pagan and christian creeds-第47章

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despair；　the　disgust；　the　deadly　loathing　of　the　accursed　thing　from　which　there　is　no　escape　day　or　nightwhich　is　the　companion　not　only　of　the　prisoner's　work　but　of　his　hours　of　restwith　which　he　has　to　sleep；　to　feed；　to　take　his　recreation　if　he　has　any；　and　to　fulfil　all　the　offices　of　nature。　Could　anything　be　more　crushing？　And　yet；　and　yet　。　。　。　is　it　not　true　that　we；　most　of　us；　in　our　various　ways　are　chained　to　our　wheelbarrowsis　it　not　too　often　true　that　to　these　beggarly　things　we　have　for　the　most　part　chained　OURSELVES？

Let　me　be　understood。　Of　course　we　all　have　（or　ought　to　have）　our　work　to　do。　We　have　our　living　to　get；　our　families　to　support；　our　trade；　our　art；　our　profession　to　pursue。　In　that　sense　no　doubt　we　are　tied；　but　I　take　it　that　these　things　are　like　the　wheelbarrow　which　a　man　uses　while　he　is　at　work。　It　may　irk　him　at　times；　but　he　sticks　to　it　with　a　good　heart；　and　with　a　certain　joy　because　it　is　the　instrument　of　a　noble　purpose。　That　is　all　right。　But　to　be　chained　to　it；　not　to　be　able　to　leave　it　when　the　work　of　the　day　is　donethat　is　indeed　an　ignoble　slavery。　I　would　say；　then；　take　care　that　even　with　these　things；　these　necessary　arts　of　life；　you　preserve　your　independence；　that　even　if　to　some　degree　they　may　confine　your　body　they　do　not　enslave　your　mind。

For　it　is　the　freedom　of　the　mind　which　counts。　We　are　all　no　doubt　caught　in　the　toils　of　the　earth…life。　One　man　is　largely　dominated　by　sensual　indulgence；　another　by　ambition；　another　by　the　pursuit　of　money。　Well；　these　things　are　all　right　in　themselves。　Without　the　pleasures　of　the　senses　we　should　be　dull　mokes　indeed；　without　ambition　much　of　the　zest　and　enterprise　of　life　would　be　gone；　gold；　in　the　present　order　of　affairs；　is　a　very　useful　servant。　These　things　are　right　enoughbut　to　be　CHAINED　to　them；　to　be　unable　to　think　of　anything　elsewhat　a　fate！　The　subject　reminds　one　of　a　not　uncommon　spectacle。　It　is　a　glorious　day；　the　sun　is　bright；　small　white　clouds　float　in　the　transparent　bluea　day　when　you　linger　perforce　on　the　road　to　enjoy　the　sence。　But　suddenly　here　comes　a　man　painfully　running　all　hot　and　dusty　and　mopping　his　head；　and　with　no　eye；　clearly；　for　anything　around　him。　What　is　the　matter？　He　is　absorbed　by　one　idea。　He　is　running　to　catch　a　train！　And　one　cannot　help　wondering　what　EXCEEDINGLY　important　business　it　must　be　for　which　all　this　glory　and　beauty　is　sacrificed；　and　passed　by　as　if　it　did　not　exist。

Further　we　must　remember　that　in　our　foolishness　we　very　commonly　chain　ourselves；　not　only　to　things　like　sense…　pleasures　and　ambitions　which　are　on　the　edge；　so　to　speak；　of　being　vices；　but　also　to　other　things　which　are　accounted　virtues；　and　which　as　far　as　I　can　see　are　just　as　bad；　if　we　once　become　enslaved　to　them。　I　have　known　people　who　were　so　exceedingly　'spiritual'　and　'good'　that　one　really　felt　quite　depressed　in　their　company；　I　have　known　others　whose　sense　of　duty；　dear　things；　was　so　strong　that　they　seemed　quite　unable　to　REST；　or　even　to　allow　their　friends　to　rest；　and　I　have　wondered　whether；　after　all；　worriting　about　one's　duty　might　not　be　as　badas　deteriorating　to　oneself；　as　distressing　to　one's　friendsas　sinning　a　good　solid　sin。　No；　in　this　respect　virtues　MAY　be　no　better　than　vices；　and　to　be　chained　to　a　wheelbarrow　made　of　alabaster　is　no　way　preferable　to　being　chained　to　one　of　wood。　To　sacrifice　the　immortal　freedom　of　the　mind　in　order　to　become　a　prey　to　self…regarding　cares　and　anxieties；　self…estimating　virtues　and　vices；　self…chaining　duties　and　indulgences；　is　a　mistake。　And　I　warn　you；　it　is　quite　useless。　For　the　destiny　of　Freedom　is　ultimately　upon　every　one；　and　if　refusing　it　for　a　time　you　heap　your　life　persistently　upon　one　objecthowever　blameless　in　itself　that　object　may　beBeware！　For　one　dayand　when　you　least　expect　itthe　gods　will　send　a　thunderbolt　upon　you。　One　day　the　thing　for　which　you　have　toiled　and　spent　laborious　days　and　sleepless　nights　will　lie　broken　before　youyour　reputation　will　be　ruined；　your　ambition　will　be　dashed；　your　savings　of　years　will　be　lostand　for　the　moment　you　will　be　inclined　to　think　that　your　life　has　been　in　vain。　But　presently　you　will　wake　up　and　find　that　something　quite　different　has　happened。　You　will　find　that　the　thunderbolt　which　you　thought　was　your　ruin　has　been　your　salvationthat　it　has　broken　the　chain　which　bound　you　to　your　wheelbarrow；　and　that　you　are　free！　

