Purity of life is the central theme of all the religions which have been given through the ages to humanity. For purity is not only a religious idea but it is the outcome of the nature of life itself, and one sees it in some form or other in every living creature. It is the tendency of all animals and birds to cleanse their coats or feathers, and to find a clean place in which to live or sit; and in the human being this tendency is even more pronounced. Even a man who has not risen above the material life shows this faculty in physical cleanliness, but behind this there is something else hidden, something which is the secret of the whole creation and the reason why the world was made.

Purity is the process through which the life-rhythm manifests; the rhythm of that indwelling spirit which has worked through the ages in mineral and plant, in animal and man. For its effort, through all these experiences, is to arrive at that realization where it finds itself pure, pure in essence and pure from all that could affect its original condition. The entire process of creation and of spiritual unfoldment shows that the spirit which is life itself, and which represents the divine in life, has wrapped itself in numberless folds, and in that way has, so to speak, descended from heaven to earth.

This process is called involution, and that which follows is known as evolution, or the unwrapping of the divine essence from the folds of enshrouding matter. The sense of this need of freeing the spirit from that which clogs and binds it is called purity, in whatever part of life it is felt. It is in this sense that we may understand the saying "cleanliness is next to godliness." In the Arabic language the word for purity is Saf, from which root the name Sufi is derived. Some of the early orders of Sufis were called the Brothers or the Knights of Purity; and this did not allude to physical purity but to the unfoldment of the spirit towards its original condition, the pure being of the metaphysician, or the pure reason of the philosopher. The word Sophia or pure wisdom has the same derivation.

In the ordinary use of the word "pure" we find the same meaning: for instance, when we speak of pure water or pure milk, we mean that the original substance is unmixed with any foreign element. Therefore a pure life is the term used to express the effort of man to keep his spiritual being untainted by the false values of the worldly life. It is the constant search for the original self, the desire to reach it, and the means employed to recover it, which alone can truly be called purity of life; but the. term can be applied with the same meaning to any part of man's life.

When it refers to the body, it expresses the idea that what is foreign to the body should not be there; and this is the first stage of purity. When a person is spoken of as pure-minded, does it not mean that only that which is natural to the mind remains there, and that all which is unnatural has been washed away? This leads us to the question as to what is natural to the mind; and for an answer we cannot do better than to take the mind of a little child. What do we find there? We find first of all faith, the natural tendency to trust; then love, the natural tendency towards friendliness and affection; then hope, the natural expectancy of joy and happiness.

No child is a natural unbeliever; if it were so it could not learn anything. What it hears and what it is told is accepted by the mind which is ready to believe, admire, and trust. It is experience of life, the life of the world where selfishness reigns, that spoils the beauty of the mind of the child who is a natural believer, a natural friend, ready to smile at every face; a natural admirer of beauty, ready to see without criticism and to overlook all that does not attract it; a natural lover who knows no hate.

There are two ways of becoming pure in mind and body. The one way is to live so that the divine nature in us may shine out and illuminate our path, and so that everything we do and refrain from doing may result in a pure life. The other way is very simple and yet very difficult: it is to observe a child, to envy its innocence, simplicity, and purity, and to grow like a child, following first the example of a child of nine years, then of eight years, then of seven, and so on; as one goes further one comes to taking even an infant as one's example. It was this secret which was taught by the pictures of the Holy Mother with the infant Christ. Also the symbolical meaning of the wise men of the East, coming to pay homage to the infant Christ, is that to learn the truth we must unlearn all the truths we have learnt.

To bring back that higher stage of innocence which existed in the Garden of Eden we do not need to lose intellect, we need to rise above it. As long as man is beneath his intellect, he is the slave of his intellect; but when he is above it he is its master. Man is greater than the angels, therefore the world can be a higher place than the Garden of Eden, if only man has mastery over his intellect, if only he can rise above it instead of sinking beneath it.

When the soul is evolved it feels by itself. In other words it becomes conscious of its purity, of its majesty, of its eternal life, of its bliss, of its inspiration and of its power. Such is the original mind of man and such its natural condition. It is not sin that is original but purity, the original purity of God Himself. But as the mind grows and is fed by the life in the world, unnatural things are added to it and for the moment these additions seem desirable, useful, or beautiful; they build another kind of mind which is sometimes called the ego or the false self. They make man clever, learned, brilliant, and many other things; but above and beyond all is the man of whom it can be said that he is pure-minded.

When we think about this there arises the question as to whether it would then be desirable to keep a child always a child, so that it should never learn the things which belong to the worldly life. But one might just as well ask if it is not desirable that the spirit should always remain in heaven and never come to earth at all!

