One day, as he was mopping the floor of the nave, Marcus
came to see him and quietly asked him what he thought of the chapel. Stefan
replied, “It is impossible to put into words how peaceful I feel when I am
within the sanctuary; I could stay here all day, and I have many questions
about it. For instance, why is the floor in the sanctuary made of alternating
coloured flagstones when the rest of the chapel is uniform?”
Marcus considered Stefan’s question for a moment then
said, “They were put there to draw our attention to the nature of the world we live
in. That they are alternating colours, a light and a dark stone, suggests the
passage of night and day, of light and darkness if you will. The arrangement
also alludes to the dualistic nature of the world, a world of constant change,
informing us that nothing remains the same, and that if we are to be successful
in the spiritual life we must rise above the influences of that chemistry, to
walk upon it, as it were.
“You may have noticed that the regular shape of the
arrangement suggests order and design; this informs us all that nothing in this
world happens simply by chance, that Providence governs and arranges all things
according to the will of God, even if we cannot see or understand the whys and
the wherefores. The imperative is to accept the conditions we find ourselves in
as being necessary for our education and to rise above their influences, to
follow the path of the Lord and to pass through the conditions of life in
equanimity.
“My teacher explained it to me by saying that it is the
nature of the world to woo our senses and encourage us to fulfil our biological
needs - that it is the way of the world, but it is our duty not to be
mindlessly seduced by it. We are not obligated to gorge ourselves on sensual
pleasures. Rather our obligation is to ‘seek the kingdom of heaven’ which is to
be found ‘within’, beyond the veil of sensory experience. Thus even the lowly
floor has much to teach us.” “What do you mean by ‘within’?” asked Stefan. “An
interesting question, Stefan, an interesting question indeed,” replied Marcus
enigmatically.
Marcus wondered how he could best answer Stefan’s question.
It was, he knew, a fundamental question concerning the beginning of the path of
self-knowledge, which in spite of Stefan’s recent experiences he was yet to
grasp. He said to Stefan, “Humour me for a moment. Close your eyes and tell me
what you see.”
Stefan, intrigued by the request, obeyed Marcus and
closed his eyes. He could see darkness and images forming and disappearing,
coming and going, and he mused upon them, thinking where they came from and
where they went. He felt comfortable for the moment, all was well. He said to
Marcus, “I see images coming and going. They dance in or on a field or curtain
of darkness.” “How do you feel?” asked Marcus. “Fine, comfortable, warm,” responded
Stefan. “Well, Stefan, most people would consider the interior environment you
perceive to be what I mean by ‘within’. It is the personal world of our own
thoughts and feelings. However, the thoughts, feelings and images that dance
before the mind’s eye are only the product of an interaction between the soul
and the world of sensory experience. What you see is only the chemistry of
consciousness. Beyond that field of experience, a curtain you called it, as do
many – indeed it is often referred to as the ‘veil’ – is the real world of ‘within’. In this
interior world the pathway to the kingdom of heaven is to be found, and
although the world, both exterior and interior may seem to be chaotic, it is
not, and we are well advised to remember that. Every event, great or small, is
a part of an integrated process of cause and effect, and it is our duty to
recognise and understand that process rather than simply being reactive
creatures unconsciously responding to stimulation. Now, Stefan, have I answered
your question?”
It would be fair to say that ever since he beached his
boat Stefan had felt out of his depth. He had witnessed so much and he had
hardly begun to assimilate any of it. He had been reasonably sure that he was
quick on the uptake, but now he was not certain even about that. He had been
trying to make sense of all of his experiences in this strange world, and had
found neither the time nor the place to settle down and think. But here, in
this monastery, and especially in this chapel, he felt more at ease than
anywhere else he could think of. It seemed as if the chapel was both soothing
his mind and communicating to him something of its wonders in a non-cerebral
way.
