Sanctuary of Light

The following description of the Sanctuary of Light (text only) is taken from chapter 9 of The Pilgrimage, a spiritual novel by Allan Armstrong, first published by Imagier Publishing in 2012

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

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Details: The Pilgrimage, by Allan Armstrong;
ISBN: 978-1-910216-04-0
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Metaphors & Meditation

The following passage (not including images) is from the second chapter of 
my book The Rose Priory Dialogues published by Imagier Publishing 2010

A discussion is in progress. . . .
“last week you said many spiritual texts were written using allegories and metaphors. I’m hoping that you’ll expand on that subject this evening; that is if everyone is ok about it.” Most nodded in agreement and a few voiced their approval of the subject. Marcus closed his eyes, for a moment looking within; then looked up and said: “A marvellous choice, Erik, and a subject difficult to exhaust, but first let me ask you all a question, what is an allegory and what is a metaphor?”

A young Kenyan woman, whose name I later found out was Ruth, spoke out: “As I understand it the word ‘allegory’ suggests the use of a narrative to explain or give greater meaning to a perplexing story or a puzzle. Whereas the term ‘metaphor’ is more symbolic, it involves using a word or an expression in place of something else, for example; ‘it’s a pain in the neck’, is a metaphor for something that is troublesome, or ‘to cast your bread on the waters’, is a metaphor for taking a risk, and a story about someone taking a risk would be an allegory.” I thought Ruth was going to continue but she seemed to think better of it and fell silent. No-one seemed prepared to add to her definition so Marcus spoke: “Thank you Ruth, that’s as good a definition as any, and it serves our purpose well, because it is important for us to comprehend the distinction between them if we are ever to understand the subject.”

Marcus fell silent for a moment, the crackling fire and the ticking of the old clock were the only sounds in the room as everyone focussed on their own thoughts. After a minute or so, although it seemed to me that time had lost all sense of meaning and it could easily have been an hour, Marcus said: “Christ often used allegorical tales called parables as a means of teaching people. The phrase: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like unto…’ is often used by the Lord to introduce the listener to something that cannot be touched or seen with the physical senses, but may be perceived with the mind if it is attuned correctly, and parables enable us to do just that; moreover, occasionally they can turn into metaphors, for example, the story of the wedding feast at Canaan, where Jesus, at the request of his mother turned water into wine - which is in itself an allegory concerning the alchemy of love - gives us the metaphor ‘turning water into wine’, signifying an amazing accomplishment or deed, and there is no deed more amazing than the transformation of the soul, which is not only the main theme of the allegory but also the central theme of the Bible. Indeed, in ancient times the employment of metaphor and allegory was common in many religious systems.

For example, in ancient Egypt the Lotus was used as a metaphor of spiritual accomplishment; its life-cycle serving as an allegory of the way of spiritual attainment. Buried in the sediment at the bottom of the Nile, or perhaps a lake, the Lotus seed was understood to correspond with the soul and its existence in the physical body. At some point the soul like the Lotus seed must quicken or germinate and begins its ascent towards the surface and the presence of the sun. The first obstacle that presents itself to the Lotus seed is the sediment that presses down upon it, much as the affairs of the body and the world press down upon the soul restricting its progress. In breaking through the sediment the new Lotus shoot must traverse the waters above it, being careful not only to draw nourishment from the world through its roots, but also to draw nourishment from the sunlight filtering through the waters above. 

In much the same way the soul, overcoming the obstacles of the mundane world must traverse the psychic world. Water has long been used as a metaphor for the psychic world, which at the lowest level is full of negative and destructive thought-forms and associated feelings. Metaphorically, these may be seen to correspond with the sediment that concentrates at the bottom of large bodies of water such as a river or lake. Here the metaphor becomes extremely interesting, because the water at the bottom of a river or lake is full of sediment, making it far murkier than at the surface, much like the lower, more bestial aspects of our life in this world. It is something we must rise above if we are to experience the clearer waters of consciousness that lie above the dross of our imagination.

In this allegory, it is implicit that the growing Lotus, which is synonymous with the aspiring soul, rises slowly through the waters of the psychic world, avoiding being waylaid by the phantasmagoria therein, and keeping its attention focussed on the light. Inevitably then, as it ascends it becomes increasingly aware of the presence of the light and warmth of the sun, which is synonymous with the presence of the Divine. Eventually, sustained more and more by the Divine Light the soul breaks through the waters of the psychic world into the spiritual world represented by the clear light of the sun, where it spreads its leaves, as it were, and begins to flower. It is a beautiful allegory, and I have done little justice to it with this brief description. You should reflect upon it; it has much to tell you. Also, you should take note that spiritual allegories and metaphors are rarely static, dealing as they do with the rhythms of life that constitute the life-song of the soul.

