Recently I re-read once more Lao-tse’s Tao Teh King, and this small work, which is perhaps the greatest text that we have on the mystical experience, struck me forcibly in the light of the experiences that are taking place in American psychology today. In recent weeks, the spirit of alarmism has been broad in our land, and the pronouncements of the new administration have, I fear, not accomplished the purpose for which they were intended. Statements that were intended to wake people up to certain emergencies, certain definite situations, have instead simply overwhelmed many individuals. Instead of stimulation, we find a certain negative despairism rising in the face of a call to clear thinking.
This, I feel, has a bearing upon what we term mysticism, for if the mystical experience means anything in the life of the individual, it means the recognition or discovery of certainties at the root of life that are stronger than any situation that can arise in human society. The strength for right action arises from right conviction, and without this conviction, almost any effort that we make fails from lack of courage, lack of inner integration. The person cannot actually orient himself in the world in which he lives unless he has some basic internal orientation about value.
We have thought of the mystical experience as essentially a religious experience, but as we read Lao-tse again, we note that practically every verse of his little book is a direct application of inner light to daily problems. He is not willing to permit the reader to drift off into some sphere of metaphysical speculation. He is not willing to allow the person to have this mystical experience without using it, and putting it to work immediately as a remedy against the ills of the time in which he lives.
All attitudes that we have, whether mystical or otherwise, are strongly rooted in the nature and structure of mind itself, and Lao-tse and most other mystics have recognized two essential levels or qualities of mental activity. One of these, the metaphysician has called divine mind. Divine mind is abstractly the mind of God. It is the creative mind, the basic universal intelligence by means of which all processes in the unfoldment of the universe are directed toward the end which has always rested in the divine purpose.
Thus, the idealist, differing from the materialist, has assumed that there is a reason at the root of things — a purpose, a divine concept, a realization of value — and that the universal procedure arises from a universal wisdom. The mystic also assumes that, because this universal wisdom is rooted in Deity itself, or is rooted in an essential substance of its own kind, this wisdom is not only always present but is always sufficient. Man, in his own uncertainty, is inclined to assume the uncertainty of the world in which he lives. When he is troubled, he may go so far as to suspect that God is troubled. When man’s affairs go badly, it is apparent to the uninformed that Deity has lost control of the situation.
There may be some doubt, however, as to this type of negative conjecture. Whatever this Divine Mind may be, astronomy can give us, if not an understanding, at least a broad evidence as to the power of this Mind. This Mind sustains not only planets and solar systems but universes and universal systems so vast, so inconceivable that our entire solar system is not more than a speck of dust floating in some larger organic structure. We do not count the creativity of Universal Mind in terms of worlds alone, but in terms of infinities that transcend even our most abstract creative thinking. We must recognize that this Mind rests in a space that goes on forever, for if this space comes to some conceivable termination, then some other space takes over, and in this other space, the Divine Mind is also present.
Thus, we live and move and have our being in the substance of an infinite eternal purpose which is larger and more inclusive than anything we can conceive. It is therefore up to us to recognize that in the working of this infinite principle, manifesting as it does through an infinite diversity of reasonable processes, we actually are in a very well-ordered creation; that the disorder in creation, as we sense it, or as it seems to move in upon us, is little more than the delinquency of a small group of minds. This delinquency has, however, the urgency of nearness. The Universal Mind is everywhere; the delinquent mind is somewhere, and that somewhere, at the moment, is right here. It is like the phenomena of the sun and moon, and light and darkness. The sun is much larger than the moon, but the moon is nearer; the power of light is far stronger than the power of darkness, but due to the structure of the earth, part of the earth is in darkness at all times — yet it exists in an infinite field of light.
Consequently, we have to assume that this dilemma of an apparently disordered universe arises not as a cosmic tragedy, but as something peculiarly associated with ways of life, ways of thinking, on a small globe somewhere in the midst of an infinite integrity.
We must also ponder another question. Just how large is the area of delinquency? Is our planet the only backward one in space? Are we really a sort of cosmic trash can into which all trouble has dropped? Is it possible that other planets also have their problems? I imagine that we can say that wherever a world exists in space in which an evolving creation is attempting to unfold its potential, there will be a problem — a problem of adjustment between the unfoldment of life and the pressure of circumstance. Man, in his attempt to grow, has grown so awkwardly, that it is inevitable that the very growing itself produces its own pain.
