In regard to the last of the above, it may seem to many that the ultimate requirement-to give up one’s self and one’s life-represents a kind of cruelty(残酷) on the part of God or fate, which makes our existence a sort of bad joke(冷笑话) and which can never be completely accepted. This attitude is particularly true in present-day Western culture, in which the self is held sacred(神圣的) and death is considered an unspeakable(难以启齿的) insult(侮辱). Yet the exact opposite is the reality(然而事实恰恰相反). It is in the giving up of self that human beings can find the most ecstatic(狂喜的) and lasting(持久的), solid(坚固的), durable(持久的) joy of life. And it is death that provides life with all its meaning. This “secret” is the central wisdom of religion.
The process of giving up the self(which is related to the phenomenon of love, as will be discussed in the next section of this book) is for most of us a gradual process which we get into by a series of fits and starts(断断续续). One form of temporary giving up of the self deserves special mention because its practice is an absolute requirement for significant learning during adulthood, and therefore for significant growth of the human spirit. I am referring to a subtype of the discipline of balancing which I call “bracketing.” Bracketing is essentially the act of balancing the need for stability(稳定性) and assertion(断言) of the self with the need for new knowledge and greater understanding by temporarily giving up one’s self-putting one’s self aside, so to speak-so as to make room for the incorporation of new material into the self. This discipline has been well described by the theologian(神学家) Sam Keen in To a Dancing God:
The second step requires that I go beyond the idiosyncratic(独特的) and egocentric(利己主义的) perception(感知) of immediate experience. Mature awareness(意识) is possible only when I have digested and compensated(补偿) for the biases(偏见) and prejudices(歧视) that are the residue(残留) of my personal history. Awareness of what presents itself to me involves a double movement of attention: Silencing(使安静) the familiar and welcoming the strange. Each time I approach(靠近) a strange object, person, or event, I have a tendency to let my present needs, past experience, or expectations for the future determine what I will see. If am to appreciate the uniqueness of any datum(基准), I must be sufficiently aware of my preconceived(事先形成的) ideas and characteristic(独特的) emotional distortions(失真) to bracket them long enough to welcome strangeness(奇异性) and novelty(新颖性) into my perceptual world. This discipline of bracketing, recompensating(再补偿), or silencing(使安静) requires sophisticated self-knowledge and courageous honesty. Yet, without this discipline each present moment is only the repetition of something already seen or experienced. In order for genuine novelty to emerge(出现), for the unique presence of things, persons, or events to take root(生根) in me, I must undergo a decentralization(分散) of the ego.
The discipline of bracketing illustrates(说明) the most consequential(间接的) fact of giving up and of discipline in general: namely(也就是) that for all that is given up even more is gained. Self-discipline is a self-enlarging process. The pain of giving up is the pain of death, but death of the old is birth of the new. The pain of death is the pain of birth, and the pain of birth is the pain of death. For us to develop a new and better idea, concept, theory or understanding means that an old idea, concept, theory or understanding must die. Thus, in the conclusion of his poem “journey of the Magi,” T. S. Eliot describes the Three Wise Men as suffering the giving up of their previous world view when they embraced(拥抱) Christianity(基督教).
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? This was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony(极度痛苦) for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation(天命),
With an alien(陌生的) people clutching(紧握) their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Since birth and death seem to be but different sides of the same coin, it is really not at all unreasonable to pay closer heed(注意) than we usually do in the West to the concept of reincarnation(再生). But whether or not we are willing to entertain(招待) seriously the possibility of some kind of rebirth occurring simultaneously with our physical death, it is abundantly(大量地) clear that this lifetime is a series of simultaneous deaths and births. “Throughout the whole of life one must continue to learn to live,” said Seneca two millennia(千年) ago, “and what will amaze(使惊奇) you even more, throughtout life one must learn to die.”
It is also clear that the farther one travels on the journey of life, the more births one will experiene, and therefore the more deaths-the more joy and the more pain.
This raises the question of whether it is ever possible to become free from emotional pain in this life. Or, putting it more mildly(柔和地), is it possible to spiritually evolve(进化) to a level of consciousness(意识) at which the pain of living is at least diminished? The answer is yes and no. The answer is yes, because: once suffering is completely accepted, it ceases in a sense to be suffering. It is also yes because the unceasing practice of discipline leads to mastery(精通), and the spiritually involved person is masterful(技艺精湛地) in the same sense that the adult IS masterful III relation to the child. Matters that present great problems for the children and cause it great pain may be of no consequence to the adult at all. Finally, the answer is yes because the spiritually evolved individual is, as will be elaborated in the next section, an extraordinarily loving individual, and with his or her extraordinary love comes extraordinary joy.
