Time and Timelessness

Printed in the  Spring 2024 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Nicholson, Shirley "Time and Timelessness" Quest 112:2, pg 26-32

By Shirley Nicholson

Kronos [Chronos] stands for endless (hence immovable), Duration, without beginning, without an end, beyond divided Time and beyond Space.

—The Secret Doctrine, 1:418

In his Confessions, St. Augustine said that he knew what time was when no one inquired but did not know when he was asked to explain it. If someone asks us, what is time? we, too, may feel bewildered. We have intimate knowledge of it as calendar time, time for dinner or an appointment, how long it takes to write a letter or get to work. We know time as waltz time, time out, the years of our lives, the ages of history. We have heard of the immensity of light years in astronomy and the fleeting nanoseconds of nuclear physics. Our experience of time passing is familiar and pervasive, yet we seldom stop to consider what time really is. Past, present, and future are built into our conception of the world; we assume that they describe time. But we are apt to take these at face value without probing their true nature.

H.P. Blavatsky says that “our ideas . . . on duration and time are all derived from our sensations according to the law of association”; they are “inextricably bound up with the relativity of human knowledge.” This, she feels, is inadequate to express the nuances and subtleties of time as presented in esoteric philosophy. Past, present, and future are gross categories produced by our minds by which we experience events in succession, “the panoramic succession of our states of consciousness.” These three are divided from one another, “compound” only in relation to the phenomenal plane, “but in the realm of noumena have no . . . validity.” In the transcendent noumenal world, time in the sense of our sequential experiences does not exist. There is no movement from past to present or into the future, for “the Past Time is the Present Time, as also the Future, which, though it has not yet come into existence, still is” (Secret Doctrine, 1:43‒44).

Such an idea of all events existing simultaneously in a timeless state may be incomprehensible to our finite minds. We will consider the concept later and make HPB’s teaching more explicit, as well as exploring its relation to modern physics. For now, it is enough to realize that time, like space and motion, has roots in the noumenon, where its guise is very different from its appearance in our familiar world. HPB equates time with space and both with the nonmaterial Reality that underlies all being. “Space and Time are one. Space and Time are nameless, for they are the incognizable That” (Secret Doctrine, 2:612).  Nameless though the source of time may be, she nevertheless gives it a name—Duration.

HPB conceives time in the manifested world differently from the linear, one-way flow produced by our minds. She repeatedly speaks of cycles, of the periodic coming and going of universes and beings that go through stages of development, then return to the starting point, only to repeat the pattern, as can be illustrated by flowering and seed making. This cyclic view, typical of Eastern philosophy, appears again and again in The Secret Doctrine, which views manifestation at all levels as periodic, recurring, rhythmic outflow and return. All nature— from universes and galaxies to fireflies and cells—works on this principle, and it is also the pattern for human growth and development.

 

Time: Linear and Cyclic

However, our ordinary experience of time contrasts with the all-encompassing timelessness of Duration as well as with the cyclic view. For us time seems like a river that flows out of the past into the future. Events seem to occur in an unending succession of moments which move past us. The immediate present seems to have appeared out of the past and to be vanishing into the future, always in the same direction—forward. Past-present-future are further divided into discrete intervals, packets of time which differentiate the uniform, linear flow and make it more manageable. We measure these segments with clocks and calendars and regulate our lives and activities accordingly. We are dominated by the clock more than we realize. We fragment ourselves into units of measured time.

Subconsciously we feel the river of time must flow at a constant rate. This concept, based on Newton’s view of the universe, insidiously influences our attitude toward life. We may feel that time is running out and we must hurry to get it all done, crowd it all in, even to the point of claustrophobia, a feeling of oppression at the shortness of time. This sense of urgency speeds body processes—heart rate, breathing, production of certain hormones, rise in blood pressure—and can result in what Dr. Larry Dossey calls “hurry sickness”—heart disease, high blood pressure and stroke, or depression of the immune system, which leads to infection, even cancer. There is no doubt that time-related anxiety can kill (Dossey, chapter 8).

According to linguist Benjamin Whorf, the Hopi Indians have quite a different view of time, one which is more in harmony with the timeless character of Duration. They have no noun for time and no concept of anything flowing forward or divided into segments. According to Whorf, instead, there is a general concept of change, of things enduring, of one event following another, of growing later, a concept much like that of Henri Bergson, who conceived time as an unsegmented flux: “True time, non-chronological time, consists of an evermoving, eternally flowing present which contains its own past” (quoted in Wood, 48). In this view time is a continuum in which lines of demarcation between past, present, and future are dissolved. Whether tied to linguistic concepts or not, a sense of flow allows us to transcend the pressures of time units and enter a stream of time in which our life can move harmoniously. It reflects the wholeness of Duration.

 

The Mind’s Time

HPB, along with many philosophers, saw that time as succession of events, as sequence, is at least as much a property of our minds as it is a part of reality. We perceive serially and classify into past, present, future, while events simply “are.” Time is a generalization, a concept which we abstract from concrete experience. We then give to it a life of its own, a reality on its own account, as though it had an existence apart from our experience of events. In contrast with the notion that time flows past us, who remain stationary, “left behind” by the succession of events, HPB says that “‘time’ is only an illusion produced by the successive states of our consciousness as we travel through eternal duration” (Secret Doctrine, 1:37; emphasis added). Our strong tendency to order things in sequence works on our perceptions of the world, and our sense of linear time cuts up nature’s unbroken panorama of intermingling changes, which is perceived more truly by the Hopi.

When we dream or fantasize or are lost in thought, time can be stretched out or telescoped, so that minutes or seconds may seem like hours or hours pass in a flash. The sense of time passing quickly or slowly can result from such physical factors as body temperature, temperature of the air, coffee, tea, alcohol, as well as from psychological factors like boredom or interest. How often we feel the work week drag by while the weekend flies! The “ordered and military progression of measured time” is very different from the “unlimited time of the mind,” to use Bergson’s phrases. To some people, time habitually seems to flow more slowly than to others, and every day each of us fluctuates in our perception of time’s rate of flow. There are moments when time is like a stream rushing down the mountain, and then again it is like a lazy river that meanders through the plain. Neither rate is “right”; time has no absolute speed. But too much of the “rushing” can be harmful, and the slower pace can be healing.

Children are at home in nonlinear time; in play they seem to abolish measured time. Through biofeedback, meditation, creative play, and related techniques, we too can alter our sense of time and slow it down, and it has been found that biological processes are then also slowed in a healthful way.

Hurry sickness can be reversed by expanding our perception of time from a chronic, hectic view of an inexorable flow to a stretched-out time sense. This can be done through “time therapies,” as Dr. Dossey calls them, such as visualization and imagery, biofeedback, hypnosis, and meditation. In such experiences, past, present, future merge into a freedom from time’s pressures, and for the moment the self-imposed domination of time over our lives is broken. These practices also tend to change our linear concept of time as relentlessly moving forward. We can learn to break its linear grip and experience an “eternally flowing present,” perhaps sensing something of the timelessness of Duration.

When no longer dominated by clock time, by linear time, we live more in harmony with time in its cyclic guise. With people who live close to nature, the cycles of nature—the seasons, day and night, phases of the moon, spring floods—and the cycles within us—waking, sleeping, breathing, menstruation—play an important part in life. Time sense for such people is fashioned by recurrent events, their lives regulated by natural rhythms such as planting, harvesting, and milking, rather than by clocks and artificial segmentation of time. To them time appears as a never-ending dynamic process which continually returns upon itself, a spiral rather than a river. The natural rhythm of living in cyclic time is in keeping with the principle of cycles, vast and small, that Theosophy and Eastern philosophy see as circling through all of manifested reality. To live in harmony with cycles is to be in harmony with the nature of the universe.

 

Relativity

It is not only our perception of time that varies; time itself is inconstant. Einstein’s theory of relativity shows that time is not absolute; it speeds up and slows down. Massive bodies are known to warp space and bend light and also slow down time. The enormous gravitational pull associated with black holes causes time to move slower and slower until time stops altogether at the surface of the “hole.”

The effect of gravity can be calculated on earth by atomic clocks which measure accurately to one second in a million years. It has been found that these clocks run a bit faster high on a building than at sea level, where the pull of gravity is greater. Motion also affects time: at high speeds, time slows down. Einstein pointed this out in his famous thought experiment, in which one brother speeding around the universe in a spaceship ages far less than his twin at home on earth. This is borne out by the fact that subatomic particles moving near the speed of light live longer than their slower counterparts. These changes in time’s rate are not just psychological, nor does anything change in the clockworks. Time is actually relative to motion and to space warps.

Time also depends on the velocity and position of the observer or reference body. The relativity of time is well established in high-energy physics. As particles moving near the speed of light interact, an event may appear to occur earlier from a frame of reference nearby, later from a more distant one. The sequence of events will vary depending on the length of time it takes the light from the event to reach the observer or reference point. The concept of time speeding up and slowing is thought-provoking. It confirms our subjective experience that time does not flow at a rigid, determined rate but is variable, depending on circumstances.

 

Boundless Duration

Relativity theory came after HPB’s time. Expounding esoteric philosophy, she viewed time as multidimensional, with many aspects depending on our level of observation. Our ideas about time, derived from our sensations, are “inextricably bound up with the relativity of human knowledge” (Secret Doctrine, 1:44) and such ideas will vanish when we evolve to the point of seeing beyond phenomenal existence.

The boundless Duration or timelessness beyond relativity is “unconditionally eternal and universal Time,” the noumenon of time, unconditioned by the phenomena which appear and disappear periodically (Secret Doctrine, 1:62). Duration is “endless (hence immovable) . . . without beginning, without an end, beyond divided Time and beyond Space” (Secret Doctrine, 1:418). It is that aspect of Reality which produces time as “the moving image of eternity,” as Plato said. The cycles of manifestation occur within this infinite Duration as the Timeless brings forth time. Thus, as with space and motion, our familiar world of divided time, of time with parts, is generated from this undivided, formless realm.

