The Theosophy of the Tao Te Ching, Part Two

Part 2
Richard W. Brooks


Lao Tzu uses a number of interesting metaphors to describe Tao--interesting because they are not what one would expect in a very male-dominated, material-valuing society like that of ancient China: the female, an infant, water, a valley, a bellows, an uncarved block, and raw (that is to say, unpainted) silk. But those metaphors aptly convey the idea that Nature is without show, ego, and preconceptions. Rather it works best when it draws the least attention to itself, when it nurtures without expecting accolades, is empty, is simple, is humble. It follows, then, that to be most effective in interpersonal relations--or what we might even call personal spirituality--we must imitate Nature:

A man with highest virtue (te) is not virtue-conscious;
That is why he has virtue.
A man with lowest virtue never loses sight of his virtue:
That is why he has no virtue. [ch. 38]

Nothing under Heaven is softer or more yielding than water,
Yet for attacking the hard and strong there is nothing better, it has no equal.
That the weak (or yielding) overcomes the strong
And that the soft (or submissive) overcomes the hard
Everyone under Heaven knows,
Yet none are able to practice it.
Therefore, the Sage says:
He who suffers humiliation for the state
Can be called a ruler worthy to offer sacrifices to the gods of earth and millet.
He who takes upon himself the misfortunes of the state
Can be called a king worthy of ruling the empire.
Straightforward words can seem paradoxical! [ch. 78]

But we cannot practice humility--for that would make it self-conscious and unnatural. To attain this state of humility or lack of egocentricity naturally we must empty ourselves of our preconceptions and conceits, we must become like a valley or a bellows--we must practice what Lao Tzu calls "emptiness":

Empty yourself of everything;
Hold firmly to tranquility. [ch. 6]

Again, we must do this because that is the way Nature works to accomplish its creative purposes:

Tao is empty, yet use will not exhaust it.
Like an abyss! Like the ancestor of the ten thousand things! [ch. 4]

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows?
While empty, it is never exhausted;
The more it works, the more it yields.
Much talk inevitably leads to exhaustion;
Better keep to the center. [ch. 5]

Here, again, Lao Tzu requires us to look at things in a new way. We usually focus our attention on the substance of things, matter or "being." But emptiness, space, or "nonbeing" is just as important, as he points out:

Thirty spokes unite in a wheel's hub;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the wheel depends.
Clay is shaped into a vessel;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the vessel depends.
Doors and windows are cut to make a room;
It is upon nonbeing that the usefulness of the room depends.
Therefore, advantage [or value] comes from Being,
But usefulness comes from Nonbeing. [ch. 11]

This leads us to perhaps the most puzzling term in the Tao Te Ching, in Chinesewu wei. The word wu is a negation, "not" or "without"; the word wei as a verb means "act" or "do," but it could also be a noun meaning"action." In fact, wu wei is often translated "nonaction" or "inaction," but that gives a very misleading impression of its meaning. The term wei has the implication of "purposive, self-conscious, or preplanned action"; its opposite,therefore, is not lack of action, but "spontaneous, creative, or unselfconscious action." When Lao Tzu is read with this in mind, his recommendation for interpersonal relations becomes quite intelligible--and reminds one very much ofJ. Krishnamurti:

The Way (tao) is constant in inaction (wu wei),
Yet nothing is left undone.
If kings and nobles were able to maintain it,
The ten thousand things would transform of themselves.
If, after transformation, they desired to act,
I would restrain them with Nameless Simplicity.
Nameless Simplicity is free of desires;
Without desires they would be tranquil;
And the empire would be at peace of its own accord (or would correct itself). [ch. 37]

The phrase translated 'Nameless Simplicity' above is literally "without name uncarved block." As noted above, the uncarved block (p'u) is one of Lao Tzu's several metaphors for the tao. Another passage further develops the same idea:

In the pursuit of learning, everyday something is acquired;
In the pursuit of the Way (tao), everyday something is dropped.
Less and less is done until nonaction (wu wei) is achieved.
When one achieves nonaction, nothing is left undone.
The empire is ruled by not interfering (or meddling).
If one interferes (or meddles), one
is not worthy of ruling the empire. [ch. 48]

Here the notion of "nonaction" is applied to"learning," which in Chinese implies (especially for Confucius) the study of ancient (largely mythological) history to extract moral lessons from it and the study of the rituals of proper social behavior so as to become self-consciously refined. Obviously, such a "learned" approach would make one a carefully planned individual, rather than a natural, creative, unselfconscious person. Perhaps some people might feel that the majority of mankind need this as a step towards true spiritual development, but certainly spiritual teachers like Christ,Buddha, Ramana Maharshi, and Krishnamurti did not recommend it.

