ONCE UPON A TIME

(Essay 8 in the Perennial Psychology Series)

‘Every man who had ever lived became a contributor to the evolution of the earth, since his observations were a part of its growth. The world was thus a place entirely constructed from thought, ever changing, constantly renewing itself through the process of mankind’s pondering its reality for themselves’

James Cowan – ‘A Mapmaker’s Dream’

‘Stories emphasize the operations of divine immanence in the world’

Jonathan Black

Everyone reads stories or has read a story at one time or another. Stories make the world revolve and turn on its axis. Stories tell us about ourselves or show us to ourselves. We reflect upon our stories as well as being reflected in them. They are like constant companions that keep us company. They are also useful tools in learning how to be human. And yet, for the large part, they are underused. It is all too easy to miss the depth they can bring to us. Like a lazy lover, we miss the mark in seeing the true beauty looking back.

            Even though society educates people, it also conditions us to interpret stories through associative methods or logical reasoning. People are also accustomed to responding to emotional content, and from this they often feel they have ‘gained’ something due to an emotional satisfaction. In these instances, people are being fed by the story but not nurtured. There is a difference. And there is also a difference between regular, worldly literature and what is known as ‘instrumental’ literature.

            It is not so easy to break away from trained responses. Many people have been taught that it is ‘noble’ and ‘good’ to have emotional responses to art and literature. Unknowingly, people have allowed themselves into being triggered in predictable ways. This ‘triggering’ is also a science that has crept into recent propaganda and marketing exercises. To be ‘emotionally impacted’ is, we are told, to feel a human connection with the world. In fact, it is an exercise in attachment to external impulses which people are trained to internalize and to ‘make our own.’ On the other hand, from early schooldays we have been taught to be analytical and to extract information in an overly associative and intellectual way. This too is a limited form of understanding which keeps greater truths at bay.

            There have been a significant number of developmental texts that were constructed in a deliberate manner to oppose a rational and sequential approach. Their purpose is to affect a change in the reader’s perception in order to trigger an altered comprehension of reality. Such works aim for a comprehensive and integral understanding. It is not the aim here to make a list of these works. They are, however, scattered throughout existing literature and can be spotted by the attentive reader.

            Stories and material that belong to a developmental path, and to the perennial tradition specifically, are often referred to as ‘instrumental.’ These materials function upon different and varying levels. The intellectual and emotional content of stories may be likened to the common senses of sight and smell - just as an apple has the sight and smell of an apple. Yet the sight and smell do not provide the nutritional value – the nourishment – of the apple. Only when an apple is ‘tasted’ can these values be experienced and absorbed. Most stories function upon the sight and smell level only, and in general this can be sufficient. Yet materials for a developmental path must provide nutrients, otherwise they will become mechanical. Similarly, when a person responds by saying something like – ‘I really felt moved by this’ – then the response too shows a level of automatism. Human perception can be developed by gradually observing how certain stimuli impacts us, and to carefully monitor internal responses.

            Writings that belong to the perennial psychology are primarily instrumental before they are meant for entertainment, enjoyment, or emotional stimulation. However, they can also be taken on these levels, for they assist in its cultural transmission and longevity. The literary and entertainment value of stories allows for their continued use and survival as they are not dependent upon time-restricted cultural norms. The aim of such instrumental literature is to connect with a part of the individual which cannot be reached by conventional means. Elements can be communicated in a way that is not blocked by conditioning or similar cultural limitations.

Instrumental writings are aimed at seeding specific concepts and ideas ahead of their actual realization. That is, they work to prepare the human mind for developmental processes. They can be referred to as a form of ‘spiritual technology.’ Instrumental writings of this type can be found within almost all forms of literature from around the world, in all epochs, from Persian poets to English playwrights. For the main body of this essay, I will refer to two major historical figures of literature – Jallaludin Rumi and Willian Shakespeare.[1] These figures are just the tip of the iceberg, as they say, yet they represent the continuation of the perennial tradition from two epochs and continents.