Duration embraces everything all at once, while experienced time must arbitrarily conform to our one-thing-at-a-time sequential view. It is hard to imagine all of reality present simultaneously in Duration, because our minds are part of the process of time. Timelessness escapes us. HPB gives analogies to aid our understanding. Explaining the eternal aspect of the world, she says: “The real person or thing does not consist solely of what is seen at any particular moment, but is composed of the sum of all its various and changing conditions from its appearance in material form to its disappearance from the earth” (Secret Doctrine, 1:37). She compares these “sum-totals” to a bar of metal dropped into the sea. The present moment of a person or thing is represented by the cross section of the bar at the place where ocean and air meet. No one would say that the bar came into existence as it left the air or ceased to exist as it enters the water. So we drop out of the future into the past, momentarily presenting a cross section of ourselves in the present.

Modern physicists recognize this principle when they represent particles by world lines, diagrams of movement through space-time. Such a line shows the direction and speed of particles and gives a more meaningful picture than would a single point, indicating but a fleeting moment in the path of the particle.

Expanding on this concept to include the world, mathematician Hermann Weyl states that “a section of [the] world comes to life as a fleeting image in space which continually changes in time” (quoted in Dossey, 152). David Bohm, speaking from the perspective of the holographic model, says that the whole of time may be enfolded in any given period of time. Physicist Henry Margenau views a realm where everything that we experience sequentially exists all at once in a timeless essence or universal consciousness:

I believe that in a universal sense which is above time all events are present and real now . . . We move through the all, seeing it through a slit-like window which moves along the axis of time. Perhaps the mystic has no window and is exposed indiscriminately to the universal record of the all or, to use Whitehead’s phrase, to the treasure house of God’s universal memory. (Margenau)

These concepts, extrapolated from mathematics and theoretical physics, echo the timeless essence that HPB called Duration. In this realm past, present, future always are; they “enter into the stream of time from an eternal world outside,” as Bertrand Russell described it (quoted in Zukav, 313). Natural events exist concurrently in this “world outside,” but we encounter them through our time-bound minds in an ordered series of space-time slices. We cannot see the whole but only different parts one after another. I.K. Taimni, who wrote on Theosophical metaphysics, perceives that “it is this seeing of different parts of a whole in succession which produces the sense of time” (Taimni, 354). We might think of linear time as a way our finite minds break up the wholeness of Duration into segments which we can get hold of and manage.

The vision of past, present, future as always existing might suggest determinism, like a movie reel, which unrolls frame by frame in time but with the events rigidly foreordained. But this is not the implication intended. According to esoteric philosophy, existence remains fluid and dynamic, not set and predetermined. Another analogy might be a symphony, which exists complete in a timeless state. Mozart reported that his mind could seize a newly conceived composition “at a glance”—not its various parts in succession, but all at once in its entirety. We reenact music sequentially, a movement at a time, bar by bar, note by note, but each performance is unique. Conductors impose their individual interpretations. The tempo varies. The unforeseen happens: an orchestra member becomes ill and must be replaced at the last minute; a flute solo soars beyond any previous rendition; a drum loses the beat. There is no rigidly predetermined pattern of events in the performance, yet the symphony itself remains whole in its essential nature. Perhaps in a somewhat similar way, existence is enfolded in Duration all at once and unfolds sequentially in time, allowing the outcome some play, some freedom. It may be something like an archetype, a nonmaterial pattern or matrix which, though itself unchanging, can generate various forms, each unique but all reflecting the archetypal structure.

Transcending Time

We sometimes glimpse this timeless realm where past, present, and future blur into a unity, where the future “which, though it has not come into existence, still is” (Blavatsky, 1:43). The amazing accuracy sometimes found in prognostication, in precognition of future events, or in the occasional authenticated cases of past-life memory point to a world beyond our present time frame.

The mystery of synchronicity, as C.G. Jung called it—the simultaneous occurrence of meaningfully related events—also jars us into considering a wider view of time and causality. Two disconnected events, one inner and one outer, converge at a meaningful moment to give us insight and growth. Why should we accidentally meet an old friend who has been through the problems we face now, or happen across a book that holds the clue to the question we have been mulling over? These experiences make us feel that we do not live in a cold, mechanical universe but that our lives have meaning. As Jungian psychologist Jean Shinoda Bolen says:

If we personally realize that synchronicity is at work in our lives, we feel connected rather than isolated and estranged from others; we feel ourselves part of a divine, dynamic, interrelated universe. (Bolen, 7) 

Synchronicity is another way in which the timeless whole intrudes itself into the sequence of events we experience. For as the orientalist Ananda P. Coomaraswamy put it, the time we know, the finite, “is not the opposite of the infinite, but only, so to speak, an excerpt from it” (Coomaraswamy, 71).

A universal characteristic of mystical experience is the transcendence of time, the feeling of liberation from temporality. In moments of mystic oneness, a person is lost in timeless depths which seem unbounded, which stand still. For such a person, this infinity of time exists in the immediate present, in an eternal now, not in a linear, sequential time that will run out, but in a “trysting place of mortal and immortal, time and eternity,” as the poet W.B. Yeats describes it.

In this experience of Duration, now and a thousand years from now are essentially the same; they are somehow both here and now in “the simultaneity of Eternity . . . in which no event has a ‘when,’ [but] is ‘always’ and ‘now’” (Prem and Ashish, 113). The whole is in each moment, as though the line of extended time had collapsed into a single point which enfolds every segment of the line. In such a moment “the Past and the Future, Space and Time, disappear and become . . . the Present,” as HPB says (Blavatsky, Collected Writings, 12:618).

Mystics report that in communion with the Reality outside time, they feel enveloped by stillness. Time ceases to flow and move, and they feel suspended in an eternal and unchanging universe of timelessness, absorbed in the immutable nature of the transcendent Source. Though we can never grasp or understand this state with our sequential minds, there is in us, at the heart of our being, that which is beyond time. We have the ability to realize a timeless state, for we ourselves are essentially timeless. We issue forth from Duration and unfold our world lines in time and space. Yet at the core we are never apart from the “still point of the turning world,” as T.S. Eliot describes it. Even as we live out our days and go through the succession of events that make up our lives, “we are never in time at all, since even now we are in Eternity” (Prem and Ashish, 55). Through cultivating quiet, through meditation, we can come to realize our true, timeless nature and learn to reconcile it with the world of time rushing within us. As we quiet time’s flow, we glimpse our roots in the timeless One.

There are moments when motion, time, and space no longer seem separate and distinct and their unity becomes apparent. In the space shuttle, seconds can mean moving over several countries; measured moments show dramatically as motion through space. Or when we look up at the sky on a clear, moonless night, we know that the light from the stars we see has traveled hundreds of thousands of light-years from sources which may no longer even exist. Yet in a moment we can register the result of light moving through unimaginable distance and time. Time, space, and motion seem to be interrelated but different ways of looking at the same events.

Einstein showed the union of time and space in a four-dimensional continuum. The world line of particles illustrates this; their position in space depends on time and vice versa. Time and space are inextricably interwoven and interdependent; only a union of the two can have independent reality. This union can be known directly in meditation. The Zen teacher D.T. Suzuki said, “As a fact of pure experience, there is no space without time, no time without space; they are interpenetrating” (Suzuki, 33). Lama Anagarika Govinda, a Tibetan Buddhist scholar, speaks of experiencing in meditation “a living continuum in which time and space are integrated” (Govinda, 116).

Motion, too, is an intrinsic part of this space-time unit. Time can have no meaning without something going on, without motion. The world in an unmoving state would be like the world of Sleeping Beauty, in which the people froze and time stood still.

Aristotle saw that time is a property of motion. To the physicist, time and space are coordinates of an event, of some form of movement. We have seen that time depends on the rate of motion. Near the speed of light, time slows down, and it speeds up for slower rates of motion. Time is the product of motion in space.

HPB, relating motion on the material plane to its noumenal aspect, the Great Breath, indicates this as the root of time. She speaks of the Great Breath as Absolute Existence. Thus motion is involved with boundless time, which, with infinite Space, she says, is the source of all existence. “Space and Time [are] simply the forms of that which is the Absolute all” (Secret Doctrine, 2:158). The rich variety in the world around us is spun out from the three intertwined strands of motion, space, and time. Everything that is depends on these three.

These are not abstract metaphysical principles divorced from our practical reality; they pervade our familiar world at every point. They operate constantly in our bodies and are the backdrop of all our mental processes. And within us, as within the universe, there are timeless, spaceless depths of stillness, for “at the very heart of our being is That which is beyond all space and time, That which was, is and forever will be” (Prem and Ashish, 59).

Sources

Blavatsky, H.P. Collected Writings, Volume 12. Edited by Boris de Zirkoff. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1980.

———. The Secret Doctrine. Three volumes. Wheaton: Quest, 1993.

Bolen, Jean Shinoda. The Tao of Psychology. New York: Harper & Row, 1979.

Coomaraswamy, Ananda K. Time and Eternity. Ascona, Switzerland: Asiae Artibus, 1947.

Dossey, Larry. Space, Time, and Medicine. Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1982.

Govinda, Lama Anagarika. Foundations of Tibetan Mysticism. New York: Samuel Weiser, 1974.

Margenau, H.S. Preface to Laurence LeShan, Toward a General Theory of the Paranormal (New York: Parapsychology Foundation, 1969).

Prem, Sri Krishna, and Sri Madhava Ashish. Man, the Measure of All Things. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1969.

Suzuki, D.T., preface to B.L. Suzuki, Mahayana Buddhism. New York: Macmillan, 1969.

Taimni. I.K. Man, God, and the Universe. Wheaton: Theosophical Publishing House, 1969.

Wood, Douglas K. “Even Such Is Time.” Re-Vision 1, no. 1 (1978).

Zukav, Gary. The Dancing Wu Li Masters. New York: Morrow, 1979.

 


Rudolf Steiner on Karma

Printed in the  Spring 2024 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Savinainen, Antti "Rudolf Steiner on Karma" Quest 112:2, pg 36-39

By Antti Savinainen

The law of karma is a central teaching in the Eastern religions, Theosophy, and Anthroposophy. Moreover, it would be impossible to understand reincarnation without karma. The Austrian esotericist Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925) delivered many lectures on karma from the perspective of his system of spiritual science (which included the development of abilities such as clairvoyance). Steiner emphasizes that his karmic examples come from the research of spiritual science.