True exaltation of the spirit resides in the fact that it has come to earth and has realized there its spiritual existence. It is this which is the perfection of spirit. Therefore all that the world gives in the way of knowledge, of experience, or of reason, all that a man's own experience or that of others teaches, all that is learnt from life, its sorrows and disappointments, its joys and opportunities, all these contradictory experiences help our love to become fuller and our vision wider. A man who has gone through all experiences and has held his spirit high and has not allowed it to be stained, such a man may be said to be pure-minded. The person who could be called pure because he had no knowledge of either good or evil would in reality be merely a simpleton. To go through all which takes away the original purity and yet to rise above everything which seeks to overwhelm it and drag it down, that is spirituality; the light of the spirit held high and burning clear and pure. It needs the effort of a whole lifetime, and he who has not known it has not known life.

The first kind of purity is the purity of the physical world in which man has to obey the laws of cleanliness and of hygiene; and in doing so he takes the first step towards spirituality. The next is what is generally called purity of life; that purity of life which is shown in a man's social, moral, and religious attitude. The national and religious codes are often very rigid with regard to this kind of purity, and sometimes it is merely an external, man-made purity which the individual soul has to break through to find that of a higher plane. There is, however, a standard of inner purity of which the principle is that anything in speech or action which causes fear, brings confusion, or gives a tendency to deception, extinguishes that little spark in the heart, the spark of trueness which only shines when the life is natural and pure.

A man may not always be able to tell when an action is right in regard to particular circumstances, or when it is wrong; but he can always remember this psychological principle, and judge as to whether the action or word robs him of that inner strength and peace and comfort which form his natural life. No man can judge another; it is a man's self that must be his judge. Therefore it is no use to make rigid standards of moral or social purity. Religion has made them, schools have taught them, yet the prisons are full of criminals and the newspapers are daily more eloquent about the faults of humanity. No external law can stop crime. It is man himself who should understand what is good for him and what is not; he should be able to discriminate between what is poison and what is nectar. He should know it, measure it, weigh it and judge it; and that he can only do by understanding the psychology of what is natural to him and what is unnatural. The unnatural action, thought, or speech is that which makes him uncomfortable before, during, or after it has taken place; for his sense of discomfort is proof that in this case it is not the soul which is the actor. The soul is forever seeking something which will open a way for its expression and give it freedom and comfort in this physical life. In reality the whole life is tending towards freedom, towards the unfoldment of something which is choked up by physical life; and this freedom can be gained by true purity of life.

We have seen what it means to purify the life of the body and of the mind; but there is a further purity which is the purity of the heart, the constant effort to keep the heart pure from all the impressions which come from without and are foreign to the true nature of the heart, which is love. And this can only be done by a continual watchfulness over one's attitude towards others; by overlooking their faults, by forgiving their shortcomings, by judging no one except oneself. For all harsh judgments and bitterness towards others are like poison; to feel them is exactly the same as absorbing poison in the blood: the result must be disease. First disease in the inner life only, but in time the disease breaks out in the physical life; and these are illnesses which cannot be cured. External cleanliness does not have much effect upon the inner purity; but inner uncleanness causes disease both inwardly and outwardly.

Then after this third stage has been reached, and the heart has been attuned by high ideals, by good thoughts, by righteous actions, there comes a still greater purity in which all that is seen or felt, all that is touched or admired, is perceived as God. At this stage no thought or feeling may be allowed to come into the heart but God alone. In the picture of the artist this heart sees God; in the merit of the artist which observes nature, in the faculty of the artist to reproduce that which he observes, such a one sees the perfection of God; and therefore to him God becomes all and all becomes God.

When this purity is reached man lives in virtue. Virtue is not a thing which he expresses or experiences from time to time; his life itself is virtue. Every moment that God is absent from the consciousness is considered by the sage to be a sin; for at that moment the purity of the heart is poisoned. It is lack of life which is sin: and it is purity of life which is virtue. It is of this purity that Jesus Christ spoke when he said, "Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.'

Ideal

If anyone asked me what is the life of life, and what is the light of life, what gives one interest in life, I should answer him in one word, and that is: the ideal. A man with wealth, with qualifications, with learning, with comfort, but without ideal to me is a corpse; but a man without learning, without qualifications, without wealth or rank, but with an ideal is a living man. If a man does not live for an ideal what else does he live for? He lives for himself, which is nothing. The man who lives and does not know an ideal is powerless and without light. The greater the ideal, the greater the person. The wider the ideal the broader the person. The deeper the ideal the deeper the person, the higher the ideal the higher the person. Without an ideal, whatever a man may be in life, life for him is worthless.