Instrumental literature often provides allegorical descriptions of experiences that are said to lead a person from their ordinary state to higher states. Experiences associated with higher states are all but invisible to the ordinary person. That is why such literature contains various levels of exterior and interior meaning. The literature is itself ‘experienced’ according to the state of the reader/listener. The ordinary intellect may grasp the first layer of meaning. Subsequent levels, however, remain beyond the grasp of the rational and conditioned mind. As Rumi states in his major work the Mathnawi -

From his present state, man needs to continue his migration so that he may escape from his rationality and intellectuality which are driven mostly by greed and egotism. There are a hundred thousand more marvelous states ahead of him. He fell asleep and became oblivious of the past. This world is the sleeper’s dream and the sleeper’s fancies. (Book IV, 3637-3667)[2]

The world is the ‘sleeper’s dream’ because people, in general, have become disconnected from a source of wisdom, and thus from experiencing ‘direct Reality.’ Within this dislocation a person falls back onto rationality and intellectuality – the conditioned trappings of a lower state. When in such a state, a person is liable to only grasp the first, outer layer of meaning within instrumental literature when in fact multiple layers exist.

These two conditions, of being awakened or asleep to the higher states of perception, were illustrated in Shakespeare’s famous ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy in Hamlet –

To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them? (Hamlet, III.1)

The state of ‘not to be’ is a non-developmental state. It can be said that this is the state of ordinary being. It is under the influence of life’s normal impacts – ‘The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ – which is the lot suffered by most people in the world. Whereas the state ‘to be’ corresponds to a person of inner development. This path is one that leads to the eventual activation of inner faculties that can perceive higher truth. This path requires a personal struggle against worldly, lower forces – ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing end them.’

            Perennial developmental literature often shows these opposing conditions between the ‘ordinary’ state and the state of ‘spiritual’ or inner activation. Also, such instrumental literature indicates when a stage of development may be in process, or the conditions for its emergence. The perennial tradition manifests in new forms at a specific time and place as part of an operational new phase in the developmental path. At such times, previously prescribed techniques are superseded and must be abandoned. Many tales in literature have told of false idols and how they consume their practitioners who are blind to the need to let go and move on. Such people are consumed by their own fixations. The genuine path is one of continued flexibility and attunement to current needs, according to time and place.

Those people fixated with their own ideas of what is true and what is not have been corrupted by a false personality. It is these conditionings, as previously discussed, which need to be released. If not, they may eventually consume and destroy the person. Spiritual death at the hands of one’s own false self is depicted in the famous fable of the lion who dominates the jungle and all its inhabitants. The lion is finally persuaded that his dominance is under threat from another lion in the jungle. He is led to a pond (or a well) and told to look within. Upon seeing his reflection, the lion believes he is being confronted by the face of another lion. In anger he leaps into the water, only to be consumed and drowned. Similar variations upon this theme have been found in Aesop’s fables as well as variants around the world. Such fables are a rich source of instrumental guidance and have formed a core stream of perennial wisdom throughout the ages.

Similarly, there is the tale that tells of a great King[3] who organized an expedition to find the Water of Eternal Life. After long journeys, the King finally found the cave where the spring of life was gushing forth. He entered the cave with great anticipation and rushed forward to drink from the water. As he stooped down to drink, he heard a strange sound above him. Upon looking up he saw what appeared to be a crow perched in the darkness. ‘Stop – whatever you do, don’t drink the water!’ screeched the crow. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ replied the King. ‘I have taken great troubles to reach this place – surely I am deserving?’ The crow answered – ‘Great King, take a look at me. I too sought out the water of life and drank from it. Now, a thousand years later, without the sight of any eye, with my beak broken, my claws rotten and fallen off, and not even a feather left to clothe my body – all I ask for now is the impossible: I ask TO DIE, yet I cannot.’ The great King, realizing that a true aim must be articulated in accordance with knowledge and not just desire, stood up and hurried away from the Water of Life.