Against this pain, the individual has no complete protection, but he does have the possibility of adequate insight by means of which a great deal of the pain is removed. Now, lack of insight is also a mental phenomenon, and for the most part, it is due to man’s inadequate comprehension of values in terms of importance. We have become so completely obsessed with the significance of the small world in which we live — the vital and immediate danger of the situations that we have caused — that it becomes difficult for us to keep perspective. We just think the wrong way about the right things. We do not think things through; we do not think reasonably. An example of this, of course, has been the moral and ethical disintegration of society during the opening years of this atomic age in which we live. We are now in a neurosis over the danger that hangs over our world.
What would we feel if science should announce tomorrow that something has been discovered that is infinitely more destructive than the atomic bomb? What would we say if it were now a scientific certainty that there is a killer far more deadly and far more universal than atomic bombs can ever be, and that this killer is already at work in this world, and within the next hundred years will claim five billion lives? Well, that might cause a moment’s thought and a minute of panic; but this terrible killer, which we seldom if ever give much attention to, is the normal death rate — so normal that we take it for granted and hardly give it a negative thought.
Therefore, we discover that we are most afraid of the exceptional things — things that we are not accustomed to. Yet even with these, our mental attitudes have much to do with our reactions.
At this time, the rate of preventable accidents — accidents due to carelessness and to psychotics at wheels of powerful automobiles—is far in excess of the damage caused by the bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We have these facts to face, but we give them very little thought. Why? Because our minds have not been trained to worry in that direction. Our minds worry according to what we instruct them to worry about, so that this is therefore a very personal situation. One of our great problems today is that we are faced with a condition of untrained mentation, in which the mind becomes simply an instrument to defend and rationalize fear.
Actually, the human mind has never really dominated the life of the average person. We are dominated by emotional pressure, and it becomes the moral duty of the mind to support the fear of the emotions; to prove that the worst that we fear is true. If this continues, we are bound to pass from one condition of uncertainty or anxiety to another, for we then have no basic remedy against basic fear.
The mystical experience, according to Lao-tse, is aimed at this. It is not simply a matter of the benevolent or beautiful effect of being picked up into the cosmos and receiving a certain interior vision of the Divine Presence. The real value of the mystical experience is that man shall conquer fear; that he shall become so strongly aware of the eternal presence of good that his faith factor will be intensely stimulated and he is no longer a victim of negative apprehension.
The mind of man is capable of these processes also, and among the constructive aspects of mentation can be the rationalization of faith. Perhaps the second power of the mind is the formulation of policy by means of which that which is mentally desirable or necessary can be accomplished. So the mind establishes values and solves problems, if we will permit it to have these functions. The mind of man becomes like the mind of the universe, or the Divine Mind, when it operates according to vision, insight, value, and solution. Thus it is lifted up from its normal, rather uncertain occupations to a recognition that it can be an instrument to fight for man rather than against him.
The mind, with which we now develop some amazing faculties of criticism, can also be the origin of faculties of coordination or recognition of values. As we look around us at the principal problems of the world, we see that these problems stem largely from wrong thinking, from selfish thinking, from false indoctrination, from prejudice and intolerance — attitudes that arise from the wrong or negative use of our faculties. Nature does not want faculties to be used in this way. Nature has no patience, we may say, with the mind which is forever negating its own purposes.
Therefore, in order that man shall never be without a certain instruction in this, the universal procedure sets up a system of rewards and punishments, and these come under the Oriental doctrine of karma. The individual is not permitted by nature to use any faculty wrongly without being strongly reminded that he is making a mistake; he is not allowed to drift along with false attitudes without some instruction being bestowed. The mind of nature has so cunningly devised this entire panorama of existence, that the negative consequences of thought and action are inherent with the processes themselves: so that wrong thinking penalizes the individual by its own reaction upon his life. Any form of mental or emotional energy which is misused will produce trouble for the person who misuses it; and on the collective level, collective mental and emotional errors will produce collective disaster.
Thus, nature is telling us as clearly as possible that mistakes are probably inevitable, but that we are here to learn from them — not to continue to make them.