Now, Brother Marcus’ words had brought together some of
his disconnected thoughts and he began to see what some of his experiences were
telling him, especially that amazing tour with Brother Simon in the Oratory. He
began to understand that the fresco of the cosmos, which the old monk had taken
so much time and trouble to explain, was a map leading into the interior world,
and a flash of intuition informed him that this sanctuary embodied many of the
same ideas. He was filled with a desire to know more.
He said to Marcus, “I think I am beginning to see what
you mean, this is beginning to make sense to me now. You probably know that my
mind has been almost in a state of suspension ever since I arrived here. I have
not been able to make sense of most of what I’ve seen and heard, although I do
know that it is rich in wisdom. But I kept thinking what am I supposed to do
with it? I believe I can see a way forward now. I thought self-knowledge was
about collecting more facts, more information – the more information I had the
more I would know – which may well be important, but I can see now that it
isn’t essential, is it? Real knowledge and real understanding is about knowing,
it is about touching or embracing life itself, isn’t it?” Stefan turned and
looked towards the altar. “Another thing, I’m curious about the altar. It is a
cube, that much is obvious, and I can make some connections with what I’ve
learnt so far, but I’m still puzzled by it. I mean, why a cube?”
Marcus had to smile, the question was a good one, but the
answer, well, what could he say? “Before I tell you about the altar, you should
understand that the whole sanctuary is a model, a symbolic expression of the
cosmos from a spiritual perspective. It expresses in its own way certain
dynamics, by which I mean not only symbolically, but in a very real way. As a
model it is a three-dimensional object of meditation that provides a focal
point for the contemplative to engage with. You will notice from time to time
monks sitting or kneeling in the choir in a quiet state of meditation. They may
or may not be meditating on the sanctuary itself, or possibly an object within
it, but, regardless of their focus the sanctuary sets a context for us all and
it often serves as a vehicle for our inspiration, reminding us, or drawing our
attention to what is important and relevant.
“Consider this, you know that the Sun rises in the east,
so in this chapel the Sun appears where?” Stefan looked to the wall behind the
altar, to the window that had been glazed with the yellow and blue glass. He
pointed in the direction of the altar and said in a puzzled way, “east is that
way.” Marcus smiled and said, “and the south?” Stefan turned to his right,
still pointing, saying, “that way.” Marcus continued, “and the west?” Stefan
again turned to his right, saying, “that way,” Marcus then asked, “and the north?”
Stefan turned again to his right, still pointing, saying, “that way.” Marcus
looked at Stefan, raising an eyebrow in a quizzical way. Stefan thought for a
second or two and a penny dropped. He said, “this chapel, including the
sanctuary, is clearly orientated on an east/west axis. Why is that?”
“Well,” replied Brother Marcus, “You know the Sun rises
in the east, yes?” Stefan nodded. “You also know that all of the creatures of
the day, humanity included, wake with the rising of the Sun, yes?” Stefan
nodded again, wondering where this was going. Marcus continued, “You also know
that almost all of the creatures of the day are most active in the early part
of the day, becoming more weary as the day progresses, and that most creatures
of the day slow down and go to sleep shortly after Sunset; only to begin the
cycle again with Sunrise, yes?” Stefan nodded again. He could see that what
Brother Marcus was saying was clearly true, although he still could not see
where the old monk was going with this line of thought.
Brother Marcus smiled and continued, “When the Sun has
set, and the creatures of the day have gone to their beds they sleep. In sleep
the body is at rest but the soul lives another life, a life that is in many
ways a mystery to most creatures, including humankind, many of whom know of
that life only through their dreams which come and go on their own terms.
“During most of this period of time we sleep and occasionally dream. Thus,
Stefan, a period of darkness follows a period of light, an alternation between
day and night, between sleeping and waking, between action and non-action. A
period that has been likened to a life followed by a death, each day a life,
each night a death, an eternal rhythm that all creatures must follow; and in
this cycle it is possible for the observant to see something of the Divine at
work.” “How so?” asked Stefan.