To develop this attitude of selfless, spontaneous"nonaction," Lao Tzu recommends a technique that sounds very much like the withdrawal of the senses from sense objects in the Bhagavad Gita (2.58) andPatanjali's stilling of the activity of the mind in the Yoga Sutras (1.2):

Close the passages,
Shut the doors,
And to the end of your life your strength will the withdrawal;
Open the passages,
Increase your doings,
And to the end of your life you will be beyond help. [ch. 52]

Block the passages,
Shut the doors,
Blunt the sharpness,
Untangle the knots,
Soften the glare,
Become one with the dusty world;
This is called Profound (hsüan) Union. [ch. 56]

Commentators generally acknowledge that the "passages" and "doors" mentionedin these two quotations are, as D. C. Lau (77) puts it, "the apertures through which the senses acquire knowledge."

Lao Tzu further recommends that we do awaywith all distinctions or value judgments. He reasons that, since our concept of"good" is always associated conceptually with "bad," if we want to get rid of the "bad" in the world, we must eliminate the concepts of both "good" and "bad"simultaneously, relying on our inner nature to make us naturally,unselfconsciously good. This is best illustrated in a passage that at first reading seems very paradoxical:

When all under Heaven know beautiful as beautiful,
There arises the recognition of ugliness;
When all under Heaven know good as good,
There arises the recognition of not-good:
Thus, Being and Nonbeing produce each other;
Difficult and easy complete (or complement) each other;
Long and short contrast each other,
High and low support each other,
Sound and voice harmonize each other,
Front and back follow each other.
Therefore, the Sage handles affairs by first reading (wu wei)
And spreads teachings without words.
The ten thousand things arise and he doesn't turn away from them;
He nurtures them, but doesn't possess them;
He benefits them, but doesn't expect gratitude;
He accomplishes his task, but doesn't claim credit.
It is because he doesn't claim credit that it lasts forever. [ch. 2]

One can understand Lao Tzu's point better by realizing that one cannot have a world in which everything is long or high. That makes no sense. Long only exists in contrast with short, high with low. By making value judgments like "you're good," we keep conceptually alive the contrasting judgment "you're not good"--the very thing we are trying to eliminate! So the truly enlightened person must teach by example, staying always in the background, refusing to accept reward (or punishment).

That leads to another important recommendation: that we come to interpersonal situations with an open mind, that we listen to what others are saying instead of trying to bully our way through such situations by imposing our preconceived opinions on others:

The Sage has no fixed mind (hsin, literally "heart", the seat of judging things);
He regards the people's mind as his own.
Those who are good, I treat with goodness (or regard as good);
Those who are not good, I also treat with goodness (or regard as good).
Thus goodness is attained.
Those who are sincere (or honest), I treat with sincerity (or regard as honest);
Those who are insincere (or dishonest), I also treat with sincerity (or regard as honest);
Thus sincerity (or honesty) is attained.
The Sage, when dealing with the world, is one with it;
His mind harmonizes with that of the people.
The people turn their eyes and ears to him.
And he treats them as his grandchildren. [ch. 49]

Lao Tzu's recommendation here seems to be like that depicted in the episode of "TheBishop's Candlesticks" in Victor Hugo's novel Les Miserables in which police apprehend Jean Valjean with silver candlesticks he had stolen from a bishop who befriended him; when the police bring Valjean back to the bishop's manse, the bishop tells the police that they were a present, whereupon Valjean is so struck with remorse that he completely changes his way of life. In any event, it is clear that like Nature, which doesn't boast of its magnificent creations, theSage stays so much in the background that the people are unaware of his (or her)contribution:

[The best ruler] completes his tasks, finishes his affairs,
Yet the people say, "We did it ourselves" (or "It just happened")
(tzu jan, literally "self-so"). [ch. 17]

All of that is what might be termed the negative side of the Sage's interpersonal behavior. Lao Tzu identifies a positive side as wellin what he calls his "three treasures (or jewels)":

I have three treasures that I hold and cherish:
The first is compassion (or deep love) (tz'u),
The second is frugality,
The third is not presuming to be first in the world.
Being compassionate, one can be courageous;
Being frugal, one can be generous;
Not presuming to be first in the world, one can become a leader (or minister).
Now, trying to be courageous without compassion,
Trying to be generous without frugality,
And trying to be a leader without humility
Is sure to end in death.
For compassion brings triumph in attack and strength in defence.
What Heaven wishes to preserve it surrounds with compassion. [ch. 67]

It is obvious,then, that there is much of interest in this little book, the Tao Te Ching, much of which is of immediate relevance to our own dealings with other people.Certainly a compassionate, humble, nonjudgmental, open-minded attitude is important for anyone to adopt towards others. Certainly, attempting to still the mind with daily meditation is highly desirable. And we could all benefit from practicing "yielding" when in a confrontational, hostile situation since meeting hostility with hostility accomplishes very little, if indeed anything worthwhile at all. It certainly does not resolve a tense situation. And even if we prevail,the person we prevail over is surely left with resentment, as the Tao Te Ching points out:

When great enemies make peace,
Some hostility is bound to remain.[79]