I　think　you　will　now　see　what　I　mean　by　Rest。　Rest　is　the　loosing　of　the　chains　which　bind　us　to　the　whirligig　of　the　world；　it　is　the　passing　into　the　centre　of　the　Cyclone；　it　is　the　Stilling　of　Thought。　For　（with　regard　to　this　last）　it　is　Thought；　it　is　the　Attachment　of　the　Mind；　which　binds　us　to　outer　things。　The　outer　things　themselves　are　all　right。　It　is　only　through　our　thoughts　that　they　make　slaves　of　us。　Obtain　power　over　your　thoughts　and　you　are　free。　You　can　then　use　the　outer　things　or　dismiss　them　at　your　pleasure。

There　is　nothing　new　of　course　in　all　this。　It　has　been　known　for　ages；　and　is　part　of　the　ancient　philosophy　of　the　world。

In　the　Katha　Upanishad　you　will　find　these　words　（Max　Muller's　translation）：　〃As　rainwater　that　has　fallen　on　a　mountain　ridge　runs　down　on　all　sides；　thus　does　he　who　sees　a　difference　between　qualities　run　after　them　on　all　sides。〃　This　is　the　figure　of　the　man　who　does　NOT　rest。　And　it　is　a　powerful　likeness。　The　thunder　shower　descends　on　the　mountain　top；　torrents　of　water　pour　down　the　crags　in　every　direction。　Imagine　the　state　of　mind　of　a　manhowever　thirsty　he　may　bewho　endeavors　to　pursue　and　intercept　all　these　streams！

But　then　the　Upanishad　goes　on：　〃As　pure　water　poured　into　pure　water　remains　the　same；　thus；　O　Gautama；　is　the　Self　of　a　thinker　who　knows。〃　What　a　perfect　image　of　rest！　Imagine　a　cistern　before　you　with　transparent　glass　sides　and　filled　with　pure　water。　And　then　imagine　some　one　comes　with　a　phial；　also　of　pure　water；　and　pours　the　contents　gently　into　the　cistern。　What　will　happen？　Almost　nothing。　The　pure　water　will　glide　into　the　pure　water〃remaining　the　same。〃　There　will　be　no　dislocation；　no　discoloration　（as　might　happen　if　MUDDY　water　were　poured　in）；　there　will　be　only　perfect　harmony。

I　imagine　here　that　the　meaning　is　something　like　this。　The　cistern　is　the　great　Reservoir　of　the　Universe　which　contains　the　pure　and　perfect　Spirit　of　all　life。　Each　one　of　us；　and　every　mortal　creature；　represents　a　drop　from　that　reservoir　a　drop　indeed　which　is　also　pure　and　perfect　（though　the　phial　in　which　it　is　contained　may　not　always　be　so）。　When　we；　each　of　us；　descend　into　the　world　and　meet　the　great　Ocean　of　Life　which　dwells　there　behind　all　mortal　forms；　it　is　like　the　little　phial　being　poured　into　the　great　reservoir。　If　the　tiny　canful　which　is　our　selves　is　pure　and　unsoiled；　then　when　it　meets　the　world　it　will　blend　with　the　Spirit　which　informs　the　world　perfectly　harmoniously；　without　distress　or　dislocation。　It　will　pass　through　and　be　at　one　with　it。　How　can　one　describe　such　a　state　of　affairs？　You　will　have　the　key　to　every　person　that　you　meet；　because　indeed　you　are　conscious　that　the　real　essence　of　that　person　is　the　same　as　your　own。　You　will　have　the　solution　of　every　event　which　happens。　For　every　event　is　（and　is　felt　to　be）　the　touch　of　the　great　Spirit　on　yours。　Can　any　description　of　Rest　be　more　perfect　than　that？　Pure　water　poured　into　pure　water。　。　。　。　There　is　no　need　to　hurry；　for　everything　will　come　in　its　good　time。　There　is　no　need　to　leave　your　place；　for　all　you　desire　is　close　at　hand。

