Perennial Phil Ch 8 RELIGION AND TEMPERAMENT

Perennial Phil. Ch 8. RELIGION AND TEMPERAMENT  [11, 584]

IT seems best at this point to turn back for a moment from ethics to psychology, where a very important problem awaits us—a problem to which the exponents of the Perennial Philo­sophy have given a great deal of attention. 

What precisely is the relation between individual constitution and temperament on the one hand and the kind and degree of spiritual knowledge on the other? 

The materials for a comprehensively accurate answer to this question are not available—except, perhaps, in the form of that incommunicable science, based upon intuition and long practice, that exists in the minds of experienced 'spiritual directors.' But the answer that can be given, though incomplete, is highly significant.

All knowledge, as we have seen, is a function of being. Or, to phrase the same idea in scholastic terms, the thing known is in the knower according to the mode of the knower. In the Introduction reference was made to the effect upon knowledge of changes of being along what may be called its vertical axis, in the direction of sanctity or its opposite. But there is also variation in the horizontal plane.

 Congenitally by psycho-physical constitution, each one of us is born into a certain position on this horizontal plane. It is a vast territory, still imperfectly explored, a continent stretching all the way 

from imbecility to genius, 

from shrinking weakness to aggressive strength, 

from cruelty to Pickwickian kindliness, naive, generous

from self-revealing sociability to taciturn misanthropy and love of soli­tude, 

from an almost frantic lasciviousness to an almost Un-tempted continence. 

From any point on this huge expanse of possible human nature an individual can move almost indefi­nitely up or down, 

towards union with the divine Ground of his own and all other beings, 

or towards the last, the infernal extremes of separateness and selfhood. 

But where horizontal movement is concerned there is far less freedom. 

It is impos­sible for one kind of physical constitution to transform itself into another kind; and 

the particular temperament associated with a given physical constitution can be modified only within narrow limits. 

With the best will in the world and the best social environment, 

all that anyone can hope to do is to make the best of his congenital psycho-physical make-up; to change the fundamental patterns of constitution and temperament is beyond his power.

In the course of the last thirty centuries many attempts have been made to work out a classification system in terms of which human differences could be measured and described. 

For example, 

1. there is the ancient Hindu method of classifying people according to the psycho-physico-social categories of caste. 
2. There are the primarily medical classifications associ­ated with the name of Hippocrates, classifications in terms of two main 'habits'—the phthisic and the apoplectic—or of the four humours (blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile) and the four qualities (hot, cold, moist and dry). 
3. More recently there have been the various physiognomic systems of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; the crude and merely psychological dichotomy of introversion and extra­version;
4. the more complete, but still inadequate, psycho-physical classifications proposed by Kretschmer, Stockard, Viola and others; and
5.  finally the system, more comprehensive, more flexibly adequate to the complex facts than all those which preceded it, worked out by Dr. William Sheldon and his collaborators.

In the present section our concern is with classifications of human differences in relation to the problems of the spiritual life. Traditional systems will be described and illustrated, and the findings of the Perennial Philosophy will be compared with the conclusions reached by the most recent scientific research.

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In the West, the traditional Catholic classification of human beings is based upon the Gospel anecdote of Martha and Mary. 

The way of Martha is the way of salvation through action, 

the way of Mary is the way through contemplation. 

Following Aristotle, who in this as in many other matters was in accord with the Perennial Philosophy, 

Catholic thinkers have regarded contemplation (the highest term of which is the unitive know­ledge of the Godhead) as man's final end, and therefore have always held that Mary's was indeed the better way.

Significantly enough, it is in essentially similar terms that Dr. Radin classifies and (by implication) evaluates primitive human beings in so far as they are philosophers and religious devotees. 

For him there is no doubt that the higher mono­theistic forms of primitive religion are created (or should one rather say, with Plato, discovered) by people belonging to the first of the two great psycho-physical classes of human beings 

—the men of thought. To those belonging to the other class, the men of action, is due the creation or discovery of the lower, unphilosophical, polytheistic kinds of religion.

This simple dichotomy is a classification of human differ­ences that is valid so far as it goes. But like all such dichoto­mies, whether physical (like Hippocrates' division of humanity into those of phthisic and those of apoplectic habit) or psycho­logical (like Jung's classification in terms of introvert and extravert), 

this grouping of the religious 

into those who think and those who act, 

those who follow the way of Martha and those who follow the way of Mary, 

is inadequate to the facts. 

And of course no director of souls, no head of a religious organization, is ever, in actual practice, content with this all too simple system. 

Underlying the best Catholic writing on prayer and the best Catholic practice in the matter of recog­nizing vocations and assigning duties, 

we sense the existence of an implicit and unformulated classification of human differ­ences more complete and more realistic than the explicit dichotomy of action and contemplation.
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In Hindu thought the outlines of this completer and more adequate classification are clearly indicated. The ways leading to the delivering union with God are not two, but three—

• the way of works, 
• the way of knowledge and 
• the way of devotion. 

In the Bhagavad-Gita Sri Krishna instructs Arjuna in all three paths—

• liberation through action without attachment; 
• liberation through knowledge of the Self and the Absolute Ground of all being with which it is identical; and 
• liberation through intense devotion to the personal God or the divine incarnation.

Do without attachment the work you have to do;

 for a man who does his work without attachment attains the Supreme Goal verily. By action alone men like Janaka attained perfection.

But there is also the way of Mary.

Freed from passion, fear and anger,

absorbed in Me, taking refuge in Me, and purified by the fires of Knowledge, many have become one with my Being.

And again:

Those who have completely controlled their senses and

are of even mind under all conditions

and thus contemplate the Im­perishable, the Ineffable, the Unmanifest, the Omnipresent, the Incomprehensible, the Eternal—they, devoted to the welfare of all beings, attain Me alone and none else.

But the path of contemplation is not easy.

The task of those whose minds are set on the Unmanifest is the more difficult;

for, to those who are in the body, the realization of the Unmanifest is hard. But those who consecrate all their actions to Me (as the personal God, or as the divine Incarnation), who regard Me as the supreme Goal, who worship Me and medi­tate upon Me with single-minded concentration—for those whose minds are thus absorbed in Me, I become ere long the Saviour from the world's ocean of mortality.

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These three ways of deliverance are precisely correlated with the three categories, in terms of which Sheldon has worked out what is, without question, the best and most adequate classification of human differences. 

Human beings, he has shown, vary continuously between the viable extremes of a tri-polar system; and physical and psychological measure­ments can be devised, whereby any given individual may be accurately located in relation to the three co-ordinates. Or we can put the matter differently and say that any given individual is a mixture, in varying proportions, of three physical and three closely related psychological components. 

The strength of each component can be measured according to empirically determined procedures. To the three physical components Sheldon gives the names of endomorphy 내배엽 , mesomorphy 중형  and ectomorphy 외배엽 . 

The individual with a high degree of endo-morphy is predominantly soft and rounded and may easily become grossly fat. 

The high mesomorph is hard, big-boned and strong-muscled. 

The high ectomorph is slender and has small bones and stringy, weak, unemphatic muscles. 

The endomorph has a huge gut, a gut that may be more than twice as heavy and twice as long as that of the extreme ectomorph. In a real sense his or her body is built around the digestive tract. The centrally significant fact of mesomorphic physique, on the other hand, is the powerful musculature, while that of the ectomorph is the over-sensitive and (since the ratio of body surface to mass is higher in ectomorphs than in either of the other types) relatively unprotected nervous system.

With endomorphic constitution is closely correlated a tem­peramental pattern, which Sheldon calls viscerotonia. Signifi­cant among the viscerotonic traits are love of food and, characteristically, love of eating in common; love of comfort and luxury; love of ceremoniousness; indiscriminate amia­bility and love of people as such; fear of solitude and craving for company; uninhibited expression of emotion; love of childhood, in the form of nostalgia towards one's own past and in an intense enjoyment of family life; craving for affec­tion and social support, and need of people when in trouble. The temperament that is related to mesomorphy is called somatotonia. In this the dominating traits are love of muscular activity, aggressiveness and lust for power; indifference to pain; callousness in regard to other people's feelings; a love of combat and competitiveness; a high degree of physical courage; a nostalgic feeling, not for childhood, but for youth, the period of maximum muscular power; a need for activity when in trouble.

From the foregoing descriptions it will be seen how inade­quate is the Jungian conception of extraversion, as a simple antithesis to introversion. 

Extraversion is not simple; it is of two radically different kinds. 

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There is the emotional, sociable extraversion of the viscerotonic endomorph—the person who is always seeking company and telling everybody just what he feels.