But that is not to say that we will agree with everything in this little classic. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the Way it recommends isin its concept of the ideal State or form of government. The latter has already been hinted at in the quotations from chapters 37 and 48 above on the concept of wu wei. It is a policy of laissez faire, in which there is little or no government interference in the lives of citizens. Perhaps the most quaint expression of this idea is in the first line of chapter 60: "Ruling a large state is like cooking a small fish." That is, as commentators explain, too muchhandling will spoil it! Or as the following lines put it:

The more prohibitions a state has,
The poorer the people will be. . . .
The more laws and edicts there are,
The more theft and fraud there will be. [ch. 57]

Certainly, as the Mahatmas point out in their letters to A. P. Sinnett, humanfree will is inviolable, and must not be subjected to the will of another. But the Tao Te Ching seems to imply that people only steal and defraud when they areaware of laws against such things--that, otherwise, they would be naturally free of such self-centered, acquisitive impulses. That seems to border on the naive.It also fails to take into account that, as Theosophy teaches, humans presently are at very different stages of evolution as far as intelligence and morality are concerned; what greatly troubles one person's conscience does not bother another's at all. Furthermore, the above passage fails to distinguish between criminal law and civil law. Surely, one would want some sort of general rules about which side of the road to drive on (whether in an oxcart or an automobile), which days are workdays and which holidays, how streets are to an automobile out and cared for, and so on. An orderly society needs such general organizing rules just as much as it needs prohibitions against murder and theft.

But that's not all. The Tao Te Ching also envisions a society in which people lead extremely simple, very static lives--a peasant society in which people never leave their villages, abandon writing, and even refuse to employ labor-saving machinery:

Let the state be small.
Even if there are weapons enough for an army, the people will not use them.
They will not want to travel to distant lands.
They will look upon death as a momentous thing.
Even though they have boats and carts, they won't use them.
Even though there are armour and weapons, they won't make a display of them.
They will return to the use of knotted ropes [in place of writing].
They will take pleasure in their food,
Delight in their clothing,
Be happy with their homes,
And be content with their livelihood.
Though they can see the neighboring states
And hear the barking of dogs and crowing of cocks.
Yet they will grow old and die without visiting one another. [ch. 80]

This sounds very much like a society in which people are happy because they are kept fat and dumb! Surely, one cannot realize the inherent brotherhood of humanity if one has no contact with the rest of humanity. One cannot even meaningfully form a "nucleus of the brotherhood of humanity" if one is unaware of people who are different from oneself--racially, religiously, and culturally.

Nevertheless, the foregoing is a relatively minor part of thisbook. Ideas compatible with Theosophy outnumber those at variance with it. And,of course, there is much more that has not been discussed at all. Perhaps the foregoing will serve to whet the appetites of those unfamiliar with the Tao TeChing to find several translations, such as those in the reference list below,and begin their own meditative study of it.


<

b>References

Chan, Wing-tsit, trans.The Way of Lao Tzu. Indianapolis, IN:Bobbs-Merrill, 1963.

Feng, Gia-fu, and Jane English, trans. Tao Te Ching: A NewTranslation. New York: Vintage, 1972.

Henricks, Robert G., trans. Te-Tao Ching.New York: Ballantine, 1989.

Lau, Dim Cheuk, trans. Tao Te Ching. Hong Kong:Chinese University Press, 1989.

Wei, Henry, trans. The Guiding Light of Lao Tzu. Wheaton, IL:Theosophical Publishing House, 1982.


Richard Brooks, PhD, taught philosophy and logic at Oakland University,Michigan, until his recent retirement. A member of the National Board ofDirectors of the Theosophical Society, he has recently taught a course on parapsychology for the Olcott Institute on parapsychology program. This article is adapted from the Theosophist, December 1998.


Viewpoint: The Web of Life

 

 By Radha Burnier
President, Theosophical Society
 [condensed from the Daily News Bulletin,125th International Convention]

Theosophical Society - Radha Burnier was the president of the international Theosophical Society from 1980 till her death in 2013. The daughter of N. Sri Ram, who was president of the international Theosophical Society from 1953 to 1973, she was an associate of the great spiritual teacher J. KrishnamurtiWhat is life? From where did life arrive? No one knows. However, the web of life surrounds us and is tangible to our senses. The Mundaka Upanishad (1.16.9) says: "As a spider spins and withdraws its thread, so from the Imperishable arrives the universe. By contemplative power Brahman (the Supreme) expands."

The Supreme Reality builds the web, which is the living universe, with one unbroken thread, stretching farther and farther down to this dense, material world and, when the time comes, it will withdraw the thread and later spin a new web.

As we study the universe, numerous varieties can be noticed within it, differing in age—ancient rocks, newer rocks, extinct species, and living ones. "This world was not brought into its present condition," Annie Besant declared, "by one creative word. Slowly and gradually and by prolonged meditation did Brahma make the world." Brahman expands, slowly, by our limited standards, by breathing out a few elements and combining them in wonderful ways. All life forms are organized, stage by stage, through the ages as evolution proceeds, according to the flow of the creative Thought in the inner, intangible realms.