“At the dawn of each new day,” replied Marcus, “we can
see, if we look with the right kind of attention, the quickening of life
brought into activity by the light and warmth that comes with the presence of
the Sun, which is in itself an analogue of the presence of God. Slowly but
surely all creatures of the day awaken, emerge and go about attending to their
duties, duties that have been set for them by Divine Providence, that is to say
by the Holy Spirit – the dynamic power of God operating in the world.
"This cyclic flow of life, of activity and rest, is
expressed in the orientation of the chapel. The contemplative sees the east
corresponding with the dawn, with the season of spring and new beginnings. The
south corresponds with noon, with the season of summer and with the impelling
power of Divine Providence bringing everything to maturity. It is a time of
work of development and growth. It also corresponds with the labour of
meditation. The west corresponds with the season of autumn, with the fullness
of Nature’s bounty and the reaping of the harvest. It also corresponds with the
turning from activity to rest and to visions, but that is another story. The
north corresponds with the season of winter, during which Nature rests and to
all intents and purposes becomes dormant. It also corresponds with the
contemplative state.
“The east is also seen as the source of light – the light
of knowledge and understanding. The south, the place of activity in the
spiritual work; the west, the place of ignorance and dreams from whence we
begin our spiritual journey, and the north with stillness and inactivity, of
residing ‘within’, of engaging in the contemplative life – it is pregnant with
potentiality. Stefan, there is a lot more to the orientation of the chapel, but
I think we have talked long enough for now; we should return to our duties. We
will doubtless continue this discussion soon.” Stefan said nothing for a moment
then, realising that time was indeed passing quickly he nodded and said, “Of
course”, turned, picked up his mop and continued cleaning the floor.
Somewhere in that conversation something had clicked in
Stefan’s thinking. His mind no longer felt paralysed by the force of his own
ignorance, nor by the overwhelming gravity of the knowledge he had received.
Neither was he struck dumb by the presence of these monks. He now accepted all
of these things and felt he was one of them, albeit a very young one of them,
not even a novice. Nevertheless, he knew he was one of them and that he was in
the right place doing the right thing and for the first time he actually felt
free in their midst. As Brother Marcus left the chapel Stefan could see clearly
everything that the old monk had said reflected in the design of the chapel,
and he looked forward to meditating upon the details of that design, and to his
next conversation, however one-sided, with Brother Marcus.
When the bell rang for the midday office Stefan was
already in his place in the chapel. He had been there a while, meditating upon
the significance of Brother Marcus’ words concerning the design of the chapel.
He wondered about the cardinal points and their significance and was musing
about the possibility of a zodiacal connection and had been looking for some
reference to the zodiac, but he just couldn’t see it portrayed anywhere in the
design. He thought it curious that the design should prominently feature the
cardinal points but have no reference that he could fathom concerning the
zodiac. However, one thing kept drawing his attention; it was the three steps.
What did they signify? Surely, he reflected, they must signify something about
elevation, but what? In astrological terms he thought there ought to be seven
of them, signifying a ladder, no? On the other hand there might be four steps
suggesting the elements, with the lowest being Earth, the next water and the
uppermost being air, but, where was the element of fire? He was musing upon
this when the monks filed into the chapel and took their places. The bell
stopped ringing and the office began; and once again Stefan found himself
transported into a blissful world of light and musical harmony, which no words
could describe.
After lunch Marcus suggested that they walk down to the
beach. They set off in silence, enjoying the warmth of the early afternoon Sun
high in a blue sky where not a cloud was to be seen. The tide was out and the
sand was firm, a pleasure to walk on. The tangy smell of fresh seaweed and the
sound of seagulls calling to each other in the sky above was inspiring and they
both soaked up the simple pleasure that they gave.
