gyrmination

Science of Being and Art of Living: Transcendental Meditation by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi is not particularly well written. Perhaps its contents are powerful, perhaps it condenses a complete vision of human life within, but unfortunately it often reads more like a tract or advertisement with convincing the reader of the value of TM as its aim. Innumerable sections close with the formulaic dictum, “X is may be achieved only when the mind is brought to the level of transcendental cosmic consciousness or Being, which is accomplished through the regular practice of Transcendental Meditation.” This typically follows an argument that the failure to achieve one’s full potential in this or that area of life is the result of not establishing contact with Being, which is variously described as absolute, bliss consciousness, and the source of creative intelligence. After a while, the argument, while likely valid, sounds stale.

Yet the explanation of the theory behind TM is most welcome. The practice is intended to acquaint the conscious mind with progressively most subtle states of thought, until it transcends the “relative field” of thinking and encounters the source of thought, or Being. When this happens, the mind becomes infused with the quality of Being, which gives it great creative energy. As the mind becomes more familiar with this state of infusion during meditation, it more readily maintains a quality of Being during normal activity, making life incomparably more fulfilling. As I understand it, Being is an elevated state of awareness or consciousness which we find referenced in most every source on meditation.

This explanation reminds me of a mental exercise I used to perform years ago, when my reasoning abilities were sharpest, not having been softened by the values of intuition and experience. Introspection was very important to me; it was a way for me to know the psychology of man through myself. As long I was vigilant enough, I would ask myself upon doing anything: “Why?” Why did I just do that? And I would trace my reasoning back to what I believed to be the germ of the action. For example, I might catch myself writing this entry and ask myself why I am writing:

• I read something, and connections formed in my mind
  • I don’t want to waste the new ideas I have from reading
    • I believe there is a chance to grow from this activity
      • Time for growth is limited, so I should make best use of every opportunity
      • I find intrinsic joy in growth
  • I want to better understand what I’ve read by expanding upon it
    • It is fun to explore my preconceived notions and either validate or debunk them
      • I want to improve my thinking
    • I make connections with still more ideas, enhancing my understanding of the world
      • I find joy in refining my understanding of the world
• I want to express myself
  • There is an element of release in writing
    • I can transform bottled-up creative energy
      • This brings me a feeling of fulfillment and releases frustration
  • I want to create evidence of writing
    • I want to improve my ability to write well
      • I take joy in writing something good or beautiful
      • It is useful to be an effective communicator
    • I want to have something to show other people
      • This is pleasing to the goal-oriented aspect of me
      • This raises the esteem of me I perceive others may have

One conclusion I drew from this exercise was that the there were only two basic motivations for any of my actions: 1) because it brought me intrinsic joy, or some good feeling I could not explain on a rational level (and perhaps selfishly so); or 2) because I had a habit of doing it. By being strict with myself, and questioning at every step whether I did something out of nature (intrinsic joy) or nurture (habit), I could weed out those latter kinds of activities that often proved to be mindless and of no real value. That’s what I thought then, at any rate. Sometime in the intervening years I dropped this practice, though I don’t recall this ever being an intentional decision.

Maharishi insists that Being cannot be fathomed in an intellectual way; every rational endeavor by the mind exists only within the relative field of existence, and cannot encompass Being which is in the absolute. I can accept this. However, there is one striking similarity between the process of TM and my homegrown process of introspection: both start from the relatively gross stratum of conscious thought and descend slowly through the more subtle, heretofore subconscious levels of thought underlying them, bringing awareness of them in the process. I think that my past mode of inquiry was directionally correct, even if the technique may not have been ultimately effective. If entertained in earnest, the question “Why”, like Gurdjieff’s stop technique, breaks one’s mind from mindless aspect of activity. It forces one to breathe for one moment and consider the metacondition of the mind.