The concept of a life web and the interconnectedness of life forms is not new. Many ancient peoples were not only aware that life forms are knit together in marvelous ways, but they experienced the sacredness of the life-giving breath of Brahman, which vivifies all manifestation. To the ancient Indians, mountains and rivers, trees and animals and the Earth itself were divine. The Taoists saw this visible world as a reflection of the supreme tranquility of pure Spirit. Australian aboriginals, close to nature, knew where water flowed invisibly below the earth and thereby at times they saved the lives of ignorant white intruders into their country's vast desert. Such sensitivity has been lost, as materialistic views have increasingly invaded the human mind.

The wholeness and sanctity of life is a new concept only to the Western world. In medieval Europe, Giordano Bruno was burnt at the stake as a heretic four hundred years ago because he proclaimed that the One Infinite Existence is everything without exception: "In it everything has being, not only actualities—a universe that is—but all universes that may be." As the Church's influence waned, it yielded place to the narrowness and aridity of the rational philosophy that even now holds sway. But fortunately there is the beginning of what is called a paradigm shift from the concept of a mechanistic, purposeless, material universe, to an interconnected, limitless, living world with mysterious dimensions.

Since the mechanistic view has had a stranglehold on the human mind and has spread into every nook and corner of the earth, only slow progress is being made towards realizing the truth described in Theosophical literature: "Nature has linked all parts of her Empire together by subtle threads of magnetic sympathy, and there is a mutual correlation even between a star and a man" (Mahatma Letters, p. 263).

The mutual relationship and cooperation between the denizens of the earth are indeed marvelous. There are countless cooperative relationships between individuals and species. They offer each other transport, shelter, warnings of impending danger, and other forms of help. No single species, we are told, could persist if it were alone on the planet. It would eventually exhaust all the available nutrients and, having no way to convert its own waste products into food, it would die. Life is necessarily a cooperative venture.

While biologists are exploring such details about interdependency, physicists are puzzling over questions about electrons in one part of the universe influencing others at a great distance. The same force that makes apples fall holds the moon and planets in their orbits: "All parts of the universe seem to be evolving in a similar way, as though they share a common origin," according to the astronomer Sir William Reese. The survival of the cosmos depends on a fine degree of tuning; for example, were the ratio of gravity and expansion energy to change even a tiny bit, the universe would collapse or never come into existence. There is a cosmic harmony that maintains the right conditions, proportions, and order for life to exist and evolution to proceed.

The evolutionary process unfolds the invisible spiritual attributes inherent in the source—Brahman—figuratively the spider. Beauty is everywhere, because the supreme source is beauty. Plants and trees, which draw nutrition from the earth, convert what they absorb into colors, textures, and shapes that ravish the eyes. The shells of creatures in the sea and coral reefs, songs of birds, and a myriad other things in the cosmos reveal in part the divine splendor.

The web of life is not only what is perceptible; underlying what is seen are energies of a spiritual kind. Cooperation between living creatures is one of the expressions of the spiritual. The Law of Sacrifice applies to all that exists and teaches every creature to give of itself for the sake of others. As the Gita says, by mutual adoration all forms of life enrich themselves. Scientists and others who study the effects at the material level of the unseen divine energies emanating from the Source will one day become philosophers and mystics who know that the web is not different from the spider, symbol of the Eternal.


News & Notes

News & Notes

Theosophy in the Movies

The cyber-art film What Dreams May Come, about the after-life experience as envisioned in a book of the same title, received a lengthy review in Hinduism Today (February 1999, 20-23). The review considers the sources of the book and film: "Hindus seeing this movie have wondered, "Where did this come from? How did all our Hindu beliefs get here?" The answer is "indirectly," because producers Stephen Simon and Barnet Bain and author Richard Matheson have little knowledge of Hinduism. What they are familiar with is Western metaphysics, much of which derives from Theosophy, which in turn derives from Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism." It might be more accurate to say that Hinduism, Buddhism, and modern Theosophy all derive from the same source, the timeless Wisdom Tradition.

Quest Author Wins Awards

Two articles by Paul Sochaczewski published in the Quest—"Snowmen in the Jungle: Are They Our Distant Relatives?" (Summer 1998) and "Neck Rings and Loincloths—Trust Us, We Know Better Than You Do" (Winter 1998) received Honorable Mention awards in the 1998 Writer's Digest Writing Competition. The event attracted more than 9000 entries.

Dreams of Isis, an Innovator's Favorite Book

Normandi Ellis's autobiographical and mythological account Dreams of Isis: A Woman's Spiritual Sojourn (Quest Books 1995) was named by Sarah Susanka as her favorite book in U. S. News & World Report for December 28 / January 4, 1998/1999. A humanistic-spiritual architect, Susanka was one of eighteen "American innovators" whom the turn-of-the-year issue featured as people with visions that can change the world.

