Our Magical World – Part One

We live in a universe of awesome majesty and size. Within this age-old cosmos, isolated galaxies pursue lonely paths through the desolate void of space. Set against this primeval darkness, these wandering galaxies shine with the light of a myriad glowing suns.

Within again these systems of solar light, tiny planetary satellites revolve. The earth, which is but a microcosm of this universal scheme, is our island home in space. Yet we who inhabit this world are dwarfed by its immensity and grandeur.

Its splendour has been the subject of epic tales of wonder, and its beauty the source of endless songs of praise. Our poets in every generation have set to rhyme the nature of this beauty, while our composers have sought to express the music of the spheres. Our lives in fact are daily acts of worship within this panoply of form.

But what lies behind this mystery of form? What secret ingredient lends its perfume to the petalled rose, or yields magic to a morning sunrise? What vital essence permeates an ice-clad peak, or animates the fury of the storm? What motivates our world of heat and light and power?

Our search for the meaning of these mysteries, and an understanding of the true nature of this world, has led us on an extraordinary journey. When we began our quest into the reality of the objective world, we used as an illustration the example of an oak tree.

Standing tall in our world of common experience, this oak tree appears to have undoubted existence and reality. Not only do we see it as an object separate from ourselves in space, but each one of our senses yields specific information about the tree which contributes to our overall evaluation. Thus, we are able to see its stature, feel its strength, taste and smell its texture, and hear it creaking in the wind.

Based on all these impressions that are conveyed to us by our senses, we naturally assume that the oak tree has an objective existence and material reality. We consider it to be a part of nature, part of the real world we see around us.

In reaching this conclusion we are joined by numerous other people who share our view, for in comparing the information which they receive from the tree, we find that their sensory impressions coincide exactly with our own. This leaves us in no doubt that the tree exists as part of a real, physical world that is experienced equally by ourselves and others.

This reality seems unquestioned, and hardly worthy of further examination.

Yet when we begin to analyse the nature of the world around us, this simple viewpoint of reality undergoes a disturbing transformation. When we examine our oak tree in the cold light of scientific understanding, we find that the tree itself is composed of long, wooden fibres which are densely packed together.

Upon closer study, these wooden fibres are found to consist of tiny cells which are in turn composed of specific molecules. These molecules are not solid bits of matter, however, for they themselves can be broken down into constituent atoms. Even these atoms are not basic indivisible units of matter, for they have been found to consist of yet smaller particles which are composed of energy.

Our oak tree thus resolves itself into complex patterns of energy that are constantly in motion. Not only is this energy in motion, but it continually sparkles into existence and vanishes out of existence again into nothing.

Our scientific investigation into the nature of the tree tells us that our oak tree is in fact pure energy, which emerges out of a residuum which physicists have called the quantum field. Yet there is nothing in these various patterns of energy that distinguishes them as our oak tree, for the particles which make up the tree are no different from the particles which make up all the other objects in the world.

Far from clarifying the nature of material objects, therefore, science seems to have robbed them of their meaning. Our tree no longer has form, objectivity or strength, for all of these features have disappeared upon examination into the simple movement of energetic particles.

Equally, the perfume that is exuded from the flower, or the song that can be heard in the murmuring of the surf cannot be found within the movement of the particles themselves, especially as they are held to move according to the random laws of chance.

Nature as illuminated by science turns out to be a meaningless affair. Those writers, poets and composers who have gloried in nature have responded to something that resides uniquely within themselves, for it is to be found nowhere within the scientific explanation of the world. As the British philosopher and mathematician Alfred North Whitehead observed:

“Nature gets credit which should in truth be reserved to ourselves; the rose for its scent, the nightingale for his song and the sun for its radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. They should address their lyrics to themselves and should turn them into odes of self-congratulations on the excellency of the human mind. Nature is a dull affair, soundless, scentless, colourless, merely the hurrying of material, endlessly, meaninglessly.” 1

The world of nature which surrounds us in such rich profusion carries no meaning until it is revealed in consciousness. It is only when the image of the oak tree appears in consciousness that we become aware of it and can tell of the impressions within consciousness which it engenders. These impressions appear to be derived through the agency of our physical senses.

When we investigate the process whereby exterior sensations are converted into interior impressions in consciousness, we find ourselves confronted by yet another difficulty. We discover that we are not able to determine precisely how sensory signals, in the form of electrical impulses, are converted into images in consciousness. Furthermore, we are unable to account for the origin and existence of consciousness itself, nor for its characteristic feature which is called the mind.

The idea that there exists an objective world outside of ourselves that is revealed to us via our senses is nothing more than an article of faith. It is so because we believe it is so.