After a while Stefan asked Marcus about the steps leading
up to the altar. “I thought,” he said, “that they might have an elemental or
planetary correspondence, but I can’t see how. Is there an explanation that I
can’t see or do they have another meaning?” Brother Marcus didn’t answer
immediately. He was curious about Stefan’s reasoning and wondered how he had
arrived at it, but decided not to push him on that score just yet. “The
significance of the steps,” he began, “lies in how we understand the world we
live in. All creatures perceive the world through their senses. This is the
significance of the first step, which reminds us that we live in a common field
of experience which we share with other creatures to a greater or lesser
degree.
“The first step signifies a world of form and substance
in which the divine mysteries are expressed in a veiled manner. It is a signpost
for the observant, directing them to consider what they see with their eyes as
an outward expression of an inner and spiritual reality. Indeed, the entire
sanctuary may be seen as a visible and tactile expression of a spiritual truth,
where each and every part informs the contemplative about its nature. For
instance, everything in the sanctuary is made of stone. It would have been much
simpler to construct it from wood, which we have in abundance and which is easy
to shape, but the reason for it being constructed in stone is that more than
any other material stone has the power to retain impressions – memories if you
will. Such memories as are generated by every office and service that takes
place in the chapel.”
“How is that?” asked Stefan. “Now there’s a question,”
replied Brother Marcus. “I asked the same question many years ago and I was
informed that all matter has the ability to record and retain impressions. Such
impressions are what we call memories. However, matter has no faculty of discrimination
comparable with that found in animals, especially humans, nor has it the power
of rejection – it can only accept impressions. As a matter of fact all material
is capable of retaining impressions but stone is the perfect substance for the
divine light to rest upon.” Stefan interrupted Brother Marcus, “What do you
mean by ‘divine light’? Is it a general or a specific term?” Stefan was
determined not to let anything go that he was unsure of, and he knew that it
was important for him to understand this term.
“Stefan, do you remember Brother Simon’s address
concerning the elements?” “Yes, I do. I remember the event but not the details.
Why do you ask?” “Well, let me try to jog your memory,” replied Brother Marcus.
“He informed you that the substance of the heavens was called ether, a pure
divine unchanging element that is indestructible, and that the stars and
planets were encompassed by that same element. It is this divine substance we
call divine light. He also said, you may recall, that at the centre of the
cosmos is the sublunary world, which consists of four elements that are subject
to continual change and disturbance, and are consequently corruptible and
perishable. At the centre of the sublunary world is the Earth we live upon.
Well, my friend, the sanctuary is the only place I know on Earth that is
capable of being a vehicle for the element of ether. And before you ask, other
physical materials are definitely capable of receiving that divine light but
they are less stable than stone and do not retain an impression of it so well.”
Stefan wondered what any of this had to do with the
chapel. Marcus, divining his thoughts went on, “The sanctuary is set aside for
the sacred rites of the Church which include the daily offices of the Order,
during which, through our prayers and meditations we engage with the spiritual
world, the substance of which is the divine light or ether. Yet, Stefan,
although we call it ‘light’ or ‘ether’ in reality by whatever name it is called
it denotes the presence of God in much the same way as sunlight and warmth
denote the presence of the Sun. Within that dedicated space we call the
sanctuary we create and establish memories of a very specific nature, a nature
defined by our sacred rites, prayers and aspirations. All of our actions
therein, including our meditations, are recorded and assimilated into the very
fabric of the sanctuary. The rhythm of our liturgy demands that there can be no
change or alteration in our rituals or in our ceremonial.
“Such memories assist in elevating our souls beyond the
transient atmospheres of the sublunary world into the spiritual world and the
‘presence’ of God. We experience the spiritual world as a sublime state of
peace and stillness in which we are embraced in contemplation and in which the
voice of spiritual inspiration may be heard. The sanctuary is, then, a place
where the spiritual world and our world meet, and the presence of that
spiritual light enriches the sanctuary in a very special way, as you will
discover.” Stefan sat down on a rock overlooking a pool left by the tide. He
observed a small crab furtively moving across the bottom of the pool. It seemed
to be aware that Stefan was looking at it and it was clearly bothered by his
presence. As he looked into the pool it struck him that if the crab wished to
live in his world then it would have problems unless it made adequate
arrangements.
