Popular today, particularly among enthusiasts of "The Secret" and certain channellers of the "Abraham Hicks" variety, is a belief that material wealth may be spiritually justified. The fundamental assumption here is that material resources are infinite, and that everyone may be materially wealthy without any one having to go without, or to do the dirty work of procuring and refining the resources necessary for an opulent lifestyle. It is, admittedly, a rather attractive proposal, especially to those of us who are very much attached to worldly possessions and to the dream of acquiring material wealth without having to step on the backs of the "less fortunate". What is required, they say, is merely a change in perspective, from one which views resources as finite, or lacking, to one which views them as infinite, or abundant. Again, the apparent optimism of this belief system is rather attractive, and especially to those of us who equate unbridled optimism with a spiritually evolved state of mind. Nonetheless, my own understanding of the matter is that this seeming optimism is very far from spiritual, that it is, in fact, deeply cynical and pessimistic, and that defining wealth in material terms is downright pernicious to the life of the spirit and the state of the world.
A number of terms have arisen or been tweaked in order to better articulate this belief system, chief among them being "abundance" and "poverty mentality". It is said that those who do not enjoy material wealth are suffering from a "poverty mentality", which inclines them to refuse material benefits which they see as incompatible with a spiritual life, or which they imagine themselves to be unworthy of. The millions who toil in sweatshops or languish in dry climates without proper nourishment, they say, are merely unaware of their own worth and of the infinite abundance available to them, and to all, through a simple shift in perspective.
Both poverty and abundance are almost invariably defined in material terms. No attention is payed to the sacred teachings of all ages, and to the saints and sages throughout the world who, with one voice, have decried material wealth, and urged us to redefine our conceptions of wealth along more spiritual lines. That is, to see material wealth as spiritual poverty, and to define true wealth as intimacy with God. Patience, calm, humility, generosity, compassion, inspiration, and joy which does not depend on, nor discover itself in, material things, are the true gifts of the spirit, and the primary consolations which any spiritually-minded individual has an interest in procuring.
In order to see through this latest craze in "spiritual materialism", it is necessary only to take an honest look at the matter, without a desire to justify our attachment to those things which gratify the senses of the body, rather than the higher senses of the intellect and the heart. It is helpful, but not essential, to reflect on the claim made by holy men throughout history that, when the soul leaves the body, those attachments we have made to sensory objects and gratifications will be useless and will only weigh our souls down (indeed, we will be like "hungry ghosts", groping at things which only pass through our fingers), while those attachments we have made to more abstract objects of contemplation will serve us well; -- although, at the very highest levels, attachment itself is, ultimately, to be renounced.
First, we should understand that, while the specific manifestations of this trend may be new and unique, the desire to find spiritual justifications for worldly attachments is at least as old as the world itself. No doubt, the rise of capitalism has done much to lend these teachings a semblance of respectability, to undermine many of the long-standing objections toward them, and to engender in people a stronger desire to see such teachings legitimized, -- but the essential thrust of the phenomenon is nothing new. Likewise, misguided teachers like Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, or Osho (the self-styled "rich man's guru"), with his 90+ Rolls Royces, are growing bolder and acquiring an alarming degree of popularity these days, but there have always been, and perhaps there may always be, false prophets of a similar stamp.
The present wave of materialism, cloaked in spiritual garb, appears to have been originated and popularized by the Pluto in Leo generation,-- or, more specifically, by the shadow-side of this generation. The darker side of Leo has always been associated with opulence and excess, while Pluto's very nature is to bring up from the depths of the psyche the darkest impulses, and often to clothe them in language which makes them appear deeper or more spiritual than they actually are. While the positive side of Leo is one of enlightened self-interest, the negative side is one which equates self-empowerment with self-entitlement. Here we have a veritable definition of the expounders of the present materialism.
One book which brings these matters into stark relief would be Chogyam Trungpa's "Spiritual Materialism", but, provided we are honest with ourselves, we need not make a serious study of the matter in order to be convinced. It is enough merely to observe a few of the principles which the wisest of God's messengers have been uttering for centuries.
For instance: Did Christ have a "poverty mentality" when he defined wealth in spiritual terms, telling his followers, "sell all that you have and distribute the money to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven", or when he told them it is necessary to sell everything in order to purchase "one pearl of great price" (i.e. the kingdom of heaven)?
