Search for Truth

Citation preview

H u gh B ro ck w ill R ip m an

H U G H BRO CKW ILL RIPM AN

Forthw ay C enter Palisades Press W ashington, D .C .

First Edition B&fcöpvright © ^ W @ M ft6p her HughRKijxrnan AU rights reserved No part offhis book may beRdproduced ^ g a p ie d in any form Qr'byranwmeäns—graphic, electronic, pF ’m edian ical, including photocopying, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems— without written permission from M s ^ H s k e r. Cover design and artwork by members o f thaM aShington groups. Photographs illustrating the book are from the collection of H ugh and Mildred Ripman and have been made available for this ^mjuication by Christopher Ripman. Most of thefflpto,graphs K l^ e tio n II|w e|e taken by Hugh Ripman during hipräyels. Printed in the United States it'A m erica Forthway Center Palisades Press 1999

PR EFA C E

Hugh Ripman was born April 16, 1909, in London, the sec­ ond o f five children, and the only son am ong four sisters. H is father was a linguist and educator. H ugh attended W estminster School o f London and then was offered a scholarship at Balliol College, O xford, but he chose instead to go to w ork for the bank­ ing house o f Baring Brothers in London. In the early 1 9 3 0 ’s, he and his sister D aphne encountered the ideas o f G. Ir-Gurdjieff and P. D. Ouspensky.' Later they joined Ouspensky’s London groups, along with others w ho shared their search for meaning and “ truth.” There he m et M ildred Geiger, an American working at thewIjf St Embassy, w ho had com e to Ouspensky’s groups through her friend Jan et Colin-Smith. H ugh and M ildred Ripm an were m arried in 1939 and lived o ut the w ar in London, where he w orked for the British War Office. In 1946, he w as appointed First Secretary at the British Em bassy jmj W ashington, D .C ., where he dealt w ith econom ic relief matters. The following year he to o k a p osition a t the W orld Bank and continued to w ork there until his retirem ent in 1 9 7 2 . In the 19 5 0 ’s, his w ork at the Bank began to require frequent trips overseas, particularly to the Far East, w hich a ffo rd ed him many opportunities to pursue his search. In several countries he w as able to m akeldöntact with teachers in other spiritual trad i­ tions that were still relatively unknow n to p eople in the West. After the death o f Ouspensky in 1 9 4 7 , the R ipm an s w ere am ong those w ho— at the urging o f M ad am e O uspensky— w ent to study with G urdjieff when he cam e to N e w Y ork during the winter o f 1948. Th e follow ing year, in anticipation o f G u rd jie ff’s return td fffew York, H ugh gathered together a num ber o f p eo ple in W ashington w ho were interested in a practical ap p ro ach to G u rd jieff’s ideas. With the death o f G urd jieff in O ctober 1 9 4 9 , he felt a responsibility to undertake a new effort, w hich he

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describes in the book, to share h is o w n e x p e rie n c e a n d insight with other people. W orking u n d er th e g u id a n c e o f M m e . Jean n e de Salzmann, he led the W ashington G u r d jie ff g r o u p s un til his death in 1980. M ildred R ip m an c a rrie d o n th is resp o n sibility until her death in 1 997. Hugh Ripm an w rote Search for Truth in 1 9 6 1 , iden tifying the manuscript as a “first d ra ft” fo r r e v ie w b y a p u b lish e r friend in England. Although he d id m ak e so m e re v isio n s to th e m an u­ script after that date, he ap p aren tly d e c id e d n o t m p u r su e the idea o f publication. D u rin g the la s t y e a rs o f h is life h e w ould occasionally read chapters fro m the m a n u sc r ip t t o p e o p le in the Washington groups w ho m et o n S u n d a y s to w o r k to g e th e r under his guidance. One chapter o f the b o o k , “A t th e T o p o f a H u n d r e d S te p s,” was never form ally in co rp o rate d in to th e se q u e n c e o f th e m an u­ script. It has been placed in the A p p e n d ix , a lo n g w itfr selected notes and letters fro m H u g h R ip m a n ’s p a p e r s th a t su p p lem en t the accounts o f his travels. A ll o f th e se c tio n d iv id e r s stand fo o t­ notes were inserted by the e dito rs. This private printin g o f Search fo r Truth h a s b e e n p rep a re d by students o f H ugh an d M ild re d R ip m a n to ^ n i m e m o r a t e the fiftieth anniversary o f the W ashin gton g r o u p s .

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CO N TENTS

V

Preface Acknowledgm ent

ix I. England & America

1. Haunting Questions 2. ''First Glimpses o f the M ountain 3. A Path N o t Trodden by Feet 4, j^ s G i^ e T s .to Receive 1

II, Travels ,8c Cpnversatidns A Barrier as Thin a s Paper The 68th Generation from Lao-Tzu 7. A China Cup and a Wad o f Cotton I Shall Give You a Tiger 9. Physical Separation Is N o Separation lE x se p t the Clouds Weep . . . The Turning Crucifix

IIP ill 31 51

5.

6.

8..

11.

Writings 1949,1961 ^ S r e ^ p r e in e Adventure The .Eyes: bf the S^ulK^; Ther e Is a Way , . , Thanksgiving 1954 Stillness Is Always Here Leave-Taking Easter 195:9,. Appendix: At the Top o£ a Hundred Steps || | jjNötes on ä Conversation Ruth Fuller Sasaki Epilogue

93 109

1ft 121 145

165 181 183 190 192 195 196 199

201 214 217 227

Bibliography

231

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A CKN O W LED G M ENT

I

p ^ is customary at the beginning of a bo o k to acknowledge the author’s indebtedness to those who have helped him. Th e list o f jh b se to w jpäm T have reason to be grateful w ould run to m any pages. It would include the names o f m any long since dead: pil­ grims o f past centuries who have aroused and strengthened in me the desire to follow in their footsteps. It w ould include, as well, the names o f all the travellers with whom I have come in personal con­ tact—som e ahead o f me, others who walked hand in hand with me, and others pressing on behind me— on the journey “w hich is hot a journey for the feet” but towards “ a vision, the birthright o f all, which few turn to use.” I owe a debt to many with w hom I have been thrown into contact in the general intercourse o f life, who provided without knowing it the indispensable opportunities o f my inner warfare. To all these I acknowledge my debt with deep gratitude. But there are three people who have influenced me above all others: P. D. Ouspensky, Sophia Ouspensky, and G. I. Gurdjieff. If this book brings encouragem ent to any o f its readers in their ow n ponderings and efforts, if it calls to the deepest in them fro m the deepest in me, if it awakens or nourishes in them the striving to press forw ard to the true estate o f man, then they should thank not me, but these three people. The book is written m ore than any­ thing else a s » i i attem pt to repay my debt to them. ❖

❖

❖

To m y father’s acknow ledgm ent o f those w ho helped and § |||u e n cea *:him bn his journey should be added an acknow ledg­ ment o f the m any people in the W ashington G urdjieff gro up s whose personal com m itm ent and persistent efforts have m ade the „present book possible. In tn^p iib licatio n o f this very personal account o f one m an ’s search for truth, it is my wish to give help and sup p o rt to those w ho are clim bing, by their own paths, the sacred m ountain. Christopher H ugh R ipm an Belm ont, M assachusetts 1 January 1 999

There is that in me which is satisfied with food and drink. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which craves only comfort/ ; . Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which demands the satisfaction of lust, i'^-is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which is interested only in possessions. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which desires only to dream. . Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which seeks only pleasure. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which wants only power. isttMs what I was born to be? There is that in me which yearn s^nl^for ^feetiom Is this what I was bora to be? There is that in me which cares only about the opinions of others. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which wishes only not to be troubled. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which is hungry only for knowledge. Is this what I was born to be? There is that in me which drives me into activities. j & ’Is this what I was born.tp be? What is it that I was born to be? What sense and meaning has my life, unless it is a becoming that which I was born to be? HBR—Septem ber 1957

■ Haunting Questions

T

H E 'foöm was filled with moving shadows cast by the flames seven^year^old boy was lying on the carpet:;'supporting his head on his hands as he stared over the top of the'brass fender into the fireplace. Psss! A jet o f gas burst from one o f the coals,;burning with a beautiful bright blue flame. Crash! A glowing cavern suddenly collapsed. The soot at the back of the fireplace glowed red aind then faded. A banner of flame leaped right up out of sight into the chimney. The boy’s cheek got so hot that he wriggled back on the carpet. This Was a favourite Occupation during the winter. The fire had the same kind of fascination as the sea—always keeping you a'htip in suspense as you waited for the next new sight or sound. But tonight it was different from all the other times. Yesterday som'eone had told him how coal was made. H e saw a strange world, millions o f years ago, with enormous beasts wandering among great forests of tiees and ferns, which were nourished by the light and heat of the sun. The forests grew and died for ages and then sank below the surface of the sea. M ore land piled up top o f them. They were crushed together with enormous force and became black and hard as stone. Millions o f years later, men had dug them out of the ground— and here they were, black and shmtfng, lying quiet in the coal scuttle, still bearing in some magic Way the energy they had captured from the sun all those millions of years ago, ready to spring into life when you put them on the 3

Search for 'Ruth fire. The light that made the shadows flicker, tile heat that hurt your fingers when you touched t ^ f e n d e r — these were really the sun’s light and heat. Wonder filled the bo y’s heart. [This was real magic. This was the first time I saw clearly how the essence of things lies not in what they look like or feel like, but iirin ner qualities invisible to the eyes. This sense o f the m ystery that lies behind the outer face of things hasuteturned m any pm es in my life, fascinat­ ing and tantalizing at the same time. The seed of this sense o f t|||m arv e lo u s w as planted in me as I listened to my father reading f a t e J W i e s . H e read them beau­ tifully, and we had a large f l e c t i o n in and Andersen, Irish andU Scottish,,and [English an d . German and Japanese. The hidden treasure .guarded by .dragons; the tattered old coat that could make you invisible; the old .beggar who could grant your wishes; tlMdiSastrous Consequences o f falling asleep at the crucial moment or oflforgetting the |e c r e tg r o r d s and the magic weapons; Suleiman-bin-E>aoud and Balkis his upeen, who talked to butterflies; Merlin and die search fo r the H oly G railall of them lived for me a s d s ä t curled u p on the floor by my father’s feet, quite prepared to see ^salam an d er pokefits head out of one of the crevices in the fire. Like many children, I grew up in a w orld in which right was always right, and wrong always;.;wrong. I never had any; doubt that my parents knew, everything and w ere alw ays right. Then one Christmas Eve my sisters and I w ere led.dow n from the nurs­ ery to the drawing room ; ^thereSas^ usual w e ^found Father Christmas, with his big white, beard, sitting w ith his sack beside the Christmas tree, all gay w im d fn am en ts thafcreflected the, light of hundreds of little wäx candles. H e greeted us ad d asked if we had been good. We all rather, trem ulously answ ered “ Yes,Land he began to distribute the gifts from his sack. W hen m y turn came, I went forward with my eyes on the big white p ack age, all tied up with red ribbon, which he was holding put to m e. As I put out my hands to take it, a ring that he was; w earing on one o f h is fingers

