Man must know himself: for what good actions he is naturally most prepared; to what evils he is most inclined; to what studies he should most strongly attend; and against what evils he should be most vigilant; by what exercises he can best go forward.
By Roberto Assagioli, Undated, Doc. #24044, from the Assagioli Archive Florence. Translated by Jan Kuniholm. Original Title: Lo Studio de Sè
In our study of the stages and methods of spiritual development we have reached the point at which the Soul,[1] which has had a first awakening, a first inner contact with the Divine — or at least ardently aspires to have it — has recognized the need to do a serious and profound work of inner purification.
The Soul, when illuminated for an instant by the Spirit, has seen how imperfect it is: full of weaknesses, darkness, and disharmony, and therefore unprepared and unable to climb directly along the luminous paths to the top of Dante’s Mountain. It has recognized the necessity of making a long pilgrimage through all the abysses of its lower nature, to know all the elements it contains, to see clearly, vividly, experientially, the sad consequences, sufferings, and punishments to which yielding to and obeying the lower, dark forces leads. The soul then must learn, not only not to be enticed, but also not to be frightened by those forces, which would otherwise cause it to fall under their control. It must, with the constant help of higher reason, of the power of discrimination — symbolized by Virgil in Dante’s poem — become able to look boldly into the face of all the demons of its lower nature, and command obedience from them, and to go beyond them by overcoming every obstacle. Thus, and only thus, can she become “pure and willing to ascend to the stars.”
To practically perform this vital work, one must set about a serious and tenacious inner work.
I consider it appropriate to begin with the first elements of this art, because unfortunately the people of our civilization are in this respect still in a wild or primitive state, in the stone age — unpolished. And I do not speak here of the uncultured masses, but precisely of the educated and intelligent people, who know and do many fine things, and who are really otherwise quite respectable.
Do not think that I am exaggerating: a simple comparison between the care we give to the body and the care we give to the Soul is enough to clearly realize their true significance.
We do, of course, groom our bodies every morning, and it would seem improper to us not to wash or comb our hair. But who attends to the grooming of one’s Soul with equal care and regularity? Who takes serious care every morning to cleanse it of the psychic debris of dreams and all the unconscious activity that has taken place during sleep? — of the stains of indolence, listlessness, and ill-humor that soil it? Who seriously takes care every morning to tidy it up, evoking its best intentions, its courage, its ardor, making it clear and bright with spiritual gladness?
Then during the day we give our body the meals it needs to do the work we ask of it, and rightly so; and we often take care that the food is of a quality it likes, and that other occupations are arranged so as not to keep our noble animal waiting. If sometimes we have to linger a few hours, we ask its pardon and beg it to be quiet, and if we have to skip a meal we feel that we are imposing a grave sacrifice. Yet we make our soul abstain with great ease, and behave quite differently with it. Reading and writing about spiritual things — meditation above all — are its real food, just as necessary to its development and higher life as physical food is for the body. Any excuse suffices for leaving it without nourishment: among them, the one we prefer to use is the eternal excuse of lack of time, with which we too often manage to disappoint ourselves and others. But this famous “lack of time” is actually a sophistry, as false and absurd as it is evil; it is therefore worth pausing a moment to debunk it, and I hope definitely. This is not difficult: we need only look at reality as it is without the veils and colorings of our mental habits and preconceptions, without the distortions due to the influences of our era and environment.
We all have 24 hours in the day: I don’t think anyone can deny that. So to say, “I don’t have time to do this or that” can really only mean, “the activities, or liabilities, with which I want to occupy my daily twenty-four hours interest me more than what you offer me.” This is a “value judgment,” whether conscious or unconscious. And the facts show us indeed that, for those things that are of truly vital importance and value to us, time can always be found. For example: what lover has ever lacked the time to make love? And what loved one would settle for the excuse, “I don’t have time to pay attention to you?” She would immediately reply, “This shows that you do not love me.” And her psychological intuition would be perfectly right.
Therefore, if someone does not find time to take care of his soul, it means that he actually cares very little for it; if he “loved” it, he would be able to find all the time he needs to nurture it.
So, the time is there and must be found. I am not saying that this is the easiest thing in the world: one has to make real sacrifices, give up several beautiful, good and useful things. But precisely in such sacrifice lies the first proof of the seriousness and firmness of our intentions for spiritual development. Thus, as is well known, the morning upon awakening, before beginning any other occupation, is the most suitable time to accomplish moral as well as physical grooming. But to do this it is necessary, at least for those with fixed external engagements, to get up earlier than usual. And in order not to deprive the body of the rest to which it is entitled, it is necessary to think about it the day before and to try to anticipate the time to put “brother ass” [2] in the stable, thus giving up some amusements, and also pleasant conversation and useful studies.