With this thought in mind Stefan recognised that the
spiritual world is clearly as difficult for people to enter, thus appropriate
arrangements have to be made. He realised that the sanctuary was really a
physical model expressing something of the essence of humanity, something that
lay at the heart of man. It dawned on him that the physical sanctuary was a
representation of the ‘inner temple’, the temple of the heart that both the
angels and Brother Marcus had referred to on several occasions. What an idiot
am I, he thought. How can I define what lies at the core of my own being
without knowing it and without looking at it in relationship to the world in
which I exist? Context is everything, without it existence has no meaning.
Stefan recalled the world he had left. All of his life he
had known himself in the context of his village. He had been a son, a warrior,
a farmer, a husband and a father; all of these things had defined the
parameters of his existence and he had no need to extend his horizons any
further than sustaining a happy medium therein – it had given meaning to his
life. “Brother Marcus, I think I can see what you are saying. The design of the
sanctuary expresses an understanding of the spiritual basis of life, an
understanding that is as yet far beyond my comprehension. Yet, regardless of my
ignorance it is capable of establishing a context in which my soul may grow in
spiritual knowledge and understanding. Am I correct in thinking this?” The old
monk, long past being surprised by anything Stefan said, smiled inwardly at the
young man’s ability to grasp profound concepts. “Yes, Stefan, you are right.
Think of it as a living interactive educational tool, far more powerful than
you can imagine.” “I see that, Brother Marcus, but how am I supposed to use it.
It doesn’t appear to have any instructions, does it?”
At this the old monk laughed. “Oh yes,” he grinned. “It
does, it really does, but at this point you can’t read them. As a matter of
fact the whole purpose of our ongoing discussion is to show you how to read the
manual built into the design and fabric of the sanctuary. It is expected that
the novice will examine the symbolism of the sanctuary and meditate upon it. At
the beginning this generally involves exploring and meditating upon what you
see – the literal meaning of what it is. As novices grow in the work so they
begin to meditate upon the metaphors and allegories that are woven into the
design and in due course to reflect upon the divine principles embedded
therein.
“For instance, the chequered floor informs the novice
that the Earth is the foundation upon which all things are established, and
that the laws of Nature govern it and all things upon it, and that as novices
they are duty-bound to nurture and respect the Earth, which includes nurturing
and respecting the physical body because it is a creature of Earth. Here, upon
the Earth the novice begins to appreciate the wonders of life through the five
senses and the discursive mind; they are tools that must be developed and
shaped to serve the spiritual life. The senses are gateways that give the soul
the opportunity to see God in Nature – to see the Divine in all things. On the other
hand, they can equally lead the soul into excess. It is often a fine line that
separates the one from the other. The novice is expected to establish the
optimum level of care for the body – not too much and not too little. Too much
of the things of the Earth leads the soul to becoming a slave to fantasy and
appetite; too little – in fasting for example, will destroy the health of the
aspirant, both in body and mind, which is a futile if not stupid exercise. It
is important for each individual to work within their capabilities and they
vary from person to person.
“When novices engage in fasting they are instructed to
fast for one day a week and no more; only when they are experienced do they
progress to longer fasts, but it is for each individual to find the mean. The
Rule of the Order recommends that a monk should eat one main meal a day,
typically after the midday service. This is generally supplemented by a light
breakfast after the morning office and a light supper after the evening office,
but these are optional. The same principle is expressed with sleep; it is
recommended that a monk should take no more than six hours sleep a night.
However, some need seven hours where others are perfectly happy with four or
five. The principle is to find the mean that is neither indulgent nor punitive.