No evidence has hitherto been led to justify this claim. What we have done has been to point to these images in consciousness as evidence of their objective reality. In other words, we have taken the existence of our sensory perceptions of matter and form outside of ourselves as proof that this is indeed so.

But there can never be any object in nature that exists outside of consciousness. As nuclear physicists have now conceded, if there actually is an objective, physical world which exists “out there” in space independently of consciousness, then they can say nothing about it, for all their conclusions are based upon information that resides in consciousness.

The fact that different observers happen to agree upon the nature of their observations is not in itself proof that these observations have an objective nature. It merely confirms that different people share similar perceptions in consciousness.

Mystics of every age have taught that all experience is mind-made, and as such can never be separated from the consciousness of the individual experiencer. The idea that what is contained within consciousness is representative of an actual outer world is therefore considered to be illusory.

The reason why the world is described by mystics as an illusion is not because it does not exist, but rather because what is acknowledged to exist is not representative of an outer reality. According to these mystics, there can never be an object without an accompanying observer, and correspondingly, that there can never be an observer without a world to interact with.

The fact that consciousness may sometimes appear to be blank, or devoid of images, does not detract from this intrinsic duality, for blankness is merely another form of image. Furthermore, as they point out, the idea of individual personality is itself illusory, for it is born of this duality.

It is the interaction with “objects” in experience which builds up the idea of personality. The personality is thus a residue of images and events which are retained in memory. It is nothing more or less than the sequential record of experience, and each personality becomes coloured by that experience.

This experiential sequence progresses from “birth” through to “death,” and forms a perceived lifetime of experience which is then attributed to that personality. All experience takes place within a faculty of expression in consciousness called “mind”. Upon investigation, the mind is found to be the sum of the contents of consciousness, which are thoughts.

These thoughts arise spontaneously in consciousness and are projected outwardly in the form of an outer world. The world, therefore, is a product of individual consciousness, and is projected by that consciousness. The world does not impinge on consciousness from without as the senses suggest. Instead, it is projected outwardly by consciousness, just as cinematic images are projected on a screen.

That the senses are not simply windows onto an objective and physical world is evidenced by our experience in the waking state of various forms of suggestion. Simply by means of suggestion, it is possible to make the eye see sights that are not part of the commonly accepted world, or hear spurious sounds, or vary the normal functioning of the senses.

The best example of the power of suggestion occurs in hypnosis. While hypnosis is usually regarded as a sleep-like condition, practitioners such as Kreskin emphasize that hypnosis is not a trance-like state in which normal waking consciousness is superseded.

Unless a specific suggestion of sleepiness is given, the subject continues to relate to his or her environment as if nothing unusual had occurred in their normal waking state. As Kreskin points out, the power of suggestion can cause the mind to project new images which are at complete odds with normal waking reality.

“Using only suggestion, tapping nothing but waiting imagination, I’ve had subjects seeing flying saucers or shivering in polar cold within two minutes, and audiences of six hundred dancing Irish jigs.” 2

These experiences are by no means illusory to the people who experience them, for they remain adamantly convinced that these events formed an unbroken extension of their normal waking state, and that they “really” happened.

The basic challenge of what we take to be normal waking reality is this. If everyone projects a world of his or her own making, then how is it that different people agree on what they see and sense?

If, for example, a friend of mine should happen to visit my home, they will experience it in the same way I do. And if we both go to a place that neither of us has ever been before, we will find that we experience this new environment in precisely similar ways.

The answer to this conundrum is that everyone who shares a common experience of reality, has learned to construct that reality according to a similar pattern of ideas.

This construction begins shortly after birth and continues throughout adolescence and is usually fully developed by the time the child reaches puberty. The basic purpose of our cultural education is a deliberate process of ensuring that we do, in fact, succeed in creating a precisely similar world.

Our parents are our initial tutors, but this education is later continued by society at large. At stake is our ability to participate in a world of common experience. Not all children complete this course of education satisfactorily. When they fail, they are invariably branded as suffering from some or other pathological state of mind.

Membership of this common world can also be lost, often as a result of sudden emotional shock, causing the individual to substitute a new world scene, which is then interpreted by others as a form of insanity. This educational conditioning of mind is neatly summarised by Carlos Castaneda in speaking of his mentor, Don Juan:

“He pointed out that everyone who comes into contact with a child is a teacher who incessantly describes the world to him, until the moment when the child is capable of perceiving the world as it is described. From that moment on, however, the child is a member.  

“He knows the description of the world; and his membership becomes full-fledged, I suppose, when he is capable of making all the proper perceptual interpretations which, by conforming to that description, validate it. For Don Juan, then, the reality of our day-to-day life consists of an endless flow of perceptual interpretations which we, the individuals who share a specific membership, have learned to make in common.” 3

Not only is our present waking condition the product of a process of conditioning, but this conformity is maintained moment by moment. Our world is not an enduring physical construct which existed long ages before we were born and will continue aeons after we are dead. Instead, it is a series of separate perceptions, created moment by moment, which are strung upon the thread of memory to provide congruence and consistency.