In order to get this feeling deeply seated in ourselves, we have to establish some positive principles — we have to think from certain beliefs which we regard as intrinsically true, and from which we gain a certain measure of support. Perhaps the first thing that we have to have is faith, which is a firm belief in the reality of something unseen, or of something not immediately to be analyzed by the faculties. And the reward of these positive acceptances is that they soon reveal the fact of themselves. Faith proves itself to be a fact. It is not known to be a fact in the beginning, but out of its very workings, its factual importance is established.
Ultimately, we also realize that man cannot know all things until the end of his journey, wherever that journey may lead him. Consequently, he must always live in the presence of a certain degree of understanding and a degree of lack of understanding. That part which is understood must be positively interpreted; that part which is not understood must be positively conceived in terms of faith, principles, or trust in universal integrity.
We may say, then, that the mystical experience arises from a certain contemplation of values — a recognition, first of all, that this universe is a regulated structure; and in the second place, that the purpose of universal existence is not destruction. It is futile for the individual to contemplate a futile existence. It is useless to assume that this process through which we are passing is going nowhere. To take such an assumption, is to destroy self. And those who remove the basic dignities of existence from their philosophy of life are impoverished. They live on a lower level of integration: they are more vulnerable to dangers; they are more commonly sick in soul and body.
When the mind functions normally and properly, it is a source of strength. When it functions abnormally and improperly, it is a source of weakness. Today, negative thinking, which is an improper function of the mind, is producing its obvious harvest, and that is disaster. It is weakening the individual; it is weakening national purposes; it is weakening ideals and convictions about the dignity of man; and it is giving consolation to the adversaries of integrity. Out of such a situation, we cannot expect anything of permanent good to arise.
Thus, we do face a very critical time, but wherever a problem arises in our environment, this is actually an invitation to an immediate unfoldment of internal resource. When the individual is physically under unusual stress, nature provides him with additional resource in the form of adrenalins to carry him over the emergency physically. In various emotional and psychic quandaries, man also has available internal subjective resources which might remain unnoticed and unused unless emergencies forced them into manifestation.
Thus, emergency becomes one of the positive means of growth. It forces man to take a straight, firm step in a necessary direction. If he is unable to take this step, he then faces the emergency. But this failure is not due to the fact that nature has not provided him with the means of success; it simply means that the individual has not made adequate use of the powers, abilities, and faculties with which he has been endowed. As we face a crisis, therefore, we realize we also face the most positive invitation to progress that nature can possibly offer.
Now, we may recognize these things intellectually, and intellectual recognition, with some persons, is a powerful argument. To some individuals, acceptance by the mind is the basis of a positive conviction. For most people, however, acceptance by the mind is not enough, because the mind cannot sufficiently vitalize an acceptance to make it a source of immediate energy or to make it change conduct.
Thus, Lao-tse points out that behind the constructive person, behind the individual who is able to face life adequately, there has to be a kind of alchemy of internal processes; that the world is first saved within the self. The values which we are continually seeking are first discovered internally, and from this internal discovery, we gain the ability to see them elsewhere. If, therefore, the individual is positively integrated, he is given new faculties of discernment and receptivity; whereas if he does not have the stronger life in himself, the darkness on the outside becomes increasingly menacing.
How, then, shall we approach this problem of emergency in terms of the use of mysticism in the daily life of the person? First of all, let us point out that all emergencies — whether on the level of the family, national affairs, or international relations — are the long shadows, the collective manifestations, of continuing private emergencies. Every problem that we see around us is a symbolic exaggeration of some common fault of human nature, some weakness which exists in every level of society, but is particularly obvious when it reaches the point of a crisis.
To meet these general emergencies with greater insight, we have to have the mind thinking from a different kind of premise from that with which it is most commonly concerned. The term mindfulness has been applied to a process by which the individual censors his own thinking, and this is probably one of the important disciplines to which the American must sometime give more attention. He must learn not to wait until the emergency becomes a common nuisance in society, but to apply a certain mental power to the analysis of mental procedure.