Steiner’s last long lecture cycle, from 1924, dealt with karma in the context of the past lives of various people, some quite well-known at the time. However, this article chiefly addresses Steiner’s earlier lectures on karma. I will first discuss karma and its relationship with certain illnesses. Next, I will describe karma exercises aimed at enhancing understanding and acceptance of personal karma. Finally, I will address Christ as the Lord of Karma.

Karma and Illnesses

Rudolf SteinerAccording to Steiner, karma works on many levels, since individuals, humanity, the earth, and the universe are all intertwined (Steiner, 1910). Although it is possible to observe a kind of instant karma in everyday life—for instance, someone can be caught lying and has to face the immediate consequences—the karmic consequences Steiner addresses are much slower, long-term processes.

In Steiner’s view, a person may need a certain disease to overcome a personality trait and develop healing forces that foster her spiritual growth. Thus karmically generated disease is not just about amending old digressions through suffering but an opportunity to develop forces that balance and refine the character. In this sense, a disease can be a great teacher.

Karmic effects can go on for several lifetimes. Steiner provides an example of a self-centered person who in kamaloka (the afterlife state in the astral world) has to live through her actions’ impact on other living beings. This experience imprints certain tendencies which, in the next incarnation, cause weakness in the inner character. A superficial character in one life causes a tendency to lie in the second life. Moreover, the tendency to lie causes incorrectly formed organs in the third life. In these cases, the moral weaknesses have reached all the way to the etheric body.

A weak I-consciousness and low level of self-reliance will affect the next incarnation as well, in Steiner’s view. This kind of person will unconsciously look for conditions, such as epidemics, which help to overcome this karmic weakness. More precisely, Steiner says this can be done by contracting cholera. On the other hand, one can compensate for an overbearing I-consciousness by contracting malaria.

The person disregarding the external world, with too strong a concentration on the inner life, can end up with a weakness of the soul that in the next incarnation exposes the body to an attack of measles late in life. This is a physical, karmic consequence of unbalanced concentration. In addition, there is also a psychic karmic effect: the next-life personality is subject to self-deception. On the other hand, if the person has developed the soul forces needed to overcome the tendency toward self-deception, there is no need to contract measles at a later age.

Preparatory Karma Exercises

Steiner formulated several exercises aimed at developing conscious encounters, objectivity, and understanding of other people and life events. In addition, he offered exercises that can help individuals recognize the forces of destiny in their biography and eventually reawaken memories of previous lives. Luigi Morelli (2015, 73) notes that Steiner did not bring these exercises to their ultimate form, as he did with the spiritual exercises offered in his masterpiece, Knowledge of Higher Worlds and its Attainment (Steiner, 1918). Morelli organizes karma exercises provided by Steiner in three groups: preparatory karma exercises (Morelli calls these “preludes to the karma exercises”), lesser karma exercises, and greater karma exercises.

The first preparatory exercise is gratitude. Steiner advises us to look back at our lives and see the part played by our parents, relatives, friends, teachers, and other figures in our lives. This will lead us to realize how much we owe to others. When this exercise is repeated over time, an impression of important people in our lives will emerge, pointing to their deeper being.

Another version of this exercise involves bringing before the mind’s eye images of people who have acted, directly or indirectly, as hindrances and opposition. This exercise will develop an objective sense of our indebtedness. The point is to give space to another individual within our souls without emotional response. Admittedly, this is a demanding exercise, since feelings of hurt and anger are easily aroused when we are reminiscing about people who have opposed or wronged us.

The second preparatory karma exercise is learning to look back at an event in our lives as if we were spectators of ourselves. This will free us from the images that bind us to the past and unravel identification with our life experiences, which can sometimes be a heavy burden. Success in this exercise demands repeated practice.

Although Steiner does not say so in this context, the preliminary exercises seem to require forgiving others and oneself for all errors and wrongdoings. Forgiveness is an essential skill in the spiritual path. Moreover, genuine forgiveness has profound, even cosmic consequences: renouncing the recompense due to the iron law of karmic necessity liberates forces of the higher hierarchies, which will help Christ as a Lord of Karma (Prokofieff, 82–83). I will discuss Christ as a Lord of Karma later in this article.

The Lesser Karma Exercises

The first lesser karma exercise invites us to look back to one single event of life that seems to be due to chance. Another possibility is looking back to an event we did not wish to happen. The aim is to picture the event as something we had planned before our birth as if it had been designed by what Steiner calls the “second person in us.” Initially, this second person appears to be artificial, but with repeated practice, she grows and evolves within us. The exercise helps us remember that we actually wanted this event—for instance, an accident—to happen. This practice will develop peacefulness, acceptance, and a sense of purpose in life. We will learn to take responsibility for our destiny and cease to blame others for unpleasant events and failures.

Steiner’s karma exercise on joy and happiness is a bit peculiar. He states that it is erroneous to believe that joy and happiness are somehow earned; furthermore, this kind of thinking will lead to feelings of shame. By contrast, realizing that we have not earned happiness will lead to “a new feeling of peaceful security in the spirit and thankfulness toward the guiding powers of humanity.”

In the exercise of “contrary being,” we take a retrospective look at life and observe which tendencies have come naturally for us and which have not. What could not develop within us despite our desires to the contrary? What could we not avoid? With this exercise, the image of the “contrary being” is formed, and Steiner asks us to immerse ourselves in this being. This will help us to realize what is not the outcome of this life but comes from previous incarnations.

A related karma exercise concentrates on situations in which we were spared from something serious. Perhaps our departure was delayed by a few minutes, saving us from an accident. This exercise develops an ability to perceive chains of events guided by karmic forces.

In an extended lesser karma exercise, Steiner advises observing everything that has occurred over the last weeks or months. All unpleasant events are observed, with no thought of injustice caused to us or with any self-justification of our shortcomings. We take full responsibility for everything that has happened to us. This will create a new relationship with the spiritual world and lead to the recognition of the role of the second person in arranging the events in our life. Although Steiner does not say this, keeping a diary before starting the extended lesser karma exercises could be helpful.

The Greater Karma Exercises

Morelli calls the first greater karma exercise the Moon/Saturn/Sun exercise. It can be about oneself or another person. All the layers of personality will be peeled away one by one in meditation. First, one disregards all external activity, profession, and living conditions. Second, the meditation concentrates on temperament, mood, and way of thinking. This will make transparent everything working in the will. Behind this, the spiritual Moon will start to shine.

In the next stage, everything coming from emotions and temperament will be disregarded. The focus is on the way a person thinks. This will make the rhythmic system transparent, and the spiritual Sun will start to shine. In the final stage, a person’s thinking will be disregarded, and the impulses from Saturn will be revealed. One begins to see the individual as a spiritual being and starts perceiving the karma of that individual. Perhaps it would be best to apply this exercise only to oneself, since knowing another person’s karma seems to require a specific reason.

The second greater karma exercise lasts for four days and three nights. This exercise is about “spiritual painting” of a life event by recreating all the impressions received by our senses in the greatest detail. If another person is related to the event, she will be recreated as well, including the way she moved, the tone of her voice, words, gestures, smells, and so on. Next, the event will be taken into sleep, where the astral body will give it a shape. This is repeated the following two days. This way, the image will be imprinted into the etheric body, which will continue to work on the image.

Steiner describes how the person will experience this memory as walking in a cloud, giving rise to the feeling of being part of the picture itself. The feeling will grow an objective picture that is related to the event in a previous incarnation that was the root cause for the event in this incarnation.

All of these karma exercises, especially the greater ones, require a great deal of concentration and skillful meditation. The aim of the lesser karma exercises is to take responsibility for our lives and accept all events, pleasant and unpleasant alike, as part of our biography. Indeed, according to Steiner, we did this joyously before we were born, when we had a preview of the main events and difficulties waiting for us. The greater karma exercises aim to gain knowledge from our personal karma.

Christ as the Lord of Karma

The karmic powers are known as the Lords of Karma or the Lipikas in Theosophy (Steiner was a member of the Theosophical Society between 1902 and 1912). Intriguingly, Steiner (1911, lecture 3) said, “Occult clairvoyant research tells us that in our epoch Christ becomes the Lord of Karma for human evolution . . . so that in the future it will rest with Him to decide what our karmic account is, how our credit and debit in life are related.”

This is a remarkable occult pronouncement, about which Theosophy usually remains silent. There is, however, one exception: the Finnish Rosicrucian Theosophist Pekka Ervast (1875–1934) talked about the same thing.

Steiner stated that before entering kamaloka, the individual will meet Moses as a bookkeeper for the karmic powers, who presents their records of sins. This is changing or has already changed to some extent, since people will more and more meet Christ Jesus as their karmic judge. Moreover, Christ will help individuals in balancing karma in a new incarnation:

We shall then have to encounter events through which our karma can be balanced, for every man must reap what he has sown . . . The balancing must be arranged so as to be in the best possible accord with the concerns of the whole world. It must enable us to give all possible help to the advancement of mankind on earth . . . In the future it will fall to Christ to bring the balance of our karma into line with the general Earth-karma and the general progress of humanity. (Steiner, 1911, lecture 10)

 

Many diseases Steiner mentioned in his lectures on karma have already been overcome as a result of the advancement of modern medicine (for instance, the latest smallpox case took place in 1975, thanks to vaccination). Steiner anticipated this progress. He stated that people will become externally healthier because of medical science and general improvements in living conditions. This means that karmic balancing must be sought from elsewhere. This is not without consequences: there will be an increasing feeling of inner emptiness, and people will have fewer incentives for inner progress, accompanied by a stultification of the soul. Perhaps this is an occult explanation for increasing depression and hopelessness, which is prevalent, especially among young people.

Should one, then, decline medical care? Of course not, but it is important to realize that spiritual aspiration and self-education are crucial in this regard as well. They have the potential to foster inner forces that certain diseases could have brought forth.

