Then there is a form of concentration that is higher and more important than those indicated so far: that of the Inner Observer or Spectator …

By Roberto Assagioli, May 17, 1934, from the Assagioli Archive in Florence, doc. #23152. Original Title: Concentrazione. Translated and Edited with Notes by Jan Kuniholm

It is appropriate first to understand well the difference between spontaneous, or automatic, concentration and deliberate, directed concentration. They differ as much in nature as in the manner in which they are produced. Spontaneous concentration is brought about by a strong interest, desire or feeling, which keeps the mind along a certain line. A typical example is that of the businessman who makes plans for the success of his enterprise; another example is the concentration of the student on the subjects on which he expects to be examined. Those who can concentrate in this way are under the illusion that they possess a good amount of concentration. But the ability to keep the mind fixed on a task or topic when driven by intense interest, need, or fear does not mean that we can do so equally when those incentives are lacking. If we attempt to concentrate on some abstract topic or something that involves no personal interest or benefit, we find it difficult to do so, and we discover that we actually have no effective command of our mind.

Such a discovery is humbling, but salutary. It shows how much we are at the mercy of our moods, and, in this sense, passive, even though externally we may be positive and active. It can be said that our thoughts, emotions and impulses act in us almost automatically and independently. In other words, we are pulled along by them; we do not choose and direct them.

This is one reason why intellectual interests do not have the effectiveness and stimulating effect on the personal interests of the average man; but this is also because there is an inherent difference in the nature of those interests. Abstract subjects are too “thin,” they are too intangible for the mind to grasp them easily, and as it is unaccustomed to this more strenuous method of operation, it is reluctant to do so. And in general, every new activity, every new way of functioning, requires an uncomfortable effort.

This explains the reluctance of so many to accept new ideas and change their beliefs and interests; they fear or dislike what is new and resist it. An amusing example of such misoneism,[1] which now seems almost unbelievable, is the statement of an eminent French astronomer, who in 1884 said that there was nothing more to be discovered in the field of astronomy.

The realization that we are not masters of our own minds is — we repeat — quite humbling, but it is useful in that it prompts us to make efforts to acquire mastery. Another important result of this discovery is the awareness of the difference between ourselves and our mind or emotions. Unsuccessful effort to master the mind shows that there is conflict, and conflict means that there are two opposing sides. So this awareness of conflict is valuable in that it highlights the distinction between the “I” or self, with will, and the lazy or rebellious mind, which has, in a way, a life of its own.

These preliminary, but vital, acknowledgments form the necessary basis for learning to focus the mind according to our will. They also help us to understand ourselves and give us the incentive we need to become masters of this instrument, the mind, which is an excellent servant when mastered, but can be a cause of mistakes and inconvenience when it is not connected with the other aspects of our personality and is not directed by the will.

The technique to be used to achieve mastery over the mind and the ability to concentrate and use it at will is to direct and hold our attention steady on objects that are indifferent to us and that present no attraction to ourselves. In this way we learn to keep the mind fixed, without the help of personal interest or desire.

There are many such exercises in concentration that can be practiced to train us. Observation is one of the simplest and therefore suitable means to begin with. It trains attention and develops the ability to focus it; this is the first step toward the more difficult and complete procedures of meditation on abstract subjects.

The exercise consists of quickly and carefully observing a series of objects, for example those existing in a room, for half a minute, and then writing down as detailed a list as possible of what was noticed. The same exercise can be done by looking at a store window, or observing a painting. By repeating such exercises we can ascertain the degree of development of our ability, checking the accuracy of our observations.

Such exercises also show that the ability to observe varies greatly according to different psychological types. Some people find this kind of exercise relatively easy because they are interested in the outside world and habitually observe their surroundings. In contrast, these exercises prove more difficult for those who tend to live with their attention turned inward, those whose interest is directed primarily toward the worlds of emotion, imagination and thought, but precisely for that reason they are particularly useful. The exercises train them to observe and focus on what interests them least, and this helps them develop a relatively deficient side of their nature. The goal for everyone is to be able to focus when they want to, on any level of life and on any particular object or subject, regardless of its interest in itself.

Exercises in observing external objects are a preparation for concentration on “internal objects:” images, feelings, ideas. One exercise that is a transition between the two is to observe an external image for thirty seconds, then close your eyes and try to hold it in front of the “mind’s eye.” We all have this power of imagination, in the sense of being able to depict objects, faces, etc. that are familiar to us. It is more developed and vivid in some people than in others, but for the purpose at hand here it is not so much the image itself that is important, but the ability to hold it still before the mind’s eye, and to be able to focus attention on it.

A second such exercise is to conjure up an image and hold it firmly in the field of consciousness for a short time without having looked at it just before. You can start with some well-known object, such as a building you see every day, a landscape you know well, or a family person. The image should be conjured up precisely, with concentration on details, and then held fixedly for a time. In doing so, a struggle is created, an interesting but sometimes exasperating skirmish between our desire to hold the image firmly and the fluid nature of the imagination, which is accustomed to moving from one subject to another quickly and haphazardly. It will play all sorts of tricks: it will distort the image, add some extraneous element to it, divide it into two or more parts, replace it with something else. In short, it will do anything not to keep the image still before the mind’s eye.

This fact is also humbling, but revealing at the same time. Once again we are confronted with the evidence that we are not the masters of our psyche and that there is conflict between it and our true being. This is where the conquest of self-mastery really begins, in the sense of learning to direct and use our “psychic instrument” as we wish.