The mind of man is so equipped and so constructed that it can think about many things, but it can also think about itself. It can analyze its own processes. This is not especially easy, nor is the mind much addicted to this, because it represents a measure of hard work. Also, this process of censorship means that the mind must no longer be in intimate partnership with impulse. Actually, the mind is largely the victim of emotional procedures, and just as most of the world’s villains have blamed their troubles on someone else, so the mind, when its mistakes are revealed, takes refuge under the evasion that it is merely an instrument of emotional process; that if the individual would feel better, he would think better. The other attitude, of course, is that if he thought better, he would feel better.
Now, which comes first in this case — the hen or the egg? I think the answer definitely lies in the fact that the feeling comes first. We like to assume that anything we do is from a high level of rationality, but we have never been able to prove it — especially afterwards. Actually, most of our manifestations are based upon impulse. We feel a certain way — someone irritates us — so we become irritable; and having become irritable, and not considering it a particularly commendable emotion, even while we are enjoying it, we begin to look for a good excuse; and in order to have a good excuse, we find a real cause for irritation; something must have been done to us, something must have been said to us, something must have occurred to us, which justifies irritation.
So the moment we begin to struggle to find out how we can prove that irritation is constructive, we have to set the mind to the process of proving that the emotion is correct. If it is not a good emotion, at least it is a reasonable one — one for which we can develop certain defenses; and we are much more interested in defending emotion than we are in correcting it. As we go along, therefore, we actually move almost completely from feeling. When we are nervous, we react nervously; when we are interrupted, we are annoyed; when we want it nice and quiet, and someone makes a noise, we find ground for objection. And in the course of living, we gradually develop a technique by which we find something wrong with everything and everyone except ourselves.
All through this procedure, feeling is dictating. If you ask an individual why he is emotionally upset, there are two kinds of answers — one given by the emotions themselves, and the other by the mind, which now comes along as the interpreter, official spokesman, and press agent for the emotions. If the emotions themselves answer the question, the person will simply be forced to say, “I don’t know”; the emotions do not know. The mind, however, is invited to step in and defend emotion. So the mind says, “Well, it’s obvious why I’m uncomfortable and unhappy. My neighbors have just borrowed the lawn mower;” or, “It’s a bad day at the office;” or, “the children are noisier than usual;” or, “I’ve just been cheated at the supermarket.” These are the things with which we justify the annoyance, but the emotions themselves simply do not like being annoyed. And most persons, asked why they do what they do, simply say it is because they feel like doing what they do.
Now, this feeling, whatever it may be — constructive, destructive, or simply chaotic — must come from somewhere, and it comes from the internal resource of the individual when he is not thinking about resource. This is a proof of what the individual is when he is not trying to be anything. When he tries very hard, he can put on a brief example of nobility that deceives even himself; but the moment he relaxes and is not trying to be good, he is simply himself. And too many persons, when they become simply themselves, are the victims of fear, pressure, tension, irritation, and things of this nature. They have to continually talk themselves and think themselves into a constructive state. This means that their better attitudes are deposited in a superficial structure, with the result that the person is in constant conflict between the impulse to do as he pleases and the intuition to do as he should; and pleasing himself usually wins.
If, then, we are merely moving from our own integration, or lack of it, into manifestation, and our instinctive, unconditioned, unconsidered reactions to situations are negative, this means that our internal integration is itself negative; we have no solid positivity in our own character. And how are we going to get it? We cannot actually impose a state of rationality from the outside. We cannot control the emotions with the mind. This ends finally only in the energies being locked in a death struggle. We are constantly fighting with the mind to be good, and with the emotions to do as we please. Both of these attitudes become sort of irresistible forces, and in each case, the adversary remains an immovable object. So we are locked, and the result is tension and a continual internal confusion and weakening, which in turn frequently leads to unfortunate habit addictions.
The mind is able, however, to convey to the emotions certain valuable discoveries. Through the sensory perceptions, integrated by the mental agent, a continual flow of facts will move into the emotional substrature. The emotions have to be enriched by their own powers and by the power of the mind. They cannot be forced, they must be unfolded or ennobled through understanding itself. So we are all seeking for understanding, and that which we understand will become the instinctive basis of our reaction. The more we understand, the more kindly our natural emotions will be; and the more completely we have disciplined ourselves, the more immediately we can react constructively and meaningfully to an emergency when it arises.