Veggie Burgers in Washington

Vegetarian burgers are marketed by a number of companies: Gardenburger, Inc. (which ran a commercial on the last episode of the TV series Seinfeld), the long-established meat-substitute company Worthington Foods, and Boca Burger Inc. (named for its original location in Boca Raton, Florida). Reporting on the increased popularity of veggie burgers, the Chicago Tribune (Dec. 6, 1998, sec. 5, p. 1) reported: "Boca Burgers first gained national attention in 1995 after it was reported that Hillary Clinton put her burger-loving hubby onto Boca Burgers to wean him from Big Macs. They're still served at the White House and on Air Force One, and the U.S. Senate dining room has added Boca Burgers to the menu."

1998 Audio/Video Guide Update Available

The Audio/Video Guide is a comprehensive listing of all audio and video tapes in the Henry S. Olcott Memorial Library in numerical order, with indexes by title, author (speaker), and year of publication, in a loose-leaf format that is easily updated. The Guide also includes information on how to purchase audio and video tapes.

The following 1998 updates for The Audio/Video Guide are now available: main register supplements, listing new audio and video tapes in numerical order (48 pages), $4.00; main register supplements and revised author, title, and chronological indexes (160 pages), $9.00. A completely revised 1998 Audio/Video Guide (240 pages in a binder) is available for $15.00.

To obtain a copy of the guide or an update, send a check or money order payable to Theosophical Society in America to:
Henry S. Olcott Memorial Library
P. O. Box 270
Wheaton, IL 60187-0270
Phone 630-668-1571, ext. 304


Creating a Sanctuary for the Soul

By Dianne Valla and David Rioux

Since religious man cannot live except in an atmosphere impregnated with the sacred, we must expect to find a large number of techniques for consecrating space

—Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane

Our souls hurt. They hurt in a dozen different ways. We are fed up, bored, despairing, depressed, angry. When our souls hurt enough, we become seriously ill. Whatever the medical diagnosis, the real sickness is a lack of wholeness.

 

Our left-brained society, with its almost total emphasis on processes involving fact and logic, robs us of a part of ourselves that we need to be completely human. What we lack is an intuitive state of being, a metaphoric way of experiencing a reality that is not grounded in space or time or matter. What we need is an inner life. More than that, we need a way of connecting that inner life to the rest of our being.

participating in rituals, we experience the reality of another dimension. Rituals are ways of bringing the inner life of spirit into the world of space and time. Through mindful participation in meaningful ritual, we learn to live spiritually. We are healed of the illness of separation from ourselves.

Healing rituals uplift the quality of the ground of our being in the same way that working a garden upgrades the soil. A garden is nurtured by gardening; the life of the spirit is nurtured through dedication to ritual. Our disordered souls are healed and made ready for growth. The most profound wounds of a hostile environment and of interpersonal injury can be transformed by consistently and intentionally enacting rituals for healing.

Soul Sanctuary: A Ritual of Healing

Creating a soul sanctuary, aside from having great healing properties of its own, can become a jumping-off place for many other rituals. Almost all rituals are initiated in personal sanctuary space. From that place, other symbolic ritual actions can continue in an environment that already has a feeling of the sacred.

Creating a sanctuary for the soul is a simple task, filled with delight. Sanctuaries can be actual places or places that are real only in the imagination. Perhaps we need to have both kinds. An imagined sanctuary can never be closed due to weather or for repairs or for lack of financial support. The important aspect is that we each select our own special place, whether it be the seaside, a forest, a mountaintop, a view of running water or a waterfall, a special garden, or a sacred power spot.

The only requirement for sanctuary space is that we select a place where we have felt our highest level of peacefulness. The main ingredient is the great inner warmth, security, and peace that we feel in this place. The more often we revisit our soul sanctuary, the more peaceful we will be. Even troubled persons, those with seriously dysfunctional childhoods and memories of no peaceful place at all, have been able to imagine a place where they might feel safe and at peace.

Despite the real simplicity of creating personal sanctuary space, we have discovered that the task can be mind-boggling. For some people it might take time to be able to overcome built-in inertia. What seems to have worked well in healing and growth workshops we have done has been for us to lend our private sanctuaries to others. We'll do the same here. Feel free to borrow one or the other, whichever appeals to you. Use it until you create one of your own, or use it permanently if you choose. There is no rent or copyright on imagined soul sanctuaries.

Dianne's Sanctuary

I have a special place I go when I need to get away from it all. It isn't a real place, but sometimes it is more real to me than any actual location could ever be. I call it the Lighthouse.

