidence of the cult of life, -- and by "life" is commonly meant only that aspect of the soul's expression which constitutes bodily incarnation; beginning with the birth and ending with the death of the physical vehicle.
Incarnation, we are taught, is a school and testing ground for young souls. And so it is, for we are here, and we must learn and be tested in accordance with the terrain as we encounter it. But the greatest lesson we learn is not to incarnate, and the only exam worth passing is the one which proves our devotion to values transcendent of the material realm. In truth, only the most mature and most flexible souls are prepared for the challenges and pitfalls of material incarnation. Younger souls incarnate through foolishness, because they know, and care to know, nothing better. It is on account of their desire to gratify the senses, rather than the nobler faculties of the soul, and to see themselves and their creations manifested in gross matter, that they remain bound in the vicious cycle of death and rebirth. Older souls, if they incarnate at all, do so only in order to liberate younger souls from the bonds of incarnation by revealing a higher way. If a curriculum surrounding incarnation is prepared, it is only because the obstinacy of foolishness demands it. When a student refuses to take the higher path, the teacher has no alternative but to indulge the refusal, and to lead the student by lower channels; gradually, and according to his willingness.
Many a practical occultist disdains the "merely" speculative philosopher. But while the former actively pursue the paths of initiation laid out for them by adepts whom they implicitly trust, the latter frequently casts his gaze into deeper spaces and thereby attracts the fellowship of even greater, though more obscure, tutelary spirits. For all the rigor, discipline, and persistence of the practitioner, it is the theorist who, by his willingness to entertain the more radical, out-of-the-way possibilities, discovers the shortcut to illumination. Never doubt that shortcuts do exist, even in the spiritual worlds (as above, so below). Indeed, the relationship of grace to works is one such shortcut, and the most incredible. If and when the ascetic opens the door to grace, it is almost always in spite of, rather than because of, his asceticism.
It is a spiritual law that we will regard only what we are prepared to see, and we will attract spirits whose perspective fundamentally mirrors our own. While we are fond of defending our doctrines by such words as "all the sages agree", the fact is, the very first thing which these people, whom we call sages, share in common is that they each fit the definition which we ourselves have conceived or agreed upon of a "sage". To declare that all the sages are in agreement with a particular precept is not to give a proof of its validity, any more than it is a proof of their "sageliness" that they all agree with a particular precept. We ourselves have only defined them as sages on account of the beliefs they espoused and the actions they performed, so it makes no sense to conclude that those very beliefs and actions are necessarily wise because the ones we call sages espoused or performed them.
In the same way, when we find reports of encounters with seemingly highly evolved spirits, we learn more about the person delivering the report than we do about the spirits. Those spirits may only be reflecting back to the person teachings which both share a predisposition to accept, or which the spirit knows the person will be able and willing to accept at the given time. Regardless of what credentials the spirit may possess (miraculous siddhis, an etheric body or disincarnate presence, peacefulness, dignity, love, -- or merely the ability to create a powerful impression of these qualities in the mind of the viewer), there is always a chance that, by opening one's mind to a different strata of possibilities, other spirits, equally or more impressive, may be attracted. Or, that the very same spirit may manifest itself radically differently, expressing itself in ways which appear to contradict or negate its earlier expressions.
I have in mind certain accounts, received and reported by the noted hypnotherapist Dr. Michael Newton, of disincarnate realms and spirits encountered by patients undergoing hypnotic regression therapy. I do not doubt the accounts. In fact, it would not be far from the mark to say that I affirm all that they affirm. But, what is more to the point, I believe I affirm all that they affirm and more.
Specifically, the accounts provide us with descriptions of spiritual realms which our souls (or aspects of our souls?) inhabit between incarnations. While it is fair to say that the evidence is largely, if not merely, anecdotal, the degree to which the accounts corroborate one another, along with certain other indications of their veracity, provides compelling indications of the existence of life outside the body. But while the regressed patients, as souls, find themselves in realms which they understand to be spiritual schools, where former incarnations are reviewed and future ones prepared, and while incarnation itself is purported to be the setting for the most intensive studies, my own suspicion is that these spiritual schools, teachers, and lesson plans are arising in response to preconceptions which the souls who visit them have formed, consciously or unconsciously, in regards to incarnation and its usefulness.
