If I witnessed a yogi dematerialize and rematerialize, I could not absolutely say that the theory of
self was valid or that infinite self-knowledge was possible. If through the mastery of pranayama I
realized an infinite self and could pass the test of infinite self-knowledge, I would still be unable
to say with intellectual honesty that infinite self-knowledge was possible. Nothing said and
nothing done can ever absolutely confirm or deny the theory of self. But the difference between
this ancient theory and the hypothetical existence of a monotheistic God is that the theory of self
can be tested through the intuitive technology it provides; by doing so it enters the realm of
possible, if not probable, knowledge. But a monotheistic God is not worthy of any serious
consideration. His existence cannot be absolutely denied, but that fact is immaterial since the
imagination can invent millions of entities, like Scientology’s Xenu, whose existence is not
practically or absolutely deniable.
My inability to absolutely confirm the theory of self, preferring to point in the direction of intuitive
adventure, is not only a matter of intellectual honesty. Unlike the world’s contradictory
theological doctrines and their warring belief systems, ontological theories of reality do not
number in the hundreds or even dozens. And of the few humanity has developed in the East
and West, the overlap is unavoidable. Whatever may be said of infinitude, the cosmos is not as
the senses and mind say it is; and our misperception is at the root of our individuated sense of
being. So I can absolutely say that directing awareness inward will at least satisfy the drive for
infinitude in a way that expands the self and fosters peace in society and the world. Moreover, it
takes relatively little spiritual adventurousness to come to that beautiful realization.
Testing for knowledge of God brings the intellect to the brink of sensory awareness of power,
beyond which there may or may not lie a vast realm of possibility. If there is no possibility that a
human being can attain infinite power in life or death, then the otherworldly promises of religion
and mysticism are invalid. Yoga without yogic power, for instance, would become at best a
preventive healthcare system and at worst a sham.
For a person uninvested in the possibility of infinite power and yet hoping to acquire nonfinite
knowledge, asceticism is perhaps good for health but otherwise an unjustifiable waste of time.
Then again, sitting for hours a day practicing a method of meditation that does not effectively
redirect the sensory nervous energy would be like using binoculars to study the terrain of a
planet in a distant galaxy. Instead, such time could be better spent accumulating material
knowledge and then placing oneself in service to humanity, as do scientists, freethinking
philosophers, humanitarians, and social activists. Service to others enlarges one’s sense of
identity and demonstrates the spiritual striving for an expansive sense of self, as opposed to
some spiritually normalized ideal of self on the one hand or infinite self-knowledge on the other.
A person adventurous enough to entertain the possibility of infinite power, however, will see as
justified the asceticism and dedication to intuition that Adi Śaṇkara, the Buddha, and other bona
fide yogis embodied. To such an individual, yoga masters like the twentieth century’s Swami
Vivekananda, world-renowned disciple of Ramakrishna, and Paramahansa Yogananda, author
of Autobiography of a Yogi, would represent the pinnacle of intuitive possibility. According to the
prevalent myths, these yogis manifested infinite self-knowledge by dematerializing the body and
also sacrificed finite appetites and ambitions of the narrow self on an altar of service to
humanity. Sacrificing the narrow self to humanity, while a lifestyle choice to individuals striving
for a more expansive sense of self, is also a basic technique to those reaching for an infinite
self. To spiritual adventurers, not only is infinite self-knowledge possible but its measure, infinite
power, is all that can satisfy their need for inner proof, which is why they turn within and seek its
source.
Despite the various perspectives on the possibility of infinitude, spirituality and the meaning of
life are ultimately about expansion of the sense of self. And developing an increasingly
expansive sense of self does not require the formal practice of asceticism and pranayama since
it can also be accomplished by actively identifying with more and more of humanity. The
informal renunciations and the sense-introverting concentration of scientists and philosophers,
as well as humanitarians and activists, are apparently able to direct sufficient energy toward the
spine and brain to switch on intuition and yield a larger sense of identity. For scientists, this
occurs through consistently renouncing attachments to particular theories, temptations to sell
their credentials to the highest bidder, and research for the sole sake of technology.
Philosophers frequently renounce a comfort zone of thought, physical pleasures, and
entertainment. Large-hearted humanitarians and activists, for their part, often deny themselves
luxuries, personal safety, and exclusively material ambitions. Success for all these groups,
especially scientists and philosophers, is dependent on questioning everything and the
heralding of great powers of concentration that other vocations may not require. The expansive
sense of self that manifests as a result of these endeavors reflects, through its power of
self-sacrifice, a unifying knowledge of the one self of humanity—the flesh-and-blood God of
which we are all a part.