And there is the extraversion of the big-muscled soma-totonic—the person who looks outward on the world as a place where he can exercise power, where he can bend people to his will and shape things to his heart's desire. 

One is the genial extraversion of the salesman, the Rotarian good mixer, the liberal Protestant clergyman. 

The other is the extraversion 

• of the engineer who works off his lust for power on things, 
• of the sportsman and the professional blood-and-iron soldier, 
• of the ambitious business executive and politician, 
• of the dictator, whether in the home or at the head of a state.

With cerebrotonia, the temperament that is correlated with ectomorphic physique, we leave the genial world of Pickwick, the strenuously competitive world of Hotspur, and pass into an entirely different and somewhat disquieting kind of universe —that of Hamlet and Ivan Karamazov. 

The extreme cerebrotonic is the over-alert, over-sensitive introvert, 

who is more concerned with what goes on behind his eyes—with the con­structions of thought and imagination, with the variations of feeling and consciousness—than with that external world, to which, in their different ways, the viscerotonic and the soma-totonic pay their primary attention and allegiance. 

Cerebro-tonics have little or no desire to dominate, nor do they feel the viscerotonic's indiscriminate liking for people as people; 

on the contrary they want to live and let live, and their passion for privacy is intense. 

Solitary confinement, the most terrible punishment that can be inflicted on the soft, round, genial per­son, is, for the cerebrotonic, no punishment at all. 

For him the ultimate horror is the boarding school and the barracks. 

In company cerebrotonics are nervous and shy, .tensely inhibited and unpredictably moody. (It is a significant fact that no ex­treme cerebrotonic has ever been a good actor or actress.) 

Cerebrotonics hate to slam doors or raise their voices, and suffer acutely from the unrestrained bellowing and trampling of the somatotonic. 

Their manner is restrained, and when it comes to expressing their feelings they are extremely reserved. 

The emotional gush of the viscerotonic strikes them as offen­sively shallow and even insincere, nor have they any patience with viscerotonic ceremoniousness and love of luxury and magnificence. They do not easily form habits and find it hard to adapt their lives to the routines which come so naturally to somatotonics. 

Owing to their over-sensitiveness, cerebrotonics are often extremely, almost insanely sexual; but they are hardly ever tempted to take to drink—for alcohol, which heightens the natural aggressiveness of the somatotonic and increases the relaxed amiability of the viscerotonic, merely makes them feel ill and depressed. 

Each in his own way, the viscerotonic and the somatotonic are well adapted to the world they live in; but the introverted cerebrotonic is in some sort incommensurable with the things and people and insti­tutions that surround him.

 Consequently a remarkably high proportion of extreme cerebrotonics fail to make good as normal citizens and average pillars of society. But if many fail, many also become abnormal on the higher side of the average. In universities, monasteries and research laboratories —wherever sheltered conditions are provided for those whose small guts and feeble muscles do not permit them to eat or fight their way through the ordinary rough and tumble—the percentage of outstandingly gifted and accomplished cerebro-tonics will almost always be very high. Realizing the im­portance of this extreme, over-evolved and scarcely viable type of human being, all civilizations have provided in one way or another for its protection.

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In the light of these descriptions we can understand more clearly the Bhagavad-Gita's classification of paths to salvation.

The path of devotion is the path naturally followed by the per­son in whom the viscerotonic component is high. 

His inborn tendency to externalize the emotions he spontaneously feels in regard to persons can be disciplined and canalized, so that a merely animal gregariousness and a merely human kindliness become transformed into charity—devotion to the personal God and universal goodwill and compassion towards all sentient beings.

The path of works is for those whose extraversion is of the somatotonic kind, those who in all circumstances feel the need to 'do something.' In the unregenerate somatotonic this craving for action is always associated with aggressiveness, self-assertion and the lust for power. 

For the born Kskatrya, or warrior-ruler, the task, as Krishna explains to Arjuna, is to get rid of those fatal accompaniments to the love of action and to work without regard to the fruits of work, in a state of complete non-attachment to self. Which is, of course, like everything else, a good deal easier said than done.

Finally, there is the way of knowledge, through the modi­fication of consciousness, until it ceases to be ego-centred and ]ecomes centred in and united with the divine Ground. 

This is the way to which the extreme cerebrotonic is naturally drawn. His special discipline consists in the mortification of his innate tendency towards introversion for its own sake, towards thought and imagination and self-analysis as ends in themselves rather than as means towards the ultimate tran­scendence of phantasy and discursive reasoning in the timeless act of pure intellectual intuition.

Within the general population, as we have seen, variation is continuous, and in most people the three components are fairly evenly mixed.

Those exhibiting extreme predominance of any one component are relatively rare. And yet, in spite of their rarity, it is by the thought-patterns characteristic of these ex­treme individuals that theology and ethics, at any rate on the theoretical side, have been mainly dominated. 

The reason for this is simple. Any extreme position is more uncompromis­ingly clear and therefore more easily recognized and understood than the intermediate positions, which are the natural thought-pattern of the person in whom the constituent components of personality are evenly balanced. 

These intermediate positions, it should be noted, do not in any sense contain or reconcile the extreme positions; they are merely other thought-patterns added to the list of possible systems. The construction of an all-embracing system of metaphysics, ethics and psychology is a task that can never be accomplished by any single individual, for the sufficient reason that he is an individual with one par­ticular kind of constitution and temperament and therefore capable of knowing only according to the mode of his own being. Hence the advantages inherent in what may be called the anthological approach to truth.

The Sanskrit dharma—one of the key words in Indian formulations of the Perennial Philosophy—has two principal meanings. 

The dharma of an individual is, first of all, 1] is essential nature, the intrinsic law of his being and develop­ment. 

But dharma also signifies 2] the law of righteousness and piety. 

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In Hinduism, dharma is the religious and moral law governing individual conduct and is one of the four ends of life. ... In Buddhism, dharma is the doctrine, the universal truth common to all individuals at all times, proclaimed by the Buddha

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The implications of this double meaning are clear: 

a man's duty, how he ought to live, what he ought to believe and what he ought to do about his beliefs—these things are 

conditioned by his essential nature, his constitution and tem­perament. 

Going a good deal further than do the Catholics, with their doctrine of vocations, the Indians admit the right of individuals with different dharmas 

to worship different aspects or conceptions of the divine. 

Hence the almost total absence, among Hindus and Buddhists, 

of bloody persecutions, religious wars and proselytizing imperialism.

It should, however, be remarked that, within its own ecclesi­astical fold, Catholicism has been almost as tolerant as Hindu­ism and Mahayana Buddhism. 

Nominally one, each of these religions consists, in fact, of a number of very different reli­gions, covering the whole gamut of thought and behaviour from fetishism, through polytheism, through legalistic mono­theism, through devotion to the sacred humanity of the Avatar, to the profession of the Perennial Philosophy and the practice of a purely spiritual religion that seeks the unitive knowledge of the Absolute Godhead. 

These tolerated religions-within-a-religion are not, of course, regarded as equally valuable or equally true. 

To worship polytheistically maybe one's dharma; nevertheless the fact remains that man's final end is the unitive knowledge of the Godhead, and 

all the historical formulations of the Perennial Philosophy are agreed that every human being ought, and perhaps in some way or other actually will, achieve that end. 

'All souls,' writes Father Garrigou-Lagrange, 'receive a general remote call to the mystical life; and if all were faithful in avoiding, as they should, not merely mortal but venial sin, if they were, each according to his condition, docile to the Holy Ghost, and if they lived long enough, a day would come when they would receive the proximate and efficacious vocation to a high perfection and to the mystical life properly so called.

' With this statement Hindu and Buddhist theologians would probably agree; 

but they would add that every soul will in fact eventually attain this 'high perfection.' 

All are called, but in any given generation few are chosen, because few choose themselves. 

But the series of conscious existences, corporeal or incorporeal, is indefinitely long; there is therefore time and opportunity for everyone to learn the necessary lessons. Moreover, there will always be helpers. 

For periodi­cally there are 'descents' of the Godhead into physical form; and at all times there are future Buddhas ready, on the threshold of reunion with the Intelligible Light, to renounce the bliss of immediate liberation in order to return as saviours and teachers again and again into the world of suffering and time and evil, until at last every sentient being shall have been delivered into eternity.

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The practical consequences of this doctrine are clear enough. 

The lower forms of religion, whether emotional, active or intellectual, are never to be accepted as final. 