What do I mean by an ideal? However insignificant the object may be which one loves, which one looks up to, for which one is ready to sacrifice oneself and all one possesses, yet that is an ideal. I prefer the fanatic who says, "For this idol of stone I will give my life, I worship it as a god", to the one who says, "I do not know, I just live on from day to day." A sincere ideal, however slight, is an ideal. Even to have a slight ideal, and yet to understand it and to be sincere about it, is something worth while. We do not reach the ideal when we go from one ideal to another.

There is an old story of Haris Chandra, a king, whose principle was to be faithful, to be truthful, to be true to his word. At one time, having been taken prisoner, he was sold into the house of a person who made him a keeper of the graveyard. And one day he saw his wife coming there, from whom he had been separated many years. His wife was bringing his son who had died to be buried there. A great struggle went on in his mind when he saw that it was his own child and his own wife, whom he had not seen for so many years. She was so poor that she could not pay the money that was needed for the burial, and here he was appointed by his master to ask money for the work he had to do. But though he recognized his wife, he never said, "I am your husband." He recognized his child, but never allowed his heart to show his deep sadness. He did not allow her to enter without paying, for he was appointed for that purpose. He went through a sorrow which was worse than death; yet he kept to his principle.

The ideal will always appeal to one; however fanatical it may seem, however unreasonable, however it may seem to lack logic, yet an ideal is an ideal. It has a life of its own. An ideal is living, and it makes the one who is an idealist alive.

There may be someone who will go through any sacrifice to serve his nation: he has his ideal. There is another who in order to keep up the dignity of his family, of his ancestors, will endure troubles and difficulties, and yet will keep his honor; he has some ideal. However narrow he may seem to be, however conservative, yet he has a virtue which should be recognized. The records of the world's history show that those who have been able to maintain their virtue, have very often been able to do so because their parents or their ancestors had maintained their dignity; therefore they could not do otherwise. A person who does not consider these things will go on living, and may even have a profitable life, but it will be an ordinary life, a life without depth, without value. There is nothing in life which can make it worth while except an ideal.

There are others who have a racial ideal; they value certain qualities of their race and maintain them, and in order to maintain them they are willing to go through any sacrifice. There are others who have the honor of their word; once they have given their word it is for ever. There are other idealists who have the honor of their affection, the honor of their love, the honor of their friendship. Once they have given it, it is given; to go back upon it is the greatest disgrace to them. Both in giving their heart and in accepting a heart there is character, there is honor. The loss of that stability is worse to them than death. All these things, however small and childish they may appear, have great value; they are really the only things worth while in life. The following story is an example of an extreme ideal.

Once in the Panjab some little girls were playing together when Maharaja Ranjit Singh passed by. He was taking a walk, disguised as an ordinary man. One little girl said, "I am going to marry a millionaire"; another little girl said, "I am going to marry a general." Then a third little girl who was a Rajput, a caste which is known for its pride and chivalry, said, "I am going to marry the king of this place, the Maharaja." Ranjit Singh, who was old enough to be her grandfather, overheard this and was greatly amused. He told the parents of that girl that when the time of her wedding came they should apply to him, and then a dowry would be given to her by the state so that she could be happy all her life.

Years passed and the king died; and the time came for the parents to think about arranging their daughter's marriage. When the question was put to the girl she said, "How can it be? I have been married already. Did I not give my word? Is it not enough?" They said, "It was a word given in your childhood, it meant nothing at all. It was play, and the Maharaja is now dead." She said, "No, I will not hear another word about it. I am the daughter of a Rajput, I have given my word and I will not go back on it." This is an extreme ideal; it has a fanatical aspect, but nevertheless it is an ideal.

There is another story of a Rajput Raja, a man with a fine nature and high ideal, and who was also very fond of poetry. He waged war against the Mogul Emperor of Delhi, and the struggle continued for a long time. While the war was going on, other princes gave in and came to the emperor's court and did homage, but that one Raja said that as long as he lived he would never bow to the emperor. And at last, when the emperor became disheartened after a long battle, he told the warriors of his court that there would be a very large prize for the one who would bring him the head of this Raja who had caused such great trouble and expense.