What we have to do, therefore, is to find richer emotional values. Now, all the reading in the world will not do much in this sense. It may help us to strengthen imagination in a constructive way; it may give the mind additional rational instruments with which to persuade the emotions to a better level of conduct; but because emotional energy is of its own kind, it can react only to what might be termed actual experience. In order to be known by the emotions, a thing must be vitally felt by the emotions. It must be something which touches the emotions as colorful experience. It cannot be an intellectualization of some abstraction.
Nature has so constructed the essential emotions of man that they are capable of being matured into a sublime body of impulses — impulses so essentially noble that by their own strength alone, they could practically reform the world. But man has no more cultivated these than he has cultivated the areas of his mentation. He has permitted a large part of his emotional life to go untutored and uncultured. Thus, when he feels, he feels not from maturity, but from a lack of maturity.
How are we going to reach these emotions, and give them a continually richer supply of emotional nutrition? The emotions, reaching out into action, must also sustain themselves, to a measure, by the testimonies of the sensory perceptions, which therefore become the immediate instruments of experience. What actually touches us directly by sensory perception is far more important than report or opinion or speculation or theory.
Lao-tse gives us some insight into this problem. As a small boy, he was not of the privileged class — his parents were peasants working on the estates of a great native prince. Lao-tse never went to school, but he found a method of self-instruction by simply sitting on the side of a hill and looking out across the mountains, the valleys, and the plains of his mother earth—China. He saw a world unfolding — a world which he permitted to move in upon his own consciousness. It is very doubtful if Lao-tse could have had the immediate experience of this in a penthouse in New York, because he would not see the world any more; he could merely see the grotesque productions of human architectural misgenius. He would see something resembling that noble structure of the Guggenheim Museum, which sort of represents a psychic tailspin.
By looking out across a wide vista of nature itself, and relaxing his own objectivity, Lao-tse permitted nature to move in upon him and drench him internally. This drenching was a baptism of realities. He beheld nature’s own magnificent progress, the sublime evidence of the integration of all natural things. He looked out across this vista and could see no discord, no inharmony, no crash of discordant colors. He saw everywhere a work of art. Every hour of the day, the moods changed, but every hour found the moods beautiful. We discovered the peculiar beauty of the dawn and of the sunset, and from this he became aware of the beauty of youth and of age. He saw everywhere that nature was trying to do it well, and had a wonderful gift for doing it well.
Lao-tse recognized that by simply becoming sensitive to this, he found a source of courage, a source of security in his own nature. When he permitted nature to move in upon his own faculties, when he permitted these faculties to be receptive rather than continually objective and exploring, there came upon him this mystery of Tao — this mystery of the great peace which is reality. He found that the universe moved in upon him as a vast, benevolent, all-alive silence. He recognized also that this moving in upon him was an infinite strength. The more he experienced it, the more he realized that this magnificent flowing of life was irresistible, inevitable; that human beings could resist it if they wished, but in passing, it would wash away the dams that they built. For this motion, this tremendous reality, alone could win, alone could succeed.
Lao-tse discovered that man’s whole life was changed by his own conscious adjustment with this reality. When he wished to deny this reality, he could do so, and for a time, he could wander alone in this vale of uncertainty and finally drop into some shallow grave. If he wished to deny it, he could fight desperately to live without it; and finally he could die for lack of it, even though he was in the midst of it all the time. He could also reach out and try to interpret it. He could say that this infinite life was cruel, relentless, and that it was destroying everything. And by thus affirming his own attitude, he could mentally rationalize it, and prove it by the innumerable inconsistencies of human conduct. We could also, however, sense in this not only an infinite strength, but an infinite good. And through his meditation upon the nature of Tao as universal life or universal existence, he experienced not only its strength, but its beauty; not only its power, but its gentleness.
Therefore, Lao-tse pointed out that Tao was like water, for like water, it was the soft thing that wore away everything that was hard. And as drops of water wear away mountains, so this power, which was never very obvious, which never seemed to dogmatically take over, which appeared always hesitant and reluctant — this power was wearing away mountains, generations, and even worlds. For this quiet, mysterious, subtle thing was by its own nature so inevitable that it had to win, and in this winning, finally, was the hope of all living things; for it is the fact that this Eternal must live that promises salvation to every creature. If this Eternal does not win, then man lives in a sphere of accident alone.