True, each of them comes naturally to persons of a certain kind of constitution and temperament; 

but the dharma or duty of any given individual is not to remain complacently fixed in the imperfect religion that happens to suit him; 

it is rather to transcend it, not by impossibly denying the modes of thought, behaviour and feeling that are natural to him, but by making use of them, so that by means of nature he may pass beyond nature. 

Thus the introvert uses "discrimination" (in the Indian phrase), and so learns to distinguish the mental activities of the ego from the principial Consciousness of the Self, which is akin to, or identical with, the divine Ground. 

The emotional extravert learns to 'hate his father and mother' (in other words, to give up his selfish attachment to the pleasures of indiscriminately loving and being loved), concentrates his devotion on the per­sonal or incarnate aspect of God, and comes at last to love the Absolute Godhead by an act, no longer of feeling, but of will illuminated by knowledge. 

And finally there is that other kind of extravert, whose concern is not with the pleasures of giving or receiving affection, but with the satisfaction of his lust for power over things, events and persons. 

Using his own nature to transcend his own nature, he must follow the path laid down in the Bhagavad-Gita for the bewildered Arjuna—the path of work without attachment to the fruits of work, the path of what St. François de Sales calls 'holy indifference,' the path that leads through the forgetting of self to the discovery of the Self.

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In the course of history it has often happened that one or other of the imperfect religions has been taken too seriously and regarded as good and true in itself, instead of as a means to the ultimate end of all religion. 

The effects of such mistakes are often disastrous. For example, many Protestant sects have insisted on the necessity, or at least the extreme desirability, of a violent conversion. 

But violent conversion, as Sheldon has pointed out, is a phenomenon confined almost exclusively to persons with a high degree of somatotonia. 

These persons are so intensely extraverted as to be quite unaware of what is hap­pening in the lower levels of their minds. If for any reason their attention comes to be turned inwards, the resulting self-knowledge, because of its novelty and strangeness, presents itself with the force and quality of a revelation and their metwwia, or change of mind, is sudden and thrilling. 

This change may be to religion, or it may be to something else for example, to psycho-analysis. To insist upon the necessity of violent conversion as the only means to salvation is about as sensible as it would be to insist upon the necessity of having a large face, heavy bones and powerful muscles. To those natujally subject to this kind of emotional upheaval, the doctrine that makes salvation dependent on conversion gives a complacency that is quite fatal to spiritual growth, while those who are incapable of it are filled with a no less fatal despair.

 Other examples of inadequate theologies based upon psycho­logical ignorance could easily be cited. 

One remembers, for instance, the sad case of Calvin, the cerebrotonic who took his own intellectual constructions so seriously that he lost all sense of reality, both human and spiritual. 

And then there is our liberal Protestantism, that predominantly viscerotonic heresy, which seems to have forgotten the very existence of the Father, Spirit and Logos and equates Christianity with an emotional attachment to Christ's humanity or (to use the currently popular phrase) 'the personality of Jesus,' worshipped idola­trously as though there were no other God. 

Even within all-comprehensive Catholicism we constantly hear complaints of the ignorant and self-centred directors, who impose upon the souls under their charge a religious dharma wholly unsuited to their nature—with results which writers such as St. John of the Cross describe as wholly pernicious. 

We see, then, that it is natural for us to think of God as possessed of the qualities which our temperament tends to make us perceive in Him; but unless nature finds a way of transcending itself by means of itself, we are lost.

 In the last analysis Philo is quite right in saying that those who do not conceive God purely and simply as the One injure, not God of course, but themselves and, along with themselves, their fellows.

The way of knowledge comes most naturally to persons whose temperament is predominantly cerebrotonic. By this I do not mean that the following of this way is easy for the cere-brotonic. His specially besetting sins are just as difficult to overcome as are the sins which beset the power-loving soma-totonic and the extreme viscerotonic with his gluttony for food and comfort and social approval.

 Rather I mean that the idea that such a way exists and can be followed (either by discrimin­ation, or through non-attached work and one-pointed devo­tion) is one which spontaneously occurs to the cerebrotonic. 

At all levels of culture he is the natural monotheist; and this natural monotheist, as Dr. Radin's examples of primitive theo­logy clearly show, is often a monotheist of the tat tvam asi, inner-light school. Persons committed by their temperament to one or other of the two kinds of extraversion are natural polytheists. 

But natural polytheists can, without much diffi­culty, be convinced of the theoretical superiority of mono­theism. The nature of human reason is such that there is an intrinsic plausibility about any hypothesis which seeks to explain the manifold in terms of unity, to reduce apparent multiplicity to essential identity. 

And from this theoretical monotheism the half-converted polytheist can, if he chooses, go on (through practices suitable to his own particular tem­perament) to the actual realization of the divine Ground of his own and all other beings. 

He can, I repeat, and sometimes he actually does. But very often he does not. There are many theoretical monotheists whose whole life and every action prove that in reality they are still what their temperament inclines them to be—polytheists, worshippers not of the one God they sometimes talk about, but of the many gods, national­istic and technological, financial and familial, to whom in practice they pay all their allegiance.

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In Christian art the Saviour has almost invariably been represented as slender, small-boned, unemphatically muscled. Large, powerful Christs are a rather shocking exception to a very ancient rule. Of Rubens' crucifixions William Blake contemptuously wrote:

I understood Christ was a carpenter

And not a brewer's servant, my good sir.

In a word, the traditional Jesus is thought of as a man of predominantly ectomorphic physique and therefore, by impli­cation, of predominantly cerebrotonic temperament. The central core of primitive Christian doctrine confirms the essen­tial correctness of the iconographic tradition.

 The religion of the Gospels is what we should expect from a cerebrotonic—not, of course, from any cerebrotonic, but from one who had used the psycho-physical peculiarities of his own nature to transcend nature, who had followed his particular dharma to its spiritual goal.

 The insistence that 

• the Kingdom of Heaven is within; 
• the ignoring of ritual; 
• the slightly contemptuous attitude towards legalism, 
• towards the ceremonial routines of organized religion, 
• towards hallowed days and places; 
• the general other-worldliness; 
• the emphasis laid upon restraint, not merely of overt action, 
• but even of desire and unexpressed intention; 
• the indifference to the splendours of material civil­ization and the love of poverty as one of the greatest of goods; 
• the doctrine that non-attachment must be carried even into the sphere of family relationships and that even devotion to the highest goals of merely human ideals, even the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, may be idolatrous distractions from the love of God

—all these are characteristically cerebrotonic ideas, such as would never have occurred spontaneously to the extraverted power lover or the equally extraverted viscerotonic.



Primitive Buddhism is no less predominantly cerebrotonic than primitive Christianity, and so is Vedanta, the metaphysi­cal discipline which lies at the heart of Hinduism. 

Confucian­ism, on the contrary, is a mainly viscerotonic system—familial, ceremonious and thoroughly this-worldly. And in Moham­medanism we find a system which incorporates strongly soma-totonic elements. Hence Islam's black record of holy wars and persecutions—a record comparable to that of later Christian­ity, after that religion had so far compromised with unregener­ate somatotonia as to call its ecclesiastical organization 'the Church Militant.'

So far as the achievement of man's final end is concerned, it is as much of a handicap to be an extreme cerebrotonic or an extreme viscerotonic as it is to be an extreme somatotonic. But whereas the cerebrotonic and the viscerotonic cannot do much harm except to themselves and those in immediate contact with them, the extreme somatotonic, with his native aggres­siveness, plays havoc with whole societies. 

From one point of view civilization may be defined as a complex of religious, legal and educational devices for preventing extreme somatotonics from doing too much mischief, and for directing their irre­pressible energies into socially desirable channels. 

Confucian­ism and Chinese culture have sought to achieve this end by inculcating filial piety, good manners and an amiably viscero-tonic epicureanism—the whole reinforced somewhat incon­gruously by the cerebrotonic spirituality and restraints of Buddhism and classical Taoism. 

In India the caste system represents an attempt to subordinate military, political and financial power to spiritual authority; and the education given to all classes still insists so strongly upon the fact that man's final end is unitive knowledge of God that even at the present time, even after nearly two hundred years of gradually acceler­ating Europeanization, successful somatotonics will, in middle life, give up wealth, position and power to end their days as humble seekers after enlightenment. 

In Catholic Europe, as in India, there was an effort to subordinate temporal power to spiritual authority; but since the Church itself exercised tem­poral power through the agency of political prelates and mitred business men, the effort was never more than partially success­ful. 

After the Reformation even the pious wish to limit temporal power by means of spiritual authority was com­pletely abandoned. Henry VIII made himself, in Stubbs's words, the Pope, the whole Pope, and something more than the Pope,' and his example has been followed by most heads of states ever since. Power has been limited only by other powers, not by an appeal to first principles as interpreted by those who are morally and spiritually qualified to know what they are talking about. 