No one seemed to want to undertake this task except one man, a great poet at the court of the emperor. All the brave warriors laughed at him, but the poet went to the camp of the Raja, and his great talent made such an impression upon the Raja that he said, "Ask, O poet, for I really do not know what to give you; there seems to be nothing worthy of you in the treasury." "No," he said, "do not promise what will be difficult for you to keep." He replied, "My promise is a promise." The poet then said, "I feel very embarrassed at asking you, but it is your head I want. Will you keep your promise?" The Raja at once unsheathed his sword and put it in the hand of the poet and said, "It is a very small thing you have asked, it is not greater than my word." The people, his children, the ministers, were all very upset; but he was not upset at all.

Then the poet said, "As you have promised me your head, why not give me your body also? Why should not this body also come with me?" The Raja agreed and left with the poet, the poet first and the Raja behind him; and thus he was brought alive to the camp of the emperor. And there was great excitement, and in order to satisfy his vanity the emperor asked the Raja to come into the court where all the nobles were gathered. After the poet had brought the Raja into the court, the emperor looked at him, at that enemy with whom he had been at war for so many years, and he said, "You have come after all, after so many years, but it does not seem that your pride is gone, for you do not think even now of bowing before me!" The Raja answered, "Who should bow, a dead person?"

No doubt that iron hearted emperor did not see the beauty of that soul for he ordered that he should be beheaded. But the poet exclaimed, "No, if he is to be killed, then I must be killed first. I must be beheaded also, for I shall never find anyone who will appreciate my music as he has." So this poet died together with the Raja; and the sons of the poet, his whole family, all came and recited the most wonderful and inspiring poems which were just like the salt of the earth. Each one said one poem and died, for the merit of that Raja and the great wisdom he had shown.

Everyone must die one day or other; the Raja died because he would not break his word. If the earth were above and the sky below, he would keep it just the same.

In the history of nations one finds a great many examples of idealism like these. One might say that these people lack wisdom, that they lack balance, reason, logic; and yet they stand above logic and reason, they stand above what one calls practicality and common sense. Many practical people with common sense have come and gone; but if we remember the names of any who have made a lasting impression upon the world they are the idealists.

It is very difficult to distinguish between a false and a true ideal. It is not only difficult, but it is impossible; for if something is false, then it is as false as it is real; and if it is real, it is as real as it is false. The best way is just to take as true that which at the time appears true to us. But we should not always discuss it with others, nor try to defend it. We do not know. We do not know if what we find true today will not appear false to us tomorrow; for all these terms, good or bad, right or wrong, virtue or sin, false or true, are relative; and according to differences of time and space they change, which means that it depends from what height we look at it, from what position we see it. In other words, what seems right in the morning, may seem wrong in the evening, and what may seem wrong in the day, may seem right at night. Another example is that if we stand on a certain step of a staircase when looking at things, the right things will seem wrong by looking at them from another step; and the wrong, things will seem right by looking at them from a higher or lower one. Therefore whatever we consider at the time to be right, just, good, and virtuous, that is the thing we ought to do; but we should not impose or urge what we consider right or good or true upon others who do not consider it in the same way as we do.

The ideal is such that one can go to extremes, but as they say in Sanskrit, extremes in all things are undesirable. Yet at the same time it is not generally so; mostly one does not consider the ideal enough. For instance one cannot be too good and one cannot be too true. The way to practice this is in one's everyday life; if one would only keep in mind that what one has said one must do, even if it is a very small thing.

This whole question is very delicate, because it is said that in the beginning was the Word; so breaking one's word is breaking God. If man begins to realize, "In my word there is God", then he will keep his word.

Some wonder if it is better to keep one's word even if one finds later one was mistaken in giving it. This depends upon one's discernment. Keeping one's word is like a promise; besides this, a person may speak without thought and later he will have to change; but if he will always try to speak without mistakes, then in time he will be able to avoid mistakes.

To say, "A promise is a promise" might seem somewhat rigid, but it is not; for a promise is one's word, one's honor, one's ideal. As high as one's ideal is, so important is one's promise. If one's word can be kicked about like a football it is nothing. One's word is like a pearl mounted on the crown of a king. There are men with such high ideals that once their word is broken they do not wish to live. There is something very high, very wonderful, in this, for it is the divine spark within which gives one the sense of the word. If there is anything by which one can test a person, what he is, his personality, his greatness, his goodness, it is by his word.

No doubt the ideal by which we all feel that we come from the same source and return to the same source is the greatest; for in that ideal we unite with one another, serve one another, and feel responsible for being sincere and true to one another. Even if a man has learned some virtues, he cannot very well practice those virtues if he has no ideal. Ideal teaches virtues naturally; they rise from the heart of man.