4

Haunting Questions

caught nay eye. I took the package and went back to where I was sitting on the floor. As I tore the paper Off^full'.df curiosity to find eijft what was inside, Suddenly a picture jumped into my mind. It was one of|my two uncles: I saw him up in the nursery, playing with our dachshund, Brownie, and there on his finger was the same ring Father Christmas was wearing. Next time I went to it ^ f ^igifi:, I looked again. Clearly, it was the same ring. And now I became very alert, though hidingpny suspicions in the way childre^learmtp^dpfrto prevent grown-ups>asking too many quesiidhs. I listened to Father Christmas’ voice. Mostly it didn’t sound like myjiMeli^s voice—but them suddenly fit did. But this was Father -©hristma's, ‘who came every f4m fern 1A e North Pole on l ^ S S ^ P r was it my uncle dressed up as Father Christmas? No, it couldn’t be. But the ring? : 0; , days I suffered my.doubtsdn silence, and then I spoke with my older sister in the security of a sort o f cavern ^^^Mthemursery Cable. She told me ;thae Father Christmas was J t e ^ |bn^ ^ f the grown-ups dressed u p .^ «m y parents—all the grby/n-ups—had l^ e n: lying to us*?-they^who demanded of us that ■ we|always?sjemcithe .tEuth. But dreh could you trust anything they saiShpassed/thfougli a kindof^erisis that left a deep mark and foijggd me, to begin to think for myself in new ways. At school I did well in my studies. I had a good memory, and learning interested me. Sometimes it was redly exciting. One term, when I was eleven years old, we began the first book of Euclid, theorem by theorem. For the first four theorems I learned everything by heart, without really understanding that it made sense. Then one morning, after I had arranged pencils and pro­ tractor, set square and ebmpasses, in the tray at the top of my wooden desk, which was carved with the initials of many gener­ ations confirmed. I had always gone to church with my family on Sunday m ornings and joined in the prayers, opening and^ shutting my m outh without a sound when it came to the hymns, since I couldn’t sing in tune. I sat through the; sermons rather%sde^ssLy|oi| the hard w ooden seat o f our fam ­ ily pew, my eyes wandering over the people dressed up in their SundayyclothesÄh’byj seem ed to be as bored as I w as. I liked the music of some of the* hymns, but otherwise nothing stirred m e emotionally. During my preparation for confirmation, the m asters at school talced to me about- G od and about the divinity o f C hrist and about the three~pjersons>of the H oly Trinity, but all this talk didn’t mean anything to me. I couldn’t m ake any connection between what I heard and my own experience. M an y o f C hrist’s teachings did not seem at^all practical. D id it really m ake sense not to punish a,thief, but actually to give him m ore than he h ad stolen?. The law certainly didn’t agree with that. Surely n o on e had ever run a society on those lines. W hat did it m ean, th at on e should be-have like a little child? I felt that som ething m ust be lacking in me. All these solem n grown-up m en w ho talked a t m e, they must surely know what it all m eans, it m ust m ak e sen se to them'; -they m ust have experienced w hat they called the “ grace” o f G od, they must have felt the pow er o f the H o ly G h o st, they must know w hat it really m eans when the bread and w ine change intp-ihe body and blood o f Christ. I went to my first com m union service n ot know ing quite what to expect. W hen the tim e cam e fo r me to w alk up to the altar steps, I felt awkward and shy. W hat w as goin g to hap pen ? I knelt down in the proper pose (looking out o f the c o m e r o f m y eyes at the people on each side to be sure I w asn ’t m ak in g any mistake) and w aited nervously. T h e p riest w ith the w afer arriv ed and m um bled over me. I to o k the w afer and sco o p e d it u p w ith

7

Search fo r Truth m y lips. M y m outh w as dry, and I h ad difficulty sw allow in g. The w in e tasted like wine I had drunk b efore, an d the tex tu re o f the chalice against my lip was exactly that o f the silver m u g (a chris­ tening present) out o f which I’d drunk m ilk all m y ch ild h o o d . But nothing happened. There w as no sense o f a sp iritu al pow er, no sense o f the nearness o f G od or Christ. I attended several more com m unions, b u t it w as ju st the sam e. I felt that it was hypocritical to stan d u p in church and repeat a creed that I didn’t understand. N o b o d y seem ed to be able to give me any explanation that m ade se n se . I cam e to the decision to stop going to church. M y paren ts ac c e p te d this with­ out protest. I continued to be interested in learn in g, b u t m ade few friends. I took it for granted that my doneliness, the differen ce between me and m ost o f the other boys, m u st be the result of something wrong with me. I tried various w ays to b eco m e popu­ lar, but in vain. I couldn’t very well hide m y in terest in learning and in addition felt compelled to study hard. I h ad w on & schol­ arship to the school,feähd my father expected m e alw ays to be top of my class. I tried to make up for my lack o f skill at gam e s by playing as hard as I could. In this way T earned the n ickn am e o f [“The Bloody Fighter.” During the summer holidays I w as throw n togeth er, by cir­ cumstances, with students from alm ost all the countries of Europe, from the United States, and fro m 'e v e n further afield. Among them I found friends who seem ed p re p are d to take me as I was. One Sunday in August, when I w as sixteen , I w en t on a day’s outing with a group of these foreign friends. We to o k with us a picnic luncheon and hired a boat for the day aglM aidenhead on the Thames. For about an hour w e drifte‘d r ^ w n s tr e a m ," very comfortable and relaxed, trailing our fingers in the Water and watching the velvet lawns and ancient trees glide by. When the clouds began to look threatening, we tied up at the n ext island

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H aunting Q uestions and disembarked with our picnic. We made a kind o f tent by spreading our raincoats over som e bushes and settled down under it, rather cosy on the boat cushions and som e piles o f leaves. After w e’d finished eating, we w aited for the rain to fin­ ish, drinking the- last o f the coffee in the therm os jugs, sm oking and talking. The conversation turned to religion, and I suddenly heard m yself saying: “ I suppose I’m really an atheist. B ut if I had a religion at all, I should be a Buddhist.” Im m ediately I heard myself say this, I w as much1surprised. All I knew about Buddhism was contained in Arnold’s L igh t o f A sia,1 which I h ad found at hom e one day about a year earlier. It seem ed, as I listened to m y voice, that it w as som eone else w ho w as speaking. After the rain finally stopped, w e go t the bo at back into the water and resum ed our lazy drift downstream . Ju st after w e h ad passed through a lock, the Swiss boy opposite to m e sat u p and pointed to a bo at on the other side o f the river. “ H e ’ll fall in, if he doesn’t take care,” he said. But before he sat u p , befo re he pointed, before he said anything— I knew exactly w hat he w as going to do. A shiver ran dow n m y back. Starting from that m om ent, fo r a w hole half-hour I knew second by second everything that w ould happen— just be fo re it happened. Tffiat white excursion steam er com ing ro u n d the ben d and nearly running dow n the row boat— I saw it happen befo re the steam er appeared round the bend. T h e gesture w ith w hich the Sw iss boy p assed his silver cigarette case around, the w ay the Swedish girl lo o k ed at him as she steadied his hand w ith the m atch— every detail I knew before it happen ed. I cut m y hand trying to take the cap o ff a bottle o f lem onade— I saw m yself doing it before I did it, but the “ I” w ho knew beforeh an d w as pow erless to change o r interrupt w hat w as com ing. I fe lt as though I w ere w itnessing a play that h ad been reh earsed m any tim es before, a play in w hich I m yself w as cast in a ro le fro m which I could m ake no departure. 1 Books mentioned in the text have been identified, to the extent possi­ ble, in the Bibliography. 9

Search fo r Truth I d id n ot tell anybody about this experience. I d id m ak e som e attem p t to find an explanation in b ook s, but w ith ou t ^success. Finally I gave up the search and put the w hole thin g on a sh e lf in m y memory. It w as not until years later that ?I fin ally foun d description s o f sim ilar experiences. A bout this time I began to fall into an d o u t o f love. Since I couldn ’t be with my love every night, I w rote h er letters. A fter I h ad finished my hom ework, I retired to m y b e d ro o m , w here I h ad a sm all oak desk drawn up in front o f the fire p lace / (T he only time the fire w as ever lit was when I w as sick— c o a l h ad to be car­ ried up seven flights o f stairs.) I pulled up a ru sh -seated w ooden chair, turned the hom em ade wireless set to p lay dan ce m usic, and setded down to write. They were all love letters, o f cou rse, but often there w as m uch m ore. After all, there are on ly so many ways to say “ I love y ou ,” and when you are w ritin g alm o st every night, you’ve soon exhausted them. So after a w hile I u se d to start a letter with the first thing that cam e in to m y h ead , dem anding o f m yself that I have an opinion ab out it. In this way I w as led inevitably, an d re tu rn e d / again and again, to certain questions that seem ed to b e fu n dam en tal:; What is the meaning o f life? W hat am “ I” ? W h at is rig h t an d w rong? All these letters w ere addressed to m y cu rren t love, but in fact I was writing for myself, ^questioning m yself, arguin g with myself, using the letters as a m eth od to o rd e r a n d e x ten d my own ponderings. The m ore I w rote in this way, the m o re u n certain Ilbecame. So many opinions that m ost p eop le seem ed to tak e fo r granted w ould not stand up under close scrutiny. It b ecam e increasingly difficult to make judgm ents, since I fo u n d th at the argum ents on both sides o f m any questions w ere equally con vin cin g. M ore and more things ceased to be black an d w hite an d b ecam e a-foggy grey. Should a “ crim inal” be pun ish ed , o r w as he the victim of some mental illness? Was it right to keep avhum an being “ alive” when this could only m ean p ro lo n gin g the ag o n y cjf cancer? I agonized over this last question after the d eath o f an o ld woman

10

H aun tin g Q u estion s

next door who had been very close to the family since I was a small child. Someone told me that in her last months the cancer tissue had decayed, so that the whole room smelled as if it held a rotting corpse. In talks with my foreign friends and from my own observa­ tions (I made my first big journey alone at the age of twelve), I found that morals as well as manners—what was regarded as natural and right—depended on what country you lived in, what religion you belonged to, and whether you were rich or poor. During this period there was one very practical lesson I learned. When I was in the depths of despair because my love was growing cold to me, or full of self-pity and indignation because my parents wouldn’t understand me, or tortured with regret over some foolishness I’d committed—there was always an escape, at least for a time, from the pain. If I could bring myself to make the effort to turn my attention onto my studies or onto an interest­ ing book, then I could lose myself, and the pain would be for­ gotten. I put this to the test many times. I learned another lesson. The little dachshund, who was as much a part of the family as the children, reached the age of thirteen, and then one morning he was found dead in his basket; we were all heartbroken. I was in Germany in the midst of the infla­ tion, when the same amount of money would buy today only half of what it bought yesterday. A girl I knew lost everything she owned when her house was gutted by fire. These events and many like them showed me that the only possessions that were really one’s own, the only possessions that nothing could take away or destroy, were one’s memories. I came to consider a year well spent if I carried away from it a few memories of complete happiness. Some years later I put this thought into a poem: Thank God that I can think as well as feel, And call to mind a store of memories, The one possession I shall never lose. People may die and places may be far,

11

But memory can bridge the gulf of'tim e, And holds perpetual communion That death or distance cannot interrupt. The payment made for hard-won h app in ess Is many times repaid; one glorious h our Surely deserves a willing sacrifice: It lights a candle that will always burn Before the secret altar of the heart. By the tim ed left school, at the ag e o f e ig h te e n ! s o m e things had already grown clear, but m an y q u e s t io n s ! still rem ained unanswered. When I w as about fifteen, fo r in stan c e , I ^first en coun tered a peculiar state that felt quite d ifferen t fr o m th e r e s t o f life. One day a strange em otion, to w hich I c o u ld g iv e n o n a m e , came over me. At first I thought I m ight b e fa llin g ill. It w a s a feeling that centred in the solar plexus, a lm o st lik e h u n g e r, ak in to sad­ ness but not sadness, since it w as e n jo y a b le . T h e su n ligh t was brighter than usual. The w o o d p ig e o n s in th e o ld e lm s at the foot of the back garden cooed w ith cle are r, m o r e te n d e r voices. The leaves on the plane trees in fro n t o f th e h o u se jsee m e d to stand out much m ore distinctly, an d th e g r e e n o f th e grass had a curious translucent quality. T h e sk y w a s tw ic e a s tall as lusual, and it too had that strange tran slu cen cy . M a rm a d u k e , our orange Persian cat (his n am e w as an a b b re v ia tio n o f “ the M arm alade D uke” ), w as n ot an o rd in a ry c a t, b u t th e essence of all cats. Something in me w a s a lm o st a fr a id to b re a th e , fo r fear all this beauty w ould disappear. I m o v e d slow ly , s o as n o t to dis­ turb— what? M y w hole b ody w as lik e an e ar,g liste n in g for— what? It didn’t last long. M a rm a d u k e b e c a m e a c a t ^again. The translucency evaporated. T h e fe elin g in m y s o la r p le x u s that was neither hunger nor sadness, b ut still ak in to b o th , w ent away. There was no longer anything to liste n fo r. B u t I d id n o t forget. This state returned. I never h ad an y c o n tr o l o v e r its coming or going. Rarely at first, an d then m o re frequ en tly, i|. returned-—