Gandhi writes: “There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” I used to think this quote applied to those who were literally and materially starving, but now, it occurs to me that it has a far greater and deeper application. It must be applied, first and foremost, to those who are starved for spirituality, and to whom both wealth and spirit continue to be defined in material terms. It is to them that God appears in the form of "bread"; that is, in material form; in the form of material riches, luxuries and delicacies. In fact, what they are really hungry for is intimacy with God, and for those virtues and higher consolations which stem from a godly life.
In conclusion, let me quote just a handful of wise persons:
"Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants."
~ Epictetus
“The comfort of the rich depends upon an abundant supply of the poor.”
~ Voltaire
“Great abundance of riches cannot be gathered and kept by any man without sin.”
~ Erasmus
"We are everlasting debtors to known and unknown men and women... When we arise in the morning, we go into the bathroom where we reach for a sponge provided for us by a Pacific Islander. We reach for soap that is created for us by a Frenchman. The towel is provided by a Turk. Then at the table we drink coffee which is provided for us by a South American, or tea by a Chinese, or cocoa by a West African. Before we leave for our jobs, we are beholden to more than half the world."
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
“He has committed the crime who profits by it.”
~ Seneca
"[Eat from a clay plate as if it were silver, and a silver plate as if it were clay.]"
~ Seneca
"Prayer reveals to souls the vanity of earthly goods and pleasures. It fills them with light, strength, and consolation, and gives them a foretaste of the calm bliss of our heavenly home."
~ St. Rose of Viterbo
"The only true riches are those that make us rich in virtue. Therefore, if you want to be rich, Beloved, love true riches. If you aspire to the heights of real honor, strive to reach the kingdom of Heaven. If you value rank and renown, hasten to be enrolled in the heavenly court of angels."
~ St. Gregory the Great
“The prevalent fear of poverty among the educated classes is the worst moral disease from which our civilization suffers... We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise anyone who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition.”
~ William James
“Satan is wiser now than before, and tempts by making rich instead of poor.”
~ Alexander Pope
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Some Sayings
Be still; and behold the superorganic unfolding of the soul's potentialities in God.
How humble is the Lord, our God! His ways are not our ways. He does not clamor to be heard, but whispers to us in "a still small voice" out of the depths of our souls, and every man must put off his own will and listen intently if he is to hear the humble promptings of the Lord.
The Lord, in His goodness, teaches us gratitude for what we have and humility for what we have not.
In the world they are ashamed to speak of Christ, and in Christ they are ashamed to speak of the world.
The heart is a bridle for the intellect, that reason may serve the will in all simplicity.
Love forges a simple path through the forest of the mind.
Strait is the spirit of love in pursuit of the heart of God.
Clear as water is the spirit which cleanses of all superfluities.
The heart desires to be heard and not to conceal itself in a forest of clever words.
Simplicity charms the heart.
Gifts, like children, do not come out of us, but through us.
What I have loved in mortal natures is only the grace which proceeded from God.
In the time it takes to know a man he may become a different man.
How humble is the Lord, our God! His ways are not our ways. He does not clamor to be heard, but whispers to us in "a still small voice" out of the depths of our souls, and every man must put off his own will and listen intently if he is to hear the humble promptings of the Lord.
The Lord, in His goodness, teaches us gratitude for what we have and humility for what we have not.
In the world they are ashamed to speak of Christ, and in Christ they are ashamed to speak of the world.
The heart is a bridle for the intellect, that reason may serve the will in all simplicity.
Love forges a simple path through the forest of the mind.
Strait is the spirit of love in pursuit of the heart of God.
Clear as water is the spirit which cleanses of all superfluities.
The heart desires to be heard and not to conceal itself in a forest of clever words.
Simplicity charms the heart.
Gifts, like children, do not come out of us, but through us.
What I have loved in mortal natures is only the grace which proceeded from God.
In the time it takes to know a man he may become a different man.
The Ironic Generation
I recently found myself in one of those "cool" shops which showcase the irreverent work of local artists, and was not impressed. In fact, I found myself thoroughly depressed by the experience. Nevertheless, I've come away with some reflections which I hope may be of some use.