This is one place where I appreciate the Maharishi’s choice of expression: he talks about the “binding influence” of though, speech, action, and the fruits of action as something the weak mind cannot escape. This is the identification of the individual with the object; when an unfulfilled desire dwells in the mind, we cannot forget it, we begin to obsess; when we interpret criticism as an attack, we are insulted and a hardness forms in the heart; when we grip the violin bow tightly at the start we will be found doing so ten years from now; when our love is rejected we remember and grieve for an eternity. We do not even realize that our freedom to act in a pure, spontaneous manner is subverted when this happens. To escape the binding influence enables one to live completely in the moment, with clear memory of the past but none of its psychological chains. This is the freedom I want.

But then he makes a great leap: that karma in our lives is the result of past lives. “If an action is performed now of which the influence will reach the doer in a thousand years, that influence will reach that soul wherever in the universe it may be,” he says. “Those who do not understand the philosophy of rebirth and continuity of life after death will not be able to understand the philosophy of karma.” There is no justification of this so-called philosophy of karma, yet one is made to feel obligated to believe it, or at least understand it. I have my own idea about karma which I think is more accessible.

A stylistic element of the book I don’t like is its over-earnest appeal to the scientific mind. Maharishi defines a number of abstract concepts using exact language, and elaborates upon them in a Socratic way; however since one’s identification with the ideas comes more from personal experience than from rational belief, the whole effort of framing it as a “science” comes across as a little phony. The book is too serious in its attempt to address the art of this and the art of that. In contrast, Osho fills his language with fun, vivid parables and jokes about Mullah Nasruddin. It is more important to show than to tell, and Science of Being and Art of Living tries to tell it all. Maharishi’s metaphors are apt but redundant and are not particularly evocative; the comparison of man to a tree with the root as his connection with Being, and of thought as a bubble traveling up the vertical expanse of the ocean can only be retold so many times before seeming tedious. To be fair, this made me smile:

In general, it has been thought that the mind is like a monkey, jumping about from branch to branch. Since wandering has been accepted as being the nature of the mind, to effect a change in its nature from wandering to steadiness has been thought to require that the mind and desires be controlled. However, wandering is not the nature of the mind, and it is not necessary to control it in order to make it steady. It would be right to say that the nature of the mind is to remain steady.

If a honeybee is flying here and there in search of a honeyed flower, it should not be thought that flying is its nature. It is flying with the purpose of remaining steady at a flower; it will wander as long as it does not find a flower containing honey. But as soon as the flower is found, a bee immediately will alight on it.

There is a purpose to the flying. It is not the nature of the bee to fly; rather its nature is to be at a flower and to draw out the honey.

Similarly, the mind wanders, but it is not wandering by nature. It wanders because it does not find a place to rest or a medium of happiness. The mind is not like a monkey; rather it is like a king. Every one’s mind is like the king of kings. It will go to a place it likes to go, it will do the job that it likes, it will stay where it likes to stay. If a king is found wandering about in his country, it is wrong to conclude that wandering is his nature. He is wandering only in the absence of a throne to sit upon. In the absence of the proper seat - a throne - the king keeps walking about.

The Science of Being and Art of Living, 150

Ultimately, Maharishi and Osho share elements of a message, but diverge on the role of the individual. Maharishi emphasizes the importance of remaining harmonious with others regardless of the situation or the environment. One of the greatest goals of TM is to enhance social behavior and enable one to act in an absolutely “good” way. In a way, his package comes in Eastern gift wrap, where the individual is an inextricable part of the whole of society, and should blend in seamlessly, effortlessly. The Western world might be more receptive to Osho’s rebellious tone. All of government, religion, and society at large conspire to deprive the individual of his sovereignty, of his ability to think and perceive in his unique way. In order to survive, one must reject the ill-conceived mores of the world and establish one’s own independent nature. Some of his meditations involve sitting quietly, but others call for yelling, crying, and dancing crazily. Maharishi has calculated that of the techniques in the wild, TM will do the most good for the most people, and has crowned it as king. Osho tells us to look in the goody bag and pick one that works for us.

Maharishi may win the battle for tranquility, but Osho had more charm. No wonder he also had all the women!

This entry was posted on Monday, February 12th, 2007 at 20:06 and is filed under Rumination. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.