Sitting quietly, and allowing the Infinite its proper admission through his senses, and through his emotions, Lao-tse became aware that he was forever in the midst of an infinite plan — infinitely good, infinitely wise, infinitely loving. In this realization, he gained a kind of insight which has been termed the “mystical experience.” It is the individual becoming receptive to the full meaning of the universe in which he lives. This is not a meaning gained by the study of geology or biology, or physics or mathematics, although all these could lead to that meaning, for the more we know about the universe, the more perfectly its meaning should be available to us; but beyond all science is the direct impact of the meaning itself. There are particular learnings that have to be gained by special skills, but there is a universal learning which is a universal experience of man, and upon this universal learning, all meaning depends. And upon meaning, the use of all skills depends.
Actually, the individual is no more valuable to himself and his world than the degree of universal insight which he has attained. Lao-tse therefore became one of the most learned men who ever lived, learned in the most wonderful mystery of all learning — namely, the recognition that he lived forever in the presence of infinite security. All these things that seemed doubtful were not doubtful at all; for the doubt is in man, and not in the thing. Nature is not mysterious; it is man who has made it mysterious by veiling it with his own thoughts. Nature is not aggressive; it is man who has tried to become aggressive about nature. Nature is always the quiet winner; but at all times, Tao is inevitable. And man can come to this realization through a series of acceptances.
It is not possible, of course, for all people to accept the same type of instruction. That is why, from the beginning of time, there have been many schools and many paths that have led toward the light of reality. We cannot all sit on the sides of mountains and spend our lives gazing out upon the clouds and the waterfalls and the little ships moving upon the rivers. But each individual can, as Lao-tse pointed out, discover Tao, inasmuch as Tao moves everything that does move. Tao is the correctness, the propriety of everything. The child who takes music lessons and finds himself gradually brought under the discipline of music, can become aware of Tao. He can suddenly realize that music is Tao. Music is one way of discovering the total law of things. Music is also the power of man to become receptive to an inner enlightenment, for the great musician is the great soul; it is the combination of greatness of insight and adequacy of skill that constitute the musician.
Thus, heaven and earth produce man, as Lao-tse said, for man is a combination of spirit and matter, and through the union of heaven and earth, man becomes the servant of Tao and the helper of his own kind. Through arts and trades we can find Tao. The builder, the merchant — all these people are functioning within patterns that are in themselves Tao. The honorable, proper management of a business is possible only through the instinctive recognition of the way in which Tao manages all things. There are laws in everything, and everywhere we are, we may become aware of those laws, and we also may become aware of the danger of breaking these laws.
This awareness, when it breaks through into our objective consciousness and we suddenly see the Eternal working through some structure with which we are concerned — this seeing or knowing is a mystical experience. It is the discovery of the Infinite in one of its infinite manifestations. And these manifestations all bear witness not to weakness, not to tension, not to stress, not to doubt, but to infinite strength and infinite good.
Now, for daily purposes, how are we going to try to build up this quotient of Tao experience within ourselves? Perhaps one of the simplest things that we can do, as I suggested, is to apply a certain censorship upon conduct. We must perhaps become a little more immediately aware when our conduct is inadequate. We must also begin the gentle task of realizing that we cannot overcome the tempests of our personalities, but we can remove energy from the tempest. A tempest without energy is a dismal failure; in fact, it must be energized in order to develop at all. Consequently, every negative process continues because we energize it.
We can take the attitude that we will resist with grim determination and vast fortitude the feeling that rises within us, but this constant resisting our own negation ends with a terrible frustration, because any individual who wants to do something and cannot do it, is a prime subject for neurosis. We can, however, remove energy support. The moment we realize that what we are doing is contrary to our own instinct of what is right and good and proper for us, we can quietly remove energy. And how do we remove energy? One thing is to reduce the total use of energy at that particular time. When we are getting ready to be nicely worked up about something, we can simply sit down very quietly and read a good book. This is devastating to the emotional situation, because we fail to energize it. Instead of allowing ourselves to stew in this situation, we can turn to some interesting and productive activity which is going to drain off the energy. This takes a slight impulse of the will, but nothing to the degree of trying to fight the problem. The problem never needs to be fought, because it dies if we do not keep it alive. We must work, therefore, on finding out how not to keep the negative alive.