Modern Spiritual Movements
Our age is the age of criticism, to which every- thing must be subjected. The sacredness of
religion [is] by many regarded as grounds for exemption from the examination by this tribunal.
But [if it is exempted, it becomes the subject] of just suspicion, and cannot lay claim to sincere
respect, which reason accords only to that which has stood the test of a free and public
examination.
—Immanuel Kant
Today’s numerous spiritual movements offer options for expansion of the sense of self, but
some also entail significant limitations while others pose risks to psychological health. Then too,
since over the last few decades new forms of spirituality, inspired by Eastern religions and
Western mysticism, has become a multibillion-dollar industry in the West, with some movements
utilizing the principles of pranayama, though their power and usefulness are at times
compromised due to the emphasis on commercialism and concomitant oversights. A discussion
of the strengths and weaknesses of major movements can help guide an informed
understanding of the choices.
Progressive spiritual movements can be tested for their expansion potential against criteria set
forth in the theory of self. Progressive religious movements attempting to further their members’
spiritual development have, from a physiological standpoint, little effect on expansion of the
sense of self because the attention placed on sensory stimulation gives worshippers’ nervous
energy little opportunity to retire inward. The physical aspects of such rituals as attending a
house of worship, wearing a yarmulke, kissing a book deemed sacred, joining in congregational
prayer, singing hymns, chanting, burning candles and incense, and bowing before altars are too
externalized to dislodge familiar patterns of a narrow sense of self.
On the contrary, psychological attitudes ensuing from these and other group rituals can have
major effects, including a tendency to forsake personal identity for a collective identity, confuse
one’s finite image of God with a universal God, mistake one’s individuated sense of self for the
only God, and misinterpret the rituals as universal methods of worship. Many such outcomes
are directly proportionate to the person’s depth of belief. Attitudes about rituals reflecting
exclusionary dogmas reinforce a narrow sense of self with every performance of them. In the
extreme, they establish patterns of divisive fundamentalism.
Private worship offers an opportunity to more strongly affirm parameters of the self and
generally encourages nervous energy to retire inward. The positive effects, however, can be
limited if the worship instills or reinforces myopia. Psychological attitudes about personal
devotion help expand the sense of self, but only if one’s God ideal is universal. Praying to a God
defined as justifying violence directs energy to physiological patterns that may cause violence.
For example, if God is believed to detest abortion, then praying to such a God may activate the
death of obstetricians, or if God is thought to curse fornicators and adulterers, believers who
engage in premarital or extramarital sex may feel guilty even if their actions involved honesty
and consent between participants.
Because nervous energy freed by solitude can reinforce patterns of both myopia and
broadmindedness, the development of intuition depends on one’s ability to constantly challenge
the narrow sense of self. Toward this end, individuals immersed in private worship are advised
to balance instruction in energy control with an engaging colloquium. Members of a colloquium
who critically assess central questions can simultaneously help deter the delusions of grandeur
that sometimes result from meditative solitude and be more spiritually uplifting.
Similarly, forms of yoga and meditation now taught in the West have a variety of advantages
and disadvantages. Yoga— which means realization of the union of the finite sense of self and
the infinite substance of self—prescribes ethical and ascetic injunctions, proper meditative
posture, pranayama, and a devotional, service-oriented lifestyle. Hatha yogis, misinterpreting
the spiritual import of the ancient yoga tradition, focus more on achieving physical immutability
and less on the changelessness of the substance of self. Likewise, popular methods of
meditation, especially those emerging from modern movements in Zen, Shambhala, and
Vipassana, attempt to “empty the mind.” The coveted void, however, is the opposite of
thought-free awareness of the expansive self arising from effortless superconscious
concentration centered in the spine and brain.