H aunting Q uestions som etim es just fo r a few m inutes, som etim es fo r several days on end, m ost often in the spring (I cam e to call it “ sprin g-fever” ). I grew to k n ow it by m any signs. Every im pression carried w ith it an intense em otional quality. I w as m uch m o re sensitive than usual to the vibrations o f m usic, to the m oving quality o f poetry. But while every experience had this p o ign an t vividness, this m agita f richness, som ething as yet unknow n w as alw ays callin g. There w as a con stant sense o f expectancy, a sen se o f b ein g o n the brink o f som ething trem endously big an d overw helm ingly e xcit­ ing, as though S | | | S ö s m i c m ystery w ere ab o u t to u n fo ld , so m e hidden voice disclose an enorm ously im p o rtan t secret. So on e thing w as clear to m e: ordin ary life w as n o t all th at life cöuld be. B ut the fundam ental questions still b affled m e an d w o u ld n o t leave m e in peace. I co u ld see th at the un iverse b eh av ed in an orderly fashion, b u t w hat d id it m ean ? W h at w as the p o in t o f life? W hat h ap pen ed after death? W h at w a s “ G o d ” ? W h at w a s the “ so u l” ? :W h a % a s “ I” ? , vThis la st question h ad p lag u e d m e fo r so m e y e ars. W ith m y p aren ts I behaved in on e kind o f way, talk ed in certain to n e s o f voice, fe lt certain k in d s o f ,em©ti§j|jkfÄs a stu d en t I b e h a v ed q u ite differently, m y w hole centre of in terest sh ifted, I sp o k e a n d though t an d sat in a d ifferen t way. W ith m y sc h o o lm ate s I w a s one kind o f p erso n in a crow d , an d an oth er a ga in w h en alo n e with o n e o f Ä y few friends. W ith a girl w ith w h o m I w a s in lo v e , the intonation an d tim bre o f m y v o ice ch an ged, m y m aim e rs w ere-different, I w as sensitive to d ifferen t thin gs. O n e n ight I w restled w ith this p ro b le m fo r h o u rs, w a lk in g u p an d d ow n the ;tpqm . “ U n dern eath all th ese ch aracters— the S o n , the Stu den t, the F rien d, the L o v er— there is, th e re m u st b e , s o m e ­ thing th at is co n tin u o u s, so m eth in g th a t is p e rm a n e n t; o f th a t I am con vinced. B u t w h at is it? I can ’t d escrib e it. I c a n ’t p in d o w n any o f its ch aracteristics. I can ’t feel it.” Sittin g alon e at the d esk in m y b e d ro o m , I c o u ld d e sc rib e in m y letters all th ese ro le s th at I p lay ed , b u t so m e th in g h id fr o m m y

13

Search for Truth sight the actor behind all the masks. Who w as he, th isiu actor? In vain I tried to describe what “Fhreally it never entered my bead that there m i g h t b e M ^ e t o r

vv»s.At , d°W y ~EMI

14

2 First Glimpses of the Mountain

FTER leaving school I went straight to work for a London bank. I continued tp, study in the evenings, taking courses on subjects connected with my professional work: accountancy, languages, law, and economics. The fundamental questions still concerned me deeply, and during the next few years I managed to'find time to do a^’gopd deal of reading. $ in books on the nature of the uni­ verse (for instance, Eddington’s N ature o f the Physical W orld, and Jeans’ New Background to Science and The M ysterious Universe), but although these books explained' many things, they described a world without any meaning. I read Lodge’s Beyond Physics, which only served tb Cohfirm my feeling that an unsolved mys­ tery lay behind the objects' o f sense. I found much that stimulated me in Marcus Aurelius and in Epictetus. | also discovered an old copy of The Im itation o f C hrist by Thomas ä Kempis. This appealed to me emotionally, although I could not understand much o f .it. Some kinds of pqetry also moved me: for instance, The R ubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, some of Tagore’s w orks, som e of Wordsworth. I also discovered Khalil Gibran’s Prophet, which became a favourite to which I returned many times.

15

Search fo r Truth Stories with an uncanny element, like B la c k w o o d ’|^ l« c ie « ? Sorceries, Dunsany's Tales o f Three, H em isp h eres, an d the Ighost stories o f M . R. Jam es, appealed to m y sen se o f m ystery. The process o f thought also in terested m e. I re a d The A rtp f Thought by Graham Wallas, and a few articles o n psychology. What struck me here was that^psychologists h a d p ro d u c e d [many conflicting theories, but there w as n o g e n e ral a g re e m e n t about what m ade men behave as they did. During the weekends, I often w ent o u t W alking in the Epuntryside with one or two friends. It w as a fter o n e ep tlh ese w alks in 19 2 9 , when I was pondering th ||m sig n ific a n c e o f m an again st the vastness o f the universe, that I w ro te th jP fo llo w in g p o e m : Walking through Sussex w oods pne day in M ay, When on the grass the bluebells m ade a m ist, In silence broken by the song o f: birds And whisper o f the wind am on g the leaves, I came upon a peaceful w oodland p o o l, Set in a frame o f green and brow n. I w atched The quivering reflection on its face, The green o f leaves, the branches’ M ack a n d b ro w n , The colour o f the bluebells and [the, sky; And watching, knew that I p a s nOtfalone. I saw before me, on the>other side, A figure chiselled out o f m ellow stone Standing knee-deep in sun-flecked nlüebell-m ist. Ilo o k e d , a n d W ondered, an d I a sk e d a lo u d : “ Who are ybu, with such ahcienfew isdom in Your eyes, who* watch t h e m m m e rs rcpme a n d g o , Who watch the leaves g ro w green an d re d andfifrOwn And turn to m ould below ? A re y o u a g o d , One o f the g o d s o f o ak an d ash a n d elm , The elder g o d s w ho fo u g h t the c ro ss ox C h rist? And are you le ft to d ream in S u sse x w o o d s O f knees th at once w ere b o w e d to y o u , o f tithes T h at once w ere p a id ? ” A n d fr o m th e o th e r bank Th e sh ad o w o f a v o ice rep lie d to m e:

16

First Glimpses o f the Mountain

“I watch men come and go beside the pool, And then they come no more, gone likeithe leaves, Gone like the leaves that turn to winter mould. I smile at man’s swift passing, and I smile At all his building and his breaking down, All his desires and disillusionments. A child is born, a troth is plighted, and— A gravefis dug . . The words died [oruthe breeze, and all I heard Was rustling leaves, and the birds’ symphony. I oftln' came back to the thought of death. What was the point of life if it all ended limdeath? Why should one spend one’s energies making money," o f striving to become famous, or out­ witting one’s eiiemies, or accumulating knowledge, when each day was a day nearer the grave? Looking out o f my bedroom win­ dow ajBight at the stars, I pictured the immensity o f the universe, in space and time, and felt myself and my world shrink into insignificance. T;he whole earth was only a tiny grain o f dust. But sürely we had been created for some purpose. My mind could not see that purpose; my heart refused to believe that there could be no purpose; And so a few weeks aftern iy twenty-first birthday, my confused ponderings again demanded expression: Man’s life, his span of years upon this earth, '^MisUoves and hates, his1sorrows and his joys, Wisdom and foolishness, and work and play, All things that he between his birth and death, Are but a ripple on the water’s face, Kissed into being by a breeze, and gone Like dew beneath the sun. Before his birth Was time beyond imagination’s bounds, And for his death waits time that knows no end, Twin waspe eternities. Why then this love Of life, which shrinks and trembles at the smell Of death, and strives so stubbornly to hold The ebbing tide? Pain often paves the road 17

Search for Truth

To death, but with the heart’s last beat pain dies. And after death? Dreamless, unending^sleep, Rest untormented by the Jbitterness Of broken hope and unfulfilled desire, Annihilation* nothingness? Or life Some other where, by•bonds of flesh and (blood Unfettered? Then is death a friend, and now The time to welcome him, when in'the; breast The heart is over-full with happiness. Yes—but the fragrance of the spring is here, Andin the breeze whispering— “One day deathcomes—till that day life is sweet. Go now and lie beneath tne, apple-tree, And listen tp the birds, and know thatSife ,^.Ts very sweet.” The clouds have passed away— The apple-blossom cals me, and I go. There wäs anöther line of Ihought to Which I pequently returned, centring around the division < ® |^ ry th in g into two H egorifs: material and non-material. The pen with which I was writing, the hand folding the pep, th e p ^ rd s traced on m paper-^kll these were material. But the ideas K v e y e d iw jle words, their^Mning—this was not. material." W hatw as the c S nection between these two halves o f the world, which everyone seemed to take fpr granted, but yvhich apparently nobody could explain? Liberty, equality,.fraternity—allpnmaterial ideas—had caused the French Revolution. Ideas had led men reconstruct cathedrals—and prisons. The way men had lived and died for hundreds of years had been-affected i*by the ideas in the New Testament. Material things obeyed »Certain laws; Scientists discovered them. Men applied them to move mountains, to fly in the air, to grow crops, to make cannons. One could b^certain about these laws, could predict with confidence when the surf would be eclipsed. But when it came to the invisible things, which d id n ’t be weighed and, measured, to ideas and emotions, to the soul and

First Glimpses of. the Mountain

theSspk-itsH-here there was no agreement. Instead there was a wel­ ter of conflicting theories and philosophies and religions. Men didn’t worship one w ere like tw o little birds with their beaks always open for food. We listened and took in w hat w e cou ld . A fte r each weekly m eeting we went away and tried to p ro v e in o u r o w n experience w hat we had understood O uspensky to say. P eop le o fte n used to ask him to deline the term s he used. T h ey g o t sh o rt shrift. “ You w ant labels , ” he would say. “ People think th at i f they h ave labels, they w ill understand.” We began to see why labels w ou ld n ’t h elp . H e w as dealing in con cepts quite foreign to our ordinary th in kin g, a n d therefore to

1 N o w available in English as Meetings with R em arkable Men.

32

A Path Not Trodden by Feet our ordinary language, and until we had begun to grasp the con­ cept, it was no use trying to put it into other words. We had to find enough examples in our own behaviour, and to see for our­ selves the common characteristics, in order to form these new concepts for ourselves. By this process of finding something in our own experience and then asking, “Is this an example of what you mean b y ___ |£ ? ” (and, of course, there was a whole group of people doing this together), the new concepts gradually became more clear. We were learning a new language: the language of people who thought in different categories. This was the whole difficul­ ty. Ouspensky told us again and again: “You have to try to think in different categories.” But this was enormously difficult; one couldn’t think in a new way just because one wanted to. It was like trying to make bricks out of treacle. The mind always ran along its habitual tracks. But if we wanted more new ideas, more explanations from Ouspensky, we had to earn them by bringing the right kind of observations and the right kind of questions. After ?a.time, if nobody asked any questions, he would sit silent in front of us, and even used to leave early. Ouspensky was not interested in theoretical questions, how­ ever well formulated, and often simply answered them with “I don’t know” or “I wasn’t there” or by making a joke, with his seraphic grin spreading across his face. But sometimes one of us would ask a stumbling, incoherent question, which sounded to most of those present as if it didn’t make any sense, but which came from the heart. Then he somehow divined the need that lay behind the words, and would answer carefully and kindly. Often, when he wished to lay emphasis on a particular idea, he would give short answers to all questions that he could not somehow connect with that idea. In this way, by question and answer, by testing and proving, and by searching and pondering, we soon began to have a sense of this teaching, and many of the things that sounded so strange at first began to seem obvious. It was a kind of revolution in 33

thinking, and I realised it would have been much m ore difficult had I not read as much as I had, and had I not been fgroping in my own ponderings in this direction. From the beginning 1 was attracted by the le arn in g not to believe what he said, but to test and prove his w ords against our own experience. Each idea, as I tested and proved, was borne out by the facts. Many things that had puzzled me before began to become clear—and many things that I had never sjuspected. I began to understand that this •teaching revolved around one central idea. Man, as he is, what people Ithought o f as a normal man, was not normal at all. Evolution on the scale @f humanity could only be thought of in geological time, but evolution o f Indi­ vidual man was possible here and now. However, it w as not the transformation of normal man into supBr-normal m an that was in question. First, man had to pass from sub-normal t # normal. There were great possibilities i f development, but the only place you could start from was where you actually were. A nd weshad no conception of where we actually were. We didn’t know otirselves as we were; we only knew quite illusory pictures o f .ourselves. It was not until we were able to lay aside these [distorting [glasses through which we looked at ourselves that w e could see where we stood; not until then could we see what was the first step forward on the long road that could lead first to a norm al state, j>and then beyond. It was no use trying to take the tenth step first. Then you were bound to fall flat on your face—or to rem ain up in the fclouds dreaming that you had taken the first step. When we first heard some of these ideas, that w e w ere all sub­ normal and didn’t know ourselves,>.a lot o f us bridled. I, air least, had spent years observing myself; I was sure I kn ew myselfrbetter than most people. But it didn’t take me long tovdiscover thair.I was wrong, that my “self-knowledge” was greatly exaggerated . dJsing the methods that Ouspensky suggested to see m y self iii the .act of behaving, I received surprise after surprise, shock after shock. Where was this “continuous, perm anent” e le m e n t thatsl was so sure existed when I was eighteen? I h ad to face the fa c t that it

