THE LIVES OF MOST aspirants swing between the two extremes of deep contemplation and active work in the world. It might be argued that this split in emphasis in itself rules out real spiritual progress. In most of the higher religions there is a special path set out for those attempting the spiritual, or mystical life. Religious communities exist where the whole purpose is the life in God. Here the inner disciplines of prayer and meditation juxtapose themselves in a communal setting, and in aligning himself to other members of the community, the aspirant gains knowledge of himself both in silence and in conversation. The secular life is, in fact, not greatly different except that the time available for silent communion is considerably less than in a religious community, and the challenge of our outer events is much greater. Yet in all the world, the place of action of any person is restricted to the locality and the people whom he may meet. The ministry of Christ was confined to the small area of Palestine, and the Buddha served only in a limited part of India. Yet their impact has changed the face of the world. Whenever a secular aspirant becomes disheartened by the hostile environment in which he lives, he is well advised to meditate on the witness of the great ones of this world. Their circumstances were also far from satisfactory, and most of those who heard them had no real understanding of their teaching.
It is all too easy to blame our particular circumstances for our lack of advancement. How can I aspire to spiritual knowledge when I am confronted day by day with some uninspiring routine work among companions whose awareness seldom rises above mundane sensual impressions? This is a constant problem, and it must be faced at the outset.
Let us first remember that most adult work has a routine, somewhat stereotyped character. The factory worker turns out the same product, the laboratory technician performs a restricted number of tests, the cobbler works on shoes, the housewife is engaged in unexciting household duties, and so it goes on. Even professions that seem to be more stimulating, for instance medicine or the law, involve much wearisome routine work. In fact, no work can provide constant stimulation unless the person is himself involved in it. This is the key to spiritual growth in the world-an attitude of detached awareness combined with a commitment to give of one's utmost to the work at hand. It is not the nature of the work that ultimately matters; it is the dedication of the worker that determines how much he gives of himself and how much benefit he derives from it.
In the daily task we are continually being confronted by the self, especially the unconscious part which impinges on our consciousness when anything disturbs the equilibrium of the moment. Much of our time is taken up with various unprofitable flights of ideas into past reminiscences, regrets and future forebodings. A train of thought often follows a particular event in our lives, the association of which recalls a past emotional response. The result of all this is that we are not devoting our full attention to our work, but are instead expending emotional energy on mental images that dominate our attention.
One of the worst sources of such emotional depletion is a state of enmity with another person. Here our whole attention is dominated by imaginary confrontations, and while the course of the present moment passes by we are completely engrossed in ideas of self-justification or revenge. The mind can certainly rob us of true peace if it is allowed to take over the course of our lives.
In order to prevent this internal corruption that spoils our lives, a state of willed awareness is essential. We have to recognise what is happening, and resolve to keep the mind at rest on the work at hand. If only we had the childlike simplicity to await each moment as it came, we would find the divine presence in that moment leading us into greater truth about ourselves. This is not merely an introspective analysis of our own reactions to the flux of outer events, but rather an active participation in those events, so that a synthesis of ourselves and the impact of the events can occur. This manifests itself as a raising of the level of awareness. The more actively we strain to be aware of the moment to the exclusion of past regrets and future fears, the more certainly we shall fail. The psychic fatigue that such an effort engenders will lead us to relax our intention quickly, and once more we shall be lost in useless daydreams, reminiscences and regrets. The way to achieve this equilibrium in balance is by flowing out to the source of the work, Who is God the Creator.
It is important that our attention should rest on the work, so that the effort expended actually diminishes instead of increasing. The right approach is to rest while working vigorously, to relax in the heat of activity, to be fully oneself as one is lost in the greater glory of the universe.
It is often stated that tension is essential for really creative work, and this is sometimes held to imply that difficult circumstances, whether bodily, personal or financial, are necessary to stimulate the creative drive. But tension is the inevitable state of man while he is incarnate. The limitation of a time-space world on the vast amount of work that a creative individual is empowered to do is a sufficient basis of tension to stimulate this creative potentiality. This type of tension is healthy and an inevitable part of life in the world. The tensions that arise as a result of a malalignment of the personal will with the flow of the cosmos (or with Gods' will, as a religionist would put it) lead to mental abberation, personal antagonisms and physical ill-heath. While these conditions are by no means incompatible with creative performance, they often show themselves as imbalance, disharmony and emotional turmoil. The key to a real unfolding of latent talents is a state of balance. Once there is outer calm and inner tranquillity, the work of the Holy Spirit, Who is the source of inspiration, can proceed through an efficient organism.