That is to say, if one is convinced at a very deep level that incarnation is necessary or good, this conviction will naturally be reflected in a spiritual world which exists to encourage, foster, and make sense of material existence. If one has already decided at some level to return to materiality, possibly because one is addicted to some aspect of sensory experience, then one's soul will naturally gravitate to these realms after death. Looked at in this way, these realms are not especially removed from materiality, but, rather, are simply more subtle extensions of it, which exist, in large part, to provide justification for the experiment of incarnation; justification which the souls who encounter them desperately want and demand.
If, however, a soul were deeply convinced, or deeply prepared to consider the possibility, that incarnation is a trap, and not a divinely ordained university, a necessary prerequisite for admittance to the higher realms, that soul might encounter very different teachers and worlds beyond. But, this requires a fundamental shift in point of view with respect to the world of matter, -- namely, one must consider that it is not "the creation of God". Moreover, if the world is not God's, then this shift must also include a revision of what is understood by the name of God; for if God is not "The Creator", what is God?
When we consider that God, and spirit in its subtlest expressions, is essentially alien to matter, we begin to get a very different picture. We begin to perceive a duality within the nature of existence, and the notion of duality is something which many people find very difficult to entertain. Something within us desperately wants to believe in unity. We want to believe that the world is God's, the world is good, and everything is going according to plan. We don't want to choose. We don't want to have to accept that life as we know it, life on earth, is pointless. We don't want to imagine that anything in the universe is superfluous. We want to believe that every speck of sawdust has its divine purpose. That every difficulty is necessary to make us strong, or to bring us closer to God. That no child suffers needlessly. That God is in complete control of everything, and if we are here it is because "He" put us here and "He" will take us home just as soon as we are ready. Duality suggests something painful; a rift, a division, an abyss. For this reason, we reject the notion of duality before we truly begin to understand its finer implications.
First, we must understand that, however much we may cling to the illusion of "a world under God", each of us implicitly, if only unconsciously, feels that the world is fallen, and that something other than our own perception of the world as fallen is to blame. While we tell ourselves it is only our ignorance, our weakness, foolishness, or sin which prevents us from seeing God's providence at work in all things, the reality is that, deep down, we know full well, in the words of the tender Prince Hamlet, "something is rotten in the state of Denmark".
And, yet, it needn't look so bleak, for there is unity, -- not in the world, but in God, who transcends it.
Let us try, if we can, to conceptualize this God, who is only good. We will personalize "Him" in the form of an archetype, if only to make the divine mysteries more readily perceptible to the mind's eye. But let it be understood that the notion of a personalized God is adopted only as a matter of poetic license, -- or, more correctly, religious license.
Before continuing, some words must be included here to explain my meaning, and they are as important as anything else which has preceded or will follow them in this discourse.
One needs only to understand that religious language speaks to, and from, a different level of reality; it is figurative, rather than literal, but is no less real. It's realm is foremost the realm of Truth, not Fact. Though spiritual pronouncements may also and incidentally be factual, what matters is only that they are truthful. Gods, angels, and saints, whether or not they possess some external, cosmic or historical reality, possess archetypal reality within the mind, or soul (which, for our purposes, might only be a word describing deeper, unconscious layers of the mind).
To my mind, God does not literally, or necessarily, take on a personal form and respond to our prayers, just as gravity does not literally hold us down (having no hands with which to hold), nor does it act upon us any differently when we jump than when we stand still. Gravity is simply a natural law which we are subject to and which, if we are remotely intelligent and informed, we make conscious use of. In much the same way, when I pray, I am not petitioning God to do anything, as though God were an actual person who listens and responds to my prayer. Rather, it is I who must listen, respond, and approach, by aligning my inner life with that divine presence and essence which I understand by the figurative name of God. In doing so, I make use of a law no less practical than the law of gravity.