34

A Path N o t Trodden by Feet

wasn’t only invisible: it wasn’t there at all. Where was the shad­ owy actor behind all the masks? I had to face the fact that he did not exist. The various roles played themselves, using my body, my emotions, my' thoughts, riiiy vital energy as they wished. There was nothing to stop them or check them or direct them except others of their own kind. The same feeling came over me that I had felt when trying to relax my body a few years earlier. This was simply ridiculous. I must be able tbr remember and carry out what I’d determined to do. But I couldn’t, except when it coincided with my habits, or when something outside accidentally reminded me. I felt like a prisoner, bound hand and foot. Ipjpild not remember at the time when I needed to remem­ ber, and my attention constantly evaded attempts to control and focus it. I had always thought that I had pretty good control over attention, but I soon?found that this wa&^Mply delusion. So long as mylinterest was held by something, my attention was also held bygÄBut my* capacity to wrest my attention away from anxiety or Indignation or a girl I was in love with—that was practically nonexistent. The novel effort to hold a part of iny attention away from what I was doing—so that something could stand aside from iny thoughts, my emotions, and my body, and be a witness to what was going on in them—this I could do for a fraction of a second, and then the effort collapsed. Someone told me that the alchemists had used quicksilver as a symbol of attention; I felt the alchemists were my brothers. We all started off with grandiose aims: to attain cosmic conM ousness, to know God, to serve God by helping others, to be captains of our souls. But it was not long before we began to lower our sights. These aims were all far beyond our reach. They could give us a sense of direction—they were perhaps possibilities which lay far in the future. But we soon found that we couldn’t carry out what seemed to be the simplest tasks; that we couldn’t remember from one day to the next, or even from one hour to the next, what we had determined to remember with all the

35

power of wiJJ that we couJd muster; that we w ere continually car­ ried along a path of least resistance by habits o f m ind, o f emo­ tion, or of body with a power that we couldn ’t feel so long as we went with it, but that bound us as .though w ith iron^when we tried to escape. And the influences o f the w orld aro u n d us did not help; they constandy hindered our progress. We all tried to change what we foun d imöiurselves. We saw things in our behaviour that we didn’t think p o ssib le. H ow many times did I say to myself incredulously: “B u t I’m n o t that kind of a person!” But we saw these things and h ad to acknow ledge that they existed. We were shocked and horrified. We tried to run in the opposite direction: | | rwas n o g o o d . We often :asked Ouspensky: “What should -I do to Overcome this obstacle?” He would always reply: “Do-nothing. You can n o t d o anything. Before you do, you must understand w hat ipijjecessary to do.” ‘You do not understand,” he said, “h o w com plicated the human machine is. You do not see ithef con n ection s between things in yourself. You try to change on e »thing, b u t unintention­ ally you change five other things. If you try to thin k differently, and sit in your usual position, you will fail. ”k It was enormously difficult. But there 'w as h ope. N ot the kind of hope that believes that things will au to m atically improve with time—that was simply another ob stacle in o u r way. But there was a new hope that came from a n ew w ay o f thinking, a new way of looking at our situation. W hen I w as seventeen, I wrote about the “pain dealt out by the cruelty o f life .” Now I began to see that the cause o f pain w as alw ays w ith in , an d wrote: Each year the doctors find new m edicine To heal man^s body, but no /salve o f .theirs Brings surcease to the sickness o f his soul. What ointment soothes the itch o f jealousy? What forceps draws the aching tooth o f fear? What bottle holds the draught that drives ou t greed? What disinfectant cleans the heart o f hate? Where lies the cure? Within and not w ithout.

A Path N ot Trodden by Feet Give him his every want, and still he lacks The inner peace he knows not how to seek. Man as he is, ism an’s worst enemy. Where lies the cure? It lies in man himself, If he can learn where his true profit lies, And if he will. So long as he insists fei That others, and not he himself, do cause i His suffering, so long there is no cure. One couldn’t change the world, but one could change the way it affected one. That change lay in one’s power. How? By seeing oneself as one was, and other people as they were—by tearing off the lies about oneself, which one had come to believe in, and putting the truth in their place. But one loved one’s lies. To give them up was like tearing the flesh off one’s bones. The lies had roots deep in one’s heart, and at first the truth was sim­ ply written in words on the surface of the mind. To bring the truth from mind to heart, to make it a living force that permeated the whole of one’s body—this was true alchemy, this was magic, this was transformation, this was the road to freedom. And it could be done. N ot easily. N ot at once. For moments only, at first. N ot without paying a price, some­ times in blood and tears. But it could be done. These moments proved it could be done; the taste of freedom was miraculous. Here was real ground for hope. There were other rewards. When I was able to make this enormously difficult effort of standing aside from myself, as a witness, sometimes I returned to that same state I had known and valued in my teens, in which the richness, the vividness of every sense-impression was enhanced. And that same feeling, akin to hunger and to sadness, was centred in my solar plexus. Very occa­ sionally, in these early days, I even tasted again the sense of expectancy, the feeling of being on the threshold, as though the veil that hid a great mystery was wearing thin. And there were realisations that were like giving sight to the blind. One night Ouspensky, with great deliberation, drew on the

blackboard a diagram with a lot of numbers on it. “The Table of Hydrogens,” he called it, although it had nothing to do with what chemists call hydrogen. These cosmological figures were terribly hard to understand. You couldn’t test and prove them against your experience. I watched the figures go up, one after [another. At last the thing was finished. Everyone was looking at it, trying to understand. It was like Euclid: all you could do was learn it by heart. And then the heavens opened—or rather, the barrier that separated heaven from earth vanished before myteyes. j|t was as if a shackle that had always hampered the^niovement o f my mind had suddenly been struck off. So simple, sö simple— and yet never seen before, though puzzled over innumerabM1times. rThat incomprehensible gulf between material and non-material,what division of the universe into two^u^pinmensurable Hlasses of things, which had crippled my thought f ^ ^ p a r s —simply melted into thin air. In a flash of blinding illumination, I saw that I had been butting my head against a wall that existed only in my mind. Sometimes I tried in my letters to convey som e o f thetnew feelings and realisations of these first months witmpffiuspensky: 11

i^ p y e m b e r §934

. . . The first great point is the fact that we are for nearly all our waking hours not conscious o^ ourselves. Like so much in the system, this sounds nonsense at first; but when yo u te st it out on yourself, you find it’s profoundly true. . . . I am already beginning to know what I wahllj-vaguely as yet—but, thank God, I have started early. Perhaps [fn .ten years’ time I shall have developed a little. . . . It is not what happens to us that matters, so M uch as the attitude we adopt towards it.

',3 0 November 1934 . . . Maybe I shall learn in time to carry m y; special kind- of monastery with me through the world. . . . It’s lik|;>beginning to

38

A Path Mot Trodden by Feet

p lo v e r from &Se||aus illness—with the important difference that % ,tl||s^^ wellies start with: one has to ^ ^ n y i ^aik.. to^Stand—everything from the beginning. 4 ©beemieE 1934 . . . There aceMmes now when I realise the great need I have to ■ find' an e w humility. . . . M y personality is jjust a hotch-potch of ^ rap jctin g desires, a |hSp with no p ilo t . . . Sometimes I have /thought that the best way to find the inward peace, which can m pl^c^m e when the warring parts are fused together into a harmonious whole, must fee itp withdraw from the life in which I fiave grown up, tos leave the' entanglements and complications, and lead a simpler* lifeh Yet-1 think that t© do that would be to shirk the (issue. I anitepnyinced jfe% the battle can be fought and »won. [Running fawav^would-. .never lead to victory. . . . It’s p p p allinglv tp, b&r^lind to what you don’t want to see in ® S se lf-7 -so easy say flaa oneself that these things are quite ^natural,” and ilLerefore harmless. Cancer is “natural” ; sp; ,is gpgiything, from piety to gluttony. . . . “ The beginning o f wisdom is to know that we know nothi r i g f ^ n a nt seems that m the sam e way the beginning o f being SM toknow that we are nothing . . . In the last analysis, it always pays t j^ lc e T h e facts.-Thht'pfmaid. It means being honest with rcapfself. . . . You m ay think th a t I preach-a, counsel o f perfection: that »anyone who practised it w ould need the strength of Titans, the (patience p f Penelope, the w isdom o f Socrates— or perhaps more r D u rin g th e fo llo w in g y e a rs m y life w a s cen tred ro u n d the study o f th e se id e a s a n d th e p rac tic a l w o rk o rg an ised in co n n ec­ tion w ith th e m . T h e re sista n c e s, w h ich h a d m ad e th em selv es felt fro m th e b e g in n in g , n o w b e c am e m o re active. L az in e ss, p rid e , vanity, h o p e le ssn e ss a ll a tta c k e d m e. F o r w e e k s at a tim e 1 w a s torn b y d e sp e r a te in n e r c o n flic ts. E v e ry p o ssib le d o u b t h a rrie d

45

me. Time and again, I approached bull-headed s o m e e m o t io n like self-pity, only to have all my efforts finally dissipate ill fatigue and frustration. The obstacles in my way seem ed im possible to get over or around. Everyone else was making progress; T w a s the only one either standing still or going backward. I read h o w the monks in the middle ages suffered, from “accidie,” the p e sp a ir that is one of the devil’s most subde w eapons; Äthey w e r e my brothers. I fell into every classic pitfall. I Suffered from sp iritu al pride. I worked hard, not for any need o f my ow n, but b e c a u se I wished to appear to work hard. At intervals during these years I to o k stock o f m y Situation. On each of these occasions I could . see that a great gu lf stood between me and the attainment of my aim. Indeed niy aim never stood still. As each advance was made, m ^ S ® e rsta n d in g of the task in front of me broadened and deepened. But there was progress. As I came to see things m o le clearly, new meanings appeared in many of the religious texts I h ad read before. Many of the sayings in the N ew Testam ent, fo r ^ sta n c e , gradually unfolded more and more o f their m ean in g |to|m e. jphe Bhagavad-Gita, the Upanishads, the gdialogues to® B u d d h a, the Enneads of Plotinus, the Christian mystics^ A l-® ^azzali, Ibn Tufail, the Mathnawi, the Hermetic texts, V arious ^ p h e m ic al writings, the Tibetan Book o f the «D ead—to jjill cf£ these fikwas gradually beginning to have a key, and in all o f them I w as begin­ ning to see something that w asp f äctical, w here b efo re everything had been theoretical or emotional. Often T cam e b ack to such texts at intervals of a year or more, and every tim e n e w meanings shone out at me. This was a very exciting process. There was progress too in mys external life. I w as free at; times from certain things that had plagued m e before, Such as ^impa­ tience and resentment. I began to repeat som e o f mypriatracteristic mistakes less often. And I had real friends, w ith w h o m I b a d a relationship based on our common search. I p is c o v e r e d that if one did not give up at the first sign o f fatigue o r unw illingness, one could achieve much more than one w ould have con sidered possible.

46

Maybe I went too far in this direction, doing without adequate rest, driving my body beyond reasonable limits; but in any case I earned to use my body like a horse that was carrying me, and was less at the mercy o f its animal hunger for comfort. By submitting to discipline I began to learn to discipline myself. There w as progress, and this encouraged me to persist in spite o f doubts and failures and mistakes, in spite of the recurring despondency to which I fell prey when I com pared the progress I had made with w hat still lay before me. And my aim was strengthened by certain experiences. m M ery often, in those early years, I went for a w alk late at night; forcing my legs to go faster than they wanted to, and strug­ gling to achieve and m aintain the experience o f my own existence apart from my body and thoughts. One night it had gone better than usual, and for a tim e no thoughts arose to distract my atten­ tion. I was approaching home. The street was well lighted, and there were other people about. The thought shot across my mind: “fcO leopatra w alked by now, she w ouldn’t distract me.” And a fewtseconds later; something happened. The street disap­ peared, the earth and the sky disappeared, and I disappeared. There was a momentary feeling o f absolute terror—the terror of the unknown, the unimaginable— it is impossible to convey the feeling of terror when for the first time everything that is ordi­ narily connected with the feeling o f ‘T” disappears. My body apparently w alked on for several hundred yards as if nothing had happened, turning three street corners, and I came back into it as my hands were fitting the key into the front door. I stumbled in, tears streaming down my face, sobbing like a child, and made my way blindly to a chair. “I shall never forget it, I shall never forget it,” I repeated between my sobs. My sister, who was in the room, thought that I had seen some dreadful traffic accident. My sobs slowly subsided, and then I was left with a feeling that can only be described as bliss. Only two kinds o f experience in my life before could be com pared with it— one, the state reached after sudden and complete release from agonising pain