Those given to ascetic disciplines are cautioned against being too excessive in
their endeavours.”
Brother Marcus sat down beside Stefan and continued, “The
three steps leading up to the altar allude to an understanding of the world on
three levels. The lowest step suggests cleansing and preparing the interior
world of imagination, of freeing our minds of the cares and fancies that fill
our imagination with images and sensual inclinations, so that we may engage in
prayer and direct our attention to the holy work before us. Thus, in our
offices, we first purify ourselves of base intentions and then lift up our
minds through our prayers, which are, as you have discovered, chanted according
to ancient custom. In this way our thoughts and feelings are elevated and
spiritualised.
“The second step suggests the interior world of thought –
it alludes to a realm of consciousness that lies beyond our imagination. Herein
we meditate upon the teachings of our exemplar, the Lord Jesus Christ. In this
world of pure thought the soul transcends the restrictions of the mundane
world, rising beyond the magnetic attractions of the sphere of sensation, and
is led into the bliss of pure meditation, wherein the words ‘My yoke is easy’
become a crystal clear reality. Herein we engage in attending to the
significance of the sacred mysteries of the Eucharist. For those who have the
eyes to see and the ears to hear they contain everything the grail legends
promise. The third step takes you onto the floor of the altar. It alludes to a
state of being that is completely absorbed in the presence of God and filled
with the radiance of the divine light. It is the inspired state we understand
as contemplation concerning which there are many mysteries that will only
become evident as you grow in the spiritual life and not before. But for now,
recognise that although you see three steps there are as a matter of fact four,
the first being the chequered floor; and yes, they do allude to the four elements,
the chequered floor referring to the element of earth, the first step to water,
the second, air and finally the third, fire.”
Stefan sat thinking about the old monk’s words. As his
thoughts danced here and there he looked into the pool. The crab had scuttled
off, probably hiding in the midst of some seaweed, he thought. As he gazed
absent-mindedly into the pool it dawned on him that what he was looking at was
an obvious demonstration of everything the old monk had been saying to him. The
sandy bottom of the pool was clearly the Earth, above it was the pool of water
and above that was the air. He could feel its movement in the breeze carrying
the perfumes of the day, and finally, high in the sky was the fire we call the
Sun, its light and warmth sustaining all things. In the midst of his reverie
the question emerged in his mind: And what is it that lies beyond these four
worlds? He described his thoughts to Brother Marcus, who inclined his head,
listening to Stefan’s words, occasionally nodding his agreement. Stefan
eventually brought up the question that had arisen. He knew that the answer was
of course that what lay beyond these four worlds was the spiritual reality of
ether. But what did that mean in terms of experience?
Brother Marcus didn’t comment; there was little he could
say that would benefit his student. Time and reflection would bring
understanding and with that would come wisdom. Instead he said, “Have you
considered what the pillars might signify?” “I had wondered,” responded Stefan,
“if they corresponded to or symbolised the four elements, but I wasn’t sure.”
“If you recall Brother Simon’s words,” replied Brother
Marcus, “you will remember him speaking about the four elements, about how they
are the fundamental building blocks of the world we live in – solids, liquids,
gases and energies and examining how these elements interact is an important
part of a novice’s curriculum, especially in relation to the body in which the
bone, blood, air and nervous energy correspond so well to the elements.
However, the pillars signify far more than the four unstable elements that
Aristotle and his successors describe. You might also consider each pillar
corresponding with a cardinal virtue; these being prudence, justice, fortitude
and temperance. You may remember we discussed them at some length on our
journey here. The development of the virtues shapes and establishes an
individual’s life and the life of a community on a wholesome foundation. More
than anything the pillars signify support and structure. The question is, how
do they support our world and what is their significance in the sanctuary?”