As long as one understands that any attempt to conceptualize God, or to perceive "Him" in any form, is strictly tentative and provisional, then there can be tremendous value in seeing God as a personal entity, and in dialoguing with this entity, as one might dialogue with an imaginary friend. Here, the imagination must be respected. It must not be reduced to a mere plaything, nor elevated to a lens for perceiving things concretely; as they are in themselves. In dialoguing with an imaginary God, one may "only" be dialoguing with another aspect of oneself (ideally, with the better, or best, part of oneself), and thereby bringing it out of the depths of the unconscious, into the light of consciousness.
Naturally, our perceptions of God, just like our perceptions of everything else, will be distorted and determined by our own level of development, for we are nothing if not the lens through which we see; or, to be precise, the lens through which seeing itself takes place. For this reason, it is all the more important to remember that our concepts are provisional, inasmuch as we ourselves are provisional; which is to say that, as long as we are imperfect, so will our conceptions of God be equally imperfect, and just as we must remain open to revision, so must our conceptions of God remain open to revision.
Therefore, let it be understood that when I invoke the name of God, and particularly when I seem to speak of God as a personal entity, -- male, female, or hermaphrodite, -- I am speaking figuratively, but not flippantly, of a reality which is more in the nature of formlessness than form, more projection than object, and more law than lawgiver, but which it pleases (and, I believe, edifies) me to understand in this way. So, then, it is not to be wondered at, when I understand God now one way and now a very different way; for, to me, He is essentially mutable, and must, in a manner of speaking, "take the form" of whatever object or idea intuitively serves to illustrate my present purpose.
Even the name of "God" is adopted; for the theist who understands what this name means knows that he is no different from the atheist, apart from the fact that his peculiar form of reverence demands that he articulate his experience in highly colorful and religious terms. In other words, he finds something present within, or behind, all the good things of this world, shining out of them, as it were, and binding them together as one good; something undeniably sacred, which commands his attention and his reverence, and which, due to his theistic orientation, he can understand by no lesser name than "God".
Buddhists, we know, are atheists. Yet, they are religious, and are no strangers to the experience of God. For whatever reason, they see fit to understand and experience Him in more impersonal, though no less reverent, terms. Though it is true they have their gods, their demons, and bodhisattvas, ultimately, they understand all of these personal forms as symbolic and subordinate to something numinous, which they scarcely dare to name. Even the historical saints, to the extent that they fulfill their purpose as emissaries and representatives of a reality transcendent to themselves, must be transfigured, as it were, into symbolic manifestations of that truth. And this is no less the case with demons than with saints, for the Buddhist, at the very highest level of understanding, recognizes no essential difference between the demon and the saint; each is simultaneously a stepping stone and a stumbling block in the way of the ultimate revelation of Nirvana.
Perhaps the Hindus, in their Vedas, say it best: "God is and is not."
While many argue there is no evidence for God, it is enough for the theist to consider the love a mother bears her child, or the victorious gush that overwhelms his heart when he hears his favorite song, or the whiff of the freshly mown grass in springtime, or the calm he feels late at night when, deep in reflection, the whole world breathes cool and collected. "If these things are not sacred," he asks, "what are they?" To the spiritually minded, they are holy, and to the theist, taken as one, along with all other good things, they indeed deserve the name of God.
But, to continue my description of God as alien, it is nearly enough to say that He is not the creator of this world, not the creator of evil, and not some omnipotent being who, having the power to free us from our afflictions, instead excuses Himself behind the specter of "free will", and allows us to suffer generation after generation. What, after all, is free will, if not the ability to choose the lower path, through weakness, ignorance, or both? Is this not, in fact, more of a disability than an ability? My God, were He omnipotent, would not allow it. And any god who would allow it, omnipotent though He may be, will not be mine.
As I say, it is nearly enough, but it is not yet enough, to define my God by what He is not. I must tell you more of what He is. Foremost, He is love. And when I say that He is love, I mean that He is love, and all that goes with it. Mercy, understanding, and forgiveness -- are not these members belonging to love? Of course they are, and if they were not it would only be because love had transcended any need of them; for what is there to pardon, if no judgement has been passed; and what is to understand, if there is love without conditions?