Gradually, also, we can build certain ideal concepts within ourselves. One of these concepts is an increasing familiarity with our own nature. To the average person, his real self is the one thing he has never known. And in this day of extreme objectivity, most people are suffering from lack of subjective existence on any level. Therefore, all thoughtful persons will be greatly benefited if they will allow themselves brief periods in which they simply cultivate quietude. There should be time in this day of labor-saving devices; there should be moments when television does not entirely captivate us — moments in which we could prefer silence to what we normally hear. I would recommend that every person should set aside five minutes a day simply to be quiet, and to move in a pattern of quiet beauty, visualizing the best experiences that he can from his life; thinking for a little while of the pleasure that his children have given him in the past, rather than perhaps the problems they may present today; simply reminiscing in kindliness and in a realization of the Tao in other people.
In such moments of quietude, we can think of things that at the time looked rather unpleasant, but through which we learned valuable lessons. We can remember that the fact that we did not get certain things became the greatest blessing in our lives; and how we have outgrown a desire, so that today that desire no longer burdens us, and we have gone beyond that particular problem. Or in this quiet time, we can think of a person with whom we may have some misunderstanding, and try to balance both good and ill. Everything does have its faults; there is no reason mentally to whitewash — but as Lao-tse tells us, all things are compositions; all things and all persons contain helpful and less helpful qualities. To dislike an individual, we must overlook that which is likable in him; just as to like a person, we must also sometimes overlook that which is not likable. The wise person is the one who maintains a constructive attitude by being continually fair in the estimation of things.
As Lao-tse says, let us not forget that in all things there is Tao. The God of life is in the enemy and in the friend. Akhenaten pointed out, thirty-four hundred years ago, that the God in our enemy is just as divine as the God in our friend. Therefore, somewhere, this God in him must also be operating; perhaps in a limited way, perhaps with more confusion than in our own case, but it has to be there. And it is almost impossible to discover anyone in whom there is not something that we can build upon as a positive experience, not necessarily merely to justify them, but to justify Tao, the universal fact.
As we begin to discover and justify the universal fact in things, it begins to move in us also, reducing these tension problems, and enabling us to mingle with people on a better and more constructive level of relationships. This does not mean that we must choose all people to be our particular friends, but we must allow all people to have certain rights in truth, in God, in reality, and we cannot let prejudices and pressures obscure this universal fact. If they do, we do not hurt the person we dislike as much as we damage our own integration and lay for ourselves a foundation of future misery.
The mystical experience, then, is a series of discoveries of the truth in things — not merely an affirmation of these truths, but an experience of them. The child has this series of mystical experiences as it grows up in a world of wonders. Every day there is a new discovery. Every day there is a new revelation. And as we grow older, this power to discover and recognize is dimmed, and we settle down into a universe that is very dull, not because it is dull, but because we have lost the power to adventure. We settle down into prosaic and matter-of-fact things like making a living. We have lost the imagination that looks beyond and above and around and out into the vastness which is more challenging, more remarkable, and more tremendous than any of the small patterns which make up our lives. Actually, from the larger questing for value, we also gain the ability to handle these smaller patterns more effectively. If we have a certain natural optimism in ourselves, all of our affairs will go better. We will find that other people are more kindly to us.
Not long ago, I happened to talk to two people who went to trade in a certain market here in Los Angeles. One individual, who was by nature a grouch — let’s face it — observed on this occasion that every time she went into that market she was cheated. She got the poorest kind of goods that you can possibly imagine; nobody paid any attention to her; and the cashier almost always made a mistake adding up the bill. Everything was wrong. The other person, who went to the same market, was full of praise for it. Never had she dealt with such a fine market; the various clerks always said good morning with a friendly smile; they always went out of their way to see that she got nice vegetables.
But one look at the second customer, and you knew why. She was a sweet-faced person, with a natural, glowing, radiant friendliness, and in a few months every person in the store was glad to see her, called her by name, and went out of the way instinctively to do little kindnesses. So for this person, life in the super market was a pleasure; but for the other one, who went in expecting to be cheated, it was a dismal chore.