Those who are accustomed to observing themselves at all attentively will realize that the pretext of lack of time, and other excuses of various kinds that tend to deflect us from devoting ourselves seriously to inner work, are actually masks behind which often hides a living and intense repugnance, a real rebellion of our being. This rebellion should not be surprising. To do the inner work we must go “against the tide,” counter old habits, and discipline a number of previously autonomous and unbridled elements. Now all this constitutes a serious offense to our natural indolence, against that fundamental inclination to follow the line of least resistance which is found tenaciously rooted in every human being. Our first efforts therefore must be directed against this, shall I say, “prejudicial” obstacle. We must shake ourselves vigorously, remember how much harm this lead ball tied to our feet does to us, which prevents us from fulfilling our true task as men and women and thus rising to our higher destinies. We must remember the many little cowardices and basenesses which we continually commit through our indolence and sloth, which are sometimes more unfortunate and more undignified than serious faults. Let us always keep well in mind, be alive to the bitter words of contempt with which Virgil speaks of the slothful:
. . . This miserable way
Is borne by the wretched souls of those
Who lived without blame yet without praise.
Mixed are they with that evil choir
Of angels who were not rebellious;
Nor were faithful to God, but only to themselves.
Heaven cast them out lest their presence dim the light,
Nor does deep hell receive so base a herd,
For no glory would the damned have of them.
……..
And their blind life is so low,
That they are envious of every other lot.
The world does not permit them fame,
Mercy and justice both disdain them;
Let us not speak of them, but look and pass by.[3]
Let us therefore be seized with a healthy fear of belonging to the ranks of those sciaurati che mai fur vivi,[4] and let us endeavor to feel intensely the great value, dignity and beauty of inner work, thinking of the incalculable benefits it brings both to us and to others.
If we can do this, the effort required for inner fitness will not only prove less unpleasant for us, but may become for us a source of true joy, of a joy that is healthy, vigorous and quite different from the soft and sugary pleasure of moral inertia.
Well says Leo Daudet in this regard:
There is nothing more harmful than giving up. These abandonments of oneself, so frequent in weak and wavering individuals, are so many little suicides . . . The indolent pleasure they give us drains us of the healthy joys of inner struggle for something better, which is the accomplishment, the completion of ourselves — joys so profound that the one who has tasted them holds them above all else and cannot give up his desire from them.
— L’Heredo, p. 14-15 [5]
And similarly the inspirer of the well-known Letters of a Living Dead Man :
The joy of struggle! That is the keynote of immortality, the keynote of power . . . Life is a fight. You are in matter to conquer it — lest it conquer you . . . Whatever your strength, make the most of it in the battle of life.[6]
Having thus cleared the ground of obstacles and prejudices that are contrary to inner work, let us see what are the stages and methods of doing this.
The first necessary act is introversion; that is, turning all our attention, all our interest, inward; resolutely stopping the “centrifugal” flow that continually wants to turn us and steer toward external activity. We must by all means quiet the continual nagging reminders and memories of the external world. To achieve this we may, especially in the early days, avail ourselves of various extrinsic aids: solitude, silence, semi-darkness, stillness and a “collected” attitude of the body, etc. But all these are secondary aids, however convenient and opportune; the essential thing is the resolute act of will, by which we direct the current of vital interest inward.
The second means consists in a deep, sincere, and as far as possible, complete examination of conscience. In other words, one must begin by truly knowing oneself.
In the first of our Meetings we already gave a general outline of our inner constitution; we mentioned the various “levels” of our being. It is now a matter of recognizing our special characteristics in a concrete and particular way. To use the beautiful words of St. Bernard:
Man must know himself: for what good actions he is naturally most prepared; to what evils he is most inclined; to what studies he should most strongly attend; and against what evils he should be most vigilant; by what exercises he can best go forward; and from what vices he can most easily be corrected; to what faults he is subject, or by what merits he advances or overcomes, and what punishment or reward he should expect for them; how far every day he goes forward or backward; and with how much industry of soul he strives to undo past evils, repudiate present ones, and prevent future ones; and with how much constancy of mind he strives to regain lost gains, and to guard or multiply those he possesses. [7]
In order to conveniently accomplish this self-study, we must “objectify” ourselves; that is, consider our personality completely objectively, impartially, as a mere “matter of study,” as if it were another person not bound to us by any emotional ties.
This is certainly not easy, but it is possible; and after a series of patient attempts one can really succeed in silencing the emotions, desires, apprehensions and hopes that subtly veil our gaze on everything about us. We become more and more engrossed in the sheer interest of knowing — in truly understanding this strange, complex, chameleon-like and elusive thing that is a human being. In truth, it is impossible to discover its depths and limits, and in our explorations we not infrequently come across unexpected and fearful monsters.
