PART I: THE VISION OF GOD AND MAN AND OTHER LECTURES

THE PATH OF MEDITATION

THERE is a trace of the meditative to be found in all ages, and yet no one can fully
explain in words why people perform their meditations or what they experience
while doing so. In order to make this more tangible I would like to say that life can
be divided into two sections: the outer life and the life within. There are very few
even among the intellectual who will readily agree when I say that there exists a life
within, since their intellect has kept them occupied with the life outside; the
experience they have had of the outer life by the help of reason and logic is their
only experience, and it is this which they call their learning or knowledge. If one
speaks of anything else to them they will say, 'This is a mystification, it is confusing,
what we would like as proof is a phenomenon!' Besides, words can say so little about
something that is only experienced by the meditative. How can a person who has
had a certain pain, a pain which is not experienced by anyone else, explain to
another how it feels? It is the one who experiences the pain who knows what it is.
Therefore we can put into words all fine experiences in life and yet express so little
of them.
In order to simplify this idea I would like to divide these two aspects, the meditative
and the worldly, into two categories. One is connected with action, the other with
repose. Much as action is needed in life, repose is just as necessary; and sometimes
repose is even more necessary than action. All such complaints as nervous illness
and disorders of the mind come from lack of repose. This realm of life, which is
explored by meditation, is the world of repose. And as one can say that by a certain
kind of work one has gathered this or that experience, or has a certain success, or
has added a particular aspect to one's knowledge, so one can also say that by this
method of repose one has acquired a certain strength, illumination, and peace.
And when we go a little further we will find that it is this concept of repose which
the wise turn into a method, considering it most sacred, for by this process they
attain to something much more valuable than anything our actions can bring us.
The first step on this path of meditation may be called concentration. This means
the ability to control our mind, which is sometimes active with our will and
sometimes without it. What we call imagination is an automatic working of the
mind, and what we call thought is an action of the mind and will. Therefore such
words as 'imaginative' and 'thoughtful' distinguished the condition of the mind: that
we either allow our mind to work as it wishes, or use our mind to work according to
our will.
Another thing that can be accomplished by concentration is the following. The mind
is a storehouse of all impressions that one has gathered through the five senses; and
the most wonderful phenomenon that one can perceive is that every one of those
impressions is at hand as soon as the mind ask it to present itself before one. They
instantly come to be used. For instance an artist wants to paint a wonderful picture.
He would like it to be a picture of a man, but at the same time an unusual one. As
soon as he closes his eyes images of the horns of an animal, of the wing of a bird, and
of the body of a fish present themselves, and then he paints a figure with horns,

wings, and the body of a fish, combining all into one fabulous whole. Now what
would one call this action? This action is an action of the will of the artist, who
wanted to produce something wonderful, and the mind was instantly ready to
supply from the storehouse all that the artist wished.
Another side of this question is that imagination also helps concentration. As soon as
a person has imagined a running stream, he also imagines the rocks near by and the
beautiful scenery, which is round the spring. From this we learn that concentration
is not only something that is practiced by a mystic or a philosopher, but everybody
in business, in his art, in industry practices concentration to some extent. At the
same time it is concentration, which makes a person a genius, it is concentration
which brings success, and it is concentration which is the mystery of the
accomplishment of all things.
And when one goes a little further on the same path one finds that there is
contemplation, which means the retaining of the same thought or thought-picture.
The distinction between concentration and contemplation is that the former is the
composition of form. It is difficult to explain to what extent the power of
contemplation works; those who are acquainted with the workings of contemplation
can only call its results a phenomenon. The reason is that the mind is creative
because the divine spirit is creative, and because the spirit is creative therefore the
mind inherits, as its divine heritage, the faculty of creating. No one, however
material, will deny the fact that all beauty and art, through whatever realm it is
manifested, through science of industry, is a phenomenon of the mind. All the
wonderful things made in the world in the way of inventions, architecture, of art,
have come as a phenomenon of the mind. But they are mostly the phenomenon of
the active mind, and one does not realize how great the phenomena are when
produced by a controlled mind, controlled through concentration and
contemplation.
And when we proceed still further we come to the aspect we call, meditation, an
experience which is brought about by a perfect control of the mind and by rising
above the action of the mind, an experience by which the inner side of life begins to
reveal itself. For instance if you ask a person, 'Tell me about your being, what you
know about it,' he will say, 'I have a physical body composed of five senses, subject
to sensation, pleasure, pain, decay, and disease. And if I have anything more,
perhaps somewhere in the brain I have the faculty of thinking. Perhaps, as many
scientists say, it is an impression in my brain of all the things I have seen; and that is
what I know of my mind. If there is anything else I know about myself it is a feeling,
which I may call love or sympathy, but I do not know where it is; perhaps it is a
sensation like the other sensations which I perceive. Besides this I do not know
anything about myself except the affairs that I have to attend to in my everyday life.'
This shows that the majority of people, and a very large majority, know very little
about themselves; what they know about themselves is that limited part which
cannot be compared with the part that is to be found within.
Should not this part then, which is much larger and of the greatest importance, be
explored? And is it not great negligence on the part of man, which may be called
sleep, that he goes on, day after day, without giving even a thought to that part of his