In lieu of this superconscious intensity, meditation methods in the West tend to encourage
passivity and quietude. According to the theory of self, however, the cerebrum, like a muscle,
benefits from being exercised through intensity of concentration. Passive meditation, unable to
enliven the spine and cerebrum, prohibits the practitioner from intuiting direct knowledge of the
self. Worse, some practitioners confuse passive meditation with freedom from the mind. Swami
Vivekananda, upon observing this general phenomenon, remarked, “When persons without
training and preparation try to make their minds vacant, they are likely to succeed only in
covering themselves with tamas, the material of ignorance, which makes the mind dull and
stupid, and leads them to think they are making a vacuum of the mind.”28
In addition, open-eyed meditation is practiced to induce acceptance of the sensory world as a
manifestation of the infinite. Though the finite is theoretically the infinite inasmuch as there is
only the infinite, the theory of self would assert that the infinite cannot be realized through the
finite instruments of the senses. And while it is possible to detachedly contemplate a dualistic
view of the world through the eyes, it is nearly impossible to entirely liberate one’s awareness of
it through this method. Consequently, open-eyed meditation cannot allow sensory nervous
energy to retire inward as profoundly as closed-eyed or half open–eyed meditation where the
gaze is focused on the border between light and darkness.
Meditation with an unfocused gaze is also popular, because it can lead to a state of mental
absorption. Yet since the gaze is intimately connected to mental states, an unfocused gaze
reflects a diffused mind. Though such practices can lead to a state free of thoughts, it does not
result in superconscious concentration and practitioners should therefore not confuse it with
freedom from the mind. According to the theory of self, states of mental absorption have no
intuitive value in realizing the infinite substance of self. Basically, modern methods of passive
meditation that use an unfocused gaze are effectively aiming for a coma-like void of the mind.
Nor do downward-gazing methods, which mimic the gaze of sleepers, develop superconscious
awareness. On the contrary, recent studies of this form of passive meditation reveal that it
causes a shift from the beta waves of sensory awareness to the theta waves of semiconscious
drowsy states and sleep. Proponents of downward-gazing meditation regard such findings as
evidence that these methods help practitioners center themselves, calm the mind, observe
personal tendencies, develop intuition, foster self-trust, appreciate aspects of life more fully, and
enhance their well-being by disturbing reactive patterns of fear, anger, and hatred that infest the
mind. But it is also true that millions of people achieve these benefits by way of upbringing,
culture, prayer, philosophical thought, or even cycles of REM sleep.
Despite the benefits of passive meditation claimed by some practitioners, more than half admit
to experiencing relaxation-induced anxiety, panic, tension, decreased motivation, confusion,
depression, negative disposition, judgmental behavior, guilt, symptoms of psychosis, delusions
of grandeur, or suicidal tendencies. By contrast, practitioners of intuition avoid the negative
side-effects of an “empty mind” by taking control of the mind, often through regulating the breath
or directing the gaze upward with concentration. Intuitive practices also heighten the alpha
waves of conscious sensory relaxation. And while passive meditation methods lead to partial
sensory disassociation through subconsciousness, intuitive methods usher in complete sensory
relaxation through superconsciousness.
Though efforts to prove the value of meditation abound, many studies glorifying passive
meditation techniques are unreliable because they were conducted by students of these
methods under the financial auspices of organizations that promote them. Their assertions are
not necessarily false, but independent researchers come to very different conclusions. Further,
studies that attempt to validate or disprove any meditation method in relation to the self are
fundamentally flawed by material science’s inability to measure self-awareness. Indeed, while
pranayama may increase alpha waves whereas a passive meditation method increases theta
waves, neither datum directly proves anything about the sense of self. The theory of self
repeatedly affirms that the sense of self can be known only through the avenue of intuition.
The theory of self is also useful in uncovering erroneous assumptions implicit in contemporary
meditation techniques, especially those purporting to be derived from pranayama. For example,
the East Asian meditation method of “just sitting,” with no preconceived agenda, is defined as a
psychophysiological means for attaining enlightenment. However, it is possible for an individual
to “just sit” for decades and still not achieve any extraordinary knowledge because while sitting
the senses remain active, the breath and heart promote outward-flowing attention, and the
awareness gravitates toward memories, feelings, and intellectual pursuits. According to the
theory of self, the limited agendas of the narrow sense of self cannot be expanded upon unless
the center of magnetism shifts from the senses to the cerebrospinal axis. Until such a shift is
accomplished, the psychophysiological patterns that inform personal agendas will continue to
influence every sensory impression. Only individuals who have mastered sense introversion and
the corresponding breathless state through energy control can effectively just sit.
Similarly, mindfulness meditation is said to promote tranquility by establishing a detached
observation of events and the mind, encouraging practitioners to live from the center of their
being. But doing so without locking awareness in the intuitive center of the spine and brain can
exacerbate one’s patterns of conditioning, triggering a variety of spiritual affectations. In the
extreme, it can exaggerate sensory disturbances and erupt in catharses. The theory of self
states that mindfulness instead arises naturally and effortlessly as an expression of the
expansive self once nervous energy has been locked in the cerebrospinal axis, thus releasing
the practitioner from patterns of conditioning and enabling him to identify more and more with
the infinite self. A modern term for this quality of the expansive self might be unconditional
calmness.