A reader coming from outside Anthroposophical or Theosophical circles might be baffled by the talk of Christ in the context of karma and reincarnation. Assuming that the law of karma is real, why is it alien to traditional Christianity? According to Steiner, teachings on karma and reincarnation could not have been given to Western civilization before it was ready to receive these teachings. Steiner (1909, lecture 10) even states that “it would have been detrimental to evolution if the present content of spiritual science . . . had been imparted openly to mankind a few hundred years earlier.”

There were Gnostic streams teaching reincarnation within early Christianity (see, for instance, Bean, 2020), but ecumenical councils later condemned these as heretical. In addition, some passages in the Gospels could be interpreted in the light of karma and reincarnation (such as the man who was born blind, John 9:1–4). Of course, Christian theology easily supplies explanations that do not include karma.

Steiner’s karma exercises provide much food for thought. For instance, looking back at pivotal points and people in one’s biography helps to understand one’s destiny. One may also recognize how one’s own actions have affected the course of life of other people. Accepting one’s life as it is, including unpleasant events, is essential. This can be achieved by gratitude and forgiveness toward those who have helped us to find our way, even when they have acted negatively from our perspective. After all, we have wanted these things to happen to us in our higher consciousness before we were born. This is by no means easy to achieve, especially if we have had to endure serious hardships in our lives.

I will conclude my article with inspiring words from Pekka Ervast, who described the attitude toward karma and hardships held by an individual who has reached contact with the spirit within oneself, or the kingdom of God, as it is called in the Gospels:

And when one is impossibly rich [when the person has received the kingdom of God] then how could one be anything else than happy and grateful for even paying the debts? For what are they anymore to one? What are the sufferings anymore? . . . The debt means nothing to one. One’s soul is filled with joy and happiness and bliss and peace. The sufferings, misfortunes, humiliations, they are all sheer happiness to one. (Ervast, 2018)

 

Sources

Bean, James. “Reincarnation in Gnosticism: Let the Gnostics Be Gnostic.” Medium, Aug. 19, 2020.

Ervast, Pekka. The Inner God and Happiness: Lectures in Helsinki, 1922. Original Finnish title: Jumala ja onni. Translated by Lauri Livistö. Helsinki: Aatma, 2018.

Morelli, Luigi. Karl Julius Schröer and Rudolf Steiner. Anthroposophy and the Teachings of Karma and Reincarnation. Milton Keynes, UK: iUniverse, 2015.

Prokofieff, Sergei O. The Occult Significance of Forgiveness. Essex, U.K.: Temple Lodge, 2016.

Steiner, Rudolf. The Gospel of St. Luke: Ten Lectures in Basel, 1909. Available online at Rudolf Steiner Archive.

———. From Jesus to Christ: Ten Lectures in Karlsruhe, 1911. Available online at Rudolf Steiner Archive.

———. Knowledge of Higher Worlds and Its Attainment. 1918. Available online at Rudolf Steiner Archive.

———. Manifestations of Karma: Eleven Lectures in Hamburg, 1910. Available online at Rudolf Steiner Archive.

Antti Savinainen, PhD, is a Finnish high-school physics instructor who teaches both the Finnish national syllabus and for the international baccalaureate. He writes regularly on Theosophical and Anthroposophical themes, both in Finnish and English. He has been a member of the Finnish Rosy Cross, a part of the Finnish Theosophical movement, for over three decades.


The Beautiful Nature of Time

Printed in the  Spring 2024 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Colon, Michael "The Beautiful Nature of Time" Quest 112:2, pg 34-35

By Michael Colon

Michael ColonThe clock’s ticking sound plays the melody we all dance to in this life. Every decision we make is in harmony with the rhythm of the song we are meant to enjoy. We are all dancing and singing along until the lights go out; then it is someone else’s turn to step in tune with the recording life has ready for them. Time is neither right nor wrong; it just is, and it’s our job while we are here to take advantage of it.

We play with time because it’s a gift. How we honor this inheritance is entirely up to us. We can spend it on assumptions that create an illusion of progress. Or we can get on the dance floor and mingle with the essence which drives this reality. To explore the driving force of time is to dive off the board into the deep pool of our true selves, and it’s deeper than we think. In the web of reality, there are an endless amount of ways we can spin our storylines to interweave with others. In this world, billions of footprints walk around, creating conversation in the form of exchanging moments. This is a universal language all of us as one race share. As long as our heart beats and plays a sound that correlates to the dance, we can still say “I love you,” make amends with a friend, write that book, and answer the questions that disturb our soul. No matter if we don’t like the answer; even if it’s painful, it’s better to know than never to know at all.

The answers to questions have an expiration date, which means they mimic the nature of time. Everything is revealed when we look for it, but we have to be willing to look. It’s no use trying to turn back the hands of the clock: we will only break the instrument.

As time goes forward, expanding discoveries, we can consciously use what we gain from the past, with an outlook on the future, to determine how we handle the present. Sure, we may not be ready for something: that merely means that it’s not our time to have it, but it’s always the time to prepare ourselves for what we want.

Our conscious awareness can shift at any moment when we see time not from a chronological perspective, but in a more pliable way: for the benefit of living this life. We do this by making things last longer, savoring a good meal, or stretching out a good time with friends. We can also shorten what hurts us by quickly occupying our thoughts with positive tasks. Whatever the method, we can objectively work ways around the first-layer fundamentals of time. The years are not more valuable than the months. The months don’t speak ill of the weeks. The weeks don’t disregard the days. The days don’t look down on the hours. The hours don’t tell the minutes to hush. The minutes don’t try to kill the seconds. All hold an equivalent amount of meaning when we reach a destination.

Before we reach a goal, we only think of time in a pessimistic manner, because we haven’t gotten there yet, but when we do, it doesn’t matter how long it took, because we have finally arrived, with a reset judgment of where we are.

Our choices depend on time because if we had an unlimited amount of it, then the thrill of life would be nonexistent. It’s actually for our benefit that we don’t live forever, because then there would be nothing to gain from experience, and experience is what keeps us from being alone. We all see time through our unique viewpoints based on our path on this journey, so what may seem slow to one can be fast for another. What may be boring to someone will be fascinating for another.

Time can be seen clearly through the lens of open-mindedness and with the eyes of our hearts, which are a kind of spiritual sense enabling us to see and feel growth through time. When we grow, a hidden understanding reveals itself and reminds us that there are checkpoints in our life created by time for the simple reason that we were always meant to reach them.

Time is measured not just by the ticking sounds on a clock but by how we utilize the space between the beginning and the end. There is a saying that says, “Father Time is undefeated.” Yes, that is true. We cannot outlive the set departure date for the next phase, which goes on forever beyond our current understanding of time. Where is the next phase? Why is it forever? It depends on what you believe in. I believe that my spirit will ascend into heaven for eternity with God. We all have our own interpretations of what has been around before our existence.

In any event, life will go on without us and continue to write other stories. As soon as the ink hits the paper, it dries immediately, leaving a trail of memories for us to read and appreciate. What a great joy that our story will be on the bookshelf of life! This proves that we are never alone and our time here is not a waste. Material things wither away, but the impressions and tales we leave behind do last—not forever, but long enough to serve their purpose. We are all here now for a reason, which means we are not accidents. Nothing is by accident: time has a plan and a course it must follow.

Time itself must follow a set of laws, and if time must follow the rules, then it must have been ordered to do so. But by whom? Again, that all depends on what you believe in. Whether it is dictated by God or the laws of science, the nature of time is beautiful.

Michael Colon was born and raised in New York City. He says, “My mission is to use my craft to impact the lives of many. I look forward to sharing more of my work through the beautiful form of written art.”


Toward a Grand Unified Theory of Synchronicity

Printed in the  Spring 2024 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Grasse, Ray "Toward a Grand Unified Theory of Synchronicity" Quest 112:2, pg 20-25

By Ray Grasse

This paper is the culmination of a decades-long process of investigation into Carl Jung’s theory of synchronicity, which first began with the writing and publication of my book The Waking Dream in 1996. That’s where I first hinted at the possibility of a broader metatheory that might help us better understand the significance of “meaningful coincidence,” not only as it occurs within our own lives but in the world at large. This essay lays out a tentative framework for that approach. 

Symbolist thinking regards the world as a kind of language, with the people, animals, and events representing elements of a living vocabulary.

The Waking Dream

                                                                                  

Ray GrasseIn 1952, psychologist Carl Jung published his seminal work Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle on a phenomenon he termed synchronicity, which can be simply defined as the experience of “meaningful coincidence,” as Jung put it. While most coincidences in our lives can be easily explained as nothing more than the result of pure chance, some coincidences are so striking that we’re compelled to wonder if there isn’t some deeper purpose or process at work underlying those events.

A famous example from Jung’s own files was that of the patient who described a dream she had involving an Egyptian scarab beetle. She’d been resistant in her therapy up to that point and firmly entrenched in a rigidly rationalistic mindset towards life. While listening to her describe that dream, Jung heard a tapping at the window of the therapy room. It turned out to be from a beetle—the closest approximation to a scarab in those northern Swiss latitudes. Taking this as a cue, he went and grabbed the beetle from the window and handed it to her, saying, “Here is your scarab.” The fact that this occurred at a key moment in the woman’s therapy struck Jung as significant, and her receiving it seemed to trigger a breakthrough in her rationalistic mindset.

Jung regarded experiences like these as eruptions of meaning—that is, significant events in our psychological or spiritual growth, issuing from that mysterious divide between our inner and outer worlds. Importantly, the appearance of the beetle wasn’t “causal”—that is, it didn’t happen directly because of anything either the woman or Jung said; rather, it arose simultaneously through a deeper connectedness of meaning. This was an example of what Jung called acausal connectedness.

Since its publication, Jung’s theory has spawned a virtual tsunami of books, articles, and media discussions, all attempting to understand its nature and importance. So how best shall we grasp what meaningful coincidence really says about our world? 