First, let me provide a couple examples of the "art" which so disturbed me, and then attempt to interpret it so as to explain my reaction:
No doubt, you are familiar with those tall, cylindrical candles encased in glass and decorated with a depiction of one of the saints, or of the mother of God, or some other religious symbol. Well, a certain artist thought it would be clever to reproduce those candles and depictions, but in an ironic style. There were many variations, but, to give just one instance, there was a reverent-looking man, complete with beard and upturned eyes, holding a bong, and the caption read "So-and-So [I forget the name], The Patron Saint of Lost Brain Cells". I say that the artist thought this clever, and I must admit, it was clever. It even elicited a fleeting, ironic smile on my part. But the smile was quickly replaced by a strange sense of melancholy and even pity for the artist and for anyone who might be so delighted by the object as to purchase it and place it in their home. What disturbed me is that the object, though clever, was nothing more than clever, and while it awakened in me reflections of a higher nature, I could not help suspecting that the creator of the work, and almost certainly the admirers of the work, were not likely to be privy to its deeper ramifications; or, if they were, that these would somehow remain in the background, acting only to highlight the clever irony in the foreground, and to provide a chuckle, when they really ought to make us weep.
The second example is of an altar, rather elaborately decorated, and placed in the back corner of the shop. It was, as it were, an altar dedicated to nostalgia for an 80's childhood, and the direct subject was "Mr. T". There was an action figure, a lunch-box, and many other sorts of "Mr. T" paraphernalia. Again, it was clever. It was ironic. It was kitch. And it turned my stomach.
I know many people will think I am simply taking these things too seriously, and that I just need to lighten up and have a little fun. That's understandable. However, my objection is that this is precisely indicative of the moral, or spiritual, disease which has taken hold of our culture: We are afraid to take anything seriously. Any expression of true sincerity, in our culture, is regarded as highly suspect. Almost invariably, there is an immediate inclination to crack a joke, and to make light of whatever serious and sincere consideration happens to be tempting us into a deeper reflectiveness. The overwhelming message one seems to get, subtly or implicitly, is that "Life is a joke, and so is God, and so are you."
In fact, it is this very flippancy which makes the joke work, and though it may be healthful to laugh, it is a sure sign of disease when that laughter does not give way to a deeper period of reflection, in which one attempts to transform the situation into one which is not a joke. That we do not enter into a deeper consideration of the matter is symptomatic of the dire progression of the disease, for it shows that we are desperate indeed. We are like the madman who sees his madness and, yet, incapable of seeing any way out of it, is reduced to absolute hysterics. He cannot be reasoned with, but remains lost; trapped in a sort of self-referencing, self-satirizing condition. In essence, he feeds upon his own madness, -- or, more precisely, his madness feeds upon itself.
If we wished to be especially generous, we might interpret this condition as a last-ditch attempt to empower the self, which feels utterly disempowered, by reclaiming those aspects of experience which have been systematically co-opted by the culture. In other words, it is not unlike the situation of many members of the black community who have attempted to empower themselves by reclaiming the word "nigger", so as to remove the stigma of the word through a process of desensitization, making it instead a term of affection (i.e. "my nigger"). What we find is that the long history of it's use cannot be so easily dispelled. In consequence, the less controversial term "nigga" has taken its place, while the word "nigger" retains its original, derogatory connotations, and is perhaps more potent, and more taboo, than ever. Now we can only refer to it in polite society as "the N-word". So, in our present attempt to de-claw the beasts which threaten us, by making a joke of them, we have fallen into the very trap we wished to escape. What began as an underground movement, designed to satirize the mainstream consumerist culture, or the advertising machine which has co-opted every true expression of human experience and turned it into a marketing gimmick, ends by becoming that which it despised. Now, there is nothing more mainstream, nothing which has been so thoroughly co-opted, as this defiant, ironic distantiation which began as a defensive posture for those wishing to resist and distance themselves from the mainstream.
What the pieces discussed above really suggest to me is the utter spiritual poverty of our modern age, and the fact that many people, though clearly desperate for true, sincere tokens of spirituality, are not comfortable placing actual images of saints in their homes, -- but, still wishing somehow to access that strata, are settling for these pseudo-saints whose behavior benignly reflects their own, while only vaguely suggesting the discrepancy between their "lost brain cells" and the illuminated mind of those devoted to a higher path.