I walk along a path of very old, very worn stone slates set into grass. As I walk, I hear my footsteps on the path. At the end of the path is a set of steps leading up to the door of a round turret. I walk up the steps, not even needing to hold the handrail that is there for me should I want to use it. I arrive at the door, a door with a special key that only I possess. From a gold chain on my neck I lift the key to the latch. I can hear the click as the lock turns. I enter, being sure to lock the door behind me. In front of me is a narrow winding staircase that leads to the top floor of the Lighthouse.

Another door leads me to the room itself, my sanctuary room. It is a circular room with windows all around. All the windows are open and the sheer white curtains are blowing slightly in the gentle breeze. I move across the room to sit in the only chair in the room. It is soft, yet it supports my fragile back. I fold my feet under my body and rest in the comfort of the moment. I notice that the room smells fresh and clean. There is even a trace of sandalwood scent as if long ago incense had been burned to honor an ancient deity.

It is so quiet in this room that I can hear, in the distance, the sound of the ocean. It is a calm ocean today. I smell its salt now, and I know that the ocean was once my home. In this room, I know without any doubt that all is well and right and holy. I close my eyes and enter a deep meditation. The world and its cares are gone for me. All there is, is peace.

When I am refreshed, I leave, going back the same way I came. I am careful to lock the door so that nothing can disturb my sanctuary while I am away. I know that I can return again and again and that I will always find what I need here.

David's Sanctuary

There is a special place I go within myself to transcend the pains of the outer world, to seek resolution of a problem, to make ready to receive the answer to a question, to find peace. I call this spot my Hidden Cove.

To begin this inward trip, I sit in a comfortable chair, close my eyes, and take a few slow, deep breaths. Then I'm alone, close to the edge of a great cliff, becoming both an observer and a participant in an interior ritual. The whole scene is lit by the soothing ethereal light of the rising sun. I walk to the very edge of the cliff, where I find a stairway cut into the face of the rock. The black basalt feels smooth under my feet, yet it is not slippery. I see my feet starting slowly down the stairs. Slightly warmed by the early sunlight, the volcanic rock caresses my feet as I descend to a hidden cove along the ocean. With each step down, I feel more and more relaxed.

When I reach the beach, I'm totally relaxed, basking in a pleasant altered state of consciousness. I feel a pleasant, moist breeze blowing from the water across my skin. As I walk onto the beach, the sand feels slightly cool under my feet. There is still a slight chill to the early morning air. I look up to see the dulled dawn sun lighting the sky and coloring the waves a soft golden white. Framed by this splendid backdrop is a campfire burning in the middle of the secluded little beach. Driftwood logs surround the fire. There are a few figures sitting on logs, seemingly huddled around the fire for warmth. I walk purposefully up the beach toward the campfire and sit down on one of the smooth, worn logs. I'm facing both the fire and the ocean.

Directly to my right, on another log, I see my Inner Guide. In a heart-to-heart silent contact, I ask my Guide for the help I need. I sense strong energy vibrations flowing from my Guide to me. Though the other figures—spirit helpers—sit quietly on their logs, I know that they will be available to me when I need them.

A sudden rush of energy from my Guide causes me to look upward. Written across the sky is the answer to the problem I brought with me to this place. I am filled with gratitude; tears wet my eyes. Slowly dropping my eyelids, I let a deep well of thankfulness flow toward my Guide. Then I gaze out at the ocean. After a few minutes, which could be centuries for all I know, I feel totally energized and completely peaceful. I get up slowly, and calmly retrace my path back to the top of the cliff. When I open my eyes, I find I have returned to everyday life fortified with the gift of an answer to my prayer and a state of great peace.

Sanctuaries as Sacred Places

Notice that there are some striking similarities in the two soul sanctuaries. Both have elements that are old and worn. Both are near water, near the ocean in fact. Both are places where one goes to be away from the cares of the world and to find what is deeply desired. Both accounts are rich in sensory images: sight, sound, feel, and even smell.

There are differences, however. You must have noticed that, while one of us remains outdoors, the other goes into a building. One admits other beings into his soul sanctuary; the other takes every precaution to make sure she will be in complete solitude. Both sanctuaries meet the particular needs of the person who created them. Both can be changed any time to fit particular circumstances and needs. What is important is what works.

We each enact our own myth. We each set up a soul sanctuary that brings us peace. As Joseph Campbell says in The Power of Myth:

This is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You need a room, or a certain hour or so in a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.

Where will you build your place of healing and peace and sanctuary for your soul?


Dianne Valla and David Rioux have been a team for more than twenty years. Both come from a background of teaching and have been practicing psychologists. At present, they are writing a novel about the rise of spiritual consciousness and a book of meditations on poetry.