In Search of the Big Picture

I’d like to propose the possibility of a grand unified theory which aims to place synchronicity into its broader context. Just as some scientists have been searching for a unifying model that ties together the disparate forces of nature, so we can envision a theoretical framework that not only reveals fundamental insights into synchronicity’s workings but illumines its connection to various other concepts and symbolic systems. As we’ll see, this necessarily requires a more philosophical approach than a scientific one, as only the former can truly unravel the deeper mysteries of this phenomenon. By focusing our attention merely on isolated coincidences, I believe we run the risk of missing the true significance—and magnitude—of the synchronistic phenomenon.

As an analogy, I’d invite you to recall the classic tale of the five blind men and the elephant. Each of them examines a different part of this creature’s body, as a result obtaining a completely different sense of what the animal is like. For instance, the man feeling only the elephant’s tail naturally concludes that this creature is similar to a snake or perhaps a length of rope; but he obviously has a woefully incomplete picture of what the whole elephant is like. Because his perspective is so narrow, he misses the full reality.

I’d suggest that trying to understand synchronicity solely by focusing on isolated coincidences is akin to the predicament of the blind man who examines only one part of the elephant. By limiting our focus strictly on individual instances of synchronicity, we’re missing the broader worldview of which coincidences are just a part.

In short, understanding the true significance of synchronicity requires nothing less than a dramatically different cosmology than we are generally familiar with in our modern materialistic culture.

But what exactly is that “dramatically different cosmology”?

 

The Symbolist Worldview

This is what I (and certain other colleagues, like John Anthony West) have called the “symbolist” worldview. This way of thinking regards the cosmos as akin to a great dream—and, like our own dreams, written in the language of symbols. “The symbolist standpoint considers life to be a living book of symbols, a sacred text that can be decoded” (Grasse, 6). The manifest world mirrors an underlying consciousness, much in the same way that our nightly dreams reflect the workings of our own consciousness, but on a vastly different scale. The world is not only suffused with mind, it’s saturated with meaning. In The Waking Dream, I boiled down the symbolist worldview to a few essential points, including these:

  • The world reflects the presence of a greater regulating intelligence, or Divine Mind, which both permeates and transcends material reality.
  • All things partake in a greater continuum of order and design; consequently, there are no coincidences or truly random events. In turn, any seemingly chance event or process can divulge greater patterns of meaningfulness within the life of an individual or society.
  • Reality is multileveled in character, involving phenomena and experiences across a wide range of frequencies or vibrations.
  • The world is interwoven in a complex web of subtle correspondences: secret connections that link seemingly diverse phenomena through a deeper resonance of meaning.
  • All phenomena can be reduced to a basic set of universal principles or archetypes. Described in various ways by different traditions, these principles constitute the underlying language of both outer and inner experience.

While all of those points play an important role in a broader metaframework of synchronicity, I’d like to focus our attention here on one of those in particular—the doctrine of correspondences.

 

The Doctrine of Correspondences

Virtually every esoteric or magical tradition has subscribed to this concept in one form or another, which can be broadly described as a sense that all things are connected in ways beyond the immediately obvious, involving a subterranean network of deeper qualities or metaphoric essences. As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it in his essay “Demonology,” “Secret analogies tie together the remotest parts of Nature, as the atmosphere of a summer morning is filled with innumerable gossamer threads running in every direction, revealed by the beams of the rising sun” (Emerson, 2:949).

For instance, suppose you were to ask a scientist to explain what the planet Mars really is. They would likely fall back on describing it in terms of that planet’s most obvious and observable properties—its chemical or elemental composition, its physical dimensions, weather patterns and energy fields, cosmic history, orbital dynamics, and so on. Furthermore, were the scientist to try and classify it in relation to all other phenomena in the universe, they would likely think in terms of readily observable relationships, such as the fact Mars belongs to a particular class of celestial bodies and interacts with those bodies in measurable ways that include gravity, magnetism, and so on. Simply put, the scientific perspective would provide us with a quantitative approach toward understanding the planet Mars.

But for the symbolically minded student, Mars can also be understood in terms of its essential qualities or symbolic meanings—a perspective that requires a very different mode of perception, and one that affords access to a very different order of information within the universe’s phenomena.

Seen through a more symbolic lens, Mars can be linked to such qualities as force, energy, or assertiveness. These, in turn, link through a subtle network of qualities to other phenomena such as warfare, the metal iron, anger, energy, sharp objects, fire, and still others. From this perspective, a certain event might happen over here, just as the planet Mars is engaged in a planetary dance over there, and though the two may not seem connected in any obvious way, they can be related through subtle tendrils of meaning, through subtle patterns of archetypal resonance. While the purely literal-minded eye would regard such meanings and connections as nonsensical and entirely imaginary, to the esoteric eye they are quite real, albeit subtle.

This mode of thinking regards the world as consisting of verbs and living processes, rather than solely as nouns or things. Indeed, all phenomena can be viewed on either of these two levels—literal or symbolic, as nouns or as verbs. Each level has its own validity and relevance, but it’s on this more symbolic level that we uncover that otherwise hidden network of acausal connections that links all phenomenon in our lives, and in turn to the cosmos.

When seen on that subtler level, we discover that our lives are permeated with coincidences of one sort or another, although some are more obvious than others. As such, the rare and dramatic “meaningful coincidence” described by Jung is only the tip of a far greater iceberg of interconnectedness that spans our entire lives.

Jung hinted at this himself when he spoke of the individual synchronicity as just “a particular instance of general acausal orderedness,” yet in the end, he chose to narrow his focus almost exclusively on the rare and unusual coincidence. Why? Presumably to make an already difficult subject less difficult and more digestible to both colleagues and general readers.

Whatever his reasoning, the key toward embracing that broader vision of synchronicity lies within a cognitive or epistemological shift. Seen through a purely literal-minded eye, synchronicity indeed appears to be a rare and infrequent phenomenon; but when perceived through the eye of metaphor, one’s vision opens up to a far broader universe of meanings and acausal connections, similar to how donning a pair of night vision goggles allows someone to behold a previously hidden landscape of subtle patterns not visible before.

Astrology: The Celestial Skeleton Key

Admittedly a controversial inclusion to the discussion, astrology is a subject even Jung himself felt important to include in this study. He believed that the correlation of planetary movements to an individual’s life experience provided a real-world illustration of synchronicity in action. As an example, he found that an analysis of certain sun and moon configurations between married couples offered statistical evidence for the presence of a synchronistic connection between heavenly patterns and personal experience.

While I largely agree with Jung’s view, my own reasons for including it here are somewhat different, and broader. Because astrology essentially represents the art and science of correspondences, it provides an especially helpful tool for approaching that otherwise hidden network of meanings we’re discussing here.

Because of its elaborate network of symbolic “rulerships,” whereby each planet or zodiacal sign is assigned a host of subtle connections throughout the world, one quickly discovers that our lives are populated by countless acausal associations that are otherwise invisible to the purely physical eye. One value of astrology is that it gives us the ability to examine those subtle connections more quickly, and far more comprehensively. Let me give a simple example.

Suppose someone finds themselves in the midst of a disruptive period in life where no obvious synchronicities or coincidences seem visible. Apply the lens of astrological symbolism to their life, however, and you may well discover that the planet Uranus is firing strongly in their horoscope right then—at which point a host of acausal connections and subtle coincidences suddenly become clear, all related to the overarching principle of “Uranus.” This might include such Uranian correspondences and symbols as technical or mechanical problems, delays in catching a flight, issues of personal freedom in a relationship, or even an injury to the ankle (the body part associated with Uranus). Yet this particular matrix of secret analogies would be completely invisible to the strict materialist, since it requires a heightened sensitivity to metaphoric essences rather than purely obvious appearances.

In that way, astrology provides us with an especially useful tool for helping us become more familiar with this subtle language of correspondences and, in turn, the deeply synchronistic language of daily life.

 

Envisioning a More Holistic Model

So where do we go from here? Picking up from where I left off in The Waking Dream, I’d suggest a few possible directions for continued research and exploration.

A more holistic and integral approach to synchronicity might be envisioned in the form of a pyramid, with the narrowest aspects of this research symbolized by the pyramid’s peak and expanding downward to include progressively broader aspects of synchronicity closer to the bottom, as follows:

 

 unifiedd field
 A Prospective Model for a "Unified Field" Approach to the Study of Synchronicity

 

I. At the peak of the pyramid, akin to the most visible portion of an iceberg, a systematic approach to synchronicity would focus on the study and classification of meaningful coincidences of the most obvious and literal types—such as a woman talking about her dream of a beetle at the precise moment one appears at the window.

II. At the next level down, our focus would broaden out to include meaningful coincidences of a more symbolic and subtle nature, where the emphasis is less on the form of the event and more on the underlying meaning. A simple example of that would be the time I was biking over a footbridge in a local forest preserve and unexpectedly saw a deer swimming across a river, something I’d never seen before in all my years of hiking or biking. I later discovered that this sighting occurred at the very moment a close friend of mine passed away following a lingering illness. (In fact, I’d even been thinking about that friend just moments before encountering the deer.) Strictly on its surface, there is no obvious coincidence between a deer crossing a river and news of someone’s death; yet to someone employing an analogical or metaphoric eye, the synchronistic connection is clear enough, and even echoes back to classical notions likening death to the crossing of a river. At this level of our pyramid, we could also include the wide range of symbolic messages described in various divinational traditions such as pyromancy, cledonism (divination based on chance remarks), ornithomancy, geomancy, bibliomancy, and many others—all of which involve meaningful or anomalous events and connections but which may not take the form of obvious, readily recognizable coincidences.

III. Moving further down the pyramid, our study widens out to focus on more collective synchronicities and symbolic events, both obvious and subtle, involving groups of people rather than solitary individuals. One example of this would be the outbreak of revolutionary fervor that sometimes occurs across the world in seemingly unrelated contexts at the same time. In his book Cosmos and Psyche, my colleague Richard Tarnas points out how the famed mutiny that took place on the English ship H.M.S. Bounty in 1789 happened at the same time as the French Revolution—two historic events involving rebellious uprisings, yet without any direct connection between the two (Tarnas, 50‒60).  In turn, Tarnas notes, this took place during a powerful astrological aspect between the planets Uranus and Pluto. This could obviously be considered a synchronicity, yet it affected far more than one lone individual.