Now, the corporate juggernauts themselves are onto us, and have adopted our irony to suit their nefarious purposes. Like us, they are self-mocking, self-reflective, self-satirizing. Rather than make inflated claims which they know we are all too jaded to be moved by, they advertize like they don't care: "Insert Logo Here", or "Insert Clever Catch-Phrase Here", or "It's Just A Potato Chip", or "It's Just A Sneaker; It Won't Make You Capable Of Slam-Dunking Like Michael Jordan; But, Hey, Buy It Anyway" and so on. But it's just another marketing ploy. And we, in our self-referencing, culture-referencing attempts to take back the power, are merely succeeding in highlighting the dimensions of those cells in which we remain captive, along with our own hysterical hopelessness.
So what is the solution? How do we get free?
It's simple. We need to get real. We need to get serious, and reclaim sincerity from the cultural scrap-heap. But, more than this, we need to get serious about things which the culture cannot market to us. If you see a bumper-sticker advertising a message of anti-consumerism -- don't consume it, Stupid! And if you see a bumper-sticker advertising a message of anti-consumerism in an ironic, self-referencing fashion (i.e. "I Consumed This Anti-Consumerist Bumper-Sticker") -- definitely do not buy it.
All it does is play upon your sense of defeat. It's a hysterical madman, laughing at his own madness, and digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole with every clever, self-referencing, self-satirizing "joke". Isn't this, after all, the only thing truly ironic about it?
Get free. Get honest. Get serious. Get real. And don't be afraid to love God, or to make of Jesus Christ something more than a party gag; a "Buddy Christ". If you're a hypocrite, who hits the bong while harboring an ideal of perfect sobriety, then, dammit, be a hypocrite; have the courage to be a hypocrite; and don't attempt to make a joke of your hypocrisy by ironically lighting ironic candles to an ironic icon of an ironic patron saint.
No doubt, the instant you sincerely aim for the sublime, somebody somewhere will accuse you of being pretentious. No doubt they think having low aims makes them humble. But that's not true humility, and if you are going to err, then err on the side of the sublime. Don't be afraid to be pretentious; have the courage of your pretensions.
Don't attempt to ease your situation by making a joke of yourself, and calling it "having a sense of humor", or "being humble". There are better things to be than a clown, and there is still hope that you can be more than a clown.
Don't be a clown.
Be a person.
First, let me provide a couple examples of the "art" which so disturbed me, and then attempt to interpret it so as to explain my reaction:
No doubt, you are familiar with those tall, cylindrical candles encased in glass and decorated with a depiction of one of the saints, or of the mother of God, or some other religious symbol. Well, a certain artist thought it would be clever to reproduce those candles and depictions, but in an ironic style. There were many variations, but, to give just one instance, there was a reverent-looking man, complete with beard and upturned eyes, holding a bong, and the caption read "So-and-So [I forget the name], The Patron Saint of Lost Brain Cells". I say that the artist thought this clever, and I must admit, it was clever. It even elicited a fleeting, ironic smile on my part. But the smile was quickly replaced by a strange sense of melancholy and even pity for the artist and for anyone who might be so delighted by the object as to purchase it and place it in their home. What disturbed me is that the object, though clever, was nothing more than clever, and while it awakened in me reflections of a higher nature, I could not help suspecting that the creator of the work, and almost certainly the admirers of the work, were not likely to be privy to its deeper ramifications; or, if they were, that these would somehow remain in the background, acting only to highlight the clever irony in the foreground, and to provide a chuckle, when they really ought to make us weep.
The second example is of an altar, rather elaborately decorated, and placed in the back corner of the shop. It was, as it were, an altar dedicated to nostalgia for an 80's childhood, and the direct subject was "Mr. T". There was an action figure, a lunch-box, and many other sorts of "Mr. T" paraphernalia. Again, it was clever. It was ironic. It was kitch. And it turned my stomach.