The flawed teaching of mindfulness fuels today’s popular belief that the universal practice of this
passive meditation will usher in world peace. But passive methods of mindfulness meditation,
when practiced by someone who exhibits violence, cannot on their own alter this propensity
because the mindful observation of it is being conducted by a sense of self that may only justify
violence. Thus, it requires more than mindfulness, as it is taught today, to dislodge narrow ideas
of self. If a meditator instead endeavors to impose the ethical standards of a teacher or religion,
the observation of tendencies designated as unspiritual can engender feelings of guilt and thus
actually provoke undesirable conduct, while the observation of those deemed spiritual may be
either ignored or seeded with divisiveness. Indeed, indoctrination in mindful actions leading to
violent consequences is the training of choice for religious fanatics because it can silence the
voice of reasonable doubt. Agents of peace, on the other hand, critically assess their
perspectives and, as a result, expand their identity.
In contrast to passive methods of meditation, the theory of self presents sense-introversion as a
means for actively increasing the practitioner’s concentration—in which case the practitioner,
without sincerely endeavoring to challenge narrow interests, can likewise end up serving a
brutal ideology, as is illustrated in the lives and teachings of many proponents of modern
Buddhism. For example, Eugene Herrigel, author of the widely read Zen and the Art of Archery,
later became a Nazi. This outcome suggests that practicing nonviolence while wielding a bow or
sword cannot necessarily stop us from practicing Zen and the art of cross burning or suicide
bombing. It is perhaps because martial arts, like musical arts, are performed without the
intrusion of critical thinking that they were confused with spiritual pursuits transcending the
mind, despite their inability to retire energy inward for self-expansion or to help challenge
personal biases. Indeed, there is evidence that the spiritual and martial arts training known in
Japan as Bushido contributed significantly to kamikaze piloting in the Pacific during World War
II. Similarly D. T. Suzuki, one of Japan’s foremost proponents of Zen in the last century, seemed
to have no philosophical difficulty combining it with fascism. All these examples shatter the hope
that meditation leads automatically to an expanded sense of self. Indeed, people who are calm
and focused yet unpracticed in self-expansion and critical thinking will calmly and
concentratedly act on their limited perspectives. Napoleon Bonaparte epitomizes the extreme to
which calmness and coolheaded concentration can serve a person’s narrow self-interests.
Another misleading assumption underlying modern meditation techniques is that nonviolence
ensues from teachings combining Buddhism with the path of the warrior, especially as practiced
in East Asia. Buddhism began in India when the Buddha—a yogi and ascetic—incorporated the
ancient precept of nonviolence into his declining Dark Age teachings about the illusoriness of
individuated awareness and about its potential for expansion to infinity through the cessation of
breath and conditioned awareness in nirvana. The much older theory of self defines nonviolence
as peace-promoting action guided by the ambitions of an expansive sense of self that is
concerned with the effects of actions and inactions. But this ethical injunction became distorted
as the Buddha’s precept moved into East Asia during the Dark Ages until, eventually wed to the
way of the warrior, it was used to afford violence a place in spiritual life. In the process, Dark
Age humanity lost both the kernel of wisdom linking nonviolence to identification with all things
and the recommended tools for self-expansion.
A further connection between present-day meditation methods and violence is the tradition of
applying inflictive measures in the name of enlightenment, as is sometimes practiced in Asian
Buddhism. Stories of meditation masters cutting off their students’ fingers, knocking their
devotees down flights of stairs, reveling in sex with them, or beating them for falling asleep—all
of which conflate mystical and martial arts training—glorify violence by calling it spirituality. Such
glorification still prevails in Buddhism, partially because the stories are retold without
questioning their ramifications, perhaps to champion a master’s perceived moral superiority or to
empower believers who, supposedly willing to withstand abuse for the sake of illumination,
suffer from low self-esteem. According to the theory of self, development of the nonviolent
expansive sense of self requires uniting into a single intuitive current the many psychophysical
patterns that bind awareness to sensory input. Though pranayama and asceticism can
theoretically accomplish this if they are effectively mastered through superconscious
concentration, they do not have the power to remove all psychological risks and limitations of
the individuated sense of self when unchallenged conditioning hampers practice, or to achieve
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