There is a story of a king who judged four persons for the same misdemeanor. The wise king said to one that he must be exiled, to the other that he would be put in prison for some time, to the third that he should have a life sentence, and to the fourth he said, "I am surprised; I never expected that such an offence would be committed by you." And what was the result? The one who was sent to prison was quite happy with his comrades there. The one who was exiled built up his business outside the country. The one who was sentenced was sentenced, and that was that. But the fourth one went home and committed suicide.

It is the ideal which prompts man to sacrifice, and the most important thing he can sacrifice is his own life. A man without ideal has no depth, he is shallow. However pleased he may be with his everyday life, he can never enjoy that happiness which is independent of outer circumstances. The pleasure which is experienced through pain is the pleasure experienced by the idealist. But what of the pleasure that has not come out of pain? It is tasteless. Life's gain, which people think so much of, what is it after all? A loss caused by an ideal is a greater gain than any other gain in this world.

The true ideal is always hidden behind a man-made ideal which covers it. For instance the fragrance is hidden in the petals of the rose, and when one wants to extract the spirit from them one has to crush them; but thereby the same rose that could have lasted for only a few days has been turned into spirit, into essence, which can last a whole lifetime. That is what is meant by the saying from the Gayan: "The ideal is a means, but its breaking is the goal." The ideal can also be pictured as an egg: its breaking is the fulfillment, as with the egg when the chick comes forth. It is necessary for the ideal to break; if it is not broken then the ideal is not used.

The ideal recedes when one approaches it, but the keener one's sight becomes, the greater becomes the beauty of the ideal. In this way one is not removed further from the ideal; one is brought closer to it.

The Journey to the Goal (1)

When we picture life as a journey, there are a thousand things which will prove it to be so. When we are on a journey we are with a great many other people, looking at life and going forward. Those who have arrived at their station have got out of the train; and the little friendship or sympathy or antipathy that existed between us only lasted till then. Those who went on have left behind the impression of them which we carry with us. That impression makes us either happy or unhappy; either it makes us love them even in their absence, or it makes us hate them, hoping that we shall never see them again. When we think of yesterday, of last week, of the last months, of the years that have passed in our lives, it only shows that they have passed and we have gone on. It is like the sensation that one has in the train, as though the train were standing still and the trees were moving. In life we have the same sensation, that life is passing and we are standing still.

And we also see when travelling that some are prepared, with all that is necessary in this world, while there are others who are not prepared. Both have to travel just the same, those who are prepared and those who are not. The only difference is that for those who are prepared, this journey is easy. This is explained by the Indian fable of the monkey and the sparrows. When autumn seemed to be approaching the sparrows said, "We must have a nest; we must build it and it must be ready soon, for autumn is coming nearer." A little monkey overheard this and was very frightened because it was the first time this young monkey had had to face the winter. It went with great anxiety to its parents and said, "We must build a home, we must build a nest where we can be protected. I did not know the autumn was coming, but someone told me so." While they were discussing this the sparrows made their nest ready, but the monkeys put it off from one day to another until autumn was upon them.

And so it is in the world. We find people who say, "What does it matter? We shall wait and see what will come"; but when they are faced by a difficulty, by a need, then they begin to realize that it would have been better if they had been prepared. It is the same with education. A young person when he should be learning is always attracted to play and to the enjoyment of life; but when that golden age of childhood which gives facilities for learning and for acquiring knowledge is past, then it is too late.

The greatest wealth is health, energy, intelligence, and life itself. If this health is not preserved and looked after in youth, then even though one may not feel it at that time there will come a time when one realizes that one neglected it.

I once asked a person who was old but strong and healthy, "Will you tell me what blessings you have, what it is that keeps you so strong and healthy at your age?" He said, "It is the conserved energy of youth which is now maintaining my life."

Very few young people think about this. Youth is an intoxication. When they are in that intoxication, when they are full of energy, they do not think about it, of what they will have to spend in order to go far in the journey of life.

And then we come to the idea of humanity. Today what we consider learning or education, consists of grammar and history and geography and mathematics. But that kind of education which we should possess as current-coin: a good manner, strong will, a right attitude of mind, that kind of education seems to be quite overlooked. We find it nowhere; and yet if a man has education, qualification, rank or position, and lacks manner, he lacks a great part of life.