Beauty is a Verb

Originally printed in the March-April 2000 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Booth, Eric. "Beauty is a Verb." Quest  89.2  MARCH-APRIL 2000): 50-53

By Eric Booth

Theosophical Society - Eric Booth has become a writer and teacher of the Art and Education program at the Juilliard School and at Lincoln Center Institute. He is a frequent keynote speaker about the arts and leads workshops around the country. This article is adapted from his book The Everyday Work of Art, published by Sourcebooks in 1997.Art and spirit meet in many places. Perhaps the most delicious, perhaps the most important, is in the experience of beauty. Shinto, an ancient spiritual tradition, worships at sites of beauty like waterfalls and rock formations. I believe that all people worship in the experience of beauty. However, in our secularized and hyperkinetic times, we usually overlook the significance of the occasion, and we rarely celebrate it with rituals and respect. Let me share my sense of beauty with you.

Over many years in practicing, teaching, and writing about the arts, I have become more dedicated to the verbs of art than to the nouns. Of course, those nouns—the paintings, music, dance, and theater performances, and later in human history the novels and poems—are as powerful and wonderful as they have been for the last ten thousand years or so. However, in our times we have come to overemphasize the "thing" aspect of art, to the point that our very definition of art now lies in those things.

The nounness of art explains why an overwhelming majority of Americans feel they have no place in the arts; the arts are about those fancy "things" that require experts and education to appreciate. So many feel art is irrelevant except for an annual pilgrimage to The Nutcracker or a haul through the Metropolitan Museum to view multi-million-dollar paintings on a trip to New York. We have noun-ified art just as we have commodified so many aspects of modern life.

I am fascinated by the verbs of art. It is what artists do as they create their nouns; it is what perceivers do when they respond by making connections to those nouns. We all participate in these verbs of creating and perceiving in bits and pieces throughout our lives. Indeed, pursuing this truth is the way to revive the arts in America, as I have argued in my book The Everyday Work of Art. I see beauty as a verb. Yes, there are beautiful things—they abound; but spirit and art really meet on the playground, in the action of beauty.

Beauty can't be a noun, except as an abstract idea like goodness, because it doesn't exist unless you participate in the present tense. Beauty is neither only in the eye of the beholder nor only in a beautiful "thing" itself, no matter how good-looking that thing may be. It resides in both beholder and beheld at the moment of their interaction. Beauty is a skill of experiencing, a kind of dialogue. Like any live-performance work of art, it exists only in the moments when it is happening. Beauty is a seeing or discovery of a satisfying whole that is completed by our participation.

For example, you might scrape together ten or twenty million dollars to buy yourself a nice van Gogh painting of sunflowers. (Don't forget the extra million for a proper security system and insurance.) You hang it on the living room wall, and sit down to visit with it. You might get a transporting sense of its beauty. On the other hand, you might also miss the experience, worrying about the humidity in the room. There will be other times when you sit with it, vaguely enjoying its presence, without really attending to it. Your thoughts are drifting; you are tired; something is bothering you—nothing beautiful is there.

Conversely, the neighbor's six-year-old may have sold you a drawing she made at school: price, a nickel. Mechanically, you stick it on the wall by the phone. And then you notice it; you start to see what the child has done, you see some clever ideas and accomplishments—beauty is there.

Although there are relatively few ultimate human masterworks (thank heavens for museums and performance halls), there is no shortage of beautiful objects, well-made things that require no ticket and will reward your attending with experiences of beauty. There is no dearth of natural beauty if you can see a single tree. Nouns are abundant. What is in short supply is the attending side of the beauty equation—the skills, the habits, the priority of engaging with worthwhile objects to discover beauty.

Beauty is more than nice, more than pretty, more than the opposite of ugly. You are making beauty every time you engage in a process that makes something more satisfying, more efficient, more effective, more elegant, more communicative, more complex, more compelling—more of whatever you see the project might become. In whatever work you invest yourself in—be it writing torts or touting warts, Total Quality Management or massage—beautifying pleases the senses and brings new order to the world.

It just plain feels great to make something beautiful; this is the main reason artists become and remain artists in spite of horrendous career difficulties—it feels good to make beautiful things. This reward alone provides enough joy to sustain many artists' lives. And when artists clog their direct pipeline to beauty with career concerns or emotional sludge, their joy diminishes, their spiritual connection dries out. The philosopher John Dewey made the point elegantly when he said that he couldn't quite define the word aesthetic, but he knew its opposite was anesthetic. Art is about being awake, alive, able to feel, and beauty is its quintessential moment.

You also make beauty every time you attend and connect to the beauty in something well made. Notice the word "connect." This too is a verb of creation. It is not that there are artists and audiences; there are only participators in the creation of beauty, and different people actively participate in different ways.

The power of beauty derives from four inherent truths.

  1. Etymologically, "beauty" evolves from a word meaning "the good," "the ideal," "the whole." Beauty is yearning's superhighway, the most direct way to drive toward an individual's ultimate truths—which Paul Tillich described as spirit. We become part of a whole in beauty, which is why the heart opens and we feel connected to others. In beauty, we enter the whole, loving, cohesive world we dream about.