Meanwhile, the interest in religion has everywhere declined and even among believing Christians the Perennial Philosophy has been to a great extent replaced by a metaphysic of inevitable progress and an evolving God, by a passionate concern, not with eternity, but with future time. And almost suddenly, within the last quarter of a century, there has been consummated what Sheldon calls a 'somatotonic revolution,' directed against all that is characteristically cerebro-tonic in the theory and practice of traditional Christian culture. Here are a few symptoms of this somatotonic revolution.

In traditional Christianity, as in all the great religious formu­lations of the Perennial Philosophy, it was axiomatic that contemplation is the end and purpose of action. Today the great majority even of professed Christians regard action (directed towards material and social progress) as the end, and analytic thought (there is no question any longer of integral thought, or contemplation) as the means to that end.

In traditional Christianity, as in the other formulations of the Perennial Philosophy, the secret of happiness and the way to salvation were to be sought, not in the external environment, but in the individual's state of mind with regard to the environ­ment. 

Today the all-important thing is not the state of the mind, but the state of the environment. Happiness and moral progress depend, it is thought, on bigger and better gadgets and a higher standard of living.

In traditional Christian education the stress was all on restraint; with the recent rise of the 'progressive school' it is all on activity and 'self-expression.'

Traditionally Christian good manners outlawed all expres­sions of pleasure in the satisfaction of physical appetites. 'You may love a screeching owl, but you must not love a roasted fowl'—such was the rhyme on which children were brought up in the nurseries of only fifty years ago. 

Today the young unceasingly proclaim how much they 'love' and 'adore' differ­ent kinds of food and drink; adolescents and adults talk about the 'thrills' they derive from the stimulation of their sexuality. 

The popular philosophy of life has ceased to be based on the classics of devotion and the rules of aristocratic good breeding, and is now moulded by the writers of advertising copy, whose one idea is to persuade everybody to be as extraverted and uninhibitedly greedy as possible, since of course it is only the possessive, the restless, the distracted, who spend money on the things that advertisers want to sell. 

Technological progress is in part the product of the somatotonic revolution, in part the producer and sustainer of that revolution. The extraverted attention results in technological discoveries. (Significantly enough, a high degree of material civilization has always been associated with the large-scale and officially sanctioned practice of polytheism.) 

In their turn, technological discoveries have resulted in mass-production; and mass-production, it is obvi­ous, cannot be kept going at full blast except by persuading the whole population to accept the somatotonic Weltanschauung and act accordingly.

Like technological progress, with which it is so closely associated in so many ways, modern war is at once a cause and a result of the somatotonic revolution. Nazi education, which was specifically education for war, had two principal aims: to encourage the manifestation of somatotonia in those most richly endowed with that component of personality, and to make the rest of the population feel ashamed of its relaxed amiability or its inward-looking sensitiveness and tendency towards self-restraint and tender-mindedness. 

During the war the enemies of Nazism have been compelled, of course, to borrow from the Nazis' educational philosophy. All over the world millions of young men and even of young women are being systematically educated to be 'tough' and to value 'toughness' beyond every other moral quality. 

With this system of somatotonic ethics is associated the idolatrous and polytheistic theology of nationalism—a pseudo-religion far stronger at the present time for evil and division than is Chris­tianity, or any other monotheistic religion, for unification and good. 

In the past most societies tried systematically to dis­courage somatotonia. This was a measure of self-defence; they did not want to be physically destroyed by the power-loving aggressiveness of their most active minority, and they did not want to be spiritually blinded by an excess of extra­version. 

During the last few years all this has been changed. What, we may apprehensively wonder, will be the result of the current world-wide reversal of an immemorial social policy? Time alone will show.

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somatotonic

Designating a personality type characterised as aggressive and extroverted.

Perennial Phil Ch 7 TRUTH [14,800] warning against words

Perenial Phil Ch 7 TRUTH [14,7815]

Why dost thou prate of God? Whatever thou sayest of Him is untrue.

Eckhart

IN religious literature the word 'truth' is used indiscrimin­ately in at least three distinct and very different senses. 

1] Thus, it is sometimes treated as a synonym for 'fact,' as when it is affirmed that God is Truth—meaning that He is the primordial Reality. 

2] But this is clearly not the meaning of the word in such a phrase as 'worshipping God in spirit and in truth.' 

Here, it is obvious, 'truth' signifies direct apprehension of spiritual Fact, as opposed to second-hand knowledge about Reality, formulated in sentences and accepted on authority or because an argument from previously granted postulates was logically convincing. 

3] And finally there is the more ordinary meaning of the word, as in such a sentence as, 'This statement is the truth,' where we mean to assert that the verbal symbols of which the statement is composed correspond to the facts to which it refers. 

---

When Eckhart writes that 'whatever thou sayest of God is untrue,' he is not affirming that all theological statements are false. In so far as there can be any correspohd-ence between human symbols and divine Fact, some theo­logical statements are as true as it is possible for us to make them. 

Himself a theologian, Eckhart would certainly have admitted this. But besides being a theologian, Eckhart was a mystic. And being a mystic, he understood very vividly what the modern semanticist is so busily (and, also, so unsuccess­fully) trying to drum into contemporary minds—namely, that words are not the same as things and that a knowledge of words about facts is in no sense equivalent to a direct and immediate apprehension of the facts themselves. 

What Eckhart actually asserts is this: whatever one may say about God can never in any circumstances be the 'truth' in the first two meanings of that much abused and ambiguous word. 

By implication St. Thomas Aquinas was saying exactly the same thing when, after his experience of infused contemplation, he refused to go on with his theological work, declaring that everything he had written up to that time was as mere straw compared with the immediate knowledge, which had been vouchsafed to him. 

Two hundred years earlier, in Bagdad, the great Mohammedan theologian, Al-Ghazzali, had similarly turned from the consideration of truths about God to the contemplation and direct apprehension of Truth-the-Fact, from the purely intellectual discipline of the philosophers to the moral and spiritual discipline of the Sufis.
---
The moral of all this is obvious. Whenever we hear or read about 'truth,' we should always pause long enough to ask our­selves in which of the three senses listed above the word is, at the moment, being used. By taking this simple precaution (and to take it is a genuinely virtuous act of intellectual honesty) we shall save ourselves a great deal of disturbing and quite unnecessary mental confusion.

Wishing to entice the blind,

The Buddha playfully let words escape from his golden mouth; Heaven and earth are filled, ever since, with entangling briars.

Dai-o Kokuslii

There is nothing true anywhere,

The True is nowhere to be found.

If you say you see the True,

This seeing is not the true one.

When the True is left to itself,

There is nothing false in it, for it is Mind itself.

When Mind in itself is not liberated from the false,

There is nothing true; nowhere is the True to be found.

Hui Neng

147

The truth indeed has never been preached by the Buddha, seeing that one has to realize it within oneself.

Sutralamkara

The further one travels, the less one knows.

Lao Tu

'Listen to this!' shouted Monkey. 'After all the trouble we had getting here from China, and after you specially ordered that we were to be given the scriptures, Ananda and Kasyapa made a fraudulent delivery of goods. They gave us blank copies to take away; I ask you, what is the good of that to us?'

'You needn't shout,' said the Buddha, smiling. '...As a matter of fact, it is such blank scrolls as these that are the true scriptures. But I quite see that the people of China are too foolish and igno­rant to believe this, so there is nothing for it but to give them copies with some writing on.'

Wu Ck'êng-in

The philosophers indeed are clever enough, but wanting in wisdom;

As to the others, they are either ignorant or puerile!

They take an empty fist as containing something real and the pointing finger as the object pointed at.

Because the finger is adhered to as though it were the Moon, all their efforts are lost.

Yoka Daiski

What is known as the teaching of the Buddha is not the teaching of the Buddha.

Diamond Sutra

'What is the ultimate teaching of Buddhism?'

'You won't understand it until you have it.'

SJdA-t'ou

The subject matter of the Perennial Philosophy is the nature of eternal, spiritual Reality; but the language in which it must be formulated was developed for the purpose of dealing with phenomena in time. That is why, in all these formulations, we find an element of paradox. The nature of Truth-the-Fact cannot be described by means of verbal symbols that do not adequately correspond to it. At best it can be hinted at in terms of non sequitur: and contradictions.

To these unavoidable paradoxes some spiritual writers have chosen to add deliberate and calculated enormities of language —hard sayings, exaggerations, ironic or humorous extrava­gances, designed to startle and shock the reader out of that self-satisfied complacency which is the original sin of the intellect. 