There are, of course, times when things appear to go wrong despite all reason. A person who tries to regulate his life by the power of intellect soon learns what an insignificant part rational categories play. It is the unexpected, the untoward, that is the real master of events, and by its very nature it cannot be predicted and anticipated. Yet if we live in active awareness of each moment of life taken as a sacrament, we are in a state of complete self-control, so that we can meet the challenge of the unexpected with remarkably acute presence of mind. And if the circumstance is something unpleasant, like a disappointment or some physical illness, we can accept it as a new trial and event, which is part of the process of self-revelation.
This is called meditation in action in the Buddhist tradition. It does not mean a spineless resignation to every adverse outer event as part of God's inscrutable will, but rather an active participation in that event so that through a willed giving of oneself, the meaning behind the event can be dimly but definitely divined. Thus does God reveal Himself even more clearly as the universal source of strength to all who call upon Him when they are fully taxed. It is in our weakness that He comes. He asks no questions, demands no credal passport, but only needs our desperate searchings for reality. While we are lost in vain thoughts, He cannot come near us. But when we are empty of vanity, we are in a state of readiness to be filled by the Holy Spirit.
This is what active work in the world has to teach us about reality. Every moment of the dreariest routine work is an opening to the divine grace provided we rest on the work and do not lose ourselves in other thoughts. Indeed, the right state of mind in which we receive the divine visitor is one of clear, alert passivity. A mind that is quiet and all at peace is one that is not thinking discursively but rather waiting expectantly. We think far too much about trivialities when it would be much better that we ceased all thought and waited in expectancy for the Son of God to appear in all His glory. If the mind were habitually quiet and rested, it would be able to think deeply, constructively, and unemotionally when deep thoughts and far- reaching decisions are really necessary. On the other hand, a mind that is constantly flitting round in inconsequential tracks is inefficient and emotionally unbalanced. When an urgent decision is necessary, it is so overwhelmed by a confusion of impressions that it fails to come to any clear answer.
This state of active passivity, or detached commitment, is the very heart of the spiritual life. Until it is understood clearly, there can be no real love for another-emotional need and clinging certainly, but not real love. This is a hard saying, but one that cannot be overemphasised. It is only when we know the love of God that comes in the stillness that we can flow out in a state of stillness to another person. When we know that peace, and can bequeath it to another, we are beginning to love that person very deeply. The fruit of work is the acceptance of the action as a guide to divine grace. The results of the action are not our business; it is only the perfection of the act that lies within our scope. The hardest problem that confronts us in work is coming to the right decision. It is the approach to this problem that indicates the reality of spiritual growth most clearly.
When we try to reach a decision about a particular course of action we naturally hope to do what is best for ourselves and others too. This means that we look for a favourable result which will bring gain and success to us. But what do we know of success? The little preview of future happiness that is vouchsafed us at the summit of a decision gives us no intimation of the wider issues in the more distant future. Every action is followed by a train of events, some of which are pleasant and others unpleasant. The gifts that are bestowed on us as a part of our natural inheritance will, if used in quiet, unemotional detachment, lead us along the path of least pain. By this I mean that if we use the reasoning mind, the feeling nature, and the body's dictates, properly, we will not move blindly into a destructive action. But none of these guides can lead us into eternal happiness. In front of us lies the dark abyss of future ignorance, and it is faith, not reason, that leads us through the valley of the shadow of death.
It is in passing through this inevitable valley of decision and dereliction that we learn the nature of our sustenance. The sustainer is not our reason or even our intuition, It is a power from without that guides us with that personal detachment, that passive concern, that universal particularity which is of the nature of love. God is His name. Thus the important factor in making any decision is not so much the outer result that accrues from that decision as the attitude of complete dedication of the self that follows the act of deciding and carrying out the work.
Ideas of good and evil, essential as they are for the even performance of the day's work, are merely relative. As we grow in spiritual knowledge, so our conception of the good increases, and we live less in terms of duality and more in willed union with all things. Thus an enlightened tolerance which is the result of deeper compassion and increasing knowledge moves us on to an ever-widening relationship with all aspects of the world around us. Compassion changes evil to good, whereas condemnation merely hardens and crystallises the evil impulse.
When we live in the moment of creative life, the dictates of the personality with its resentment, pride, envy, and hatred of others more favoured with special talents than ourselves are encompassed in a wider thanksgiving that flows out from the soul. We thank God for what we are and what we have in that moment of time. For it is the moment of God also. As we obey the summons to life, we come face to face with the most fundamental experience, Love. Let us now consider its nature.