Here　is　another　verse　（from　the　Vagasaneyi…Samhita　Upanishad）　embodying　the　same　idea：　〃And　he　who　beholds　all　beings　in　the　Self；　and　the　Self　in　all　beings；　he　never　turns　away　from　It。　When；　to　a　man　who　understands；　the　Self　has　become　all　things；　what　sorrow；　what　trouble；　can　there　be　to　himhaving　once　beheld　that　Unity？〃What　trouble；　what　sorrow；　indeed；　when　the　universe　has　become　transparent　with　the　presences　of　all　we　love；　held　firm　in　the　One　enfolding　Presence？

But　it　will　be　said：　〃Our　minds　are　NOT　pure　and　transparent。　More　often　they　are　muddy　and　soiledsoiled；　if　not　in　their　real　essence；　yet　by　reason　of　the　mortal　phial　in　which　they　are　contained。〃　And　that　alas！　is　true。　If　you　pour　a　phial　of　muddy　water　into　that　reservoir　which　we　described　what　will　you　see？　You　will　see　a　queer　and　ugly　cloud　formed。　And　to　how　many　of　us；　in　our　dealings　with　the　world；　does　life　take　on　just　such　a　formof　a　queer　and　ugly　cloud？

Now　not　so　very　long　after　those　Upanishads　were　written　there　lived　in　China　that　great　Teacher；　Lao…tze；　and　he　too　had　considered　these　things。　And　he　wrotein　the　Tao…Teh…　King〃Who　is　there　who　can　make　muddy　water　clear？〃　The　question　sounds　like　a　conundrum。　For　a　moment　one　hesitates　to　answer　it。　Lao…tze；　however；　has　an　answer　ready。　He　says：　〃But　if　you　LEAVE　IT　ALONE　it　will　become　clear　of　itself。〃　That　muddy　water　of　the　mind；　muddied　by　all　the　foolish　little　thoughts　which　like　a　sediment　infest　itbut　if　you　leave　it　alone　it　will　become　clear　of　itself。　Sometimes　walking　along　the　common　road　after　a　shower　you　have　seen　pools　of　water　lying　here　and　there；　dirty　and　unsightly　with　the　mud　stirred　up　by　the　hoofs　of　men　and　animals。　And　then　returning　some　hours　afterwards　along　the　same　roadin　the　evening　and　after　the　cessation　of　trafficyou　have　looked　again；　and　lo！　each　pool　has　cleared　itself　to　a　perfect　calm；　and　has　become　a　lovely　mirror　reflecting　the　trees　and　the　clouds　and　the　sunset　and　the　stars。

So　this　mirror　of　the　mind。　Leave　it　alone。　Let　the　ugly　sediment　of　tiresome　thoughts　and　anxieties；　and　of　fussing　over　one's　self…importances　and　duties；　settle　downand　presently　you　will　look　on　it；　and　see　something　there　which　you　never　knew　or　imagined　beforesomething　more　beautiful　than　you　ever　yet　behelda　reflection　of　the　real　and　eternal　world　such　is　only　given　to　the　mind　that　rests。


Do　not　recklessly　spill　the　waters　of　your　mind　in　this　direction　and　in　that；　lest　you　become　like　a　spring　lost　and　dissipated　in　the　desert。

But　draw　them　together　into　a　little　compass；　and　hold　them　still；　so　still；

And　let　them　become　clear；　so　clearso　limpid；　so　mirror…like；

At　last　the　mountains　and　the　sky　shall　glass　themselves　in　peaceful　beauty；

And　the　antelope　shall　descend　to　drink；　and　the　lion　to　quench　his　thirst；

And　Love　himself　shall　come　and　bend　over；　and　catch　his　own　likeness　in　you。＇1＇


＇1＇　Towards　Democracy；　p。　373。


Yes；　there　is　this　priceless　thing　within　us；　but　hoofing　along　the　roads　in　the　mud　we　fail　to　find　it；　there　is　this　region　of　calm；　but　the　cyclone　of　the　world　raging　around　guards　us　from　entering　it。　Perhaps　it　is　best　sobest　that　the　access　to　it　should　not　be　made　too　easy。　One　day；　some　time　ago；　in　the　course　of　conversation　with　Rabindranath　Tagore　in　London；　I　asked　him　what　impressed　him　most　in　visiting　the　great　city。　He　said；　〃The　restless　incessant　movement　of　everybody。〃　I　said；　〃Yes；　they　seem　as　if　they　were　all　rushing　about　looking　for　something。〃　He　replied；　〃It　is　because　each　person　does　not　know　of　the　great　treasure　he　has　within　himself。〃



How　the