The answer is no, however, because there is a vacuum(真空) of competence(能力) in the world which must be filled. In a world crying out in desperate(不顾一切的) need for competence, an extraordinarily competent and loving person can no more withhold his or her competence than such a person could deny food to a hungry infant. Spiritually evolved people, by virtue of their discipline, mastery(精通) and love, are people of extraordinary competence, and in their competence they are called on to serve the world, and in their love they answer the call. They are inevitably, therefore, people of great power, although the world may generally behold(把…视为) them as quite ordinary people, since more often than not they will exercise their power III quiet or even hidden ways. Nonetheless(尽管如此), exercise power they do, and in this exercise they suffer greatly, even dreadfully(可怕地). For to exercise power is to make decisions, and the process of making decisions with total awareness(感悟能力) is often infinitely(无限地) more painful than making decisions with limited or blunted(不锋利的) awareness(which is the way most decisions are made and why they are ultimately proved wrong). Imagine two generals, each having to decide whether or not to commit a division of ten thousand men to battle. To one the division is but a thing, a unit of personnel, an instrument of strategy and nothing more. To the other it is these things, but he is also aware of each and every one of the ten thousand. For whom is the decision easier? It is easier for the general who has blunted his awareness precisely because he cannot tolerate the pain of a more nearly complete awareness. It may be tempting to say, “Ah, but a spiritually evolved man would never become a general in the first place.” But the same issue is involved in being a corporation president, a physician, a teacher, a parent. Decisions affecting the lives of others must always be made.
The best decision-makers are those who are willing to suffer the most over their decisions but still retain their ability to be decisive(决断的). One mearsure-and perhaps the best measure-of a person’s greatness is the capacity for suffering. Yet the great are also joyful. This, then, is the paradox. Buddhists tend to ignore the Buddha’s suffering and Christians forget Chris’s joy. Buddha(佛陀) and Christ(基督) were not different men. The suffering of Christ letting go on the cross and the joy of buddha letting go under the bo tree are one.
So if your goal is to avoid pain and escape suffering, I would not advise you to seek higher levels of consciousness or spiritual evolution. First, you cannot achieve them without suffering, and second, insofar as you do achieve them, you are likely to be called on to serve in ways more painful to you, or at least demanding of you, than you can now imagine. Then why desire to evolve at all, you may ask. If you ask this question, perhaps you do not know enough of joy. Perhaps you may find answer in the remainder of this book; perhaps you will not.
A final word on the discipline of balancing and its essence of giving up: you must have something in order to give it up. You cannot give up anything you have not already gotten. If you give up winning without ever having won, you are where you were at the beginning: a loser. You must forge(形成) for yourself an identity before you can give it up. You must develop an ego before you can lose it. This may seem incredibly elementary, but I think it is necessary to say it, since there are many people I know who possess a vision of evolution yet seem to lack the will for it. They want, and believe it is possible, to skip over the discipline, to find an easy short-cut to sainthood(圣徒地位). Often they attempt to attain it by simply imitating(模仿) the superficialities of saints, retiring to the desert or taking up carpentry. Some even believe that by such imitation they have really become saints(圣人) and prophets(先知), and are unable to acknowledge that they are still children and face the painful fact that they must start at the beginning and go through the middle.
Discipline has been defined as a system of techniques of dealing constructively with the pain of problem-solving-instead of avoiding that pain-in such a way that all of life’s problems can be solved. Four basic techniques have been distinguished and elaborated(精心制作): delaying gratification, assumption of responsibility, dedication to the truth or reality, and balancing. Discipline is a sysem of techniques, because these tehniques are very much interrelated(相关的). In a single act one may utilize two, three or even all of the techniques at the same time and in such a way that they may be distinguishable from each other. The strength, energy and willingness to use these tehniques are provided by love, as will be elaborated in the next section. This analysis of discipline has not been intended to be exhaustive(详尽的), and it is posssible that I have neglected one or more additional basic techniques, although I suspect not. It is also reasonable to ask whether such processes as biofeedback(生物反馈), meditation, yoga, and psychotherapy itself are not techniques of discipline, but to this I would reply that, to my way of thinking, they are technical aids rather than basic techniques. As such they may be very useful but are not essential. On the other hand, the basic techniques herein described, if practiced unceasingly and genuinely, are alone sufficient to enable the practitioner of discipline, or “disciple,” to evolve to spiritually higher levels.