IV. At the base of the pyramid we find the study of the synchronistic worldview at its broadest—that is, what is the symbolist cosmology underlying all these levels? This level of inquiry would include such topics as the doctrine of correspondences, the law of cycles, the nature of archetypes, and even the doctrines of karma, reincarnation, and teleology (purpose) in relation to the more personal side of this phenomenon. These are all interconnected elements informing the unfoldment of meaning on the personal, collective, and universal levels.

Last but not least, a truly integral approach to synchronicity would involve a deeper look into the potential theological dimensions of this phenomenon—is the universe the dreamlike expression of a great being or some cosmic principle? That’s not a possibility we should overlook too casually. In order for the diverse events of our lives to be interwoven as intricately and artfully as synchronicity implies, and as systems like astrology empirically demonstrate, there would seem to be a regulating intelligence underlying our world, a central principle organizing all of its elements, like notes in a grand symphony of meaning.

Revisioning Jung’s Synchronicity

To recap, I’ve suggested that the phenomenon of synchronicity can be best understood in the framework of a cosmology that regards the entire world as dreamlike in nature, and which is as symbolic in its own way as our own nightly dreams, and likewise encoded in the language of symbols and subtle correspondences. Nested within that cosmic dream are the smaller dreams of both groups and individuals, all seamlessly intertwined like threads in a vast quilt. As a result, a single, isolated coincidence occurring for any one individual actually takes place within the context of this larger infrastructure of meaning that suffuses all these different levels.

So how would such a broad vision specifically alter our understanding of Jung’s model of synchronicity? I think it can be boiled down to a few essential points.

Most obvious of all is the matter of frequency—that is, how often does synchronicity really occur? On the one hand, Jung spoke of synchronicity as an acausal connection between an outer event and an inner psychological state, or between two external events. In either case, he described it as a “relatively rare” phenomenon, a decidedly infrequent eruption of meaning in our lives. Employing the symbolist approach, however, we find there are actually many eruptions of meaning in our lives, occurring in a wide variety of contexts. Taking a hint from the esoteric traditions, we could include such seemingly common developments as the births of children, chance encounters with strangers or animals, life tragedies, changes in the workplace, travel experiences, health problems, nightly dreams, and anomalous events of any sort. All of these—and many more—are meaningful eruptions, with deep acausal connections to broader patterns of significance in our lives, all playing their own role in the phenomenological drama of everyday experience.

But considering how all-pervasive synchronicity becomes according to such a view, how shall we begin to sort out the proverbial signal from the noise in unearthing meaning from ordinary experience? In The Waking Dream, I suggested a simple rule of thumb: to focus attention particularly on those events which are most unusual or out of the ordinary. If you have a subscription to a daily newspaper, say, finding a copy on your doorstep is nothing particularly significant. But suppose you have never subscribed to any newspaper and one day find a copy at your front door. That suddenly takes on significance, with the meaning perhaps being revealed by the symbolism of the headline that day, or perhaps even by the subject of a phone conversation you were having at the moment you found it.

In formulating his theory of synchronicity, Jung focused his attention strictly on coincidences of a simultaneous sort—that is, those which specifically take place in the same moment in time. Jung’s story about the scarab is one example; another would be receiving a phone call from a childhood friend at the same moment an old letter from them falls out of a book you just pulled off the shelf. Such events synchronize in time—hence Jung’s term synchronicity.

Prior to Jung, though, the Austrian biologist Paul Kammerer undertook his own study of coincidences but focused instead on coincidences of a sequential sort, those which happen consecutively. For example, an obscure old song might pop up numerous times over the course of a single day, one after the other, in completely different contexts. Looking at such events, Kammerer termed his own theory seriality, emphasizing the consecutive rather than simultaneous character of coincidences. (For a discussion of Kammerer’s theory, see Arthur Koestler’s Case of the Midwife Toad.)

At its broadest, the symbolist worldview dispenses with any strict emphasis on simultaneity or sequentiality, instead opening up to acausal connections of all types—sequential or simultaneous, obvious or subtle. As the symbolist perspective of astrology illustrates in particular, the synchronistic tapestry of correspondences extends in all directions, through both time and space.

Whereas Jung saw synchronicity strictly as a personal phenomenon, related to the psychodynamics of individuals, the symbolist worldview sees acausal connections taking place on at least three distinct levels: personal, collective, and universal. I mentioned the coincidence between the mutiny on the Bounty and the French Revolution as a synchronicity involving groups rather than merely individuals. Another example would be the curious way similar inventions or theories sometimes arise simultaneously in different parts of the world, seemingly without any connection to one another. One famous instance was the development of the telephone by both Alexander Graham Bell and Elisha Gray, both inventors having filed notices with the Patent Office in Washington, D.C., on the very same day, February 14, 1876.

It’s even possible to talk about synchronicity in contexts where neither individuals or groups are involved. For instance, astrologers might examine how a volcanic eruption on a remote Pacific island coincided with a celestial pattern involving the distant planets Uranus and Pluto. Such a connection would constitute a truly synchronistic development in that it’s a truly acausal connection of events, but one that didn’t involve individuals or even collectives in any direct way. Likewise, there are astrologers who study the relationship of planetary configurations to weather patterns throughout the world, whether humans are directly involved or not. In contrast with Jung’s model, in other words, individual human psychologies needn’t even be present or involved for synchronicities to occur.

Conclusion

To borrow William Irwin Thompson’s classic analogy, we are like flies crawling across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, unaware of the archetypal drama spread out before us. The infrequent and dramatic coincidence simply pulls back the curtain on one small portion of that tableau, which encompasses not just our personal lives but our society, and indeed the entire universe.

As such, synchronicity is the key to a dramatically different cosmology than is suggested by conventional science. Beyond simply implying an intimate relationship between one’s outer and inner world, or a subtle “entanglement” between distant phenomena, it describes a worldview that is both multileveled in its meanings and interconnected in ways far beyond what the literally minded eye can possibly perceive.

While it’s within our grasp to understand that broader worldview, we can’t attain it through any purely literal mindset or mechanistic methodology, let alone through the study of individual coincidences in themselves. Rather, it will need to unfold in partnership with a broader philosophical inquiry into the symbolic and archetypal dimensions of existence itself. That, and nothing less, will allow us to finally perceive the “whole elephant” of synchronicity.

                                                                                                 

Sources

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. The Complete Writings. Twelve volumes. New York: William H. Wise, 1929.

Grasse, Ray. “Synchronicity and the Mind of God.” Quest, May-June 2006: 91‒94.

———. The Waking Dream: Unlocking the Symbolic Language of Our Lives. Wheaton: Quest, 1996.

Jung, C.G. Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle. Translated by R.F.C. Hull. 2d ed. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton/Bollingen, 1973.

Koestler, Arthur. The Case of the Midwife Toad. New York: Random House, 1971.

Tarnas. Richard. Cosmos and Psyche. New York: Penguin, 2006.

Ray Grasse is author of nine books, including An Infinity of Gods, The Waking Dream, and When the Stars Align. He worked for ten years on the editorial staffs of Quest magazine and Quest Books. His website is www.raygrasse.com. For a deeper dive into correspondence theory and the dynamics of symbolism, see his book The Waking Dream, as well as chapter 36 of his book StarGates. The article has been excerpted from his latest book So, What Am I Doing Here, Anyway? (London: Wessex Astrologer, 2024).

 


Three Minutes a Day: An Interview with Richard Dixey

Printed in the  Spring 2024 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Smoley, Richard "Three Minutes a Day: An Interview with Richard Dixey" Quest 112:2, pg 12-19

By Richard Smoley

Richard Dixey is a scientist and lifelong student of Asian philosophy. He runs the Light of Buddhadharma Foundation in India with his wife, Wangmo, the eldest daughter of the Tibetan lama Tarthang Tulku. He is a senior faculty member at Dharma College in Berkeley, California.

His new book, Three Minutes a Day: A Fourteen-Week Course to Learn Meditation and Transform Your Life (New World Library), claims that by following the practices in it for only three minutes a day for fourteen weeks, you can transform your meditative practice and your life.

I conducted a Zoom interview with Dixey about his new book. The full interview is available on YouTube-. Following is an edited version.

Richard Smoley: Could you explain a little bit about the book and how it connects readers with meditative practice?

RichardDixeyRichard Dixey: To really understand what this book is about, it’s worth having a brief review of meditation, because most people have never meditated; they think it’s some mystical practice from the East.

To begin, the only things we will ever experience and can ever experience are the inputs from our five senses and our thoughts and imaginations: everything else is inferential. From these, we can infer an external world. We can also infer an internal world, but these too are inferences built upon these primary events.

Meditation is about directly addressing those inputs by looking at experience as experience. There is no other way of knowing anything. Meditation is about this fact of life, which is so fundamental that we miss it. It’s like looking through a window and not seeing the glass. We don’t see that the world we live in is actually a construct, an inference made from the five senses, thoughts, and imaginations.

We all suffer from reflexive reactivity, and this is the next reason why meditation is important. Reflexive reactivity is our capacity to react to events quickly. Unfortunately, because it’s reflexive, it tends to be unconscious, so we’re always reacting to events. In our cognitive processes, we’re actually constructing a map of the world. That map is what we make, we infer, from our five senses, thoughts, and imaginations, and that map is full of reflexive triggers.

Now we need these triggers, because the map is essentially protective. You could well say that what took a naked ape from the savannas of Africa to driving around in sports cars is precisely this mapping. This mapping enables us to learn from experience: when a bad thing happens, we remember it, and when it next occurs in our experience, we know what to do.

This map is reflexive. Unfortunately, it’s also paranoid. It’s really only interested in bad news. That’s why the newspapers are full of bad news. If you put on a newspaper a headline that says something went well, nobody cares. If you say something went badly, everybody wants to read about it. That’s because the mapmaker is protective. We are in a protective mechanism made by our cognitive apparatus, which is reflexively mapping the world.

Now this fact appears in our common language. We use the word recognition. We say, “I recognize you,” or “I recognize this.” When we say that, we mean our map has got a reference for something; we know what it is. Normally, it is associated with naming, so when we say, “I recognize that,” it means I have a name for it. When we walk around in our normal experience, everything’s got a name: that means we’re walking in a memory.

