The desire for union with one’s Higher Self is general among Theosophists and even with many who do not call themselves Theosophists but who have nevertheless derived their aspirations, directly or indirectly, from Theosophical sources. But we cannot realise too soon that such a desire is not to be attained by mere vague longings. The intellectual acceptance of a new philosophy of life, however lofty, will not carry us far toward the goal. Even the cultivation of a spirit of practical benevolence, the conscious effort to dominate the lower nature, indispensable as these things are, must be supplemented by definite and practical knowledge if we are to employ our opportunities to the best advantage. The traveller who sets forth on a journey across the desert needs something more than energy and good intentions. He must have not only a positive conception of his destination but a clear knowledge of the road that he must follow. He must travel by the compass and the map, and he must use both strength and intelligence to adhere to the path that the compass and the map indicate. He must have a definite purpose, and a definite method by which that purpose is to be accomplished.
The effort to effect a union with one’s Higher Self ought then to be preceded by some clear recognition of the forces or states of consciousness that are to be united. We ought to know something of their origin as well as something of the causes that have led to their present disunion. But let us be careful at the start. To be practical does not mean to be materialistic. Let us remember that the human consciousness is a divine unity, although the states or conditions of that consciousness may be many. A man may have the best possible physical eyesight and yet he may refuse to look at the sun. His refusal is a state or condition, but it tells us nothing about his eyesight, which is unaffected by his refusal to use it. What we call the Mind and the Soul are not in water-tight compartments. Their union or disunion is a figure of speech necessitated by imperfect language. What we are trying to do is to change the state or condition of our consciousness, to lead it from the Mind state or condition to the Soul state or condition. It is necessary to understand this clearly if we are to avoid anthropomorphism, although the exigencies of language compel the use of terminology better fitted to physics than to metaphysics. Human consciousness is always a unity that passes from one state or condition to another.
How many of us realize that our consciousness is actually something infinitely vaster than that condition of itself that we call the Mind? We may hold this to be true as an intellectual tenet and yet fail wholly to realise it, a failure common enough with orthodox religionists who speak glibly and confidently of the Soul and who are yet entirely ignorant of its identity and even unaware of their own ignorance. And yet even scientists are beginning to recognise a human consciousness that transcends the Mind and they are making experimental efforts to classify some of its lower powers. The late Professor William James said, “There is actually and literally more conscious life in ourselves than we are at any time aware of. The conscious person is continuous with a wider self.” Professor Elmer Gates goes even further than this. He says, “At least ninety per cent of our mental life is subconscious,” although it might puzzle the worthy professor to explain why this wider life is necessarily sub-conscious. Dr. Oliver Lodge goes further still and speaks still more positively. He says it is this outlying consciousness, or rather this extra-mental consciousness that explains the phenomena of genius, and thus he admits that it is something greater than the Mind. Sometimes, he suggests, the Mind impinges upon this greater consciousness, and then we have an illumination that we call genius or inspiration. Thus we see science in search of the Soul, and it is a search not wholly without results, since already it seems to promise the dethronement of the Mind in favor of something that is greater than the Mind. The phenomena encountered by scientists do not of course pertain to the Soul since the Soul cannot be reached by the methods of the laboratory. The Soul can be reached only by a compliance with its own divine laws, but it is at least significant that science should proclaim the existence of a vast field of human consciousness of which now we know nothing.
What then is the relation of the Mind to the greater consciousness which is far above the Mind, and that we may conveniently call the Soul? It is very necessary that we should know and realise that relation if we are to make any effort to rectify it, and to bring it into tune with spiritual evolutionary intention. And here the science of the day can help us not at all. Bewildered, it looks out over a seeming chaos of abnormal phenomena, and hurriedly invents a new nomenclature as a substitute for explanation and guidance.