If a man does not have that strength of mind which he needs to carry him along the whole of his life's path he lacks a great deal. A man who lacks money misses little; but the man who lacks power of mind misses everything in life. Weakness develops, and it develops without his knowing it. When one sees a little spark of weakness in oneself one thinks it is nothing, but one does not know that the spark will one day turn into a glow, and the glow will turn into a flame. For those who lack manner, strength of mind, a right attitude, it is then too late; they cannot be corrected any more. The nature of life is such that a thoughtless life will draw one into thoughtlessness, and then thoughtlessness will draw even a thoughtful person towards itself; therefore there is more chance of failing than of rising in life.

Besides among thousands there is hardly one who goes upon this journey with open eyes, for nearly all journey with their eyes closed. Man depends so much upon his friends, upon his relations, upon those who love him, upon those who admire him; but he does not know that those who love him will demand from him what is missing.

What is necessary in life is to master ourselves, and not to think that because we have influential or wealthy parents it does not matter what we ourselves are like. Whatever relations we have, however great and good they may be, that is not of any use to us. We each have our journey to make, and we have to answer the demands of this journey. How wonderful it is to watch the people on the daily journeys we make! One person comes along in a group of travellers and gives pleasure to all; he shares with them and gives a good impression to all and he wins their hearts. When he has gone what he has left with his fellow-travellers is joy, a beautiful impression which they will always keep. And there is another one who causes hurt or harm or produces some disturbance among those travelling with him. And when he has gone they pray that they will never meet him again.

One day a maid informed her mistress that there was a funeral passing along the street. She was much impressed and said, "Certainly the person who died went to heaven." Her mistress laughed at this maid's authoritative exclamation that this dead person went to heaven. She said, "Did you see this dead person going to heaven?" "It is simple, Madam," she said, "for everyone who was following the funeral was weeping. Certainly this person has made a good impression on those among whom he lived."

Man loses everything when absorbed in his daily life, not realizing that life passes and the call comes before he even thinks of it.

Man makes many great mistakes but there is one principal one, and that is that he goes through life thinking that he will stay here for ever. And since he is without preparation, the call naturally comes to him as a blow instead of as an invitation. When we think of the journey beyond, we begin to see how many there are in this world who do not even know that there is a hereafter. And the one who believes in the hereafter has his preconceived ideas about it; either a religious or a philosophical belief. But not even that suffices for our purpose. What suffices for our purpose is to become acquainted with the road along which we have to pass, and with the road whereby the soul descended to the earth. This road is the bridge that stands between the physical and the spiritual part of our own being, and therefore the nature of this journey is different.

The journey in the world we make outside ourselves; and it is by being acquainted with this road that we are led to that destination which we are meant to reach; it is this that is acquired as divine knowledge by the help of meditation. There are many in this world who are curious to know what we shall find beyond this life, and it is this curiosity which gives scope to those who wish to attract mankind by falsehood; it gives them the chance to make up stories to satisfy man's curiosity. For who can know of this way but man himself? He is the traveller and his own spirit is the way. It is man himself who must find his way, and it is with his own eyes that he must see what he will find on this way.

Therefore the true teachers of life's secret do not tell him that he will see this or that on the way. They say he will find whatever he will find, and that his duty is to open his eyes so that he may travel on the way and see for himself.

Once a mureed asked his teacher, "How I should like to see what it is like in heaven and what hell looks like!" "Close your eyes," said the teacher, "and you will see it." "Shall I see heaven first?" The teacher said, "Yes." He closed his eyes and went into meditation. "And now", said the teacher, "see hell also in meditation." And when the pupil opened his eyes the teacher asked, "What did you see?" He said: "I saw nothing in heaven of that paradise of which people speak, nor were there those beautiful plants and flowers and all the wonderful objects of comfort and luxury. There was nothing." "And what did you see in hell?" said the teacher. "I saw nothing. I had expected to see fire and brimstone and people in torture but it was empty. What is the reason? Did I see or did I not see it?" And the teacher answered, "Certainly you have seen heaven and hell; but the brimstone and fire, or the beautiful gems and jewels of paradise, you have to take there yourself. You do not get them there."

This gives us the secret of Omar Khayyam's saying, "Heaven is the vision of fulfilled desire; hell is the shadow of the soul on fire." What is most necessary for us to learn and understand is that from a perfect source we come, and to a perfect goal we go. But few seek that source consciously, and fewer still seek that source rightly.

What is the right way of seeking that source? The way to seek it is first to learn the psychology of one's own life: what makes one fall, what makes one rise, what makes one fail, what makes one succeed, what gives one happiness, what brings one sorrow. Then one should study the nature of pleasure and pain, whether it is a lasting pain or whether it is a lasting pleasure, a momentary pleasure, or a momentary pain; and then find out the deceitful and false nature of one's own impressions, how under cover of pain there was pleasure, and how under cover of pleasure there was pain; how in the worst person there is some good to be found, and how in the best there is something bad to be traced. This widens the point of view of a man and prepares the ground of his heart to realize the secret of enjoyment.