Another, more complex example is the Graces or Charities, the constant companions or children of Venus Aphrodite, the goddess of Beauty. Opinions differ about whether they were her companions or her children, but they are generally portrayed as being three sisters dancing with their hands interlocked, and were a favourite subject for many artists, particularly during the Renaissance. They represent a synergy of movement that rests on the spiritual and cosmic dynamics of Emanation, Fixation and Return, more commonly described in terms of Procession, Rapture and Return. As the companions of Venus they denote the circle of Divine Love manifesting in the sphere of human life through Beauty, which corresponds with Procession, Love with Rapture and Joy with Return. This cycle of giving, receiving and returning expresses an underlying cosmic imperative that is observable in the laws of thermodynamics, but is more poetically expressed in the astrological principles of Cardinal, Fixed and Mutable signs.”

“What?” said a quiet voice from the back of the room, “I’m sorry to seem so dumb but would you please explain what you mean by that last statement, especially that bit about the cycle of giving, receiving and returning expressing an underlying cosmic imperative; and how does that relate to the Laws of Thermodynamics or Astrology?” “Patrick, it’s good to see you again, how’s the leg?” “healing very well thanks, the plaster’s off and I’m walking with the aid of a stick.” Patrick waved his walking stick in the air to show it off. “but seriously, brother Marcus, I didn’t really understand what you were saying a moment ago; please explain?” “I’m glad you asked,” replied Marcus with a smile on his face. “Thermodynamics is concerned with the study and science of energy. We receive our energy from the sun which in the form of light enters our atmosphere and is transformed through photosynthesis into many different life-forms. It then returns to its source via the complex path of evolution.

The same principle can also be said to apply to ‘life’ which emerges from God and evolves through many different forms on its return to its source. In astrological terms all things consist of one or more of four elements; Earth, Water, Air and Fire, and each element follows the same cosmic process of emanation, fixation and return. This is clearly demonstrated in the concept of Cardinal, Fixed and Mutable. The Cardinal Sign is the primary emanation of an element; the Fixed sign is the consolidated expression of the elemental archetype; and the Mutable sign demonstrates the process of entropy in the disassembling of the form and the return of the energy to its source. Does that make sense, Patrick?” “Some of it does, but I guess I’ll have to think about the rest, thanks.”

“That’s inevitable, Patrick, it’s a profound subject requiring a great deal of thought. However, consider the following, it might help you to understand. In the sphere of the soul, Beauty is the manifestation of the Divine, it acts as a beacon or light to which the soul is drawn; Love enraptures the soul with the object of its desire, and Return brings the soul back to the Divine in a state of Joy via the object of its love. However, before such an elevated state can be achieved the soul must evolve beyond the carnal drives of the instinctive nature and develop the innate but undeveloped faculties of discrimination and compassion. An interesting description of that development may be found in Plato’s Symposium, where Socrates discusses the evolution of love. It is well worth reading, and you should not be put off by the different ideas he covers. It is not so much the detail involved as the concept of the evolution of human ideals from the carnal to the spiritual that is important.

Recognising metaphors and allegories is quite easy once you get your eye in, but understanding them requires time and commitment; they were generally devised as objects of meditation with many levels of appreciation. Consider the following allegory from the New Testament. It is the story of the nativity of Jesus Christ. The Gospels inform us that the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a young virgin called Mary, to whom he announced that she was to conceive by the Holy Spirit a child who would be called the Son of God. The Gospels also inform us that her child, Jesus Christ, is “the true light which lighteth the life of every man that cometh into the world,” that this light was born not of the flesh or of the will of man, but of the will of God; thus firmly indicating that the true nature of Jesus Christ is beyond the rationale of the human intellect. The Gospels add that John the Baptist is the forerunner of the Lord, that he baptised people and taught them Repentance as the precursor to spiritual regeneration.