But from Theosophy we get both light and leading. From Theosophy we learn that the Soul is actually man himself, and that the normal mental states that constitute ordinary daily life are but the reflections cast by that Soul upon one of its vehicles or media. The Soul is the lamp that burns within the room. The mind is the image of the lamp reflected from the walls of the room. To make the simile more exact—although all such similes are pitifully inadequate—let us suppose that the lamp has consciously projected a ray from itself in order that it may learn, through that ray, of the true nature of its environment.
Why then should there be disunion between the Soul and the Mind, between the lamp and its rays? Moreover, why should the Mind be ordinarily unaware of the existence of the Soul from which it is the direct radiation? A further illustration may be attempted, but with a further warning of its inadequacy.
Let us suppose that a merchant sends a messenger boy to another part of the city in order to obtain, and return with, certain specified information. Let us further suppose that when the boy reaches the street he is so far attracted by the shop windows and by the incidents that surround him as to forget his errand. As he loiters on his way he has an occasional half-memory of his duty, and then for a moment he quickens his pace until once more arrested by a novelty or an excitement. As a result, either he wholly forgets his mission, or returns with only a fraction of the information he was sent to gather. The value of his service is to be measured by the extent of his success. All else in the way of activity is wasted, and worse than wasted, since his negligence involves loss for his employer and censure for himself. Let us suppose that the merchant is the Soul, that the messenger boy is the Mind, and the results of the transaction, whether profit or loss, are Karma. Let us complete the parallel by the further supposition that so far as the boy’s activities were in the line of his duty they were impersonal. So far as they were contrary to his duty or outside of his duty, they were personal.
Obviously then it is a serious matter that the mind should forget its source and its duty, that it should become mesmerised by objects of sense, and neglect its mission to acquire experience for the sake of the Soul. For the mind can have no other immortality save as it earns immortality by fidelity to the Soul’s behests. The bee that returns without honey to the hive is cast out and destroyed. The Mind that has gathered no spiritual experiences for the Soul, that has rendered no services to humanity, has severed its connection with its source. Without those spiritual or impersonal experiences there can be nothing in common between it and the Soul, and it must die. Unfaithful to its trust there is no reason why it should live. Dazzled by objects of sense, by the personality, by selfishness, it has lost its way. It is so entangled by illusion that there can be no return. During countless incarnations the human Soul has been storing the meagre harvests of spiritual experiences gathered by the minds, by the rays from itself, that should have been impersonalities, but that forgot their mission and became personalities. It is this vast soul-memory of which we get some faint glimpses in the great geniuses of the world.
Very clear then becomes the line of demarcation between personality and impersonality. A personality is the sum total of the energies of the mind that has forgotten its divine source and the behests of the Soul to experience matter without being beguiled or fascinated by it. Impersonality comprises all those mental energies that are attuned to the energies of the Soul and that are directed solely to the service of the Soul.
It is this obeisance to the Soul, this culture of impersonality, that is recommended by all the sacred books of the world. There can be no other liberation, no other re-admission to the treasure-house of spiritual knowledge from which we have excluded ourselves. This is the text of the Bhagavad Gita from the first word to the last. There must necessarily be action upon the material plane, since we cannot avoid it. And all action must be followed by results. But those results pass us by unaffected unless we attach them to ourselves by the likes and the dislikes, the hopes and the dreads, of the personality. To work for results is to be bound to results. To work for the Soul is to be bound to the Soul. Antahkarana, the bridge that unites us to the Soul, is actually the mind in a state of impersonality. If we would put the mind into that state we must live in the world but not of it. Rendering unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, doing our whole duty upon the material plane, we must perform all actions because it is the will of the Soul that they shall be performed, not because we anticipate results that shall be pleasant. The impersonal mind gravitates upward. The personal mind gravitates downward. It is the impersonal mind that becomes conscious of its divinity. It asserts the unity of the human consciousness, breaking down the partitions created by illusion, by the senses, and by selfishness. The ray returns to its source.
Om mani padme hum. The dewdrop slips into the shining sea.