And the next thing man has to do is to control his activities, physical and mental. He should know that the nature of life is to go on, and that therefore this suspension of life gives scope to that tendency to progress within, instead of only giving it scope to progress outwardly. However much a person reads about and studies these things, it does not bring him satisfaction; satisfaction comes only through experience, and experience is gained from meditation.

The Journey to the Goal (2)

There are two different stages in human evolution; the minor and the major stage. In the Hindu Puranic symbology, characters belonging to the one or the other of these stages are called the younger and the elder brother.

Just as there is a stage of childhood when the child only knows what it wants and is only happy when it gets it, no matter what might be the consequences, so the minor stage of the soul is when man only desires what he can see, hear, perceive, or touch; when beyond that he does not care and does not wish for anything else. And the major stage is when man has experienced life to a certain extent, has known pleasure and pain, enthusiasm and disappointment, and has realized the variability of life; only then has he reached the stage of majority.

These minor and major stages do not depend upon a certain age, nor do they depend upon a particular education; they depend upon the inner life. When a man has penetrated into life as far as he can go, and when he has passed the limit of the minor stage, then he arrives at the major stage. In the East there is a custom that has become a kind of religious etiquette: not to wake a person who is asleep. In other words, one should treat the world according to nature and not go against nature. The man who is in the minor stage should not be forced into the major stage; he must first sleep well before he can awake.

On the spiritual path the man who is in the minor stage says, "Yes, I would like to go on this path, but where shall I arrive?" Before he travels on this path he wants to know all about it. He wants to know whether his friends are going with him; and if they are not, he is not ready to go either. For he is not sure of the way; he will not go alone and wants to know when and where he will arrive, if it is safe to journey on that particular path. On his journey he looks back and at the same time tries to look forward, asking, "Shall I reach the goal? Is it really the right path?" A thousand times doubt comes, or fear; he looks back, forward, around. If others could only tell him how far he has journeyed! He is restless; he wants to know how far he is from the goal. He really is still a child, although he has a desire to travel on. To him the mystical hints for mental research are toys which keep him busy looking at the map of the journey to see where he is going.

About the conditions of the major stage the Bible says, "Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God." If I were asked what the journey really is, and what its object, I would answer that the purpose of the whole of creation was for this journey, and that if it were not for this purpose there would be no creation at all. Before a person starts upon this journey he practices it in some form or other in play, although in reality he has not yet started.

For instance a person desires to be rich, and he devotes all his time and energy, his life and his thoughts, to that object, and so to speak journeys towards that goal. If he desires power he makes for that and gets it; if he wants position he uses all his strength to reach that goal. But he does all this in play; and the proof of this is that every time he attains the object he desired and of which he was in pursuit, it only gives him the desire for something else. If he is rich he wants to be famous; if he is famous he wants something else; if he has one thing he strives for another and is never satisfied. It shows that man, outwardly busy in the pursuit of worldly things, is not satisfied but has a constant yearning in his soul for something more; and this keeps him uneasy.

Rumi gives a good explanation of this in his Masnavi where he says, "What is it in the reed flute that appeals to your soul, that goes through you, pierces the heart?" And the answer is: it is the crying of the flute, and the reason of its crying is that it once belonged to a plant from which it was cut apart. Holes were made in its heart. It longs to be reunited with its source, with its origin. In another place in his book Rumi says, "So it is with everyone who has left his original country for a long time; he may roam about and feel very pleased with what he sees, but there will come a moment when a strong yearning rises in his heart for the place where he was born.'

One sees that those in the world who have really suffered, who have been disappointed, who are broken-hearted, do not wish to tell anybody about their experiences, they do not want any company but wish to be alone. And then it is as if there were someone waiting with open arms, waiting for such a soul to come as a child comes to its mother. This shows that there is somewhere a consoler greater than any in the world, a friend dearer than anyone else, a protector stronger than any earthly one. Knowing that the world is not to be depended upon, the one who has gone through all this looks for that great one in himself.

The friend who is a friend in life and after death, in pleasure and pain, in riches and poverty, one upon whom one can always depend, who always guides rightly, who gives the best advice, that friend is hidden in one's own heart. One cannot find a better one. Who is this friend? Man's own being, this true inner being. That friend is the origin, source, and goal of all.