Just as separate frames of a cinematic image blur together to create the impression of an unbroken sequence, so do our momentary perceptions combine to form an unbroken sense of personality. Our world then is not the product of long evolutionary growth. It is a thing of momentary fragments. It is in this sense that the world is referred to by the Buddha as a “flickering lamp” and a “flash of lightning in a summer cloud”.

Having learned to project a common world in consciousness, we then seek to interact with this world according to the promptings of our personal desires. The actions born of these desires impact on others, just as the actions of others affect us. Of course, we only influence, and are in turn affected by, those who share our state of consciousness and our composite worldview.

Those who inhabit other states of mind are immune from our actions, and we theirs. Because every action, like every ripple in a pond, extends outwards to affect the entire content of consciousness, however weakly, we cannot talk of any one event as being the result of any one single cause.

Whatever happens in this constructed world of ours occurs as a result of the combined interaction of all desires, just as a pond reflects at any one time the combined result of all disturbances. Our actions, therefore, not only affect ourselves, but reach out to the furthermost stars in our heavens. It is for this reason that Nisargadatta Maharaj has said:

“Like everything mental, the so-called law of causation contradicts itself. Nothing in existence has a particular cause; the entire universe contributes to the existence of even the smallest thing; nothing could be as it is without the universe being what it is. When the source and ground of everything is the only cause of everything, to speak of causality as a universal law is wrong.” 4

While the manifestation of the apparent universe is a product of its constituent thoughts and desires, the actual conditions of life experienced by any individual will always be dominated by his or her thoughts. If the world is a projection of the mind, and if the mind is the sum of a person’s thoughts and desires, then it is these very thoughts and desires that are the major determinants of that person’s experiences in life.

Now the thoughts that come to influence our lives most strongly, are those thoughts which are most firmly imprinted in consciousness. Once we have understood this fundamental truth, we see why it is that so much emphasis has always been placed upon the nature of belief. Our beliefs are those thoughts which we have come to accept as being true, usually by virtue of our education and cultural conditioning.

It is our beliefs which form our basic concepts of the world, and it is these beliefs that determine the way in which it manifests.

According to our beliefs, so are our experiences in life. Those thoughts which are reinforced by constant repetition form a powerful force and draw into manifestation their counterpart in matter. As we have seen from the teachings of the Sages, the creative power of thought rests upon certain requirements. In order for thought to influence matter or circumstance, they must first be clearly defined.

Thoughts which are vaguely formulated, or which are themselves counteracted by conflicting thoughts, usually in the form of doubts and fears, lack creative power. Their creative nature depends upon their clarity as well as the force with which they are held. This force is based upon the strength of desire.

Where the desire to experience a particular objective is strong, and the equivalent thought form is resolutely held in mind, circumstances within our world conspire to bring about the fulfilment of that desire.

It follows that faith is a necessary partner is this process. Faith is the capacity to hold onto a particular belief in the absence of physical evidence, in the confident expectation that the object of desire will subsequently manifest in reality. As the thirteenth century mystic St. Thomas Aquinas has confirmed: “The light of faith makes us see what we believe.”

Two other factors contribute to the efficacy of our thoughts. They are will and emotion. Will is a particular cast of mind. It is a characteristic which reinforces desire despite the presence of contrary conditions. It reveals itself in the capacity of the mind to overcome these limitations. It is the will to succeed. Where the will is strong, the power to create is equally strong.

Finally, any thought can be empowered by its association with emotion. Those thoughts which are supported by highly charged emotions become powerful forces for change. The Sages have taught that the world of our experience is not the creation of some divine being or supreme power, nor are we the victims of destiny or chance.

They have assured us, based on the conviction born of personal experience, that we are the masters of our souls and the architects of our lives. We are free to spin whatever cosmic web of thought that we desire. These Sages require only that we take responsibility for our lives, and not blame our limitations on others or on a punitive God. Our world is thus the true haven of our dreams.

We are free to make of it a heaven or a hell.

Continued in Part Two 

References: 

1 Quoted in “Introduction to Comparative Mysticism”, by J. De Marquette, Philosophical Library, New York, 1949, p. 15.

2 Kreskin, “The Amazing World of Kreskin”, Avon, New York, 1974, p. 124.

3 Carlos Castaneda, “Journey to Ixtlan”, Simon and Schuster, New York, 1972, p. 9.

4 “I Am That”, Conversations with Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, translated by Maurice Frydman, Book I, Chetana, Bombay, 1973, p. 10.

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