“I’ve been
thinking about what they signify,” Stefan said hesitantly, “and it occurs to me
that I don’t know if they rise from the floor to the canopy above, or descend
from the canopy to the floor below?” Brother Marcus said nothing; he just
looked at Stefan, his eyebrows raised as if expecting more. Stefan added almost
as an afterthought, “I can see how the four elements form the basic structure
of the world, and I can understand how the cardinal virtues establish a good
foundation for social growth and stability, and I can even see how the four
worlds of conscious life underpin all that happens, but after that I’m lost.
What is it I’m supposed to see?”
Brother Marcus replied, “You cannot see what you do not
know, and what is not visible to you. Your question is a complex one and the
subject matter very subtle and easy to misunderstand. It is taught in the quiet
of the sanctuary that the creation is an expression of the unutterable name of
God – that is to say in human terms it is unutterable. It is further taught
that the name of God is described as consisting of four consonants, each
consonant being attributed to one of the four pillars. Thus each pillar is
intimately linked to the other, and furthermore, each pillar flows down from
the divine world, symbolised by the canopy, to the Earth, suggesting that our
world is sustained in and by the divine name of God. If we take this teaching
literally we miss the point. What is intimated in this teaching is that the
substrate of life itself is God; that all life partakes of the Being of God. To think of creation as a mere
by-product of the chemistry of matter is a naïve assertion of an immature soul
and a denial of the holiness of life.”
Brother Marcus stopped for a moment to collect his
thoughts and then continued, “There is a legend of an ancient race that was
technically very advanced. It had developed machines that were powered by the
Sun, machines that could fly, that could travel on land and over great
distances, all powered by the light of the Sun. At some point in their history,
poisoned by arrogance they developed a philosophy that denied the existence of
God and the holiness of life. To them all life was simply a material form to be
used for any purpose whatsoever. They abused the creatures of the Earth, of the
waters and of the air to the point where this world was so stripped of life and
poisoned by their infernal technologies and interference with the forces of
nature that the Earth itself was close to death. The legend tells that God
seeing the evil nature of this race sent a great plague that spread over the
land destroying this insane race of humans and that the Earth convulsed,
swallowing what remained of their civilisation and that for many thousands of
years the few people that survived the destruction struggled to maintain a
basic subsistence.”
Stefan
interrupted Brother Marcus, saying, “I’ve heard this legend, not quite as you
tell it, but in essence the same. I thought it was just a story for telling
around the fire during the long winter nights. It is true then?” “Oh yes,”
replied Brother Marcus, “it is true and in all probability it has been true on
several occasions, for humanity is capable of great evil, but such evil can
never last. It always comes to a bitter end. Have you never heard the saying
‘He that lives by the sword dies by the sword?’ ” “Yes, I have,” replied
Stefan. “In my country it is axiomatic, but those who don’t carry swords become
slaves to those who do, and often live short lives of drudgery and unremitting
misery.” “That just proves the point,” said Brother Marcus, shaking his head.
He then stood up and suggested that they return to the monastery.
On the way back Stefan asked Brother Marcus what the
divine name of God was, and how could it be known and yet be unutterable. The
old monk considered Stefan’s question for a moment then said, “It is clear to
any thinking individual that the unutterable name of God is knowable only to
the soul that has been embraced by God in contemplation. That is to say, when
the soul has transcended duality and surrendered itself to God. The name is
unutterable because it is beyond sound and form, indeed its nature is beyond
time and space and consequently cannot be uttered here upon Earth. You know,
Stefan, the closer we get to the Divine the closer we get to unity and the more
formless things are, revealing a spiritual nature that is more akin to light
than matter, and the further we move away from the Divine the further we
descend into diversity and the more material our form becomes.
“With regard to the four pillars in the sanctuary, bear
this in mind. The pillars indicate a graded connection between unity and
diversity, between all of the worlds in creation. They demonstrate that God
supports all that is and all that ever will be, and if we were able to trace
the pillars back to their source they would lead us out of diversity into
unity, a unity that is by definition divine. The pillars stand in creation as
the principles of life and they are to be understood in many ways. That is why
I suggested that you might understand them as signifying the cardinal virtues,
the bedrock of civilisation. But to answer your question about the divine name,
there is a symbolic name that should be understood more as a cipher than as a
personal name to hail someone. That name is Tetragrammaton, which means
‘four-lettered’. To each pillar is attributed a letter of the Tetragrammaton.