But the question arises: if that friend is one's own being, why then call him a friend, why not call him one's self? The answer is that no doubt this friend is really one's own being, but when the greater Self is compared with the present realization one finds oneself smaller than a drop in the ocean. Man cannot very well call that friend himself until he has forgotten himself, until he is no more himself. Until and unless one has arrived at the state of perfection one had better be quiet and not insolent, talking about that which one has not yet become.

All occult schools all over the world prescribe as the first lesson quietude, no discussion, no dispute, no argument. The conditions for those on the path are altogether different from the conditions of the outer world. The true knowers of life have kept their lips closed about this subject. No method has been successful and profitable other than the method of the prophets of all lands, who gave man the first lesson of love for God.

Religious authorities of different times have kept humanity ignorant of the knowledge of God and have only given it a belief in God; and it is lack of this knowledge which has made the man of reason rebel against that which he could not understand. There remained no link between the two, knowledge and belief, and that is how the reign of materialism came to the world, a reign which is still spreading. At such times of materialism chaos comes into the world; all is confusion and unrest. Many wish to do good, but do not know how. Such times Shri Krishna has called "the decay of Dharma", when the spirit is gone and only the form remains. No doubt at times warning comes in the form of intuition to the soul, but the intoxication of life, the mist, is so great that the message is not heard, not understood, not received until the messenger has disappeared.

What is the manner and the method of the journey? We see that when a person rises above all the things of the world such as power, wealth, possessions, all that gives pride and vanity, there comes a desire in his heart, a remembrance of his origin, of the perfection of love and peace, although no one in the world can pretend to have arrived at this stage. Every moment of a man's life speaks louder of what he says than of what he really is.

Man's first tendency towards humanity is a loving, a charitable attitude, to the extent that forgiveness dictates every action of his life. He shows patience in his actions, tolerance towards his fellowmen, and considers that each one has his own stage of evolution. He does not expect a person to act in a better way than his stage of evolution permits. He does not make his own law wanting others to follow it; he follows the law for all.

When a man's attitude has become a loving attitude, a tendency to serve, to forgive, to tolerate, to have reverence for all, good and bad, young and old, then he begins his journey. To explain what path it is there is no better symbol than the cross. No one without courage, strength of will, and patience can follow this path. When a person has to live among people of every different kind, he must make his own character soft as a rose, make it even finer so that no one can be hurt by the thorns. Two thorns cannot harm each other. The thorns can hurt the rose, but the rose cannot tear the thorns. Think what the life of the rose between two thorns must be!

The journey begins with a path of thorns, and the traveller must go barefoot. It is not easy always to be tolerant and patient, to refrain from judging others, and to love one's enemy. It is a dead man who walks on this path, one who has drunk the bowl of poison. The beginning of each path is always difficult and uninteresting, hard for everybody. Ask the violinist about the first days when he practices scales and cannot even form the tones! Often he does not have enough patience to go on till he can play well enough to satisfy himself. The first part of the path is constant strife, struggle with life, but as one approaches the goal the path gets easier; the distance seems greater but the path is smoother and difficulties less. The journey is achieved by realizing in oneself the answer to the questions: what am I? am I body, mind, or what else? do I originate from the earth or if not from whence?

As soon as one has started on the journey one's lower nature rises up, and all one's follies and weaknesses want to drag one down to earth; and the struggle of breaking these chains requires the strength of a Samson. Then comes the struggle between the beauty of matter and spiritual beauty. Beauty in form and color is more realistic; spiritual beauty is hidden in mist until one comes to a stage when spiritual beauty becomes the beauty, which is a shining light.

When man has acquired knowledge, power, magnetism, he becomes conscious of having greater power than others, of knowing more than others, of being able to achieve more than others. To use these faculties rightly is another struggle. He should not pride himself on these accomplishments. There is an enemy who starts with him on the journey and never leaves him: his pride and spiritual egotism, and this enemy stays with him as long as he is on the path.

It is a great temptation to think, on having received inspiration and power, "I can do, know, understand more than you." It is a constant struggle until the end, and at any moment one may stumble and fall down. Only the steadfast traveller will persist in rising up every time, for without patience he may lose his way. But those who journey on this path will get help; as Christ said, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you." It is the goal which is important, and so is the right attitude of the soul towards it; not the things one meets on the path.

Vol. 6, The Alchemy of Happiness

Purity of Life

-ALL-

Vol. 6, The Alchemy of Happiness

Purity of Life

Ideal

The Journey to the Goal (1)

The Journey to the Goal (2)