But finding in ourselves lower elements that have been previously ignored should neither upset nor discourage us. Let us always remember that man is a microcosm and that there are therefore in him the germs and representatives of all the forces and beings of the universe, from the lowest to the highest. We must not make the mistake of investigating only the lower elements; instead, we must with equal sincerity also recognize the higher ones and take the utmost account of them, as indications, promises, encouragement and even commitments, for our further refinement.
Even when we have succeeded in achieving the necessary objectivity of judgment, uncertainties and doubts will arise in us regarding the right interpretation and evaluation of various facts. In such cases we can help ourselves by appropriate comparative study of ourselves and others, observing, for example, the respective differences in behavior in the same circumstance, different reactions to the same stimulus, etc. But here, more than ever, we must strive to be supremely objective and impersonal; that is, to refrain from judging others and limit ourselves to scientifically impartial observation of differences.
Another way to learn useful truths about ourselves is to take into account the appreciative things others say about us, especially those that come from serious and fair-minded people. But sometimes even some malicious judgment from one of our enemies, some harsh and dispassionate criticism, can serve to reveal neglected sides of ourselves. In such cases we should be sincerely grateful to our unwitting benefactors and recognize once again how apparent evil can be a source of good. This also shows us how the sublime precept of loving our enemies is less impossible than it seems, and indeed has profound justifications.
I think it appropriate to recall here the golden words from The Light on the Path that refer to this stage of inner work:
Rule 10. “Learn to look intelligently into the hearts of men.”
“Note: From an absolutely impersonal point of view, otherwise your sight is colored. Therefore impersonality must first be understood.
Intelligence is impartial: no man is your enemy: no man is your friend. All alike are your teachers. Your enemy becomes a mystery that must be solved, even though it take ages: for man must be understood. Your friend becomes a part of yourself, an extension of yourself, a riddle hard to read. Only one thing is even more difficult to know — your own heart. Not until the bonds of personality are loosed can that deep mystery of self begin to be seen. Not till you stand aside from it will it in any way reveal itself to your understanding. Then, and not till then, can you grasp and guide it. Then, and not till then, can you use all its powers and devote them to a worthy service.”
Rule 11. “Regard most earnestly above all your own heart.”
Rule 12. “For through your heart comes the one light which can illuminate life and make it clear to your eyes.”
“Study the hearts of men, that you may know what is that world in which you live and of which you will be a part. Regard the constantly changing and moving life which surrounds you, for it is formed by the hearts of men; and as you learn to understand their constitution and meaning, you will by degrees be able to read the larger word of life.” [8]
But how do we remember, arrange, and process all that we gradually find in our work? The answer is simple: you must write. For many reasons doing so is not only appropriate but truly necessary. These reasons are very well explained in the first chapter of The Sources by Gratry, a work full of valuable advice on the methods of inner culture, which I highly recommend reading. [9]
Writing helps us to perceive and catch the echoes of “the quiet murmur of the spirit” (venas divini sussurri, in the beautiful expression of St. Augustine) rising from the depths of our being. [10] Writing allows us to focus and stabilize our insights, for often the highest and most important ones are those that most quickly escape our memory, as if they were subtle and ethereal vibrations that are easily lost in the thick and opaque atmosphere of our ordinary consciousness. Writing allows us to follow the waves of our inner state, the transformations and progress of our soul. In short, while writing gives and preserves material for us to process, it also constitutes a valuable working tool.
In making such a study of ourselves, in continually striving to observe ourselves objectively, we obtain not only the desired knowledge, but also another result that is no less important and beneficial for spiritual development. This is the attainment of discrimination between the self and the not-self (the I and the not-I), [11] between the spirit and the various psychological elements, between the “eternal observer” and the field of manifestation — to use the terms of Samkhya philosophy. [12] It is the difference between the eternal and the transitory, between the fixed and the mutable. This difference is practically realized in consciousness precisely by the continuous objectification of the successive and transitory contents of our consciousness. Thus we learn to stop identifying with our bodies, our emotions, our particular opinions. The vibrations of pleasure and pain, the waves of passion, rise and fall in us without the higher center we have constructed being submerged and overwhelmed by them. Then, instead of saying “I am this or that” (a formula that expresses our usual identification with the ephemeral contents of consciousness), we can sincerely claim to “drive out of the temple of the living God” the merchants who defile it [13]— even using, if need be, the radical Buddhist formula of disidentification: “That does not belong to me, that is not me, it is not me, myself.”
To avoid doubt and confusion, I would like to mention at this point that the distinction between the self and the not-self (“the I and the not-I”) should not be understood in an absolute sense; that duality exists in manifestation, [14] and thus has only a relative existence, whereas reality exists only in the supreme unity, in the individual as in the universe. But while remembering this as background, the discrimination between the self and the not-self, between the eternal and the transitory, between the observer and the field, constitutes a most important stage in the evolution of the Soul, on which one must linger at length.