Of this second kind of paradox the masters of Taoism and Zen Buddhism were particularly fond. The latter, indeed, made use of paralogisms and even of nonsense as a device for 'taking the kingdom of heaven by violence.' 

Aspirants to the life of perfection were encouraged to practise discursive meditation on some completely non-logical formula. The result was a kind of reductio ad absurdum of the whole self-centred and world-centred discursive process, a sudden breaking through from 'reason' (in the language of scholastic philosophy) to intuitive 'intellect,' capable of a genuine insight into the divine Ground of all being. This method strikes us as odd and eccentric: but the fact remains that it worked to the extent of producing in many persons the final metanoia, or transforma­tion of consciousness and character.

 paralogisms

a piece of illogical or fallacious reasoning, especially one which appears superficially logical or which the reasoner believes to be logical.

Zen's use of almost comic extravagance to emphasize the philosophic truths it regarded as most important is well illus­trated in the first of the extracts cited above. 

We are not intended seriously to imagine that an Avatar preaches in order to play a practical joke on tìe human race. But meanwhile what the author has succeeded in doing is to startle us out of our habitual complacency about the home-made verbal uni­verse in which we normally do most of our living. 

Words are not facts, and still less are they the primordial Fact. 

If we take them too seriously, we shall lose our way in a forest of en­tangling briars. 

But if, on the contrary, we don't take them seriously enough, we shall still remain unaware that there is a way to lose or a goal to be reached. 

If the Enlightened did not /preach, there would be no deliverance for anyone. 

But because human minds and human languages are what they are, this necessary and indispensable preaching is beset with dangers. 

The history of all the religions is similar in one important respect; some of their adherents are enlightened and delivered, because they have chosen to react appropriately to the words which the founders have let fall; 

others achieve a partial salva­tion by reacting with partial appropriateness; 

yet others harm themselves and their fellows by reacting with a total inap-propriateness—either ignoring the words altogether or, more often, taking them too seriously and treating them as though they were identical with the Fact to which they refer.

That words are at once indispensable and, in many cases, fatal has been recognized by all the exponents of the Perennial Philosophy. 

Thus, Jesus spoke of himself as bringing into the world something even worse than briars—a sword. 

St. Paul. distinguished between the letter that kills and the spirit that gives life. And throughout the centuries that followed, the masters of Christian spirituality have found it necessary to harp again and again upon a theme which has never been out­dated because homo loquax, the talking animal, is still as naïvely delighted by his chief accomplishment, still as helplessly the victim of his own words, as he was when the Tower of Babel was being built. 

Recent years have seen the publication of numerous works on semantics and of an ocean of nationalist ic, racialistic and militaristic propaganda. Never have so many capable writers warned mankind against the dangers of wrong speech—and never have words been used more recklessly by politicians or taken more seriously by the public. The fact is surely proof enough that, under changing forms, the old problems remain what they always were—urgent, unsolved and, to all appearances, insoluble.

All that the imagination can imagine and the reason conceive and understand in this life is not, and cannot be, a proximate means of union with God.

St. John of the Cross

150 

Jejune and barren speculations may unfold the plicatures of Truth's garment, but they cannot discover her lovely face.

John Smith, the Platonist

In all faces is shown the Face of faces, veiled and in a riddle. Howbeit, unveiled it is not seen, until, above all faces, a man enter into a certain secret and mystic silence, where there is no knowing or concept of a face. This mist, cloud, darkness or ignorance, into which he that seeketh thy Face entereth, when he goeth beyond all knowledge or concept, is the state below which thy Face cannot be found, except veiled; but that very darkness revealeth thy Face to be there beyond all veils. Hence I observe how needful it is for me to enter into the darkness and to admit the coincidence of opposites, beyond all the grasp of reason, and there to seek the Truth, where impossibility meeteth us.

Nicholas of Cusa

As the Godhead is nameless, and all naming is alien to Him, so also the soul is nameless; for it is here the same as God.

Eckhart

God being, as He is, inaccessible, do not rest in the consideration of objects perceptible to the senses and comprehended by the understanding. This is to be content with what is less than God; so doing, you will destroy the energy of the soul, which is necessary for walking with Him.

St. John of the Cross

To find or know God in reality by any outward proofs, or by anything but by God Himself made manifest and self-evident in you, will never be your case either here or hereafter. For neither God, nor heaven, nor hell, nor the devil, nor the flesh, can be any otherwise knowable in you or by you but by their own existefice and manifestation in you. And all pretended know­ledge of any of these things, beyond and without this self-evident sensibility of their birth within you, is only such know­ledge of them as the blind man hath of the light that hath never entered into him.

William Law

151

What follows is a summary by an eminent scholar of the Indian doctrines concerning jnana, the liberating knowledge of Brahman or the divine Ground.

Jnaria is eternal, is general, is necessary and is not a personal knowledge of this man or that man. It is there, as knowledge in the Arman itself, and lies there hidden under all avidya (igno-rance).—irremovable, though it may be obscured, unprovable, be­cause self-evident, needing no proof; because itself giving to all proof the ground of possibility. These sentences come near to Eckhart's 'knowledge' and to the teaching of Augustine on the Eternal Truth in the soul which, itself immediately certain, is the ground of all certainty and is a possession, not of A or B, but of 'the soul.'

Rudolf Otto

jnana, (Sanskrit: “knowledge”) in Hindu philosophy, a word with a range of meanings focusing on a cognitive event that proves not to be mistaken. In the religious realm it especially designates the sort of knowledge that is a total experience of its object, particularly the supreme being or reality.

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The science of aesthetics is not the same as, nor even a proxi­mate means to, the practice and appreciation of the arts. How can one learn to have an eye for pictures, or to become a good painter? Certainly not by reading Benedetto Croce. One learns to paint by painting, and one learns to appreciate pictures by going to picture galleries and looking at them.

But this is not to say that Croce and his fellows have wasted their time. We should be grateful to them for their labours in building up a system of thought, by means of which the imme­diately apprehended significance and value of art can be assessed in the light of general knowledge, related to other facts of experience and, in this way and to this extent, 'explained.'

What is true of aesthetics is also true of theology. Theo­logical speculation is valuable in so far as it enables those who have had immediate experience of various aspects of God to form intelligible ideas about the nature of the divine Ground, and of their own experience of the Ground in relation to other experiences. 

And when a coherent system of theology has been worked out, it is useful in so far as it convinces those who study it that there is nothing inherently self-contradictory about the postulate of the divine Ground and that, for those who are ready to fulfil certain conditions, the postulate may become a realized Fact. 152 In no circumstances, however, can the study of theology or the mind's assent to theological propositions take the place of what Law calls 'the birth of God within.' For theory is not practice, and words are not the things for which they stand.

Theology as we know it has been formed by the great mystics, especially St. Augustine and St. Thomas. Plenty of other great theologians—especially St. Gregory and St. Bernard, even down to Suarez—would not have had such insight without mystic super-knowledge.

Abbot John Chapman

Against this we must set Dr. Tennant's view—namely, that religious experience is something real and unique, but does not add anything to the experiencer's knowledge of ultimate Real­ity and must always be interpreted in terms of an idea of God derived from other sources. 

A study of the facts would suggest that both these opinions are to some degree correct. 

The facts of mystical insight (together with the facts of what is taken to be historic revelation) are rationalized in terms of general knowledge and become the basis of a theology. 

And, recipro­cally, an existing theology in terms of general knowledge exer­cises a profound influence upon those who have undertaken the spiritual life, causing them, if it is low, to be content with a low form of experience, if it is high, to reject as inadequate the experience of any form of reality having characteristics incom­patible with those of the God described in the books. 

Thus mystics make theology, and theology makes mystics.

A person who gives assent to untrue dogma, or who pays all his attention and allegiance to one true dogma in a compre­hensive system, while neglecting the others (as many Chris­tians concentrate exclusively on the humanity of the Second Person of the Trinity and ignore the Father and the Holy Ghost), runs the risk of limiting in advance his direcr appre­hension of Reality. 

In religion as in natural science, experience is determined only by experience.  153  

It is fatal to prejudge it, to compel it to fit the mould imposed by a theory which either does not correspond to the facts at all, or corresponds to only some of the facts. 

'Do not strive to seek after the true,' writes a Zen master, only cease to cherish opinions.' There is only one way to cure the results of belief in a false or incomplete theology and it is the same as the only known way of passing from belief in even the truest theology to knowledge or primordial Fact—selflessness, docility, openness to the datum of Eternity. 