Search for Truth that had lasted many hours; the other, the ^ecstasy experienced at the culmination of perfect sex experience. But this w as o f another order, and the thought came: “But if this is p o ssib le, how could anyone be interested in sex?” At the sam e tim e, I w as Tilled with the sense of my own unworthiness to receive such a gift. This experience was of such a profound ch aracter that ever since I have been unable to recall it w ithout tears com in g into my eyes. I have spoken of it to very few people. It is o f course impos­ sible to convey the actual state by words to anybody w ho has not experienced a similar state. But from that m om en t, I knew with unshakeable conviction that what is called h e a v en and- what is called eternity can be reached in this life, an d th at what we ordinarily call life is no more than tH ^shadow s in P lato’is cave. On this occasion, the transition had taken place without any warning. On the few other occasions when I have ha@eg»periences of this nature, they were preceded by the ■■“ th resh old g e lin g ” which I had experienced during a d o lescence. O ften I peached that threshold: very seldom ;did I pass itt/T h e feelin g eff terror was not repeated in the same degree; in fact, Iiw elcom ed this extraordinary sensation' of the disappearance o f all5the pabitual supports of my feeling of myself, this completejfeeversal o f subjective and objective. I remember the second time I grossed the threshold k wished to bring back with me into my ordinary state som e kind o f symbol that would help me to understand, if only, a little, w hat was happening. I did bring back such a symbol. It is t o & f e s o n a l to convey anything to others, but it enabled m e tOfcuSjerstand, afterwards, at least one aspect. In our ordinary state our direct experience is, so to speak, contained within the surface of our body. Anything outside the body we can only know indirectly through the medium of sense-impressions; w hat happens inside our body, and in our mind, we can know by direct experience. (I am aware that this is not a completely accurate statem ent, hut this is how it seems to us.) On the other side of- the threshold, these modes of experience are reversed: what is [inside themody 48

becomes, so to speak, outside our direct experience, and everything outside the body is known, is experienced, by direct sensation. This s completely unimaginable for anyone who has not experienced i t Our im agination b oggles at the thought o f the whole universe having the feeling o f “ F — and o f the whole sensation o f time disappearing. Those w ho read w hat I have written will perhaps dismiss all this as being m erely fantastic, and conclude that I experienced something fabricated by my imagination. In reply I would say that the im agination can only fabricate out o f the materials at its disposal. N o one can im agine anything that has no relation at all to any o f his previous experience. Try to imagine a new primary colour: it is im possible. I should have been suspicious o f these experiences if I could have im agined them before they happened. The third experience, which is perhaps worth mentioning, occurred a few years later. It w as different in various ways. In the first place, i f lasted several hours, and in the second place, I was able to talk tö»som ebody else while it lasted. We were together in the country, and my companion had been reading aloud the passage in L a Recherche du Temps Perdu where Proust describes the associations roused by the contempla­ tion of a teacake. After finishing the passage, we went for a walk, mostly in silence. Thoughts about time were turning in my head. Round a corner we em erged into a long lane with tall hedges on either side o f it. T h e leafy branches o f trees met in an arch overhead. Suddenly I saw the lane as a tunnel, converging in the distance, and I knew that I was already in all parts of this tunnel, only my disembodied consciousness moving along it— and me. At this moment a kind o f electric shock ran through my body, and I found myself in another world. We went on walking down the lane. Fortunately my com panion realised that something unusual wa& happening and made no attempt to interrupt me. I climbed over ,a small fence at one point, and said out loud in a surprised voice: “But I haven’t any body!” This state lasted for a long time, and while I was in it I understood all about time. What I understood

Search fo r 'Ruth

cannot be put into words—there are no words to convey it. The understanding was a direct experience, without any words. And so, when I returned to my ordinary state, itl was unable to retain what I had seen. All I could remember Clearly was that »many things that are insoluble puzzles and mysteries to us are insoluble only because we can’t understand time. If vfe. could, them these mysteries would simply cease to exist. Untried forlhours, but in vain, to remember what I had experienced. At first these special experiences appeared to be a kind of gift and to lack any connection with my own efforts. I never-had any feeling of having achieved them or earned them. But- after a time I began to see that there was a connection, not with the inner effort that I had been making in the hour or day or week imme­ diately preceding the experience, but with' something that [came before. In every case, there had been a period ofeweeks orgmonths in which I was engaged in desperate inner «struggle, persisting in spite of failure every day, and constantly shocked and horrified at the contrast between how I behaved and how lavished to be. I understood the depths of despair from which Paul cried out:l“For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which Ikwould not, that I do. . . . O wretched man [that I am! who shall aeliver me from the body of.this death ?” Usually these periods would come to an endEyhen I had reached the extremity of despair, and something in me gave up the struggle to conquer myself, and I put Myself, inlükm y weakness, at the mercy of a higher power. That inner prange of posture brought immediate release and peace. What thatihigher power was, I did not pretend to know, and never reached this stage of what I can now call prayer without having firstjpassed through a kind of private purgatory. Then perhaps ia few weeks later, one of these most/precious gifts would be given to me. Again I saw the law in action: ^always the price must be paid in advance, and then not paid for the sake o f any reward, but for the Jove of that which is the highest that one knows.

50

4 To Give Is to Receive

N due course the war came. Many of our friends in the group had to go away; some died. My future wife and I grew closer together and got married. The Ouspenskys went to America. We remained in England and lived through the air raids. My war work kept me very busy. It was a time of testing for all of us. P P ||jp tu a lly some of Ouspensky’s pupils made their way to America, and it became possible for my wife to join them there. After |he war was over, 1 managed to get to the United States too. Ouspensky grew ill and returned to England, where he died in

I

1947.

And then one day Gurdjieff arrived in New York. So far as we were pncerned, he Was a legendary character. Ouspensky usually refused tq talk about him at all, though of course we all knew that Gurdjieff had been his teacher. Sometimes, when Ouspensky was with a few people, he did mention Gurdjieff, relating strange sto­ ries. One time, when two of us had sat up all night talking with him, he said suddenly: “You know Blavatsky? Well, she went out to the m st—and brought back a couple of botdes of lemonade. But Gurdjieff, he brought back cases of real liqueur brandy.” , 1 do not wish to add to the legends about Gurdjieff, or to speak of his ways of teaching. Others have done that, some in such ä way as to give rise to misunderstanding. But I will record my firstpmpression of him, because that was as clear and strong as my first impression of Ouspensky. 51

I saw him in a New York hotel room. It w as not a very large room, but there were perhaps seventy people in it. We were sit. ting on chairs and on the floor, smoking and talking. And then Gurdjieff came in—and instead of there being seventy-one people in the room, there was one man, and seventy two-JSftensional figures. His health was already failing, but his inner strength was undiminished and had the same quality of rock-like inner solidity that had struck me with Ouspensky. This w as a man whom one could never forget. When he left to go back to Paris, we were all given the task of collecting new people who might bep terested in theldeas he taught, and giving them some preparation; against his return the following year. But he did not return. He died k Paris. ❖

❖

❖

The death of Gurdjieff was thie.bjeginning of|a hew phase in my search for understanding. I had gathered together a number of people who were interested in the .ideas. I felt a Bponsibility towards these people, and I was given:p|fm ission to try to share with them what I hatkunderstood. I approached this task with mixed feelings. H f e is e d that I owed a debt to those who had taught me and helped me Swards self-knowledge. I could never repay that debt to them directly, but I could make some attempt to do so by trying to pass onfwhat I had received to others, as my teachers had done to me. There was also an incentive oil a much bigger scale. I had lived through two world wars, and already in 1949 I sawjjthät the seeds of a third might be contained in the fruits o|victory/1 felt -that war was the manifestation of a sickness in men’stsouls, and the only hope of lasting peace, of political sanity, lay in th®p|tesibility |§ men changing their values and replacing their illusions with truth. This could not be a sudden change. It might well not happen at all, or only happen after centuries o f continuedmffering. One

could not m ake m en change their values by preaching at them. The Christian churches, for instance, had been preaching the gospel o f love for centuries, and yet men had still gone to war praying G od to give victory to their righteous cause, indeed had persecuted and slain one another in the name o f Christ. N o, one could n ot change men by preaching. They had to feel the need to change them selves, and be prepared to pay the price o f change. O ne could n ot do anything on a big scale to alle­ viate the suffering o f m ankind. But maybe one could lead a few people to End truth for themselves. H ow was it that the truth that I had seen for m yself h ad reached me? From others, who in turn had been helped to find it by others. Truth could five on earth only in m en’s'h earts. Through the ages, there had always been some men in w hom the truth lived. Perhaps this w as one aspect of the m eaning o f life. Perhaps if this living truth died out of the body o f m ankind, then the whole experim ent w ould be written off as a failure. * -By the'greatest go o d fortune I h ad com e into contact with this line o f teacher and pupil, which stretched back like a rope into the past. By m yself I w as insignificant: a single strand o f the fibre,' short and w eak. A nd yet the rope w as m ade o f strands twisted together, and their intimate coherence gave it strength. However small my contribution m ight be, I had a duty to see that my strand was twisted tight with others at both ends. It w as only in this way, if each person in w hom a particle o f truth were living passed the spark to Others, to as many others as he could, that in the end, perhaps centuries or thousands o f years from now, the sickness in^thfe soul o f mankind m ight be cured. I knew that my capacity w as limited, that I w as undertaking a task for which I w as not adequate. I knew that inner obstacles stood in my way. Pride, intolerance, impatience, blindness to other people’s needs— I had them all. The good memory which had made learning easy at school, the facility for form ulation which had been developed in my letter- w riting— these were twoedged weapons. As servants, directed by discrimination, they

could be useful. But if they took the le a d th e m se lv e s , they could easily guide me along the path o f least r e sista n c e , a n d I becom e a professor, in whom the truth d id n o t sp e a k , simply monkey imitating words that he has h e ard . The difficulty of passing on u n d e rsta n d in g a p p a lle d m e. The dangerous results of the m istakes I se e m e d lik e ly to m ak e dis couraged me. During the past years I h a d b r o u g h t m a n y people into contact with the teaching. Since I felt m y s e lf to b e getting so much profit from it, I persuaded oth er p e o p le t o try it. In this early enthusiasm I had made m any m istak es. Experience had shown me how d ifficu lt it w a s to fin d people who could benefit. Some people cam e o n ly se e k in g ^ n firm atio n for what they already believed, an d so c o u ld n o t h e ar anything new. Some people were repelled by th e stra n g e n e ss o f the ideas and rejected them without testing th eir tru th . S o m e p eo p le were filled with an initial enthusiasm , b u t a s so o n a s it cam e to the point of making any effort for th em selves, g a v e u p a t once. Some people demanded quick results. I cam e tb r e c o g n ise all the types symbolised by the seeds that fell u p o n d iffe re n t k in d s o f ground. It was useless to argue with p e o p le , t o try to persuade them. One had to discover people w ho h ad a n e e d a n d w e re aware of that need, however inarticulately: p e o p le w h o w e re dissatisfied in a right way— primarily with th em selves, b u t a lso w ith the usual aims o f life. Some people w ere m a d e re stle ss b y a feeling that some unknown element w as m issin g fr o m th e ir life , without which life made no sense. Som e p e o p le h a d Su cceed ed in their ambitions, only to find that su ccess d id n o t b rin g either peace or happiness. Some felt them selves to b e c a u g h t in £ vicious circle, and realised how they rep eated th e sa m e ‘m istak es, again and again in spite o f all regrets an d re so lu tio n s. O thersuw ere seeking something to satisfy their inh erent n e e d fo r fa ith , b u t had found nothing but disappointm ent an d d isillu sio n m e n t. By experience, by m aking m an y^m istakes, I grad ually learned what kinds o f people to lo o k for. It w a s n o t e n o u g h that people needed the healing and liberatin g p o w e r o f th e tru th ; they had

would

themselves to feel this need, and had to be prepared themselves to sacrifice their w ell-loved illusions. I began this new phase o f my w ork and was immediately faced with my inability to convey to others what I felt I under­ stood so well. To penetrate the m eaning o f one idea, one had to understand the m eaning o f many others. In the first few years with Ouspensky, I h ad com e to see this. Each idea o f the system illuminated the others and w as illum inated by the others. They were all m em bers o f one consistent, organic body o f knowledge. One idea could not be studied and understood in isolation, any more than one could understand a finger in isolation from the rest of the body. O ne started, o f necessity, to study many different ideas separately, but as one grew to understand m ore deeply, one saw that each id e a dealt w ith one aspect o f the w hole man. A symbol cam e to my m ind to illustrate this: I saw the whole body o f ideas as an en orm ous diam ond. One started by studying the separate facets. G radually one cam e to see how they were connected together, both by proxim ity and by their place in a pattern. But finally one h ad to penetrate the interior, where one could see at once all the individual facets and the unity o f the whole. I had grow n to realise also that one always understood m ore or less about an idea, and could never say that one’s understand­ ing was complete. O ften I had experienced a sudden intuition, as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes, which led me to exclaim, for instance: “ Oh, th at’s w hat is really m eant by sin!” But a year later I realised that it w as only one aspect o f the meaning o f sin which had become clear. To believe that one understood all about an idea was to mistake the part for the whole, and this effectively blocked any further w idening o f vision. This was why so many conflicting theories and philosophies existed, and why their adherents were often so fanatic. A man or group of men came to see one aspect o f truth more or less clearly, but they were convinced that they had seen the whole truth. So they tried to explain everything in terms o f what they had seen,