But let us stop and return for now to the first and simplest tasks of self-study and purification. Another valuable aid for such work is reading. Two groups of books are particularly suitable for our purpose: one is the autobiographies, confessions, recollections and diaries of those who have gone before us in the noble work of study and self-cleansing; such works are relatively numerous. Among the most suitable I will mention the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, the Confessions of St. Augustine, the autobiographies of St. Theresa and Madame Guyon, and finally the diaries of Amiel [15] and Emerson.
Another very useful group of readings are the writings of modern psychology that best introduce self-knowledge and self-governance. Few such works are truly valuable, since the direction of modern psychology has until recently been predominantly materialistic, analytical and descriptive. The simplest and most basic elements of psychological life, such as sensations, have been studied minutely; the physiological concomitants of psychological activity have been researched; but what is most essential and important in us— the soul, the “I”, the spiritual Spark and its various powers — has been neglected.
Indeed, it may be said that from our point of view there is [currently] no entirely satisfactory work dealing with self-knowledge. It is therefore necessary that those who read the works I am about to suggest should keep our principles well in mind, and supplement and gradually correct the deficiencies and limitations they find in them. With these reservations I can recommend, in addition to the aforementioned Gratry’s Sources, the reading of Payot’s Éducation de la Volonté [The Education of the Will],[16] a book written especially for students, but in which everyone can find useful guidance and practical advice; and Father Antonin Eymieu’s Le Gouvernement de Soi-Même: Essai de Psychologie Pratique [The Government of Self: Essay on Practical Psychology],a book which, although written by a Jesuit, is very broad and impartial, and is done in a very practical way. [17]
[2] A phrase often used by Saint Francis to affectionately refer to his body.—Tr.
[3] Dante, Inferno, Canto III v.37-42 and 47-51. My version, with a little help from translators Longfellow, Sayers, Hollander, and Ciardi.Not so poetic, but suited to this context, I hope! —Tr.
[4] “Wretches who never were alive” —Dante, Inferno. Canto III v.64 —Tr.
[5] Assagioi quotes the French: Il n’est rien de plus nuisible que de s’abandonner. Ces abandons de soi, si fréquents chez les individus faibles et oscillants, sont autant des petits suicides… Le plaisir indolent qu’ils nous procurent nous sèvre des saines joies de combat intérieur en vue de mieux, qui est l’accomplissement, 1’achèvement, de nous-mêmes. Joies si profondes que celui qui les a une fois goutées les met au-dessus de tout et ne peut plus en détacher son désir. — Leon Daudet (1867-1942) L’Heredo, p. 14-15 . —Tr.
[6] Letters from a Living Dead Man” (1914) by American poet and writer Elsa Barker (1869-1954) included automatic writings claimed to have been received from a deceased Judge, David Patterson Hatch. Taken from the original in English. — Tr.
[7] Volgarizzamento del trattato della coscienza di San Bernardo [Vernacularisation of The Treatise on the Conscience of Saint Bernard] Naples, Stamperia del Fibreno, 1850, p.104. Digitized and available in Google Books 2016.
[8] Light on the Path: A Treatise written for the personal use of those who are ignorant of the Eastern Wisdom, and who desire to enter within its influence written down by M.C.[Mabel Collins] with Notes and Comments by the Author. Los Angeles, CA 1920. United Lodge of Theosophists. Chapter II, available from Google Books. These quotations have been taken from this edition. This work was originally published in 1885 and has been republished in many editions since then. A digital version is available online at www.theosophical.org.—Tr.
[9] Auguste Joseph Alphonse Gratry (1805 − 1872) was a French Catholic priest, author and theologian. His book Les Sources, conseils pour la conduite de l’esprit [The Sources, advice for the conduct of the mind ] was published in French in 1861−1862. A facsimile edition was published in 2019 and is available online —Tr.
[10] Latin, literally “the pulse of the divine whisper” —Tr.
[11] in Italian this is fra l’io e il non-io. —Tr.
[12] Samkhya is an Indian philosophy that probably originated before the ninth century BCE, and is related to the yoga school of Hinduism and other schools of Indian philosophy. —Tr.
[13] A reference to a story of Jesus that appears all four Gospel accounts. —Tr.
[14] or worldly events; i.e. the ordinary world of time and space. —Tr.
[15] Henri Frédéric Amiel (1821 – 1881) Swiss philosopher.
[16] Jules Payot (1859-1940) was a French educator. Currently there are French, German, Portuguese, Turkish, and English reprint editions of this book available. . —Tr.
[17] Father Antonin Eymieu (1861-1933) was a French Jesuit priest. He was the author of numerous books and other publications on issues relating to religion and psychology. His Le Gouvernement de soi-même, Essai de psychologie pratique was published in four series from 1905 to 1930 and is currently available only in French editions. —Tr.
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