The allegory is suggesting that before we can become aware of the spiritual reality that is the basis of our existence we must change our ways, ways conditioned by nature and dictated by habit. To do so requires that we first recognise that this life is not the apex of our evolution, or the end goal of our existence. It then follows that we must give up being a reactive creature subject to our carnal nature and take upon ourselves a new way of life, a life of spiritual discipline signified by the washing away of sin in the baptism of water. This new life of spiritual discipline will eventually emancipate the soul from the bondage and influence of matter, and in doing so it will become a pure or virginal soul. In this allegory the purified soul is symbolised by the Virgin Mary, implying that before the Christ-Child can be born, that is to say, before we can become aware of the presence of Christ, the soul must be in a state of purity, that is to say, virginal. In the language of the mysteries, when the sphere of sensation is free of all forms and movements, then it is possible to become aware of the spiritual reality that is ‘the true light which lighteth the life…’

The use of such stories to convey spiritual truths was commonplace in ancient times. For the majority, who could neither read nor write, a story or visual image was a very useful and practical means of recollection, and therefore perfect for meditation. How many of us today realise that before the turn of the twentieth century much of the population could neither read nor write, or that before the eighteenth century few people in Europe were literate.  However, during the eighteenth century Europe went through a revolutionary growth in commerce and industry. We call it the Industrial revolution, but it was also a social revolution and one of its major effects was to stimulate an equally revolutionary development in the field of education as the need for a literate and numerate population grew.

Previously, literacy was the privilege of the nobility, the clergy, the professions and some merchants. The majority of the population had little need or call for literacy as communities were generally small and everyone knew everyone else. Generally, information was passed, and agreements were made, by word of mouth, although in some instances arrangements and contracts were written down. These apart, people generally communicated by the spoken word and their word was their bond. Indeed at the turn of the twentieth century many of the population still remained unlettered.

Spiritual teachings were also given verbally and more often than not were given in the form of a story; indeed, the Bible is a collection of such stories, stories that many accept as true historical accounts. However, these stories also conceal great spiritual truths that were thought too profound for the uninitiated; consequently many subtleties were employed in maintaining and safeguarding them. They were designed in such a way that they could be discussed and interpreted on different levels; each level giving a deeper insight to the story, which for the sake of this discussion might be understood as having four modes of interpretation: Literal, Allegorical, Moral, and Mystical. This method of interpretation applies specifically to the life of the soul on its path of spiritual regeneration, not to political or historical secrets and intrigues; and when the scriptures were first written down in the sixth century BC, an event necessitated by the Jewish exile in Babylon, the same principles were employed in their construction.

Such methods have been in continual use for countless generations. Philo Judaeus, who lived in the Egyptian city of Alexandria in the first century AD, wrote extensively about the allegorical interpretation of scripture. Much later, Moses de Leon, who lived during the late thirteenth century, likened the scriptures to a nut, a nut with a shell of literal meaning on the outside and an essence or mystical meaning within. He taught that the word Pardes, which means Garden or ‘paradise’, is a cipher concealing an esoteric understanding of existence.

Each consonant of the word PaRDeS denoting one of four levels of interpretation and meaning; thus: P stands for the literal meaning; R stands for the allegorical meaning, particularly in the moral sense; D stands for the metaphorical meaning, particularly in the symbolic sense, and S stands for the mystical meaning. Arthur Edward Waite, an English mystic, whose writings spanned the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, describing the same thing, said that P equals the literal, R the symbolic, D the allegorical, and finally S signifies the mystical sense.

However, the literal interpretation of Scripture should not be set aside as we seek the deeper teachings; for the literal interpretation contains a code for living a wholesome life, a life that forms the platform for the more subtle work of the spirit. Sadly, many people waste their time seeking codes and ciphers that might reveal material treasures and knowledge of great secrets, and doubtless many more will lead themselves up the same garden path in search of the same.” Marcus hesitated, then added; “Yet, there are ciphers and there are treasures, treasures far greater than fame or fortune, but they are all directed towards self-knowledge and the path of spiritual regeneration.”

Marcus stopped talking; he could see people thinking about his words, and that soon enough one would speak out. Sure enough, a moment later a woman in her mid-thirties leaned forward and spoke; “Hi, my name is Paula; what I would like to know is this, are you saying that all religious texts are composed in the manner you described – as allegories?” “I can’t speak for all,” replied Marcus, “but many of the scriptures of the world’s religions that I have examined have been, most certainly.” “Even Hindu texts such as the Upanishads?” queried Paula. “Oh yes, especially the Bhagavad-Gita. It is said that it embodies at least seven levels of interpretation, and the Upanishads, although they present a beautiful spiritual teaching that is in many ways unveiled, have buried within them profound mystical teachings that are not so obvious. Sometimes they are presented in allegorical form and sometimes as metaphors; the Katha Upanishad is a wonderful example.”