Search fo r 'R uth

and to deny or distort or disregard what couldn't* easily be explained in this way. Anybody who didn’t see things their way they regarded either as a fool or a knave. Such conflicts arose, for example, in psychology. There were many different systems and schools, but np^general agreement. How could this be so? After all these centuries, throughout which men of intelligence had studied the inner fife o f man, how was it that the laws governing that inner life had not been discovered and proved to the satisfaction of all ? The »answer, I saw, was that many men had seen one aspect, or several aspects, o f m an’s inner life clearly and truly, but believed they had seen the whole truth. Freud had seen clearly what an important part sex playsImrajbermining human behaviour, but when he tried tp explain all dream s in terms of sex, his explanations became strained aim$5pgonvincing. The experience that I was now gaining, by trying to help other people to understand the ideas o f the'isystem, gave me many opportunities to see how each idea »could be approached from many directions. Someone asked me ^qu estio n . I gave an answer that I knew from my own experience to be true. But it jpyas clear that this answer did not satisfy the questioner’s need to^know. I saw more clearly why Ouspensky had often asked those who ques­ tioned him: “Why do you ask this?” Every ip e s tio n had many answers, all of them correct—but none o f them com plete. If some­ one asks you how to paint, you must know w hether hefivants to paint a house or a picture of a house, whether to pain t a picture in oils or in watercolours. It was also useless to give an answer w hich assum ed that the questioner had had some experience w hich he h ad n ’t. I f a man asks you how to mix glue,, and you tell h im to ad d w ater until the mixture is about the consistency o f the sap th at oozes from a rubber tree, he is no wiser ifi he’s never seen an d felt sap, ooze from a rubber tree. There was another trap: the difficulty ^ rä n sw e rin g “ I don’t know.” Someone asked me a question. If I h ad been honest with m yself, I should have replied, “I d on ’t kn ow .” H ow ever, it was

56

To Give Is to Receive

often easy to produce an answer that made sense and was perfectly;true—but it was not an answer to that question; it was the answer to a related question. I made innumerable mistakes and gradually learned from them. Often, under the stimulus of a question, new understanding crystallised in me; I saw connections between things which I had never seen before. I gradually learned to speak more simply. I learned, }.too, that a fyiyid example often struck home and remained in memory much better than an explanation that was clear but general. I learned the value of anecdote and parable, of symbol instead of label. Above all, I learned that my function was not to do other people’s thinking for them, but to find ways to make them think for .themselves. Often I would mention an idea, and it was obvious that my words conveyed nothing that was alive. Then one day I would say the same thing I had said many times before, and I could see from the way someone’s face lighted up that at last the idea had struck home. This was a very rewarding experience. „ Tlearned patience, and I began to see what it was possible to give people. One could sometimes, by speaking from deeply felt emotion, stir up other people’s emotion. This could be useful, but emotion passed; it did not last. And beyond a certain point, it was not useful to arouse people’s emotions like this. It tended to make other people rely on my emotional force, and rely in quite a&wrong way on me personally, instead of relying on the truth that they had found for themselves in their own experience. This danger existed even when I myself was very much aware that the force which was^hannelled through me was not my own force at all: I was merely a vehicle through which it acted. I had no wish to gather round me spiritual parasites. Many people came to me wishing‘unconsciously (or even consciously) to find a man whom they could trust, a man on whom they could rely, a father figure in whom to put their faith. In this they were of course disap­ pointed. Some people were able to understand that it is foolish to pin your faith on any man, that the only sound basis for faith is

Search forß vith

your own experience of truth. They ffioSerstood Buddha:

’the saying of

Therefore, Ananda, be ye lamps unto jfo'urselyes, be ye a refug^to Mirselves. Betake yourselves toraratecnal refuge. Hold fast to the Truth as-a lamp; hold fast to the Truth ■ as amjlfuge. Look not for a refuge in ^iyone^ s id e ^ ^ rse lv e s. Isawtheideaslikea set^iiarpentfer’Mcjols. T h e qnlyithkgs I could give people were tools a n d K v ic e on |h p w |to juseuhem, But I could never use; tp} tdpls foM ppet? p f o p le jp ifd M i r a i never be sure what use-people would make ofp|em.fe'Omejp.eople put the whole set of tools in aiglass ease ai^ s n o w e d th em off to visitors: “Look atdl kesiw pnderful tools pfehave1! Y4h m o|Kt m l ' tools like this everywhere!” 'S jiiehha man t l Ä o b l s i w ere w o # than uselessj because thekpossession made him think thatlhe pas superior to other ^ |f e - - p h c ^ d ^ rtp6!&,SfflGli m ils : Others did at least try totuse the: tools, btak they didnft a flask in which I had brought water to drink.; “You need the water. You do not need the flask for its own sake. But you cannot have the water without the flask. The body §s the . flask.” He paused. “A man’s second duty is to his family, his home, his country. His third duty is to his profession. He should do what Is? necessary to carry out these duties. The rest o|jh|s time should be for God.” ■ p i t isfcveryv difficult, Father,pi said, “to know just what is tgragmhessary. There aretso many false ideas about duty.” |!j “Am än must use his mind,” he replied. “It is like driving a car among many ^obstacles. It is the discrimination of the mind that must guide a man round the obstacles.” The [Australian doctor was very much interested in problems connected with pain, and had made much use of hypnotism as a means of relieving pain. He asked the Baba about this. “Pain is inevitable,” the Baba said. “If you know the cause of the pain, then you can bring some relief by medicine. Otherwise,

131

Search fo r Truth you have to learn to bear it. Pain an d p le asu re , h e a t an d cold, these are things that com e an d g o .” H e p a u se d a n d lo o k e d at the doctor. “T h e trouble is that y ou dislike p ain . Y ou n e e d to learn not to dislike it.” T h e doctor pondered for a w hile. “Y ou say o n e should not be at the mercy o f either pain or p leasu re. B u t h ere, now, in this peaceful grove o f beautiful trees, w ith the b ird s sin gin g, should one not take pleasure in these th in gs?” “ H appiness which com es from such im p ressio n s as these is not w hat I m ean by pleasure,” rep lied the B a b a . “ N o th in g bad results from that.” The doctor pondered again. “ B u t surely o n e sh o u ld dislike evil?” The Baba smiled. “N o , this is q u ite u se le ss.” The doctor asked a question ab ou t m esm erism , referring to something said the previous day. “M esm erism is not g o o d ,” said the B aba. “ T o o m uch force is used. It is like too much electricity bein g p a sse d th rough a wire that is too thin.” The doctor asked how m uch sleep a m an n eeds. “A man should sleep from five to eigh t h o u rs a nigh t,” said the Baba. “ It depends on the am ount o f ph y sical exertion . I do no physical work, so I need only ab out tw o h o u rs a day.” I offered the Baba an Am erican cigarette, w hich he accepted, remarking that they were stronger than the E n glish type. “ Food, drink, sm oking, sex— everythin g sh o u ld be within m easure,” he said, “in accordance w ith the n eed s o f the body and the capacity o f the nervous system . O n e sh o u ld fill h alf the stom ach with food, a quarter w ith w ater, an d leave the other quarter empty. As for sexual experien ce, m a n ’s g reatest expen­ diture o f vital energy is through to o frequ en t se x u al indulgence. A man should not have sexual experien ce m o re often than once a m onth, and when two children have been b orn , then man and wife should live together as b rother an d sister. S e x is the worst rouser o f passion s.”

132

"Physical Separation Is No Separation Bpi&skecl him what it was that is referred to in the Katha Upmishad as the “Nachiketas fire.”

iP It^i#- theiburning, one-pointed direction of the mind towards G od,” he replied. (all* asked about the value of prayer with words. äj§|vBoth prayer with words and visualising the image of God are useful^ the Baba answered, “because they can lead towards tl^wördless striving of the heart towards God, which is true meditation.” IpAfter pk long silence he spoke again. “Nothing can take the place cglpbvelation. Nothing except this can give a man the knowledge o f reality. What a man experiences through his senses is orlpmuching the fringe of reality. One second of revelation is all that is necessary.” ^ “And in the moment of revelation,” I asked, “does a man I experience directly the reality of the universe, and the laws by | which ifexists?” “Yds. This cannot be described.” ' He paused. “The whole of man’s life in the absence of the consciousness o f G od is a kind of dream. It is only in this dream that all the pairs o f opposites—good and evil and so on—appear to exist.” “What happens after the death of the physical body?” I asked. I “After that death, the subtle body stays near the physical bodyIfor a time and then leaves it and goes to another planet. Later it takes another gross body. This process is repeated again and again until G od is realised.” “How much longer,” I asked him, “do you intend to go on living in this body?” “About two years more,” he replied. “There is very little energy left in this body now.” “I have heard,” I said, “ that the heavenly bodies—the earth and the other planets and the stars—are living beings of a level higher than man. Is this so ?”

"Yes," be «aid, *it k Matter is only the outward form energy, and where there is energy, there is intelligence * *1 hare also heard,* I laid, “that the solar system « a wl . is a kind of living organism. Is it tike that?* "Yes," he replied, “with the sun like the heart and the j>u ets tike hands, feet, and so on.* "Then astrology is a real science?" I asked. "Yes, it is." 1 asked turn about bringing up children "Anyone who feet tha respoonbibty icnauily," I said, *mun ako fed how madr.; he is» carry it oul I can underwand that m order to prepare (hiJ dren for life» ooe must give them food, abetter, clothing, ^ education. But how to prepare children to respond tmonocuii, in the tight wty to what life confronts them wtih?" "When they behave wrongly," he replied, “one m m td them that that is nor the way to bdmvc They «Hi undent.» One has to find the way to mop the formation of had kafon before they get too well rarahlwhed. After that it» very ibffi . "And what d o n sex?" I asked *How can ooe kelp them to understand rightly about thk?* *They can ndcnm d without difficulty,* he said, "if they are fok) in the right «mp* About noon be mid that it was time for bun to rest for i while. The doctor had left some tunc prwtoudv l told but I had touKtfctag with me to eat His Mandant« trowed me so s nual open room in tie Imk building where they lm. I sat doomou tbe Poor and aie and drank. Then I by down n my back and tuud. After some timt I woke, very drank sad put atI duags together. The moment I bad finished, one of tbe amndaata earn# so tbe door and indicated ibat the Baba bad ftniibtd kwmut, and I mfomed him.

Shortly afterwards a Imgi famfiy of Hindi» came to vuu ■ »cfodma a mry old womm and several «mal dbddren They afi appeoaebad hbn widl gram naveline and knatd b» fnt

m Ü y *n tl jtpmattnm 1$ No k p M M

,jgg pomf th « thrp «Kowrvi hon ■ daodouncd area m ftr doak «*

ggi«! mhI gftft and bkmmdr mämi Im oftn Moddto daor dem « 0 had heard that ho wm* mum nwrt ddi dnaar m ear ft f t * im a H d *iu (radninm trxjm the Bobnt freten » i tad m al f t * hr w *» leOing them to take the k **e » at $ e tn a * jdam, a #

A a tiiK lH ^ ia d fn ^ ilijp iH c w ii J i a i a H * After * turn ifte Hindi fcaft left. hmI a nftrir knar maftn aftflfhni. whtrlebeequent'i lt n a ii« iik ^ ft p in lc M | ll v n ft*, M 1 M m n b rr. who madr a n n ah Nftmi twv ■ f t d i M u | m tparenfiy ^iyisits Europe from time’to time and has con^Jj .|p ftio n s pfith in Italy ahdan Austria. The previous year he h ad^ gbne ^A u stria to? have treatment for some physical conditionM md h p |e c o m e sjjjpfously ill as-the result of being given an injec- * tion. H e w as n o w raracb better, but had not yet fully regained Ms * strength,-and w a sp till veryfthin. - MiFell' m e,” Ö said, “I do not wish to behave like a barbarian. Arethere any particular courtesies of which I should be aware? Or ?|hwdrticular cnsbourtesieswMch I might inadvertently commit?” ■ fM oth in g particular,” he replied. “If he receives us in the house, ypu M o u ld remove your shoes. But if we sit in the garden, that will pot b#necessary.” ^ “-Would it bepiscourteous,” I asked, “to speak without any ^ p im in a r ie s of the questions that really interest me? I know that lllfu s in e s s dealings here it is normal, and indeed polite, to spend 'Some time' at the beginning of a conversation talking about mat­ ters o f nqi particular interest, and it is considered brusque or illm an nered to broach immediately the subject wMch is the purpose of the m eetin g.”