We are actually recognizing, re-cognizing, cognizing again, all the time.

If our mapmaking was totally accurate—if it didn’t have any coloring and it was absolutely the case that what we were mapping was out there—there’d be no issue. The problem is that our map comes from our memories: everything that ever happened to us—the circumstances of our birth, the country we’re born in, influences from the news—is all put into this map. So our experience is being conditioned. We are being colored by the map; consequently we end up in a world which is not the case. We are mapping the world inaccurately.

This is a cause of enormous problems for us and for everyone we meet, because they are mapping the world in exactly the same way. Two people meet, they have different maps, so they disagree. Or you get national maps, where communities of people in a country have a map together. Another country has a different map, and they fight. These are tremendously problematic consequences of a lack of understanding of our cognitive process.

 The final element of this process is what’s happening in modernity, where we have increasingly sophisticated devices that capture our attention. They advert our attention, which is where the word advertising comes from. With the advent of mobile phones, people are carrying around sophisticated little computers that are designed to capture their attention. As a result, our attention is being taken this way and that, and we are stressed. We feel disempowered and disconnected from our experience, so we have an epidemic of alienation.

Mapmaking is not just a matter of names. It also has an element of, “I want that; I don’t want that.” “This is good. This is bad.” “This is something I should worry about.” All of these injunctions are in that map, so we’re being pulled this way and that, and as a result we can’t see clearly.

All of these issues are addressed by meditation, which is the fundamental life skill of seeing cognition prior to recognition.

How can you get to cognition prior to recognition? If you can break this automatic, reflexive, re-cognitive loop by seeing cognition prior to recognition, an entirely different experience emerges.

Once this background is understood, meditation is properly seen as a skill. It’s not religious per se. These are skillful means, which come about when you know how to meditate. You can pray. You can visualize. You can use your meditation skillfully. People conflate the basic mechanism of meditation with those skillful means, and they say, “Meditation’s religious,” or “It’s Buddhist”: they have labels for it. But it’s totally neutral. Meditation is merely the faculty of seeing cognition itself, and we have that capacity.

The first step in any meditation practice is to simplify the inputs of the five senses, thoughts, and imaginations. If you do that, you can become calm. But there is an important key in developing calmness. We are all taught to concentrate, and concentration is normally thought to be taking your attention and adverting it to a chosen object. The problem is, that kind of concentration is brittle. You hold your concentration on an object. Then a sound or thought happens, and you’re immediately adverting to whatever has disturbed you. You’re always trying to hold on to this brittle, concentrative focus.

But the old meditation masters understood that there are two phases to concentration. Concentration is not merely to advert attention; it is also to savor the object of attention. This second phase, this savoring, is an extremely important element of concentration.

The metaphor is simple enough. You lift a cup of coffee to your lips. That’s vitaka: adverting your concentration. You then savor the coffee: that’s called vicara: savoring.

Adverting the attention is what one does for the first week of my program. The next step is to follow a changing object. I suggest taking a bell. You strike it and follow the sound of the bell. That’s vitaka. And following, savoring the sound as the bell fades is vicara. Taking this input from the ear gate and following it into silence is to learn to be concentrated with no object of concentration at all, because the object fades.

Vicara, this savoring concentration, is not brittle: when something comes to disturb vicara, it just gets incorporated into vicara as a flavor. As a result one can move toward calmness.

Calmness is not having no thoughts; this is another huge misconception about meditation. Our cognitive apparatus is designed to run scenarios. It’s always mapping; it’s always making what-ifs for us. That’s its job. To say, stop thinking is nonsensical. You might as well say, stop breathing. It is a natural function. The key is to become nonreactive: we’re not always being pulled this way and that by whatever our sense inputs are saying. We gradually calm down to the point where we achieve clear seeing.

Clear seeing—the clarity of mind that comes from calmness—is called vipassana. Passana literally means seeing, and vi- means discriminating or clear. Vipassana is a fruit of calmness. It’s not a meditation on its own; it is a fruit of meditation.

If you are able to become calm, you will see clearly.  It’s like having a glass of water with a bit of dust in it. If it’s all stirred up, you can’t see through it. Put it on a shelf—that is, become nonreactive—leave it on its own, and the water clears. Suddenly you see clearly now.

Seeing clearly brings us many benefits. It’s normally associated with the strange word wisdom, because someone who sees clearly is nonreactive to what is in front of them. They think, “I wonder what that is.” They then have the freedom to make inquiry without being automatically reactive. Often when you look a second time, you find alternatives you missed in your reactivity.

In our normal life, we are bombarded by injunctions  coming from our own re-cognitive map. This makes us easily manipulated, because, unfortunately, recognition is entirely mechanical. That’s to say, if I can put an idea into you, you will recognize it, which is exactly how advertising works: you put something into someone’s mind; they recognize it and think it’s real. The same is true of political propaganda.

Meditation was designed initially for monks, and unsurprisingly, most meditation practices last for a long time,  because monks are happily able to sit for an hour or two. That’s their day job; that’s what they do.

It isn’t necessary to sit that long to get this insight. The insight that separates cognition from recognition can be achieved in much shorter periods. I wrote this book to explain this. Then there are simple exercises that you do for three minutes a day for seven days; as long as you do them, you are going to know what I pointed out to you, because you’ll have that experience.

The whole process takes fourteen weeks. They build up to the point where anybody who does this practice for three minutes a day for fourteen weeks will know what meditation is. They will have the taste of it. Now they can either use that in their daily life—because it is extremely useful—or they can go further: they can develop skillful means in whatever area they like.

I think it’s tragic when religiously inclined people try to develop the skillful means that come from meditation without the meditation. They’re merely grasping at what they think they might achieve. We have big words like enlightenment and liberation, but if we don’t have this fundamental capacity, these things are just words.

This practice is really a preface for a life lived more fully, whether or not you’re religiously inclined. Perhaps you’re a businessperson who wants to be able to take time out during a busy day and see things a different way. Maybe you’re an artist who wants to become more creative. Maybe you’re a housewife, with your kids bugging you the whole time; you just want to be able to take time out.

This time out is not relaxation as people normally think of it: lying down and doing nothing. This is a very precise not doing, because it’s learning to not react. When you don’t react, you become clear. You don’t disappear at all.

People often think that if they become nonreactive, they’re going to disappear. Quite the reverse: when you become nonreactive, you appear. You find for once that you are in the center of your being. You’re no longer being pulled this way and that. It is as if the emperor has taken the throne, and the vizier, the advisor that’s been telling you what to do, is sitting in its proper place. You have your capacity, your human potential, just from this extremely simple practice. And three minutes a day is all it takes.

Actually I made an app and gave it away with the book, so people can put this practice on their phones. It doesn’t have to be done in a shrine or a special room. It can be done anywhere, because our re-cognitive map is being triggered everywhere. As a result, meditation is the most portable life skill you can imagine. All you need is your cognition, and you can meditate.

This is where meditation begins and ends. It’s a liberation from our own cognition. We’re not being locked up by anyone else. Meditation opens the door to freedom in a fundamental way. That’s why I feel so strongly about it.

Smoley: Of course there are many different angles we could take on what you just said. Let’s start with vicara. Let us say that you are doing this particular practice—listening to and savoring the sound of a bell—and let’s say you live on an extremely noisy street. There are all sorts of truck sounds, kids screaming, stereos, and whatnot. So if I understand your point, when you’re doing this particular type of meditation, you’re also savoring those peripheral noises as part of experience. Is that more or less correct?

Dixey: All beginning meditators have to simplify the six gates (the five senses plus thought) to one, because we’re being so pulled around that we have to quieten it all down and get to one. So any beginning practice says, please try to quiet things down.

The beginning meditator wants to be in a quiet place and just concentrate on one gate, or sense.

Once you become used to savoring, you find you can open your eyes and ears and savor the entirety of the display. But that’s a much more expert level. That’s what you’re working towards.

This leads to an extremely interesting point about the term sense restraint. Sense restraint is mistranslated as closing down the senses so you hear nothing and see nothing. This is a total misunderstanding. Sense restraint is to restrain the reaction. You become nonreflexive. This is a life skill to give ourselves some space so that when there are car doors slamming and kids screaming, we’re not being pulled around by the map asking, “What’s this? What’s this?”

Once we do that, suddenly everything simplifies. And the vizier—the advisor who before vipassana was forcing us to react to everything—becomes a friend. This advisor may say, “I think it’s one of those things,” and you reply, “Yeah, maybe it is. But let’s have a look.” You get the ability to respond rather than react. That distinction is extremely important. A response is a considered reaction; a reaction is merely reflexive.

Unfortunately, because all of our reactions come from the past, we go round and round, repeating the same mistakes. This is where we get the appalling circularity that we see both in our own lives and in human history. As they say, history doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes, because it’s guided by the past. You can read the meditations of Marcus Aurelius, who was writing around AD 160: you could have met him yesterday. What he is saying about humanity is exactly what we are experiencing. That’s because there’s been a complete failure to address our reactivity. And this is the gift the Asian traditions give.

The fruit of meditation is really important; we just have to demystify it from the complexity of skillful means. I am not criticizing skillful means. I am all for people using the basic meditative skills of shamata [calmness] and vipassana to develop their psychic capacities. This is possible, but it’s not fundamental to meditation. Unfortunately, people put the cart before the horse and try to get those psychic capacities before they fully understand their own reactivity. The result is spiritual materialism: they try to grab the fruit before they have the means.

I think a corrective needs to be introduced: to explain what meditation is so that this basic skill can be separated from its ornaments. When we do, we suddenly realize that meditation is something that should be taught along with reading and writing.

As I said, it’s not anything religious, or anything at all; it doesn’t affect people’s religious positions. It’s completely compatible with science—indeed, scientific insight is now confirming what the meditators saw. Cognitive psychology is demonstrating that the medieval meditators were remarkably accurate in their self-observation.  For example, meditation manuals from the third century point out that the citta consciousness flickers on and off. We now know that’s the case. Those people were accurately describing a fundamental physiological function.