  2. Beauty lives only in active collaboration between the thing and the perceiver. It requires that we come out and engage. (We may get that pleasant "nice feeling" of something that is beautiful as we let a symphony wash over us, for example, but we are not tapping what it holds, what it was made to give.) We often mistake the recollection of beauty for beauty—but don't ever forget the difference between a kiss and the remembrance of a kiss.

  3. At the heart of that live encounter that we call beauty lies wonder. To experience beauty, we tap into and revive our capacity for wonder; and experiencing wonder reorders the world for a while. In wonder we are not alone; the world has a new pattern; joy and love are the law of the land.

  4. In experiencing beauty, we create beauty and we become beautiful. If we experience the beauty of a dancer, we construct the experience by tapping into things we already knew about dance, about body movement, about life; we bring these understandings together in the serious play of perceiving, and make some beauty of our own. In engaging those artistic understandings that we hold inside ourselves in overlooked abundance, we become beautiful and add to the world's storehouse.

My terse grandmother used to warn her misbehaving, adolescent grandchildren with a stern look and the peculiar admonition: "Pretty is as pretty does." Elliptical as her approach was (especially to roughhousing boys), it stopped us in our tracks. We didn't care that much about being "bad," but being ugly . . . . She implicitly suggested that the actions of beauty formed the basics of a character; she gave me my first sense of behavior as a metaphor. It took me decades to appreciate her points, which she made beautifully.

The importance of beauty rises with our awareness of it. To a large degree beauty begets beauty. That doesn't mean we must buy new designer duds; it means that beauty assumes a more central, active place in daily life. With practice, beauty-making becomes a habit of mind. This mindset becomes an ordinary way to experience life, a celebration of the aesthetics of everyday things, which include the way light falls across a sidewalk, the ironic graffiti on an advertisement, and the pattern of wrinkles in a weathered face. The habit of beauty is expressed in a thousand tiny adjustments and thoughts within each day, all aiming toward the highest quality.

Look at the key moment of beauty, the instant when beauty grabs you, all of you, takes your breath away. Everything else stops, and there is only the experience of beauty. The mind ceases whirring. The reactive mechanisms shut off. The ego takes a hike. You are simply there, aware and alive. This is an important event, a mini-nirvana. In this occasion, you are meeting your naturally enlightened self, you are spiritually infused, you are . . . add your own preferred spiritual metaphors.

The moment of beauty is not a passive moment, even though it feels like the beauty reached out and grabbed you. You are doing important things. You are actively attending, you are responding with your heart and mind, with everything you have got. You are applying awareness of a high order. And perhaps most importantly, you are reminding yourself of what you are capable of the rest of the time.

In that moment of beauty, you expand what you know. As you allow yourself to experience the world of a beautiful thing, you change your understandings in response. That is, incidentally, how I distinguish between art and entertainment. Though these can only be determined by the individual involved, entertainment happens within what you already know, while art requires you to expand in order to experience a new world. And beauty woos you into expansion.

Beauty develops the mind and heart; but its power extends even further. Studying the writings of modern physicists, particularly those of Richard Feynmann, I have come to view beauty as one of the great forces in the universe. Feynmann first glimpsed the possibility of beauty as an elemental force when he was in high school. The story goes that he looked bored in science class one day as his classmates typically took three times longer than he did to solve a problem. His perceptive teacher, Mr. Bader, saw the impatient look on his brilliant student's face and came over and whispered a provocative thought to young Feynmann. In scientific terms, he challenged his student with the notion that light, like all things, follows the path of the beautiful. That thought shaped the scientific yearning of one of the creative geniuses of our time.

Feynmann spent a lifetime discovering the truths of beauty in science, as the actual ways the universe works. It might be said beauty is the organizing principle of nature, the structure of the universe. So many of the greatest human minds throughout history have all reported the same experience at the peak moment of finest accomplishment—seeing beauty.

When we intensely experience a clear awareness—whether through spiritual practice, meditation, alternative-consciousness disciplines, love-making, or the athlete's "zone"—in that state everything looks beautiful. The perception of beauty is inherent in enlightenment; and I think the reverse is also true. That is why those small occasions when beauty takes you are so terribly important. We are not offered sips of divine nectar very often, so we must taste whenever we can.

Seek out beauty. Seek it in the museum. Find it in the hardware store and in your mate's turn of phrase. Find it in the work you are doing today and in a dream image tonight. So simple, yet so profound. How can anything so delicious be so good for you?

Be prepared to find beauty, because if you are prepared, you will find it everywhere, even including the garbage dump. Ah, and how do you prepare to be awake to beauty? The answer to that is the spiritual practice you create. Many traditions and approaches provide excellent tools, but you prepare for beauty as an artist, working with the raw materials of spirit you have inside.


An actor with many shows on Broadway and around the country, Eric Booth has become a writer and teacher of the Art and Education program at the Juilliard School and at Lincoln Center Institute. He is a frequent keynote speaker about the arts and leads workshops around the country. This article is adapted from his book The Everyday Work of Art, published by Sourcebooks in 1997.

 

Subcategories