I know many people will think I am simply taking these things too seriously, and that I just need to lighten up and have a little fun. That's understandable. However, my objection is that this is precisely indicative of the moral, or spiritual, disease which has taken hold of our culture: We are afraid to take anything seriously. Any expression of true sincerity, in our culture, is regarded as highly suspect. Almost invariably, there is an immediate inclination to crack a joke, and to make light of whatever serious and sincere consideration happens to be tempting us into a deeper reflectiveness. The overwhelming message one seems to get, subtly or implicitly, is that "Life is a joke, and so is God, and so are you."
In fact, it is this very flippancy which makes the joke work, and though it may be healthful to laugh, it is a sure sign of disease when that laughter does not give way to a deeper period of reflection, in which one attempts to transform the situation into one which is not a joke. That we do not enter into a deeper consideration of the matter is symptomatic of the dire progression of the disease, for it shows that we are desperate indeed. We are like the madman who sees his madness and, yet, incapable of seeing any way out of it, is reduced to absolute hysterics. He cannot be reasoned with, but remains lost; trapped in a sort of self-referencing, self-satirizing condition. In essence, he feeds upon his own madness, -- or, more precisely, his madness feeds upon itself.
If we wished to be especially generous, we might interpret this condition as a last-ditch attempt to empower the self, which feels utterly disempowered, by reclaiming those aspects of experience which have been systematically co-opted by the culture. In other words, it is not unlike the situation of many members of the black community who have attempted to empower themselves by reclaiming the word "nigger", so as to remove the stigma of the word through a process of desensitization, making it instead a term of affection (i.e. "my nigger"). What we find is that the long history of it's use cannot be so easily dispelled. In consequence, the less controversial term "nigga" has taken its place, while the word "nigger" retains its original, derogatory connotations, and is perhaps more potent, and more taboo, than ever. Now we can only refer to it in polite society as "the N-word". So, in our present attempt to de-claw the beasts which threaten us, by making a joke of them, we have fallen into the very trap we wished to escape. What began as an underground movement, designed to satirize the mainstream consumerist culture, or the advertising machine which has co-opted every true expression of human experience and turned it into a marketing gimmick, ends by becoming that which it despised. Now, there is nothing more mainstream, nothing which has been so thoroughly co-opted, as this defiant, ironic distantiation which began as a defensive posture for those wishing to resist and distance themselves from the mainstream.
What the pieces discussed above really suggest to me is the utter spiritual poverty of our modern age, and the fact that many people, though clearly desperate for true, sincere tokens of spirituality, are not comfortable placing actual images of saints in their homes, -- but, still wishing somehow to access that strata, are settling for these pseudo-saints whose behavior benignly reflects their own, while only vaguely suggesting the discrepancy between their "lost brain cells" and the illuminated mind of those devoted to a higher path.
Now, the corporate juggernauts themselves are onto us, and have adopted our irony to suit their nefarious purposes. Like us, they are self-mocking, self-reflective, self-satirizing. Rather than make inflated claims which they know we are all too jaded to be moved by, they advertize like they don't care: "Insert Logo Here", or "Insert Clever Catch-Phrase Here", or "It's Just A Potato Chip", or "It's Just A Sneaker; It Won't Make You Capable Of Slam-Dunking Like Michael Jordan; But, Hey, Buy It Anyway" and so on. But it's just another marketing ploy. And we, in our self-referencing, culture-referencing attempts to take back the power, are merely succeeding in highlighting the dimensions of those cells in which we remain captive, along with our own hysterical hopelessness.
So what is the solution? How do we get free?
It's simple. We need to get real. We need to get serious, and reclaim sincerity from the cultural scrap-heap. But, more than this, we need to get serious about things which the culture cannot market to us. If you see a bumper-sticker advertising a message of anti-consumerism -- don't consume it, Stupid! And if you see a bumper-sticker advertising a message of anti-consumerism in an ironic, self-referencing fashion (i.e. "I Consumed This Anti-Consumerist Bumper-Sticker") -- definitely do not buy it.
All it does is play upon your sense of defeat. It's a hysterical madman, laughing at his own madness, and digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole with every clever, self-referencing, self-satirizing "joke". Isn't this, after all, the only thing truly ironic about it?
Get free. Get honest. Get serious. Get real. And don't be afraid to love God, or to make of Jesus Christ something more than a party gag; a "Buddy Christ". If you're a hypocrite, who hits the bong while harboring an ideal of perfect sobriety, then, dammit, be a hypocrite; have the courage to be a hypocrite; and don't attempt to make a joke of your hypocrisy by ironically lighting ironic candles to an ironic icon of an ironic patron saint.