Asking God for mercy and forgiveness is like asking the sun for light and heat; these belong to the incorruptible nature of divinity itself, and though clouds of ignorance may temporarily cast shadows of guilt over the souls of men, the sun does not go black, nor does the Lord condemn. God's justice is not like ours. God's justice is mercy. He does not punish, because He reforms and makes perfect. If we suffer it is largely because we refuse to believe this, and to accept His love for us. We imagine that He refuses to answer our prayers when, in fact, our prayers are not even addressed to Him, but to some unforgiving despot unworthy of His name. What's more, He does not want our prayers so much as He wants ourselves. I have said, God cannot be moved by petitions; it is up to us to go where He is. That is true prayer. It is not a letter one sends, while oneself remains behind, but a pilgrimage one makes. God dwells in perfect love, and anyone who calms their spirit enough to receive that love must naturally approach His throne. For this reason, an angry person cannot approach, though God has only love for him. It is we who judge ourselves, because we do not, cannot, understand His love for us.
But how many strange and circuitous sophistries must be conjured up before we can believe in a God who gives us, not only solutions, but problems as well; not only saviors, but devils to tempt them? People who think this way must say that God gives us troubles so that we may learn from them. But they neglect to account for that primordial ignorance which causes us to have anything to learn in the first place. One might as well say that God beats us over the heads for the sake of the relief we will feel when at last He stops!
No, my God does not give troubles to make us strong, though He does make us strong. He is what turns our troubles into lessons, if troubles there must be. But isn't this simply the way it is? Do not all things lead naturally enough to God? Consider: If something is good, we want more of it, and so it leads us on to God. If it is bad, we want less of it, and, again, it leads us on to God. Even the feeling of God's absence drives us to seek His presence. And, so, there is something positive to be made of the negative, -- but the negative itself must not for that reason be understood as a positive. God forbid! Yes, His absence drives us to seek His presence. But so does His presence! And God would a thousand times rather give us His presence. He does not want us to have to suffer. He wants only to give us all of Himself, right this minute. Always, He is trying to show us shortcuts, while we foolishly go the long way.
It is ignorance of God, and pride in our own labor, which causes us to see industriousness as an essential part of the spiritual life. We imagine the task must be difficult, or else nothing worth. We do not realize that God's grace does not depend on our works. We believe our selfless acts are only truly good if they require some terrible straining on our part, when, in fact, straining is a sign that our will is divided and not wholly given to God. We must reflect that a sacrifice is only truly noble when it is no sacrifice at all; but an honest and undivided desire to leave behind what does not serve the Lord, and to ascend to God without a backwards glance.
This is what God offers us. Yet we are blind; too restless, proud, rebellious, anxious, and distracted to see. If we only knew what supernatural wonders surround us, -- if we could see that angels, with their great wings outspread, protect us, bless and watch over our inauspicious activities, -- we would be stopped in our tracks, and our hearts, overcome with awe before their beauty, would render praise at all times to the majesty of God. Alas!, the world is dark, and we are blind. But it is no fault of God's that the world is dark, and no fault of ours that we are blind.
His light would shine brighter in the world if only it could, but His light is not of this world; it is the light which transcends this world, and only dimly, dimly shines through it. Yet, the more we attune ourselves to peace, love, tenderness, and broadmindedness, the more we see Him, and the higher our souls rise toward heaven. In the meantime, we must continue to incarnate in these dense material realms, fumbling around where the light is so hard to see that sometimes we even imagine it does not exist.
The one who believes that God is already manifest in the world must rely on faith because the God he sees (in the world) is just too cruel to be accepted. But the one who understands that God transcends the world must rely on faith only because the world he sees is not of God, and is not meant to be accepted. This is the difference. The former denies the evil he sees in order to accept it as good, while the latter accepts the evil he sees in order to deny it as evil. The one corrupts his conception of God, and of good, in order to justify the world, and the other condemns the world in order to preserve his conception of God, and of good. The choice is simple enough.
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