Meditation excerpt from Messenger

From Messenger, Chapter Eight: The Monkey

2

Mr. Conway sat across from me in the little study. “Now you have had your first experience with the drunken monkey,” he said, smiling.

“It’s unbelievable!” I cried. “I just couldn’t hold onto it.”

“You will, with persistence. I did. Others did. Success does not come easily, to anyone, but it does come, to those who persist.”

“It’s going to be a long fight, I can tell.”

“Not necessarily. Much depends upon your will and your innate energy level. But you have taken the first step: You have recognized, for the first time, that you, yourself—your essence, if you will, your soul—are not the same as the thoughts and random associations that flow through your mind.”

I moved a hand in a gesture deprecating what I had accomplished in the earlier session.

“Before you began, George, you weren’t even aware of the existence of that unceasing chattering machinery. Now you have begun to bring it under control. This is the first step.”

“And the second?”

“The second is to pass beyond resolve, into accomplishment.”

He proceeded to quiz me on the morning’s successes and failures, and to offer suggestions—disappointingly few—on how to improve. Then he talked to me for some while on the nature of the mind and the relation between the mind that perceives and the object that is perceived. His objective, he said, was to present the subject in an intellectual way, since my mind was constantly looking for meat to chew. I asked him (having told him my analogy) if feeding my mind more ideas wouldn’t just encourage the stock ticker, but he told me not to worry about it. He said my mind would in any case seize any excuse to ratiocinate, and that it was less a matter of adding to the stock‑ticker’s energy supply than of using that energy to convey and mull useful information. My subconscious mind would work at assimilating the new knowledge even as I worked to keep my conscious mind blank. “Indeed, your subconscious mind will function all the better for the lack of interference from your conscious mind.”

He then proceeded to begin the long and interesting process of filling me with the basic material behind a different point of view—a new way of seeing, as he put it. When he paused, I waited for him to continue, but he said that two hours was enough. I was amazed. It had seemed twenty minutes.

After a trip to the facilities, we returned to my room. Mr. Conway handed me a sheet of paper, saying I was to read these Buddhist scriptures and ponder them till he returned. Then he left the room, and I was alone for the first time that day.

3

The paper contained five neatly written quotations. I read:

Wherein does religion consist? It consists in doing as little harm as possible, in doing good in abundance, in the practice of love, of compassion, of truthfulness and purity, in all the walks of life.

And I read:

Never think or say that your religion is the best. Never denounce the religion of others.

And I read:

Do not decry other sects, do not deprecate others, but rather honor whatever in them is worthy of honor.

I read:

It is nature’s rule that as we sow, we shall reap; she recognizes no good intentions, and pardons no errors.

Finally, I read:

As a fletcher makes straight his arrow, a wise man makes straight his trembling and unsteady thought, which is difficult to guard, difficult to hold back. As a fish taken from his watery home and thrown on dry land, our thought trembles all over in order to escape the dominion of the tempter. It is good to tame the mind, which is difficult to hold in and flighty, rushing wherever it listeth; a tamed mind brings happiness.

 

I re‑read the quotations, and asked myself “Now what?” If breakfast took 40 minutes and Mr. Conway and I talked two hours and I was to meditate again from 10 to noon, I had about an hour and twenty minutes to spend on this exercise. Was I supposed to read the quotations forty times? When he had told me he would provide passages for meditation, I had assumed that he meant pamphlets or articles of some length, not five short paragraphs.

Well, so I was wrong. Time to figure out what he wanted me to do. I looked again at the first quotation. “Wherein does religion consist? It consists in doing as little harm as possible, in doing good in abundance, in the practice of love, of compassion, of truthfulness and purity, in all the walks of life.” I decided to analyze it as if it were an exercise in analysis. Mr. Chiari, what does the message tell you about the person who wrote it? What does he believe? And what point is Mr. Conway attempting to get across to you?

I thought about it.

Well, sir, first off, it’s striking, the things he doesn’t say. Not a word about God, or heaven and hell, or religious ceremonies and duties. He seems to think of religion as the practice of six virtues, without regard to ceremonial or theology. He doesn’t say “follow me,” and he assumes we know the difference between doing harm and doing good. And he says that virtues can be practiced in all walks of life, which implies that he doesn’t believe in any special priesthood.

And how does this impress you, Mr. Chiari?

Offhand, pretty favorably.

Try the next.

“Never think or say that your religion is the best. Never denounce the religion of others.”

Comment?