No doubt, the instant you sincerely aim for the sublime, somebody somewhere will accuse you of being pretentious. No doubt they think having low aims makes them humble. But that's not true humility, and if you are going to err, then err on the side of the sublime. Don't be afraid to be pretentious; have the courage of your pretensions.
Don't attempt to ease your situation by making a joke of yourself, and calling it "having a sense of humor", or "being humble". There are better things to be than a clown, and there is still hope that you can be more than a clown.
Don't be a clown.
Be a person.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Art Is Dead
Where's the crack of the unconscious? I mean the great gulf. Hammers strike here and there, feeling for the place. The old axes grind on the rusted, still turning wheels of artists' brains. Sharp enough to fork the squeamish folds, and drive a wedge between the hemispheres, in hope that some new daemon will scrabble out with his madness still intact. But nothing works to open the crevice wide. Maybe a puddle of insects wells up and spills over into somewhere, another corner of the brain, to feed on whatever's left. But there's no real passion. No beasts break forth. No wild bulls in the china shop where antique pleasantries line the shelves and stick out their pale, dull tongues.
If a man had an ounce of passion the whole world would hail greatness in him. Women in every country would howl again. Panties would drop, and get kicked to the side, all moist and crumpled like our minds are now. But nobody's got it. Still, you see the poets, or would-be poets (there are no poets left) whisper together in the cafés, leaning into each other's ears. "Where is it?" they want to know. Yeah, we all want to know. "Who's got it?" Man, don't bother. Don't you know, it would be front page news: ART FOUND
But we're all a bunch of third-rate Nietzsches, ringing our bells in the public squares, announcing the death of art. And wondering where are the true explorers of the unconscious. Not long ago we were feverish, hunting desperately for the new worlds, the undiscovered continents of the mind. Now, we haven't the vital breath left for desperation, but we're lazily still turning over rocks and mental blocks. Unaware that we are ghosts.
Sex is blown up. There's no discovering it now. It's everywhere before you've got whiskers on your balls or curls on your cunt. It used to be something you went looking for down dark corridors with a lit torch between your legs. Now it's just the way to hawk a hamburger. At least, in its prudishness, the world had reverence for it once.
If a man had an ounce of passion the whole world would hail greatness in him. Women in every country would howl again. Panties would drop, and get kicked to the side, all moist and crumpled like our minds are now. But nobody's got it. Still, you see the poets, or would-be poets (there are no poets left) whisper together in the cafés, leaning into each other's ears. "Where is it?" they want to know. Yeah, we all want to know. "Who's got it?" Man, don't bother. Don't you know, it would be front page news: ART FOUND
But we're all a bunch of third-rate Nietzsches, ringing our bells in the public squares, announcing the death of art. And wondering where are the true explorers of the unconscious. Not long ago we were feverish, hunting desperately for the new worlds, the undiscovered continents of the mind. Now, we haven't the vital breath left for desperation, but we're lazily still turning over rocks and mental blocks. Unaware that we are ghosts.
Sex is blown up. There's no discovering it now. It's everywhere before you've got whiskers on your balls or curls on your cunt. It used to be something you went looking for down dark corridors with a lit torch between your legs. Now it's just the way to hawk a hamburger. At least, in its prudishness, the world had reverence for it once.
The Prayerful Soul
What is the experience of a soul, once practiced in the art of prayer?
The prayerful soul, taken up into the spirit of a higher aspiration, gently ascends, as if through deepest space, toward the great hierophany of God. Silent, expectant, reverent, triumphant, and overcome with awe for what is holy, she relinquishes, imperceptibly, her long attachment to the vestiges of lower nature.
Replacing every coarse element of her being with the tenderest lineaments of light, all her qualities newly bathed in warm, ineffable luminescence, she draws to herself, and draws into herself, the wondrous substances of divine life. Softly transformed, she commends herself entirely to the singular experience of Christ.
This love, whose perfection she never could have anticipated or even quite imagined, has become, for her, the secret wellspring of all things tender, blessed, glorious, and good; a beacon of incomparable majesty, in whose presence she flutters, angelic, imbued with all the wisdom of simplicity; partaking of that blissful communion which is the sustenance of saints.