» “N o,” he said, “you needn’t worry about that sort of thing with him.”

147

Search fo r Truth The car drew up at a door in a high w all. T h e door was opened by a smiling attendant, and we stepped through into a garden, roughly square, surrounded on three sides by walls. On the fourth side, to our left as we entered, a sh o rt flight o f steps led from the garden to a long open veranda, behind which rose the house. In the centre o f the garden there w as a po o l o f water bordered by shrubs and flowers. The attendant motioned us tow ards the ».house. As we reached the foot of the steps a voice called from the far end of the veranda, and my friend said there w as n o need to remove our shoes. As we mounted the steps I h ad my first sight o f the mas­ ter; he had been reclining on an iron bedstead at the end of the veranda, and rose to greet us as we approached. I h ad nor partic­ ular preconceived idea o f what he m ight lo o k like, but I had rather expected to find someone dressed in a robe, perhaps of the kind one sees worn by a mullah in the streets. But the Sufi was wearing an ordinary pair of trousers o f a dark*-,colour and a very clean white shirt with an open neck. H e w as a very ihandsome man, who wore his beard clipped fairly short. H is black hair was shot with grey. His eyes were brown, at the sam e time soft and penetrating. My friend led the way, and they greeted one another with a kiss on both cheeks. I put out my hand. T h e Sufi took it and drew me to him, and we also kissed. H e sat dow n on the bed, and we took chairs on the other side o f a small two-tiered table on wheels, where cigarettes, matches, and ashtrays w ere set out. The Sufi spoke a certain amount o f G erm an, h u t nojEnglish. My friend therefore acted as interpreter. O ur c explained th at this really means not being satisfied with any B p p a r e n t an sw er to on e’s seeking— to go on seeking always for an ahsw eribehin d the answ er one has found.

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They agreed that in many texts “mind” is [used in two sens! es. The lower mind is contained, like-'everything else, in the I higher mind. Meditation is essentially the search of the lower mind for the higher mind.

21g

A P P E N D I X III

R U T H

F U L L E R S A S A K I'

I

|first m et M rs. Sasaki in her study at Ryosen-an in the com^R to u n d o f the Daitoku-ji monastery in Kyoto. I Mypfirst im pression was one of a straightforward, down-to(earthBvoman w ho spoke of practical problems and methods in a practical way, and w as not interested in theoretical speculation. ■ W h a t follow s is what I recall of our conversation, not neces- : Isarily in the order in which the topics were discussed. R S h e explained that Ryosen-an, of which she is Abbot, was a B o r d e r g a r t e n ,” in which people who wished might begin the K aem en th ry practice o f Zen. If they were able to reach a certain ^ o i n t f th e y w ould continue their studies in one of the Zenjfl M onasteries under a master who could guide them further. At a ro rese n t, there are no hving quarters for her students, who h a v « ;to g fin d lodgings in the town of Kyoto. It is hoped to construe® M in g quarters for them when money is available. i Fäsked how people began to learn how to control attention, gone spoke o f the importance of right posture for meditation, in • Mhich theP spine should be perfectly erect from tail to head, without"' any Unnecessary muscular tension. She described the M ethod o f breathing, saying that it was similar to the breathing lofpinim als, or o f people physically asleep, and demonstrated |what; shfe meant. The out-breathing is slow and very quiet, the K ings being held empty for a brief moment before the next Kreath it taken. . . . 'H u g h Ripm an and Ruth Sasaki corresponded for many years. This is an raicount &f their first meeting (1959), from which portions of Chapter 5 M ere taken. We have also included two letters from HBR to Mrs. Sasaki ph at relate to tm §conversation. These are followed by extracts from a let­ zter «^ M ild re d Ripman describing another meeting with Mrs. Sasaki in 1 l963. 217

Search for Truth The eyes are directed forwards and dpwnwards, so that they are not quite closed. The whole upper body must be free, and the body is thought of as a solid whole: in other words, no head, arms, legs appended to a trunk, but the entire body|nonolithic. The state where the whole body is sensed as not “I” comes some­ what later in the course of practice. Once the position has been taken, in which the body can be relaxed and comfortable so that it does not distract the attention or, by unnecessary tensions, impede the blood-flow, the feeling of ‘1 ” must be withdrawn from the involuntary movements of thoughts, which are like the waves of the sea. The centre is at the common apex of two triangles, the bases of which are the legs and the shoulders: that is, between the base of the abdomen and the base of the spine, “or perhaps we should call it groin.” That which feels both body and thoughts as not “I” then watches the movement of involuntary thought die down. The leading monk corrects the positions of the students. He uses the sharp edge of the stick on students when they are lazy or drowsy or guilty of some misdemeanor. The flat side of the stick is used at the request of the student monks to bring circulation into the shoulder muscles, which have become tired from long sitting. The classical Japanese position for yromen is to sit on their heels; for women to sit with their legs crossed like men is,regard­ ed as an indecent posture in Japan. She herself, however, when studying at Nanzen-ji, had adopted the man’s; posture, and was sure that the classical woman’s sitting position had positive dis­ advantages. She spoke of a point which ,ds: reached in meditation when the consciousness sinks through the body to the centre,,of the earth (and feels as though it would never come back), and she said that the woman’s sitting position acted as a block to this process. Concerning the koan exercises, she said the first was usually the hardest, and that it could easily take three or four years’|work to experience the aspect*of truth symbolised by it. She explained

218

Appendix III

[that while to the ordinary mind the koan problems made no B n se, when a higher mind functioned, each koan was experi­ enced as £ symbol of an aspect of the real world (the D h arm akaya Kvorld)).j which* symbolised most beautifully a particular aspect of |truth.feach aspect of truth was symbolised by a main koan, to Eyhich were related subsidiary koans. The truth which they sym­ bolised could not be expressed in ordinary, logical language. One Baust fleam to drop the koan into the thought-sea, and let it work Biere. & In the Monasteries one week in each month is spent in conBnuous meditation, interrupted only by the ingestion of food and ithe evacuation of physical waste. These weeks are passed without ■ any word being spoken, the routine of the day being regulatedby B e lls and wooden clappers. Since the war, the regulations have* B e e n relaxed to some extent, and monks do garden work and E th e r small jobs during this meditation week. Also, while con| versation is not encouraged, it is not prohibited. K s h e herself had not been bothered by the cold,in the winte| E th ich , | had heard, many Europeans find one of the most diffi- ^ K u lt ;things. She spoke of sitting in the snow at Nanzen-ji, and of E e ttin g two fingers frozen without being distracted by it. “You ■ team ,” , she said, “to generate the heat you need, and when you ■ have learned how to do this, you can feel the radiation of it in K rö n t of your belly.” H I , asked whether one could think of the Dharmakaya world ■ a s interpenetrating this world as water in a sponge*, she said no, I it was both water and sponge. Kr It; was said that to practise Zen three dungs are essential: B i g h t faith, doubt like a ball of iron, and infinite patience. ■ T e w people are interested. This is of no consequence. Those K f ew will find their way. All that is necessary is to make the oppor■ tunitv known. There is no sense in proselytising.

I

July 1959 219

LETTERS TO RUTH SASAKI 2 6 A u gu st 1 9 6 0 D e ar M rs. Sasaki, M an y thanks fo r your letter o f M a y 2 0 , in w hich y o u w ere k in d enough to correct and am plify m y rec o rd o f o u r co n v ersa­ tion in Ju ly last year. In your letter, speaking o f the p ractice o f p u sh in g o u t the low er abdom en w hile the lungs are h eld eirijsty; y cm *W ite:g|T liis is called putting pow er in the abdom en an d is an im p o rta n t p art o f the exercise.” T h is expression (“ it i ^ a h e d ” ) h u g h t m ean that the “ p ow er” is only a figure o f speech. I sh o u ld like to ch eck with you that in fact this is n o t so. In m y experience, w hen the m uscles o f th e b o d y are Ipälly well relaxed, and the ordin ary ^movement o f -thought h as died down, it becom es'possible (though p erh ap s only a fter am u m b er o f years’ practice o f this and other exercises) to be sensitive to a kind o f subtle m atter, o r vibration, o r ‘fb f£ e w hich m ay p ervade the body or by an act p j^ ^ p l be draw n in to co n cen tratio n in a particular p art o f the body. . . . There is another kind o f experien ce, allied to this but' distinct in which one becom es sensitive to a k in d ö f^ p M ife ss ocean o f vibration o r force o f this n ature, w hich ^ r e tc h e s indefihitely in all directions, p ervading o n e’s b o d y an d everything around it— an “ o cean ” to the ebb an d flo w o f w hich o n e ’s body presents no im pedim ent. M y p erson al Sym bo l fo r this experien ce is “ fish an d p o n d .” Is “ putting pow er in the abdo m en ” co n cern ed w ith the con ­ centration o f a stifitie force o f this n ature? . . . I hope I am n ot w asting yo u r tim e w ith these [questions. I speak o f things w hich I k n ow jip ln f Experience rep e ate d m any times not to be m ere subjective th in gs; bu t th ese p articu lar e x p e ­ riences m ay perhaps have nothing to d o w ith the m eth o ds you have practised.

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^fiflyouhaveExperiencedthesamething... Iwouldaskyou ^swer s&me ofrthe questions which1haven’t asked, for Mstance about the natureof theseforces andtheirrelationto reaeh other andjtotheenergiesw hichactasfuel,sotospeak, for rauraosdinaryfunetions. Thereisawholeraftofotherquestions BmichI Shoulddiketo,explorefurtherwithyouintheeventthat Kohdonmireplythatfromyourpointofviewallthiskindofphenomena is notinteresting. H My w ifejoinsmeinsendingyoubestwishes. Yourssincerely, HughRipman |o

Search for Thith 26 October 1960

DearMrs. Sasaki, Iammostgrateful foryourletter of Octoberp'6, andvery muchappreciateyourhavinggivenso.muchtime toanswering myquestions, thoughtheyarefromyourpointoj|yiewppipheral andnotofcentralimportanceatall.'Allthatyousayisinteresting tome; andespeciallytheveryclearwayyouput theaimonthe firstpageofyourletter.1 Ihopeto.cometoJapaninthespring, andshalllookforward verymuchtoseeingyouthen.... P^'iVery^^ppely, ^rH ughf e pman

'Thereferencedstatement: JapaneseZenpeopletalkaslittleaspossibleabout howtopractice meditationorwhattakesplaceduringit.Theyare^apttosay: “Justsit ^downcross-legged, MMqtus.or.full-lotusifyoucan, orifyoucan’t, sitinachair. Breatheslowlyand,countyour®]eaths,.andput.your powerinyourabdomen.”Andthatwillbethebeginningandtheend. About“forces” theyneverspeak, ribrdofheyminkalput things in that fashion, I amsure. Theyaimbythis practice fipstKto|still the active,thinkingmindandtömakeitclearlikeastillpondfromwhich allscumhasbeenclearedandin$whiehthereisnotraceo&debris,just deep, .clear, transparent water. Orlikeabright mirror fromwhich everytraceofdusthasbeenremovedsothat:itreflectsperfectlyevery­ thingpresentedtoit. Thentobethats'till||?aosparentwater, or the perfectlyreflectingmirror.AtthatpointthereKiipthingwe-cancall thinkinggoingon,butacertainawarenessiskeptalert, pairticularlyin meditationonakoan. I ll

LE TT ER TO MILDRED RIPMAN

12 February 1963 M pThisfis really the first time I’ve managed to get enough time ■ to sit down and write to you. R l h e 'journey from Washington to Hong Kong was routine, [bujtfather tiring. . . V [from Hong Kong] took a Cathay Pacific plectra (funny to travel on a propeller plane after all these jets) which stopped en route at Taipei—and landed in Osaka at about K dnight. A number of people came down from Tokyo to greet p ie ... . if We drove to the Osaka Grand Hotel, and then I sat up talkp ig to my two men from the Bank till about 2:30 a.m.. 1/ On my arrival at the hotel I found a message to ring up M rsa pasaki in Kyoto—and another message from Ohta saying he Eyished to accompany me if I visited her. So during the next|| Morning—when the schedule was being arranged—I got into pouch with her. She was extremely friendly and said that although® ishe had made previous engagements she could put them off ifT repuld come to see her. So I arranged to see her the next morning?! (Sunday). . . . i ’ We left thfe |§tel (Peter and I) at 8:00 a.m. and drove tb Kyoto, which Peter hadn’t visited before. After seeing several memples, I left Peter . . . and went off to meet Ohta at Mrs. Ejasaki’s. She was very warm and friendly, and we had a very nice Bfnversation lasting about two hours. Then to lunch with Peter land some Japanese businessmen at a Western-style hotel. After Punch we visited the Imperial Palace and the Katsura Detached Ralace and the Golden Pavilion—then to dinner at Kyo-yamoto »(the Japanese restaurant way up the hill above Kyoto) where B efore dinner we painted some plates. And after my first geisha Bbarty I felt as though I had never been away from Japan—except ■ that my legs were very stiff when I got up from table!. 11 I My-fconversation with Mrs. Sasaki was very pleasant indeed. tShe asked after Mme. de Salzmann, whom she had met both in