Opinions are things which we make and can therefore understand, formulate and argue about. 

But 'to rest in the consideration of objects perceptible to the sense or com­prehended by the understanding is to be content,' in the words of St. John of the Cross, 'with what is less than God.' Unitive knowledge of God is possible only to those who 'have ceased to cherish opinions' —even opinions that are as true as it is possible for verbalized abstractions to be.

Up then, noble soul! Put on thy jumping shoes which are intellect and love, and overleap the worship of thy mental powers, overleap thine understanding and spring into the heart of God, into his hiddenness where thou art hidden from all creatures.

Eckhart

With the lamp of word and discrimination one must go beyond word and discrimination and enter upon the path of realization.

Lwzkavatara Sutra

The word 'intellect' is used by Eckhart in the scholastic sense of immediate intuition. 

'Intellect and reason,' says Aquinas, 'are not two powers, but distinct as the perfect from the im­perfect. . . . 

The intellect means, an intimate penetration of truth; 

the reason, enquiry and discourse.' 154 

It is by following, and then abandoning, the rational and emotional path of 'word and discrimination' that one is enabled to enter upon the intellectual or intuitive 'path of realization.' 

And yet, in spite of the warnings pronounced by those who, through selfless­ness, have passed from letter to spirit and from theory to immediate knowledge, the organized Christian churches have persisted in the fatal habit of mistaking means for ends. 

The verbal statements of theology's more or less adequate ration­alizations of experience have been taken too seriously and treated with the reverence that is due only to the Fact they are intended to describe. 

It has been fancied that souls are saved if assent is given to what is locally regarded as the correct formula, lost if it is withheld. 

The two words, filioque, may not have been the sole cause of the schism between the Eastern and Western churches; but they were unquestionably the pre­text and casus belli.

Filioque, (Latin: “and from the Son”), phrase added to the text of the Christian creed by the Western church in the Middle Ages and considered one of the major causes of the schism between the Eastern and Western churches. See Nicene Creed.

The over-valuation of words and formulae may be regarded as a special case of that over-valuation of the things of time, which is so fatally characteristic of historic Christianity. 

To know Truth-as-Fact and to know it unitively, 'in spirit and in truth-as-immediate-apprehension'—this is deliverance, in this 'standeth our eternal life.' 

To be familiar with the verbalized truths, which symbolically correspond to Truth-as-Fact in so far as it can be known in, or inferred from, truth-as-immediate-apprehension, or truth-as-historic-revelation—this is not salva­tion, 

but merely the study of a special branch of philosophy. 

Even the most ordinary experience of a thing or event in time can never be fully or adequately described in words. 

The experience of seeing the sky or having neuralgia is incom­municable; 

the best we can do is to say 'blue' or 'pain,' in the hope that those who hear us may have had experiences similar to our own and so be able to supply their own version of the meaning. 

Neuralgia is pain in a nerve pathway. Generally, neuralgia isn't an illness in its own right, but a symptom of injury or particular disorders. In many cases, the cause of the pain is not known. The pain can generally be managed with medication, physical therapies or surgery.

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God, however, is not a thing or event in time, and the time-bound words which cannot do justice even to tem­poral matters are even more inadequate to the intrinsic nature and our own unitive experience of that which belongs to an incommensurably different order. 

To suppose that people can be saved by studying and giving assent to formulae is like sup­posing that one can get to Timbuctoo by poring over a map of Africa. 155 

Maps are symbols, and even the best of them are inaccurate and imperfect symbols. But to anyone who really wants to reach a given destination, a map is indispensably use­ful as indicating the direction in which the traveller should set out and the roads which he must take.

Timbuktu is a city in Mali, situated 20 km north of the Niger River

In later Buddhist philosophy words are regarded as one of the prime determining factors in the creative evolution of human beings. In this philosophy five categories of being are recognized—Name, Appearance, Discrimination, Right Know­ledge, Suchness. 

The first three are related for evil, the last two for good. Appearances are discriminated by the sense organs, then reified by naming, so that words are taken for things and symbols are used as the measure of reality. 

According to this view, language is a main source of the sense of separateness and the blasphemous idea of individual self-sufficiency, with their inevitable corollaries of greed, envy, lust for power, anger and cruelty. 

And from these evil passions there springs the neces­sity of an indefinitely protracted and repeated separate existence under the same, self-perpetuated conditions of craving and in­fatuation. 

The only escape is through a creative act of the will, assisted by Buddha-grace, leading through selflessness to Right Knowledge, which consists, among other things, in a proper appraisal of Names, Appearances and Discrimination. 

In and through Right Knowledge, one emerges from the infatuating delusion of 'I,' 'me,' 'mine,' and, resisting the temptation to deny the world in a state of premature and one-sided ecstasy, or to affirm it by living like the average sensual man, one comes at last to the transfiguring awareness that samsara and nirvana are one, to the unitive apprehension of pure Suchness—the ulti­mate Ground, which can only be indicated, never adequately described in verbal symbols.

In connection with the Mahayanist view that words play an important and even creative part in the evolution of unregener­ate human nature, we may mention Hume's arguments against the reality of causation. 16 

These arguments start from the postu­late that all events are 'loose and separate' from one another and proceedwith faultless logic to a conclusion that makes complete nonsense of all organized thought or purposive action. 

The fallacy, as Professor Stout has pointed out, lies in the pre­liminary postulate. And when we ask ourselves what it was that induced Hume to make this odd and quite unrealistic assumption that events are 'loose and separate,' we see that his only reason for flying in the face of immediate experience was the fact that things and happenings are symbolically repre­sented in our thought by nouns, verbs and adjectives, and that these words are, in effect, 'loose and separate' from one another in a way which the events and things they stand for quite obvi­ously are not. Taking words as the measure of things, instead of using things as the measure of words, Hume imposed the discrete and, so to say,pointihiste pattern of language upon the continuum of actual experience—with the impossibly paradox­ical results with which we are all familiar. 

Most human beings are not philosophers and care not at all for consistency in thought or action. Thus, in some circumstances they take it for granted that events are not 'loose and separate,' but co­exist or follow one another within the organized and organ­izing field of a cosmic whole. 

But on other occasions, where the opposite view is more nearly in accord with their passions or interests, they adopt, all unconsciously, the Humian position and treat events as though they were as independent of one another and the rest of the world as the words by which they are symbolized. 

--

This is generally true of all occurrences in­volving 'I,' 'me,' 'mine.' 

Reifying the 'loose and separate' names, we regard the things as also loose and separate—not subject to law, not involved in the network of relationships, by which in fact they are so obviously bound up with their physical, social and spiritual environment. 

We regard as absurd the idea that there is no causal process in nature and no organic connection between events and things in the lives of other people; but at the same time we accept as axiomatic the notion that our own sacred ego is 'loose and separate' from the uni­verse, a law unto itself above the moral dkarma and even, in many respects, above the natural law of causality. 15

7 Both in Buddhism and Catholicism, monks and nuns were encouraged 

to -avoid the personal pronoun and 

to speak of themselves in terms of circumlocutions that clearly indicated their real rela­tionship with the cosmic reality and their fellow-creatures. 

The precaution was a wise one. Our responses to familiar words are conditioned reflexes. 

By changing the stimulus, we can do something to change the response. 

No Pavlov bell, no salivation; no harping on words like 'me' and 'mine,' no purely automatic and unreflecting egotism. 

When a monk speaks of himself, not as 'I,' but as 'this sinner' or 'this un­profitable servant,' he tends to stop taking his 'loose and separate' selfhood for granted, and makes himself aware of his real, organic relationship with God and his neighbours.

In practice words are used for other purposes than for making statements about facts. Very often they are used rhetorically, in order to arouse the passions and direct the will towards some course of action regarded as desirable. And sometimes, too, they are used poetically—that is to say, they are used in such a way that, besides making a statement about real or imaginary things and events, and besides appealing rhetorically to the will and the passions, they cause the reader to be aware that they are beautiful. 

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1. Beauty in art or nature is a matter of relationships between things not in themselves intrinsically beautiful. 
2. There is nothing beautiful, for example, about the vocables 'time,' or 'syllable.' 
3. But when they are used in such a phrase as 'to the last syllable of recorded time,' 
4. the relationship between the sound of the component words, between our ideas of the things for which they stand, 
5. and between the overtones of association with which each word and the phrase as a whole are charged, 
6. is apprehended, by a direct and immediate intuition, as being beautiful.