Now she herself has become as a particle of God's love, almost inseparable from the rest, golden and white, half-lost in the effulgence of His most glorious emanation; joyous to discover herself a darling of the godhead; beloved and cherished beyond all human comprehension; a lustre in the infinitely opulent penumbra of cosmic light.
Who can imagine the fullness of love, which waits, attendant, upon the prayers of a willing soul? Who can perceive, in the hidden depths of an inward life, such heavenly elevations?
The snow-capped mountains, which tower over man, and over-awe the capacities of mortal imaginations, are less than specks of dust, swept back into distant space, immaterial before the presence of His love; the one takes your breath away, the other takes your heart. While souls, which seemed so meager, so unfit to behold this brilliance, are suddenly revealed to be the dearest twinkles in the eye, -- the bluest eye, -- of Christ.
My brothers, my sisters, how dearly we must cherish the slightest devotional stirrings, which beckon to us from deep within, as echos of angelic choirs; as a summons to be honored before the throne of the King of Angels.
The prayerful soul, taken up into the spirit of a higher aspiration, gently ascends, as if through deepest space, toward the great hierophany of God. Silent, expectant, reverent, triumphant, and overcome with awe for what is holy, she relinquishes, imperceptibly, her long attachment to the vestiges of lower nature.
Replacing every coarse element of her being with the tenderest lineaments of light, all her qualities newly bathed in warm, ineffable luminescence, she draws to herself, and draws into herself, the wondrous substances of divine life. Softly transformed, she commends herself entirely to the singular experience of Christ.
This love, whose perfection she never could have anticipated or even quite imagined, has become, for her, the secret wellspring of all things tender, blessed, glorious, and good; a beacon of incomparable majesty, in whose presence she flutters, angelic, imbued with all the wisdom of simplicity; partaking of that blissful communion which is the sustenance of saints.
Now she herself has become as a particle of God's love, almost inseparable from the rest, golden and white, half-lost in the effulgence of His most glorious emanation; joyous to discover herself a darling of the godhead; beloved and cherished beyond all human comprehension; a lustre in the infinitely opulent penumbra of cosmic light.
Who can imagine the fullness of love, which waits, attendant, upon the prayers of a willing soul? Who can perceive, in the hidden depths of an inward life, such heavenly elevations?
The snow-capped mountains, which tower over man, and over-awe the capacities of mortal imaginations, are less than specks of dust, swept back into distant space, immaterial before the presence of His love; the one takes your breath away, the other takes your heart. While souls, which seemed so meager, so unfit to behold this brilliance, are suddenly revealed to be the dearest twinkles in the eye, -- the bluest eye, -- of Christ.
My brothers, my sisters, how dearly we must cherish the slightest devotional stirrings, which beckon to us from deep within, as echos of angelic choirs; as a summons to be honored before the throne of the King of Angels.
Monastic Activism
Seemingly the greatest, and certainly the most common, objection raised against monks, is that the monastic life represents a retreat from worldly duties, and an abdication of social responsibility. In fact, this could not be further from the truth. On the contrary, while the monk does retreat to some extent from the mundane affairs of humanity, he or she does so only in order to wage a confrontation of far greater magnitude and importance.
By natural methods, worldly science has revealed knowledge concerning operations in nature which remain hidden from the naked eye and inaccessible to less sophisticated observation. In the same way, yet through supernatural methods, spiritual science has revealed wisdom concerning operations in supernature which remain hidden from the naked eye (as well as from the biologist's microscope) and inaccessible to less sophisticated observation.
For example:
The experiments of worldly science have shown how trees absorb carbon dioxide, which is harmful to the biological life of humanity, and, by a process of chemical transmutation, exude oxygen, which is healthful to it. In like manner, the experiments of spiritual science have shown how monks absorb demonic energies, which are harmful to the theological life of humanity, and, by a process of alchemical transmutation, exude angelic energies, which are healthful to it. By the testimony of worldly science, we know that trees are responsible for preserving the quality of the air upon which our bodies subsist. Likewise, by the testimony of spiritual science, we know that monks are responsible for preserving the quality of the spirit upon which our souls subsist.