Paula thought for a moment, then said; “What is the use of such allegories; why not just write what you mean, plain and simple? It seems to me that a rational explanation and common-sense guidance is all we really need.” “There are some things,” replied Marcus, “that the rational mind just cannot deal with. It is after all a creature of duality designed to deal with the space-time environment. The experience of the spiritual reality, which is the subject matter of our meetings, lies beyond the rational mind because it is of the nature of Unity. We can think about it, we can talk about it, but our rational mind cannot comprehend it, it just does not have the tools. Spiritual allegories are useful devices the soul may use in meditation to transcend the limitations born of the rational mind, and understand through inference and non-rational experience something of the spiritual reality. This has long been known in the schools. ” 

“What do you mean by inference and non-rational experience?” said Paula in a puzzled voice. “What I mean is that we may experience spiritual reality in the form of an all encompassing love, in the form of a ‘peace that surpasses all understanding’, or in the form of a presence that cannot be articulated, or, occasionally, in the form of an inspiration that slowly percolates into our everyday experience. By such experiences we may know with a certainty that defies explanation, or we may infer from our experience something of the transcendent nature of the Divine. In either case the experience generally leaves no room for doubt. That’s what I mean.” “Thank you for that,“ Paula replied, “I don’t wish to seem difficult, but I come from a background where the literal interpretation is the only interpretation. I shall give some thought to your words.”

Marcus sat back in his chair, a few went to the bathroom, and I secured another coffee from the table. One man, I didn’t get his name, said to Marcus; “You continually refer to the subject of meditation, I thought it was an eastern discipline, not western, yet you refer to it as if it was important if not central to the spiritual life of the western world. Is there really any truth in that? If there is its news to me.” “It depends what is meant by meditation,” replied Marcus. “In traditional terms meditation is a discipline that enables us to withdraw from the world of the senses into the interior realm of the soul, which according to most if not all spiritual teachings is the starting point of spiritual regeneration.

Meditation requires the development of two basic skills; to be still and to concentrate the mind. To be still simply means being able to relax very deeply for an extended period of time, it’s not so difficult. On the other hand, to concentrate the mind is a much harder task, although not as difficult as you might think. It merely requires a desire to engage with the interior world that is greater than the desire to engage with the world of the senses. Unfortunately, it is an imperative that cannot be avoided. However, if the desire to engage with the interior world is sufficiently strong then the skills of concentration come readily enough. It is essentially an introspective process, although it is often undertaken in group settings.

Today many people have an interest in Meditation, but traditionally it was never a discipline undertaken on its own, outside of the parameters of a spiritual curriculum. Indeed, in Christian terms, although meditation plays a central role, the path of spiritual perfection involves a systematic programme of spiritual endeavour that begins with an unquenchable desire for divine knowledge. It is a desire that is gradually realised through the application of specific ascetic disciplines, such as the purification of the instinctive nature through the education of the senses, appetites and desires – a time consuming work.

Another important discipline is the control of the tongue, learning not to speak unless absolutely necessary and developing the ability to enquire and listen without interruption – a tricky undertaking closely allied to another, the examination of conscience, which is perhaps, the beginning of meditation in earnest.  However, the main discipline is meditation on the scriptures and the maxims of faith embedded therein. This begins as a process of internal reasoning based upon a given passage of scripture, leading eventually to a higher state of consciousness, where the soul becomes aware of the presence of the divine. Dwelling in the presence of the divine is, in fine, the art of contemplation, a state which cannot really be described except, perhaps, through prayer or through parables – which are, as we discussed earlier, spiritual allegories.

These disciplines are very ancient; indeed, they were ancient in apostolic times. No soul has ever transcended the limitations of this world without engaging in the modification of consciousness that is implicit in these and other such disciplines. Indeed, true contemplation rests upon them in the same way as the lotus rests upon water. Furthermore, the higher mysteries of the Sanctuary are meaningless without them. It is probably true to say that from the earliest times the discipline of meditation has been central to most, if not all of the religions of the world. No single religion or religious system has had a monopoly of that discipline, although in recent times some have acquired the reputation for being the supreme exponents of the art. However, every culture has had need to develop its own system of spiritual perfection in which meditation plays a central role, and it would be extremely naive to assume that any one culture has precedence over the others.

Bearing that in mind, we can honour the Rishis of ancient India, who long ago withdrew from the common life into the deeps of the forests to engage in spiritual disciplines and further their spiritual aspirations, in which meditation was central. The same is true of the prophets of ancient Israel who in the wilderness of the deserts lived a strict life of Asceticism, as did the desert fathers of the second and third centuries, who congregated in the deserts of the Levant, and inspired the western world with the monastic ideal, in which meditation was of critical importance. Indeed one of the central methods of meditation handed down from the desert fathers, known to monastics simply as ‘the ladder’ or ‘the way’ is still in use today. It is formally known as Lectio Divina, or ‘Divine Reading’ and consists of the slow repetitive reading of a passage of scripture until it is known by heart, followed by meditating on its significance. . . ." #brothermarcusodp

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