In our way of life today, we get more and more of this attitude that we expect to be cheated. We expect to be deceived and exploited. Now, of course, in some instances, perhaps we will be; but brave men die but once, and cowards die a thousand times. The well-intentioned person may be cheated occasionally, but the sour-faced one waiting to be cheated, will be cheated every day of his life, and will gradually live in a world that is so obnoxious that there is nothing left worth living for. It is far better to be wrong optimistically than pessimistically. It is far better to have a hope in value and be deceived than to take an attitude that everything is wrong. A material loss can be reclaimed with industry, but the loss of faith in life, with its attendant physical problems, cannot be restored by a little further industry. It may require a long process of therapy, or a long and difficult life to wash out this peculiar tendency to negation that will destroy all of the essential value of life once it is allowed to take over.
The mystical attitude is not simply the heavens unfolding and God revealing himself with his angels. It is the unfolding from within of the sense that we live in a total reality, and that from this total reality we can continue to build anything that is necessary at any time. We can call upon it in any emergency. Perhaps it will not actually lengthen life, but it will lengthen the joy of life, and in many instances, it will add years because it will remove the tension that kills. It may not solve every problem, but it will make the individual better able to adjust to those problems that cannot quickly be solved. It will not make us all-wise — some will feel we are too gullible; but it is, I think, better to be slightly gullible than to be totally critical.
Let us remember that with the mystical attitude, we are not on the deep end of optimism. Mysticism does not tell us that other people have no faults; it does not say that man will not cheat man; it does not say that we will not be deceived or injured by others. It does point out, however, that the individual who integrates his own life gains not only an understanding of the mystery of the Divine Presence but becomes naturally able to judge the probabilities of the conduct of other persons. He is sensible — not merely optimistic; he is not expecting miracles. He is not prepared to place temptation in the way of others, but he is trying constantly to build upon the good, not only in others but in himself, and his reward is better adjustment and better ability to control situations.
In a world crisis such as we are in, this inner strength gives us the ability to perform whatever actions are natural and suitable, with a minimum of regret and a maximum of courage. These attitudes within us help us to support such programs as are actually right and will also give us the courage not to support programs which are actually wrong. We will then have a sense of freedom from dependency upon community existence for total existence ourselves. Each of us has a tap root, and this tap root goes down to the source of life. Other roots can be cut off, and the plant will live; but if the tap root is severed, the plant will probably die. The tap root of every human being leads down to Tao, to universal life, and that is the one root that must be kept. That is the one root which the tree sends forth. In the Arabic fables, we hear about the palm tree that will send down its tap roots sixty feet into the sand for water. It must have this water. Today man is striving to get his tap roots deep enough into the dark earth of mystery so that finally he will find the source of the waters of life; for in the mystery of eternal life is his own existence. All other affairs of life may come and go, may be added to or subtracted from, but the secure person, in an emergency, is the one who has this tap root down deep enough so that it is securing its life essence from the universal life supply.
This can be done. It can be done by quietude toward the pressures of action. If we know in our own hearts that we are overambitious, over-aggressive, that there is something inside us that is not acting from right motive but from the desire to gratify some personal feeling, then we can, in a moment of quietude, let right reveal itself. And right will also bestow its own courage. Let us also remember that if we cling to that which is right, then our family, our home, our occupation, and our health will all be improved. If we cling only to that which we want, and which conscience tells us actually is not right, then we must pay for this because we have broken the law.
It is the privilege of man to labor with Heaven for the fulfillment of all good things. This private decision, quietly made in every moment of stress or uncertainty, will gradually cause us to become inwardly aware that the life in us wants to live beautifully. We will also discover then that our emotions and our thoughts can be magnificent instruments for the fulfillment of life-purpose.
YouTube Video Citation:
Video Title: “Manly P. Hall - The Mystical Experience”
YouTube Channel: You Are Creators
Published Date: [Insert Published Date if known; if not, note as “n.d.” for “no date”]
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Format (APA):
Hall, M. P. (n.d.). The Mystical Experience [Video]. YouTube. You Are Creators.