A monk, sincerely and diligently active in the realms of spirit, transmuting, by his presence and effort there, all manner of foul energies, acts simultaneously like a great sponge, or vacuum, sucking up all that clouds and dirties the spiritual atmosphere of humankind, and like a great generator of spiritual warmth and light.
Although many activists in society believe they alone are confronting social ills directly, the fact is that they are merely chopping at the branches, and pruning the leaves, of evil in the world. The monks, engaged in spiritual warfare, are busy digging up the very roots.
Those with little or no comprehension of subtle (i.e. spiritual) energies must find this difficult to understand. Nonetheless, it is the case, and they would do well to consider it.
By natural methods, worldly science has revealed knowledge concerning operations in nature which remain hidden from the naked eye and inaccessible to less sophisticated observation. In the same way, yet through supernatural methods, spiritual science has revealed wisdom concerning operations in supernature which remain hidden from the naked eye (as well as from the biologist's microscope) and inaccessible to less sophisticated observation.
For example:
The experiments of worldly science have shown how trees absorb carbon dioxide, which is harmful to the biological life of humanity, and, by a process of chemical transmutation, exude oxygen, which is healthful to it. In like manner, the experiments of spiritual science have shown how monks absorb demonic energies, which are harmful to the theological life of humanity, and, by a process of alchemical transmutation, exude angelic energies, which are healthful to it. By the testimony of worldly science, we know that trees are responsible for preserving the quality of the air upon which our bodies subsist. Likewise, by the testimony of spiritual science, we know that monks are responsible for preserving the quality of the spirit upon which our souls subsist.
A monk, sincerely and diligently active in the realms of spirit, transmuting, by his presence and effort there, all manner of foul energies, acts simultaneously like a great sponge, or vacuum, sucking up all that clouds and dirties the spiritual atmosphere of humankind, and like a great generator of spiritual warmth and light.
Although many activists in society believe they alone are confronting social ills directly, the fact is that they are merely chopping at the branches, and pruning the leaves, of evil in the world. The monks, engaged in spiritual warfare, are busy digging up the very roots.
Those with little or no comprehension of subtle (i.e. spiritual) energies must find this difficult to understand. Nonetheless, it is the case, and they would do well to consider it.
The Weeping Prophet (a parable)
There was once a man so inspired with the wisdom of God that, whenever he would begin to meditate, another insight would flash before his mind. So profound were these insights, or "openings", and so taken was he with their brilliance, that he would immediately break-off his meditation in order to record them, lest they be forgotten and lost forever.
In this manner, he proceeded for many years, writing many books, and drawing many souls into the mysteries of God. Yet he himself never experienced the deep and abiding peace which, in his heart of hearts, he sought to receive from the Lord, and which unbroken meditation would have procured for him.
Then, one day, after he had become old and feeble, and could see his own death approaching from not far off, he finally came to give priority to silence over even the most exalted speech. It was then that he dismissed the fine thoughts which clamored for his attention, and sank into a truly blissful union with the mystical God.
From such an incredible state of oneness, he came at last to see that his words, and even the most precious sayings of his lord, Jesus Christ, were as nothing -- specks of dust -- in comparison with the inner experience of God's love, light, truth, presence, and peace. He wept bitterly for all the time he had lost.
What he did not know then, was that the insights he dismissed were never lost, but mysteriously found their way to another vessel, ready and willing to record them.
In this manner, he proceeded for many years, writing many books, and drawing many souls into the mysteries of God. Yet he himself never experienced the deep and abiding peace which, in his heart of hearts, he sought to receive from the Lord, and which unbroken meditation would have procured for him.
Then, one day, after he had become old and feeble, and could see his own death approaching from not far off, he finally came to give priority to silence over even the most exalted speech. It was then that he dismissed the fine thoughts which clamored for his attention, and sank into a truly blissful union with the mystical God.
From such an incredible state of oneness, he came at last to see that his words, and even the most precious sayings of his lord, Jesus Christ, were as nothing -- specks of dust -- in comparison with the inner experience of God's love, light, truth, presence, and peace. He wept bitterly for all the time he had lost.
What he did not know then, was that the insights he dismissed were never lost, but mysteriously found their way to another vessel, ready and willing to record them.
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