Search for Truth Paris and the last time she visited N ew York (she w as in N ew York when Stanley was here, and so didn’t meet him). She said o f Mme. de Salzmann: “She is a wonderful y|6man'—what I like about her particularly is that she has lots o f guts. I like people who have guts.” I asked her about the translating work--they are doing, and gather that one book should come out this fall, and hopefully another one next year. They have evidently ^studied L u k ’s trans­ lations pretty carefully. She said that they were the best available right now, but that he was much m ore com plicated than he need be. She read me some o f the translation she is currently working on, which she said was almost literal, with no; attem pt to explain anything—and I m ust say that it w as (extraordinarily clear land forceful. I described to her my recovery from the stroke, and sheSwas much interested—particularly about the;-developm ent o f the dream in the waking state. She said that this w as veryjm uch the way Zen students w ork pn ^ p aw ^ -d ro p p in g the koan dow n into the subconscious and watching w hat happened itp i t there. You went to your m aster one or m ore tim es a day to rep o rt w hat w as happening, and m ost o f the time he dism issed w hat you brought as im agination— n o t even bothering to say anything ab o u t it, but just ringing his bell as ä sign o f dism issal. She also stressed very m uch that the w hole p u rp o se o f the sitting m editation and the w ork on koans w as to op en the w ay.for access to the higher levels within you, and that all this w as quite pointless unless it had an im m ediate an d p ro fo u n d effect on the way you lived your life. She im plied that each koan sym bolised an aspect o f truth which h ad to develop in to a livin g p a rt o f o n e ’s attitude to; on eself and to the w orld, cm w hich iohe’s resp o n se to the w orld w as based. I told her som ething ab o u t the w o rk on fear w e have been doing. She w as quite interested. W hen I said {h a t it a p p e a re d that with m ost p eople all the superficial fears w ere on ly sy m p to m s o f the underlying anxiety ab o u t w ho on e w as, an d the basic fear that

224

Appendix III | f one peeled all the skins off the onion nothing would be left— softhat people were always compelled to seek acceptance, appre­ ciation, p r a is e , etc. to bolster their pictures o f themselves, she Said: [“ Poor things—they have to face, like our students, the basic Question, W ho am I?” B | She spoke also about how in Zen meditation students had to [learn both n ot to be caught by what arose in the mind, and also [not to fight it or push it away, but simply let it go on as so m e th in « alien tofthemselves and what they were concentrating on. I asked plhether this w as one of the reasons why they centred their fe e la p i g o f themselves in the belly. She said yes, and that in the lotus« p o sitio n the Circulation o f blood in the legs was reduced^ and b y i concentrating on the belly the circulation to the brain was also ! pre^iuced. A ided by their technique of breathing, the w h olfl ^ r e n g th o f the blood circulation was concentrated in the lower? p a r t o f the torso. From our point of view, this means, I think, that Ithe centre o f gravity of the emotional centre is supplied with an E n u su a l am ount o f blood— and so I guess this would stimulate Ith e m ind o f the emotional centre (the highest part of the centre). | which is one o f the gateways to higher emotional and higher B n en tal centre—which the koan exercises are, I am sure, designed K t4 help the student reach. . . .

225

Epilogue

O M E people who have read the manuscript of this book fear 'that it may give a false impression: that readers may conclude Because almost nothing is said about my external life, that I am a [inan whose face is' turned away from the world, an impractical Breamer with an unhealthy tendency to introspection.’ I feel Pierefore that at this point it is necessary to try to clear away pom e common misconceptions. I; “A man whose face is turned away from the world”—this implies detachment from the world, renunciation of the world, land is very often interpreted also to mean lack of interest in the iworlc| indifference to the problems and sufferings of one’s fellow p ie n , exclusive concentration on things that do not belong to the Kporld—abandoning mankind for God. »"'M any men and women have done something like this. In any Bjirdinary religious community, Christian or other, there are Elw ays some who have retired from the world because they could ■ hot face thejrfspbnsibilities of life. But such men and women canI not leayC themselves behind at the gate of the community; they raannot help bringing what they are, including all the weaknesses ■ that prevented them from facing successfully the responsibilities ip f life, with them into the community. Outward renunciation is nothin g, as die Tantric yogi said, without inward renunciation; lan d if a man 'has renounced the world inwardly, he has no need I tearenounce it outwardly.

S

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Search for Truth

What is the real meaning of non-attachment, detachment, renunciation? It is essentially a question of values, of where one’s treasure is. Inwardly, to renounce the world means first o f all realising that the world of the senses, and men’s external activi­ ties in that world, are not the be-all and end-all of hum an life— and are not even the most important part of life?, This is not at all the same thing as rejecting the world and worldly activities as if they had no importance at all. No, there are not only two alter­ natives: to care exclusively for the world, or to cafe, nothing for it. “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and » f p God the things that are God’s.” Both iQurdjieff a i^ ^ « |;e n s k y spoke of the system of ideas that they taught as ^ & n g i n g to the Fourth Way—the way that does not require a man to, turn his back on life, but can and should be followed in tmcmids.t o f life— the way for which life provides, the mdispensabli^challenges and opportunities, and the atid test of.progress. He who has not renounced the world, he w ho is attached to the world, takes the world’|yalues as the Only^yalues; he who is attempting to renounce the world inwardly, changes the point o f view from which he regards the world,^.so that h e .sees., the world’s values not as ends in themselves, not as being capable by themselves of giving sense to life. He sees the activities o f life as a means for growing, for developing his capabilities. H e d g e s n q | try to run away from the responsibilities.with which lifex o n fro n ts him, but recognises that to face and fulfill those, responsibilities is a necessary condition for his own progress. Inner M rength can never be gained by running away from, responsibilities— that is the mark of the man who is still a child in his emptional reac­ tions—but by welcoming them and trying to meet them sto the best of one’s abilities, not for the sake of. money or fame or power, but because in this way one can learn how to pwerco m e one’s own weaknesses and shortcomings. This has been clear tk me from the '..time i l p r st g e t Ouspensky: life and “the Work” are not opposed. The influences of life pull in one direction; the influences of the Work, in

228

Epilogue a n o th e r direction— but the Work is essentially c o n c e r n ^ with 'M □Taming how to live one’s life in a manner befitting a creature m jm ade; in the im age o f God. If one imagines oril has m a d e * p r o g r e s s, h p achieved something in one’s inner life, and it c a n ä * m ot be p rov ed in the way one responds to the demands of one’s * B fc u m st|ih c e s, then one is deceiving oneself. M oreover the fact m p h at the inÜuehces o f life—-both those of external life and those B a sin g f|p m on e’s o w n n ast life— pull one away from one’s c h o ^ | cseil defection a necessary condition of progress. Strength p f * lanjy k in d is; only -gained by overcoming opposition; will is o n l y * BM ^ngthened by m aking difficult choices and persisting in t h e * face @ppptäcles. k A n d so itfhappened with me, that as I began to set my f o o ^ B on the path that leads up the symbolic mountain, life began t o * ^ p i f r o n t m e with greater responsibilities, to present me with new ^ ■ p l l e n g e s J i p give m e new opportunities to develop whatever \ gifts a ^ ssessed in m ind and body. K T h e n ibun tain calls to those whose eyes are not exclusively | | x e d on the g roun d beneath their feet, whose horizons are not n im ite d to the level on which they are standing, whose hunger p a n n o t le T ille d by bread alone. I am con vinced that I am not in any way out of the ordinary

p h i t h ^ * p e r i e n c e s w hich led me to seek a way up the mountain. M y o n lS p is tin c tio n is that I have had the extraordinarily good K lr tu n e ^ to lm e e t guides on the way. M any people may not have R ia d th a t g o o d fortun e, and some may perhaps have become B p i g n e d an d given up the search. Other people may still be B p r c h i n g , b u t p erh ap s feel discouraged by the fact that they seem | t o be a lo n e . T h ese p eo ple are my brothers and sisters, o f many ■ ra c e s a n d b re ed s, an d it is to them that my book is intended to | carry a in e s s a g e o f com radeship and hope.

229

j|pj asterisk indicates a classic text, available in many editions and trans­ lations, where HBR’s preferred translation is unknown. The listed transla­ tion is an arbitrary selection. B-G hazzali. The Alchemy o f H appiness. Claude Field, trans. J. Murray, 1910.*

B ^ondon:

_______• A l-G h azzali’s M ishkat al-Anwar. [“The Niche for

B

■

Lights”] W. H. T. Gairdner, trans. London: The Royal Asiatic 1924.*

Blociety,

Krnold, Edwin. The Ligh t o f A sia. New York: George Routledge & Son s,

18|S.

■ Attar, Farid Ud-din. The Conference o f the Birds. C. S. Nott, trans. B p n d o n : ® ti J anus Pressj 1954. K l f l f wond. Algernon. A ncient Sorceries and Other Tales. London: 1927.

H o llin s,

ffiunne, John William. An Experim ent with Time. London: A. & C.

B l a c k , 1927. Bmsany, Edward J. Tales o f Three Hemispheres. London: T. Fisher E^Jnw in, 1920. a ld in g to n , Arthur Stanley. The N ature o f the Physical World.

B p ä p b rid g e : The University Press, 1928. Space, Time and G ravitation: an Outline o f the General w K elativity Theory. Cambridge: The University Press, 1920. Epictetus. M oral D iscourses, Enchiridion and Fragments. W H. D.

B lo u s e , ed., Elizabeth Carter, trans. New York: E. P. Dutton,

■ 1957/

fevans-Wentz, W Y., ed. The Tibetan Book o f the Dead. London:

B u f o r d TJniversity Press, 1927.

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Kempis, Thomas a. O f the Im itation o f C hrist. London: O xford University Press, 1921 Khayyam, Omar. R ubaiyat o f O m ar Khayyam . Edw ard FitzGerald, trans. Louis Untermeyer, ■ ed. New York|j Random Mopse, 1947.*. Lodge, Oliver. Beyond Physics: the R e alisa tio n W mMechanism. London: G. Allen & Unwin, 1$30. Lu, K’uan p& [Charles Luk], ed. and' ttih s f ß h -an an d Zen Teaching. London: Rider, I960. Maeterlinck, Maurice. The L ife o f*Sp ace. London: G. Allen & Unwin, 1928. M arcus Aurelius. M editation s. M axw ell S tan ifo rth , Harmondsworth, Eng.: Penguin Books, 1 9 6 4 .*

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Klotinus. T h e E n n e a d s . Stephen M acK en na, trans. Lon do n : Faber I & Faber, 1 9 3 0 .* ffiroust, M arcel. R e m e m b r a n c e o f T h in g s P ast. [A la R ech erche d u WmFemps P erd u , 7 vols., 1913-1927] C. K. Scott M on crieff, trans. K Jlv ols. N ew York: Random H ouse, 192 7 .* fPurohit Swami, Shri, trans. T h e G e e ta . [B h a g a v a d - G ita ] London: K; Faber & Faber, 1935.

Epiirohit Sw am i, Shri, an d W. B. Yeats, trans. The Ten Principal H Mpanishads. L on don : Faber & Faber, 1937.

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Bibliography Rumi, Jalal Matbnawi of Jalalu’ddin Rumiifkeynold Alleyne 'Nicholson, eatfarid Jträns. I|p3ils.‘ London:‘Luzac 8c Company, 1925.* Senzaki, Nyogen, and Paul Reps.KransV 101 Zen Stories. London: Rider, 1939. Also included in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. Paul Reps, ed#Rutland, Vt. ^Charles Ef Tuttr8^(^^rolny^J^ ^ ; Suzuki, Daisetz Teitaro. Essays ihZ^M jXddhism . ^ ^ ls§ L o n d o n : Lüzäe 8c Goldpany, Waddell, Helen, ea. and trans. T fäiffl^ i& F c fih e rs. feLöndon: i^Constable 8c Company, l S ^ - V Wallas, Graham. The A rt o f •Thought. New gaslki Härcourt, Brace 8c|Cqmpany, 1926. Walker, Kenneth. Venture ?withVTdeas. llBon&ori: |||n*athan 1951.

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Wilhelm, Richard, and C. G. Jung. The Secret o f-th e G olden .Flow er. Carl F. Baynes, trans. New^fork: Harcourt, Brace 8c World, i W

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