But there’s another point. In the seventies, the philosopher Thomas Nagel wrote an amazing article called, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” It says you can gather all the bat physiologists, all the bat zoologists, all the bat anatomists—all the people who know about bats. You can write an encyclopedia about bats. But no matter how many books you write about bats, you are never going to know what it is to be a bat. What it is to be a bat is something only bats know.

In exactly the same way, you can go into a bookshop and see books upon books written by neurophysiologists and neuroanatomists saying, “What is it like to be happy? A hundred and one ways to be happy,” written by some boffin who’s got a degree in neurophysiology. This is utter nonsense. The only way you’re going to know what it is like to be you is to be you. It doesn’t matter how many brain maps we have or how many machines we have that measure brain function—none of them are going to tell you what it is like to be you. If you are a victim of reflexive reactivity, you will never find out what it’s like to be you, because you’re being pulled around by a map.

Another way of seeing this is saying, “OK. I’m just going to stop the mapmaking and be me. I will vipassana me. I will suddenly see clearly what it’s like to be me.” That is the recovery of our humanity. It is not incompatible with science; it is complementary. Indeed, you’re a much better scientist if you know what it’s like to be you. You’re also a much better user of technology.

We live in a golden age of scientific discovery and technological development—the most productive period of human history—but at the same time we are teetering on the edge of the apocalypse because of this blindness about mapmaking. If we can only see cognition and then see recognition—the fact that we’re making a map—we can use the remarkable powers that our culture has developed for the good of all. And that is an instinctive reaction of human beings. Human beings are basically good. The problem is, we’re being led astray by mechanical, reflexive reactivity that is driving us over a cliff.

Smoley: Let’s go back to the six gates. Like the rest of us, the Tibetans posit five senses, but they also posit thought as a sense. Everything is coming in through these six gates. The minute you examine this, you start to realize how limited each of those gates is. Is there a way of expanding or transcending the apparent limits of the six gates?

Dixey: If you begin to engage with the cognition of the six gates rather than recognition, you find that your sensorium is really quite remarkable. It’s just that we react to it rather than engage with it. For example, the retina of the eye is so sensitive it can detect a single photon. Who knows what it might be capable of? Indeed, when you hang out with meditators, you see that they can have quite remarkable capacities.

I’m not a great psychic master. But if, for example, you sit and you listen without reacting and just explore what’s coming in through your ears, you hear things that normally you would ignore, because they’re not interesting to your reactive map. Suddenly your sensorium is growing.

Reality is what we engage with. I don’t care if a scientist tells me there are black holes. Of course it’s great, and maybe because of that knowledge we’ll get new technology, but it is an inference. It’s an idea that comes from his work and what he’s inferred. It isn’t real in the proper sense of that term. What is real is what is coming to me, and what is real is what is coming to you. There is no external reality, because that cannot be experienced.

The idea that the real is beyond experience is obviously incomprehensible. It would imply that we can’t know anything, because what is really is beyond our knowledge. That is the most extraordinary idea. Indeed, the person who wrote it down wouldn’t be real either, so it is a self-contradictory position.

Ultimately what is real is what comes to us. The key is to be able to engage with it. If we do, and we respond to our senses, we find remarkable capacities.

This is the function of art. A great artist, like Cézanne or Rembrandt or Vermeer, will record exactly what’s coming in and be able to put it down. When you look at these works of art, it’s as if they oblige you to stop the clock. You get a numinous feeling out of a great work of art. It’s the call of the cuckoo, saying, “Wake up! You guys are in a map. Wake up! Stop mapping! Come into the real world.”

Many of us long to have a more meaningful life. It’s right in front of us. When we learn to get a little closer into our sensorium, suddenly there’s a different world altogether. To me, that is a magical discovery, and it’s simple to achieve.

Smoley: I’m wondering what relation your teachings have to the Dzogchen lineage in Tibetan Buddhism.

Dixey: It is true that Dharma College’s curriculum comes from authentic sources, because I have the great good fortune to be married to Wangmo, who is the eldest daughter of Tarthang Tulku Rinpoche, one of the few remaining fully trained lamas in the Tibetan meditation system.

But these ideas are in all the Buddhist lineages. When you go back and read the earliest teachings of the Buddha, he’s always saying, “See. See.” He’s trying to get people to see.

I think it’s crazy that we’ve always got Buddhas sitting in meditation. That’s our Buddha: some guy sitting in meditation. But that isn’t what the Buddha did. Probably if he meditated at all, it was for minutes a day. He was continuously active, teaching the whole time. He kept company with the most average people. In fact, many of his students were courtesans. He wasn’t away in some monastery, sitting for eight hours a day, looking at a wall. That is absolutely not what the Buddha is recorded as having done.           

This points to the fact that this is a fundamental insight that we can take anywhere. It isn’t a particular system. It’s a cultural jewel that we can use, and it gives something very valuable to contemporary conditions. It enables us to recover our humanity, but not by learning a set of rules about how to do the right thing. The way is to recover your humanity through recognizing and then resting prior to recognition in cognition itself. When that happens, your humanity blossoms. You’re no longer the reactive, difficult person you were before; you suddenly find yourself being kind and friendly and open-hearted, because that’s what human beings are. We don’t have to be taught to be nice. We are actually kind, and the kindness that people aspire to they already have. It’s just being covered over by a paranoia that comes from mapmaking.

It’s a great discovery to realize we’re basically kind. I read an amazing book called Humankind: A Hopeful History`, written by a Dutch physiologist called Rutger Bregman. It’s about the systematic falsification of psychological experiments made by physiologists to show that human beings are basically unkind.

In one case, there was a group of kids who were left on a desert island. We were told that they would turn into a terrifying Lord of the Flies world, in which there were leaders and people being beaten up. That’s totally false. When these kids, who had been washed up on a desert island, were discovered, they had made a school for themselves. They had a completely egalitarian society.

It is a complete fabrication—this idea that when humans aren’t being controlled, they’ll turn into savages. It’s absolutely the reverse. When we’re not controlled, we turn into human beings who are nice and kind and cooperative.

We are being sold a dummy, a dud, by people who wish to control us—advertisers, whether they’re political or economic. The key is to learn how to recover our humanity in the face of this onslaught. That’s what meditation is for.

Smoley: I can’t resist asking you about your father-in-law, Tarthang Tulku, who is certainly one of the most dynamic and creative Tibetan lamas to come to the West. He’s also been among the most reclusive, so few people have seen or interacted with him for a very long time. What are your impressions of him on a day-to-day, personal basis?

Dixey: He’s a phenomenon. During the first period of his career in America, from 1968 to 1976, he was teaching very actively.

Then he was so appalled by the destruction of the monasteries and Tibetan culture and the plight of the Tibetan refugees in India that he decided to dedicate his efforts to printing books and giving them back the libraries they’d lost. He now has personally edited over 3,000 Tibetan texts, which are the basic syllabus that the monks learn, and he’s been responsible for the printing and distribution of over 7 million copies. He has dedicated himself almost completely to doing this. It was a necessity. I am sure that in a happier age, he would have taught exclusively, but there was an emergency.

The Buddhist commentarial literature is larger than all the texts of the world’s other religions combined: about 12 million original titles. It’s vast, and the Tibetan system is very much based on study, contemplation, and practice. You must study, then you contemplate, then you practice. So it’s very important for them to have these books.

He felt this culture was going to die if he didn’t do something, and he was in America with the means. Because American society is remarkably productive, a very small group of people printed 7 million books. People can’t believe it, and that’s what he dedicates his time to.

But when you spend time with him, he’s always saying to you, “Who is looking? Who is actually reacting here?” He is always wanting to inquire if you are in cognition or recognition. He’s interested in knowing what your state is.

He’s also pretty certain that merely translating Tibetan traditions into English is going to cause problems, because the technical language that was developed for shamata and vipassana doesn’t translate readily into Western languages; we need a special language to translate it. So he began to write books in plain English.

The main book that we teach at Dharma College is called Revelations of Mind: A New Way of Understanding the Human Mind. It is a 400-page book about cognition and recognition without a single Tibetan, Sanskrit, Pali, or Buddhist word in it, because he feels strongly that we need to bring these ideas into our own culture and express them in our own way. Although he’s very traditional in his activities toward his own culture, he’s written thirty-seven books for contemporary, Western, educated audiences, and they are all in plain English; they’re not Buddhist books at all.

He’s a truly magical being, without question. Of course I have the great good fortune to meet him sometimes, but he is busy: he’s eighty-nine, and he’s still working twelve-hour days. He is a nonstop producer. He has single-handedly rebuilt the monastic libraries through India and the Himalayas. There isn’t a Buddhist library you can go to in the heartland of Buddhism that doesn’t contain many of the books he’s printed.

Smoley: Many people have wondered whether extraordinary capacities developed through meditative practices can be used for evil. What do you have to say to that?

Dixey: Of course anything can be used for evil. Evil is the misuse of human skills. The theistic religious traditions are nearly always couched in terms of good and evil. There are all kinds of explanations for evil; sometimes it’s a fallen angel. That’s not true of the Asian traditions at all. The Asian traditions believe in fundamental human goodness. Obviously there are seriously bad people out there who are doing bad things. Is this a fundamental trait, or is this something that’s been learnt? What would happen if somehow we wiped the recognitive map clean?

If we’re in a recognitive map the whole time, we may have bad experiences that cause us to end up wishing to control others for evil ends. Does that make us basically evil? I would strongly question that. To me, the problem is the unconscious, reflexive reactivity which causes this kind of behavior.

To me, the key is to learn the difference. All I can do is speak for myself. I am not a dictator. I don’t run an evil regime,  so I can’t say what it’s like to be one of these guys. All I know for myself is that my bad behavior, the things I have been embarrassed to have done, have got less and less as I have become less reactive. If the theory of evil was correct, as I became less “controlled,” I would become nastier and nastier, but actually I’m becoming a nicer person by becoming less reactive.

If you deeply engage with these practices, you will become better at everything. You will also become a calmer, kinder, and more compassionate person.


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