1. 예술이나 자연의 아름다움은 본질적으로 아름답지 않은 것들 사이의 관계의 문제입니다. 
2. 예를 들어, '시간'이나 '음절'이라는 어휘에는 아름다운 것이 없습니다. 
3. 그러나 그것들이 '기록된 시간의 마지막 음절까지'와 같은 구에서 사용될 때, 
4. 구성 단어들의 소리 사이의 관계, 그것들이 지지하는 것들에 대한 우리의 관념들 사이, 
5. 그리고 각 단어와 연관되는 함축들 사이의 관계 단어와 문구 전체가 청구되고 
6. 직접적이고 즉각적인 직관에 의해 아름다운 것으로 이해됩니다.

About the rhetorical use of words nothing much need be said. 

There is rhetoric for good causes and there is rhetoric for bad causes—rhetoric which is tolerably true to facts as well as emotionally moving, and rhetoric which is unconsciously or deliberately a lie. 

To learn to discriminate between the differ­ent kinds of rhetoric is an essential part of intellectual morality; and intellectual morality is as necessary a pre-condition of the spiritual life as is the control of the will and the guard of heart and tongue.18 

We have now to consider a more difficult problem. 

How should the poetical use of words be related to the life of the spirit? (And,of course, what applies to the poetical use of words applies equally to 

• the pictorial use of pigments, 
• the musical use of sounds, 
• the sculptural use of clay or stone
• —in a word, to all the arts.) 

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty.' 

But unfortunately Keats failed to specify in which of its principal meanings he was using the word 'truth.' 

Some critics have assumed that he was using it in the third of the senses listed at the opening of this section, and have therefore dismissed the aphorism as non­sensical. Zn+ H2SO4= ZnSO4+H2. 

This is a truth in the third sense of the word—and, manifestly, this truth is not identical with beauty. 

But no less manifestly Keats was not talking about this kind of 'truth.' 

He was using the word primarily in its first sense, as a synonym for 'fact,' and secondarily with the significance attached to it in the Johannine phrase, 'to wor­ship God in truth.' 

His sentence, therefore, carries two mean­ings. 

• 'Beauty is the Primordial Fact, and the Primordial Fact is Beauty, the principle of all particular beauties'; 
• and 'Beauty is an immediate experience, and this immediate experience is identical with Beauty-as-Principle, Beauty-as-Primordial-Fact.' 

The first of these statements is fully in accord with the doctrines of the Perennial Philosophy. Among the trinities in which the ineffable One makes itself manifest is the trinity of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. 

We perceive beauty in the harmonious intervals between the parts of a whole. In this context the divine Ground might be paradoxically defined as Pure Interval, independent of what is separated and har­monized within the totality.

With Keats's statement in its secondary meaning the ex­ponents of the Perennial Philosophy would certainly disagree. 

The experience of beauty in art or in nature may be qualita­tively akin to the immediate, unitive experience of the divine Ground or Godhead; 

but it is not the same as that experience,159 

and the particular beauty-fact experienced, though partaking in some sort of the divine nature, is at several removes from the Godhead. 

The poet, the nature lover, the aesthete are granted apprehensions of Reality analogous to those vouch­safed to the selfless contemplative; 

but because they have not troubled to make themselves perfectly selfless, they are in­capable of knowing the divine Beauty in its fullness, as it is in itself. 

The poet is born with the capacity of arranging words in such a way that something of the quality of the graces and inspirations he has received can make itself felt to other human beings in the white spaces, so to speak, between the lines of his verse. 

This is a great and precious gift; but if the poet remains content with his gift, if he persists in worshipping the beauty in art and nature without going on to make himself capable, through selflessness, of apprehending Beauty as it is in the divine Ground, then he is only an idolater. 

True, his idolatry is among the highest of which human beings are capable; but an idolatry, none the less, it remains.

The experience of beauty is pure, self-manifested, compounded equally of joy and consciousness, free from admixture of any other perception, the very twin brother of mystical experience, and the very life of it is supersensuous wonder.... It is enjoyed by those who are competent thereto, in identity, just as the form of God is itself the joy with which it is recognized.

Visvanatha

What follows is the last composition of a Zen nun, who had been in her youth a great beauty and an accomplished poetess.

Sixty-six times have these eyes beheld the changing scenes of Autumn.

I have said enough about moonlight,

Ask me no more.

Only listen to the voice of pines and cedars, when no wind stirs.

Ryo-Nen

i6o 

The silence under windless trees is what Mallarmé would call a creux néant musicien. But whereas the music for which the poet listened was merely aesthetic and imaginative, it was to pure Suchness that the self-naughted contemplative was laying herself open. 'Be still and know that I am God.'

This truth is to be lived, it is not to be merely pronounced with

the mouth....

There is really nothing to argue about in this teaching;

Any arguing is sure to go against the intent of it.

Doctrines given up to controversy and argumentation lead of

themselves to birth and death.

Hui Neng

Away, then, with the fictions and workings of discursive reason, either for or against Christianity! They are only the wanton spirit of the mind, whilst ignorant of God and insensible of its own nature and condition. Death and life are the only things in question; life is God living and working in the soul; death is the soul living and working according to the sense and reason of bestial flesh and blood. Both this life and this death are of their own growth, growing from their own seed within us, not as busy reason talks and directs, but as the heart turns either to the one or to the other.

William Law

Can I explain the Friend to one for whom He is no Friend?

Jalal-uda'in Rumi

 When a mother cries to her sucking babe, 'Come, O son, I am

thy mother!'

Does the child answer, 'O mother, show a proof

That I shall find comfort in taking thy milk'?

Jalal-uda'in Rumi

Great truths do not take hold of the hearts of the masses. And now, as all the world is in error, how shall I, though I know

the true path, how shall I guide? If I know that I cannot succeed and yet try to force success, this would be but another source of error. Better then to desist and strive no more. But if I do not strive, who will?

Chuang Tu

Between the horns of Chuang Tzu's dilemma there is no way but that of love, peace and joy. Only those who manifest their possession, in however small a measure, of the fruits of the Spirit can persuade others that the life of the spirit is worth living. 

Argument and controversy are almost useless; in many cases, indeed, they are positively harmful. But this, of course, is a thing that clever men with a gift for syllogisms and sarcasm find it peculiarly hard to admit. 

Milton, no doubt, genuinely believed that he was working for truth, righteous­ness and the glory of God by exploding in torrents of learned scurrility against the enemies of his favourite dictator and his favourite brand of nonconformity. 

In actual fact, of course, he and the other controversialists of the sixteenth and seven­teenth centuries did nothing but harm to the cause of true religion, for which, on one side or the other, they fought with an equal learning and ingenuity and with the same foul­mouthed intemperance of language. 

The successive contro­versies went on, with occasional lucid intervals, for about two hundred years—Papists arguing with anti-.Papists, Protestants with other Protestants, Jesuits with Quietists and Jansenists. When the noise finally died down, Christianity (which, like any other religion, can survive only if it manifests the fruits of the Spirit) was all but dead; the real religion of most educated Europeans was now nationalistic idolatry. 

During the eight­eenth century this change to idolatry seemed (after the atroci­ties committed in the name of Christianity by Wallenstein and Tilly) to be a change for the better. 

This was because the ruling classes were determined that the horrors of the wars of religion should not be repeated and therefore deliberately tempered power politics with gentlemanliness.. 

Symptoms of gentlemanliness can still be observed in the Napoleonic and i62 Crimean wars. But the national Molochs were steadily devour­ing the eighteenth-century ideal. 

During the First and Second World Wars we have witnessed the total elimination of the old checks and self-restraints. 

The consequences of political idolatry now display themselves without the smallest mitiga­tion either of humanistic honour and etiquette or of trans­cendental religion.

 By its internecine quarrels over words, forms of organization, money and power, historic Christianity consummated the work of self-destruction, to which its exces­sive preoccupation with things in time had from the first so tragically committed it.

Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment;

Cleverness is mere opinion, bewilderment is intuition.

Jalal-uddin Rumi

Reason is like an officer when the King appears; The officer then loses his power and hides himself.

Reason is the shadow cast by God; God is the sun.

Jalal-uddin Rumi

Non-rational creatures do not look before or after, but live in the animal eternity of a perpetual present; instinct is their animal grace and constant inspiration; and they are never tempted to live otherwise than in accord with their own animal a'/zarma, or immanent law. 