being which is of much greater importance than the part he knows? In spite of all
the wealth that one may earn, and in spite of all one's success and the rank and
position that one may attain, one has lost a great deal, if life is lost. And if that part
of oneself is not found which is so much higher and greater, and which can be called
sacred or the heritage of the divine Being. It is the inner self, and it can be explored
by the path of meditation. When once this part of oneself is discovered then
realization comes in the form of light, and light becomes like the lantern of Aladdin,
which was found with great difficulty, but when it was directed on to life it made life
reveal itself.
In India there is an amusing story which illustrates this idea. A young lad was sent
to school. He began his lesson with the other children, and the first lesson the
teacher set him was the straight line, the figure 'one'. But whereas the others went
on progressing, this child continued writing the same figure. After two or three days
the teacher came up to him and said, 'Have you finished your lesson?' He said, 'No I
am still writing 'one'.' He went on doing the same thing, and when at the end of the
week the teacher asked him again he said, 'I have not yet finished it.' The teacher
thought he was an idiot and should be sent away, as he could not or did not want to
learn. At home the child continued with the same exercise, and the parents also
became tired and disgusted. He simply said, 'I have hot yet learned it, I am learning
it. When I have finished I shall take the other lessons.' The parents said, 'The other
children are going on further, the school has given you up, and you do not show any
progress; we are tired of you.' And the lad thought with sad heart that as he had
displeased his parents too he had better leave home. So he went into the wilderness
and lived on fruits and nuts. After a long time he returned to his old school, and
when he saw the teacher he said to him, 'I think I have learned it. See if I have. Shall
I write on this wall? And when he made his sign the wall split in two.
What does this story tell us? It tells us that there is another direction of learning,
which is quite contrary to what we generally understand by learning. When this lad
was taught to write 'one,' he could not see beyond 'one.' He thought: two is one and
one is one. What is four? It is one and one and one and one. It was to this 'one' that
he put his mind, and when he went into the wilderness what was his contemplation?
Every tree suggested the same figure 'one' to him; every plant, everything in nature
he saw as 'one', because everything in nature is unique, and it is the uniqueness in
nature, which is the proof of the oneness behind it all. This symbolical story of the
wall being split in two explains that when the meditative person has developed the
sense of oneness, wherever he cast his glance, on a human being, on an object, it will
open itself just as the wall opened into two, and it will show him its character, its
nature, its secret, and its mystery. People who read occultism say that there are
three eyes, and that the third is the inner Eye. What does this mean? It means that
the very two eyes we have turn from two into One, and when he realizes One, then
his eyes become one; and in becoming one this eye obtains such power that it pierces
all things and knows all things. It is for this knowledge that the eye opens.
But now one might ask a question. Today we live in a world of struggle, where there
is only struggle to gain things of our choice and longing, but even the struggle for a
living, the struggle for existence. What can one do under such conditions, and what

shall we attain by coming to the realization about which I have spoken? The answer
is that this difficulty of life, which we experience just now, is not a difficulty which
arises from the conditions; it comes from our individual selves. It is we who cause
this difficulty; it is not that the conditions have made it difficult for us. It is not true
that the world is small and its population vast; the world would be large enough to
accommodate a population ten time greater, if only man were as he ought to be, if he
were humane, if his feelings toward others were what they should be. It is not that in
this world there is a shortage of all that is good and beautiful and of all that we
need. The shortage is in our hearts: we do not want others to have anything. And it
is the culture of humanity, which will bring about better conditions, and not this
outer change with which many occupy themselves, thinking that through this
change the conditions of the world will improve.
Man experiences a kingliness of soul when he gets into touch with his inner being,
and he experiences slavery, in spite of all that he may possess in life, if he has not
come into touch with his inner self. But, one may say, can a meditative person not
explain in words the knowledge that he receives, so that others can read such a book
and thus acquire this knowledge? But I should like to say that if a man who had
traveled to Venice gave an account of what he had seen there, it would entertain you
for a moment, but it would not give you the same joy as you would experience by
traveling to Venice yourself. That which a meditative person experiences in his
meditation is not a speculation, neither is it a kind of conception or idea that a man
can clothe in the form of poetry, that he can explain, that he can express. Besides,
what is our language made of? It is composed of names, which were given to objects,
to things that are intelligible to us. There are no words, which can express that
which is unintelligible; and the help of explanations cannot experience the
experience, which is beyond words. When not even our everyday experiences when
not even our everyday experiences such as gratefulness, sympathy, pity, devotion,
can be explained in words, then such a feeling as is experienced by the help of
explanations. When not even our everyday experiences, such as gratefulness,
sympathy, pity, devotion, can be explained in words, then such a feeling as is
experienced by coming into the state of meditation, by being in communion with
one's inner self, is so sacred that it can in no way be explained in words. That is why
in the East this way is sought under the guidance of those who have trodden this
path.