The key to achieving the power of concentration is, as in any other field, a persevering patience and repeated effort. A further incentive to set about doing this lies in the fact that the evocation of images, in addition to developing our ability to concentrate, gives us a way to use the tremendous effectiveness of the imagination. But this subject will be examined later, in the handout on the use of visualization as one of the most important parts of the meditation technique. For now, let us consider visualization only as a phase of concentration.

Regardless of these specific exercises, there are numerous opportunities to train our concentration during daily life. We can do this by paying full attention to every activity we are doing, without letting our minds wander. Habitual actions are often performed more or less automatically, while extraneous things occupy the field of consciousness. This creates a state of passive dissociation that can reach harmful proportions, and is in any case a waste of energy. Further on, in the course of our studies, we will consider the possibility of doing two things at once, but this is an entirely different matter. In that case we are well aware and active on both levels, whereas in the first case there is a more or less automatic performance of physical activities while the image goes on its own.

In this regard it can be said that many people do not live in the present: the greatest part of their interest, their attention, their psychology is directed to the past or the future; they remember or regret past things, and worry about things that might happen. This attitude is harmful and should be eliminated. To sum up, concentration means the ability to live in the present, and specifically in that part or area of the present that pertains to our immediate task.

Then there is a form of concentration that is higher and more important than those indicated so far: that of the Inner Observer or Spectator who, perfectly concentrated, (himself) observes the changing landscape of psychological life — what William James called the “stream of consciousness:” he perceives it in a detached way, regulates it and, when necessary, intervenes to change it. It is not easy to maintain this internal position. Being, as it were, “on the bank” of the mental stream, we tend to be swept along by its currents. Attention is easily shifted by some wave of emotion, by some interesting idea or some impulse, and we have to continually bring it back to the center of concentration, to the conscious Self, the part in us that is persistent and unchanging through all the changes in the psychological flow.

The ability to observe and perceive “inner objects” was described by Hermann Keyserling in his Travel Diary of a Philosopher as follows:

All recognition is perception; Reflection, induction, deduction are only means to attain to perception. It is not for nothing that, even in the case of invisible relationships, people say, I see how matters stand; in fact, one perceives also an abstract connection. It is unjustified to affirm a difference in principle between the observation of an external object, the visualization of the imagination of a painter, the conception of a thought and the mental vision of an idea. It is always the same problem: that of perception. Only the objects and the organs differ. But an idea, as a phenomenon, is something equally external as the tree in front of us; we either do or do not perceive it.[2]

Such training in concentration during the first few months is a necessary foundation for future meditation practice. However, the two extremes should be avoided. One is to do these apparently uninteresting exercises mechanically, out of habit; performed in this way they would not achieve the purpose. The other is to do them with too much effort or tension. Also, we should not attempt to perform them when we are tired, for then there is little chance of success.

Another caveat is that we should not be discouraged by failure, especially with regard to the inability to maintain fixed concentration for any length of time. In the beginning, it is already enough if one can achieve true concentration for ten or twenty seconds; a minute or two is already a lot. Therefore it is better to perform several short exercises with good results, rather than trying to forcibly hold fixed attention longer.

Finally, there are two useful attitudes which, like that of the Observer, each of us should try to maintain during all experiments and exercises. The first is patience with ourselves, more precisely with our undisciplined “instrument” from which we hope to gain cooperation little by little. The other is confidence in perseverance, which will lead to success. The following words of Keyserling, again in his Travel Diary of a Philosopher, may strengthen that confidence and make us increasingly aware of the value of what we attempt to achieve:

Undoubtedly the power of concentration is a real propelling power of the whole of our psychic mechanism. Nothing heightens our capacity for performance as much as its increase; every success, no matter in what domain, can be traced to the intelligent exploitation of this power. No obstacle can resist permanently an exceptional power of will, that is to say, one which has been concentrated to the utmost; concentrated attention forces every problem sooner or later to reveal all of its aspects which are capable of recognition by a specific nature.[3]

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Two other documents from the Archives reveal additional insights into Assagioli’s observations concerning Concentration. The first is Doc. #3536, a typed fragment in English, which may or may not have been written by Assagioli himself:

Concentration — Constancy and energy are not enough, if the multiplicity of our interests and undertakings disperses our forces into a thousand little streamlets. It is of little value to have the energy and persistence to remain at a desk for ten hours, if during that time we divide our attention among many books, or if we deceive ourselves into thinking that we can carry on many projects concurrently. This is the reason why many active, remarkable and intelligent people produce nothing of vital importance.

A second fragment, or “Assagiolini” from the Archives, is Doc. #3534, which emphasizes the negative aspects of concentration. It is duplicated below, with a transcript following:

Transcription:

Concentration

One-pointedness

keeping the soul ever in view
It implies:

Eliminating

Discarding

Repulsing

Refusing

Repudiation

Relinquishing

Leaving behind

Outgrowing

Putting aside

(it is not repressing)

Rather “channeling”

———
Forbearance, quote poem by Emerson

And finally, we present the poem cited by Assagioli:

Forbearance

by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882)

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men’s tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!

[1] Dictionary.com: hatred or dilike of what is new or that represents change. —Ed.

[2] Hermann Keyserling, Travel Diary of a Philosopher, Volume 1, Harcourt, Brace and Co. Inc. 1925, translated by J. Holroyd Reece, Chapter 28, p.267. This quotation is taken from the published English version. —Tr.

[3] Ibid. p.266.