Clear enough. But (uneasy thought for someone who has left the bounds of the religion he was raised in) doesn’t it imply that you also shouldn’t denounce your own religion or say another is best? Hmm. Bears thinking about. Go on.

“Do not decry other sects, do not deprecate others, but rather honor whatever in them is worthy of honor.”

Honor whatever is worthy of honor. I guess that goes for good solid Catholicism. Christianity in general. All religions contain some good: Find it and honor it. I don’t know how much more I can get from that one.

“It is nature’s rule that as we sow, we shall reap; she recognizes no good intentions, and pardons no errors.”

Pardons no errors? That doesn’t sound much like a God of mercy. But then, the quotation is talking about nature, not God. In fact, you know what it sounds like? It sounds like mechanics: What you get depends on what you do, not on what you intend to do. [I was a bit pleased with myself. I understood this one, anyway.]

I re‑read the longer one about taming the mind. Stuck in by Mr. Conway for the sake of encouragement, presumably.

 

Well, now what? I’d been through them all twice. How much time had it taken? No way to know, since Mr. Conway had told me not to wear my watch.

Go through them again, I suppose.

I re‑read the first. “Wherein does religion consist? It consists in doing as little harm as possible, in doing good in abundance, in the practice of love, of compassion, of truthfulness and purity, in all the walks of life.”

As little harm as possible. The old physician’s motto: First, do no harm. Try to lead a blameless life. Don’t injure others. Do good in abundance. Not only don’t do harm, but do good. No harm comes first. Because it’s more important? Or does it have to come first before you can do good? Or is it just a meaningless stylistic choice?

Practice love. Well‑wishing. No, more urgent than that. Love. But just what is love, really? Unselfish love, I suppose. If that phrase means anything.

Love. Not desire, surely. Not attachment? Maybe just genuinely caring for others and being willing and eager to help when you can? Leave it at that for now. And don’t go thinking about Marianne. Leave that for later.

Compassion.

Pity? Sorrow? More like empathy, I’d guess. Pity is degrading, and the word “sorrow” seems too limited here. You can feel compassion for somebody when there is really no occasion for sorrow. Like when you see that somebody is really ignorant and doesn’t know it, and you can’t get to him but you know it’s only a matter of time till he finds it out.

Truthfulness. Well, do no harm. But sometimes lies don’t hurt anybody. What my mother called manners is mostly polite lies.

Truthfulness. Well, (to quote Pontius Pilate) what is truth, anyway? We never know the whole truth. Maybe it’s just not pretending? Being yourself and saying only what you believe? Boy, what chaos that would bring!

Would it? Maybe if we got used to it, people wouldn’t get their feelings hurt when somebody told them the truth. We’d know more who we are, maybe. But the first person to start telling the truth is going to have an interesting time! [I thought of my awkward friend Lou, always putting his foot in his mouth through a naive willingness to say whatever was in his mind.]

Purity. Sexual purity? Virginity? Well, what else could it mean? But: “all walks of life.” Couldn’t mean virginity.

Purity. Unmixed motives? Transparency? Consistency? Integrity? Funny: I had no idea what the word did mean, even in a sexual context. Continence? Chastity?

But, no point in getting caught in a game of semantics. Purity, if it means anything, must mean preferring what is wholesome and avoiding what is corrupt and corrupting. Defining which was which would be a task—but something inside me knew the difference, as my conscience had proved to me, uncomfortably, many times.

“In all walks of life,” it says. You can lead a religious life no matter what your profession or external circumstances, as long as you practice these six virtues. Which means that members of certain professions can’t lead a religious life, certainly. You couldn’t very well be a gangster and still do no harm to yourself or others. You couldn’t—

But, as I thought about it, I wondered if anyone could lead a religious life in any of the “walks of life.” At least, it would be difficult to do and still prosper. I couldn’t quite see a businessman or lawyer or politician always telling the truth. I couldn’t see an accountant ceaselessly practicing compassion.

Which said something about the professions.

But where might it be possible? Housewives could practice the virtues, perhaps. Hospital orderlies. Most anybody who was not in authority over others. An analogy to the rich man and the kingdom of God?

But actually, why couldn’t an accountant practice compassion? Mostly because of the race for eminence and money, probably. If exercising compassion cost him money in reduced or deferred fees, it would hinder him in the running of the great status race. Still, if it meant enough to him, he could—

Mr. Conway re‑entered the room, and to my surprise it was time to begin the final two‑hour meditation before lunch. And I had hardly begun to explore the ramifications of the thoughts already suggested.

“I think maybe I’ve learned something about this meditating over texts,” I said, smiling up at him.