This name need not be taken literally, for we are dealing with a symbolic
language that describes how the infinite and unknowable nature of God is
expressed in creation. It represents the presence of the Divine in creation,
and when understood correctly, establishes a sacred space in which we may be
sanctified by that presence. But enough now, you have absorbed a great deal of
material and you need time to digest it.” #brothermarcusodp
Available through your local bookshop.
Details: The Pilgrimage, by Allan Armstrong;
ISBN: 978-1-910216-04-0
£8.99
or from either:
amazon.com
or
also available
If we accept the number one as a point, and the number two
as a line, then the number three corresponds to the plane. The smallest plane imaginable is the
triangle, which is the basis of the first three-dimensional figure—the
three-sided pyramid. The number three causes the potential of
the monad to advance into actuality and extension and
is therefore considered the basis of Creation. It reconciles the
polarities engendered through the actions of the number two; thus it has been
called the number of friendship, harmony, peace, and unanimity.
It indicates a beginning, a middle, and an end, and also implies a past, a
present, and a future. Thus it speaks of form and time, of experience and
knowledge. Out of these is born the world of duality, or in modern terms,
‘space-time’.
The number four is considered to be the begetter of the decad because the sum of all
the numbers contained within it totals ten (1 + 2 + 3 + 4). It is known as the
‘foundation’, because in geometrical procession it is the first number to display
the nature of three-dimensional existence: point,
line, plane, solid. Its forms are considered to be the tetrahedron pyramid (the first solid),
because it consists of four angles and four planes, and the cube, because it is a
three-dimensional square—the symbol of earth. The tetrad gives rise
to the four elements and universal existence, and as such signifies the quality
and nature of change. It is understood that the monad applies to arithmetic,
the dyad to music, the triad to geometry, and the tetrad to astronomy. 
Six is thought to be the first perfect number because it
arises out of the multiplication of the first even and odd numbers; it was also
thought to be androgynous and to signify marriage because of the relationship
between these two numbers (two and three). Because it was understood to be the
form of forms, possessing wholeness, it was accepted as a symbol of the soul,
and that the universe was ensouled and harmonised by it, and
through it attained wholeness, permanence, health, and beauty. It signifies the
six directions of extensions of solid bodies: up, down, forward, backward,
left, and right. 
Seven is believed to be a virgin born neither of mother
(even number) or father (odd number) but from the father of all (the monad). It was revered by the
ancient philosophers, and called ‘that which brings to completion’. It was
understood that all things, both in the heavens and upon the earth, were brought to
completion by it, thus because it controlled mortal affairs it was called
‘chance’. The soul is understood to descend into existence through the seven planetary spheres, acquiring
its qualities or virtues from them. It also applied to the seven liberal arts and sciences,
which were devised for the edification of the soul. 
Number Eight
Number Nine
Number Ten
However, the written Torah is but a garment
concealing a deeper meaning; this deeper meaning is known as the ‘Soul of the Law’, and it is to
the Soul of the Law that the Kabbalist goes in search
of understanding. It is an interior journey wherein the soul reflects upon the
significance of the scriptures. To do this effectively the soul must direct and
control the unruly will. Left to its own devices the will, except in extremely
rare cases, generally gravitates to the comfort zone of old behaviour patterns.
In simple terms, the attention wanders, and it must be brought back to the main
objective which is the study of the scriptures, wherein it may learn the way of
the divine and may grow in understanding. Such work is known as meditation, and some of the
most useful tools used by the Kabbalists in meditation involve the
symbolism of numbers and their correspondences. 