Thanks to his reasoning powers and to the instrument of reason, language, man (in his merely human condition) lives nostalgically, apprehensively and hope­fully in the past and future as well as in the present; has no instincts to tell him what to do; must rely on personal clever­ness, rather than on inspiration from the divine Nature of Things; 

finds himself in a condition of chronic civil war between passion and prudence and, on a higher level of aware­ness and ethical sensibility, between egotism and dawning spirituality. But this 'wearisome condition of humanity' is the indispensable prerequisite of enlightenment and deliverance.‑163

 Man must live in time in order to be able to advance into eternity, no longer on the animal, but on the spiritual level; 

he must be conscious of himself as a separate ego in order to be able consciously to transcend separate selfhood; 

he must do battle with the lower self in oider that he may become identi­fied with that higher Self within him, which is akin to the divine Not-Self; 

and finally he must make use of his cleverness in order to pass beyond cleverness to the intellectual vision of Truth, the immediate, unitive knowledge of the divine Ground. 

Reason and its works 'are not and cannot be a proximate means of union with God.' 

The proximate means is 'intellect,' in the scholastic sense of the word, or spirit.

In the last analysis the use and purpose of reason is to create the internal and external conditions favourable to its own transfiguration by and into spirit. 

It is the lamp by which it finds the way to go beyond itself. 

We see, then, that as a means to a proximate means to an End, discursive reasoning is of enormous value. But if, in our pride and madness, we treat it as a proximate means to the divine End (as so many religious people have done and still do), or if, denying the existence of an eternal End, we regard it as at once the means to Progress and its ever-receding goal in time, cleverness becomes the enemy, a source of spiritual blindness, moral evil and social disaster. 

At no period in history has cleverness been so highly valued or, in certain directions, so widely and efficiently trained as at the present time. And at no time have intellectual vision and spirituality been less esteemed, or the End to which they are proximate means less widely and less earnestly ' ught for. 

Because technology advances, we fancy 1r .ve are riiaking  corresponding progress all along lin; because we have considerable power over inanimate nature, we are convinced that we are the self-sufficient masters of our fate and captains of our souls; and because cleverness has given us technology and power, we believe, in spite of all the evidence to the con­trary, that we have only to go on being yet cleverer in a yet more systematic way to achieve social order, international peace and personal happiness.  164 
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In Wu Ch'éng-en's extraordinary masterpiece (so admirably translated by Mr. Arthur Waley) there is an episode, at once comical and profound, in which Monkey (who, in the allegory, is the incarnation of human cleverness) gets to heaven and there causes so much trouble that at last Buddha has to be called in to deal with him. It ends in the following passage:

'I'll have a wager with you,' said Buddha. 'If you are really so clever, jump off the palm of my right hand. If you succeed, I'll tell the Jade Emperor to come and live with me in the Western Paradise, and you shall have his throne without more ado. But if you fail, you shall go back to earth and do penance there for many a kalpa before you come back to me with your talk.'

'This Buddha,' Monkey thought to himself, 'is a perfect fool. I can jump a hundred and eight thousand leagues, while his palm cannot be as much as eight inches across. How could I fail to jump clear of it?'

'You're sure you're in a position to do this for me?' he asked. 'Of course I am,' said Buddha.

He stretched out his right hand, which looked about the size of a lotus leaf. Monkey put his cudgel behind his ear, and leapt with all his might. 'That's all right,' he said to himself. 'I'm right off it now.' He was whizzing so fast that he was almost invisible, and Buddha, watching him with the eye of wisdom, saw a mere whirligig shoot along.

Monkey came at last to five pink pillars, sticking up into the air. 'This is the end of the World,' said Monkey to himself. 'All I have got to do is to go back to Buddha and claim my for­feit. The Throne is mine.'

'Wait a minute,' he said presently, 'I'd better just leave a record of some kind, in case I have trouble with Buddha.' He plucked a hair and blew on it with magic breath, crying 'Change!' It changed at once into a writing brush charged with heavy ink, and at the base of the central pillar he wrote, 'The Great Sage Equal to Heaven reached this place.' Then, to mark his disrespect, he relieved nature at the bottom of the first pillar, and somersaulted back to where he had come from. Standing on Buddha's palm,
he said, 'Well, I've gone and come back. You can go and tell the Jade Emperor to hand over the palaces of Heaven.'
'You stinking ape,' said Buddha, 'you've been on the palm of my hand all the time.'
'You're quite mistaken,' said Monkey. 'I got to the end of the World, where I saw five flesh-coloured pillars sticking up into the sky. I wrote something on one of them. IT take you there and show you, if you like.'
'No need for that
Monkey peered down with his fiery, steely eyes, and there at the base of the middle finger of Buddha's hand he saw written the
words, 'The Great Sage Equal to Heaven reached this place,' and from the fork between the thumb and first finger came a smell of monkey's urine.

From Monkey

And so, having triumphantly urinated on the proffered hand of Wisdom, the Monkey within us turns back and, full of a bumptious confidence in his own omnipotence, sets out to re­fashion the world of men and things into something nearer to his heart's desire. Sometimes his intentions are good, some­times consciously bad. But, whatever the intentions may be, the results of action undertaken by even the most brilliant cleverness, when it is unenlightened by the divine Nature of Things, unsubordinated to the Spirit, ate generally evil. 

That this has always been clearly understood by humanity at large is proved by the usages of language. 'Cunning' and 'canny' are equivalent to 'knowing,' and all three adjectives pass a more or less unfavourable moral judgment on those to whom they are applied. 'Conceit' is just 'concept'; but what a man's mind conceives most clearly is the supreme value of his own ego. 'Shrewd,' which is the participial form of 'shrew,' mean­ing malicious, and is connected with 'beshrew,' to curse, is now applied, by way of rather dubious compliment, to astute business men and attorneys. Wizards are so called because they are wise—wise, of course, in the sense that, in American slang, a 'wise guy' is wise. Conversely, an idiot was once popularly known as an innocent. 166 

'This use of innocent,' says Richard Trench, 'assumes that to hurt and harm is the chief employment, towards which men turn their intellectual powers; that where they are wise, they are oftenest wise to do evil.' 

Meanwhile it goes without saying that cleverness and accumu­lated knowledge are indispensable, but always as means to proximate means, and never as proximate means or, what is even worse, as ends in themselves. Quid faceret eruditio sine dilecrione? says St. Bernard. Inflaret. Quid, abs que eruditione dilectio? Erraret. What would learning do without love? It would puff up. And love without learning? It would go astray.

Such as men themselves are, such will God Himself seem to them to be.

John Smith, the Platonist

Men's minds perceive second causes,

But only prophets perceive the action of the First Cause.

Jalal-uddin Rumi

The amount and kind of knowledge we acquire depends first upon the will and, second, upon our psycho-physical constitu­tion and the modifications imposed upon it by environment and our own choice. Thus, Professor Burkitt has pointed out that, where technological discovery is concerned 'man's desire has been the important factor. Once something is definitely wanted, again and again it has been produced in an extremely short time. . . . Conversely, nothing will teach the Bushmen of South Africa to plant and herd. They have no desire to do so.' The same is true in regard to ethical and spiritual discoveries. 'You are as holy as you wish to be,' was the motto given by Ruysbroeck to the students who came to visit him. And he might have added, 'You can therefore know as much of Reality as you wish to know'—for knowledge is in the knower accord­ing to the mode of the knower, and the mode of the knower is, in certain all-important respects, within the knower's control.167

Liberating knowledge of God comes to the pure in heart and poor in spirit; and though such purity and poverty are enor­mously difficult of achievement, they are nevertheless possible to all.

She said, moreover, that if one would attain to purity of mind it was necessary to abstain altogether from any judgment on one's neighbour and from all empty talk about his conduct. in crea­tures one should always seek only for the will of God. With great force she said: 'For no reason whatever should one judge the actions of creatures or their motives. Even when we see that it is an actual sin, we ought not to pass judgment on it, but have holy and sincere compassion and offer it up to God with humble and devout prayer.'

From the Testament of St. Catherine of Siena, written down by Tommaso di Petra

This total abstention from judgment upon one's fellows is only one of the conditions of inward purity. The others have already been described in the section on 'Mortification.'

Learning consists in adding to one's stock day by day. The practice of Tao consists in subtracting day by day: subtracting and yet again subtracting until one has reached inactivity.

Lao Tu

It is the inactivity of self-will and ego-centred cleverness that makes possible the activity within the emptied and purified soul of the eternal Suchness. And when eternity is known in the heights within, it is also known in the fullness of experience, outside in the world.

Didst thou ever descry a glorious eternity in a winged moment of time? Didst thou ever see a bright infinite in the narrow point of an object? Then thou knowest what spirit means—the spire-top, whither all things ascend harmoniously, where they meet and sit contented in an unfathomed Depth of Life.

Peter Sterry