The aspirant upon the true path must be released from the conditioned fixations of desire. In order to be released from such fixations, a person is required to undertake the process known as ‘to die before you die.’ This refers to a dying (release) from the false self. This knowledge often has to be transmitted indirectly, through analogy or through certain ‘behaviour’ to those who are ready to receive. There is a famous tale from Rumi’s Mathnawi called ‘The Merchant and his Parrot’ that reflects this. In a modern translation it is given as:

There was a certain merchant who kept a parrot in a cage. Being about to travel to a far country on business, he asked the parrot if he had any message to send to his kinsmen in that country. The parrot thought for a while and finally told the merchant to inform his kinsmen that he was kept confined in a cage.

The merchant promised to deliver this message, and on reaching the far country, and finding a flock of parrots, he recited the message as it had been given to him. On hearing it one of the parrots immediately fell down dead. The merchant was annoyed with his own parrot for having sent such a fatal message, and upon his return home he sharply rebuked his parrot for doing so. But the parrot no sooner heard the merchant’s story than he too fell down dead in his cage.

The merchant, after lamenting his death, took the parrot’s body out of the cage and threw it away; but, to his surprise, the parrot immediately recovered life, and flew away. The parrot then explained that the fellow parrot from the far country had only feigned death to suggest this way of escaping from confinement in a cage.

Feigning death (death of the false self) is shown as a method of release from worldly captivity (confinement in a cage). A person who is captive to the material reality (the lower world) will not be able to receive more subtle impacts. One must first ‘die’ to the conditionings that bind one to a lower realm of perception.

The ordinary person, however, is generally absorbed with satisfying the false self. This false, or deceiving, self is often compared in perennial literature to that of a beast. In some tales and anecdotes, it is represented as a beast that is carrying a person upon a journey. That is, the inner self is being carried – or ‘taken for a ride’ – by the false self. In these tales it is suggested that the beast (ass, donkey, mule, etc.) delivers the person to their destination but then the person is required to dismount if they wish to go further. One well-known eastern proverb states this as – ‘You may ride a donkey to your front door, but would you ride it into your house?’

The sets of beliefs and understanding that ordinary people surround themselves with become the barriers and obstacles towards any further development. Often a guide – a teaching – is needed to act as an intervention. This process of intervention is seldom recognized, or accepted, as necessary by an ordinary person, or even by a would-be student. This tale shows how an outside intervention from a person of knowledge is necessary:

An intelligent man was riding out on his horse one day through the countryside when he spotted the figure of someone sleeping. As he rode closer he saw what appeared to be a drunken person sleeping and snoring loudly under a tree. As he watched he also saw that a snake crawled down from the branches of the tree and entered into the mouth of the sleeping man.

Immediately the rider rode up, jumped off his horse and took his riding whip against the sleeping fellow. The man awoke with a howl of pain. He was confused and couldn’t understand why someone would do such a thing.

‘Get up and run, you fool!’ shouted the rider.

The drowsy man climbed to his feet and began to stagger. The rider continued to whip the man to make him run faster. He followed the man, whipping him all the time, until they came to a nearby tree where many rotten apples had fallen to the floor. The rider demanded that the drunken man eat as many rotten apples as he could. He whipped him several times into obedience. The man ate out of fear, not knowing why someone would want to do such a thing to him. He pleaded to the rider, yet to no avail.

‘Cruel stranger, let a poor man be. I have done nothing to you,’ he pleaded.

The rider did not listen and only whipped him harder. ‘Now run, faster!’ he shouted.

The man continued to run around the field as he was chased and whipped by the rider until eventually, through exhaustion and all the rotten apples in his stomach, he fell down upon his knees and vomited. All of a sudden, a snake came out of him and slipped hurriedly away into the underbrush.

Then the man realized what had happened.

‘If I had told you there was a snake inside you,’ said the rider, ‘you would have either thought I was lying and ignored me or become immobilized by shock. Both these actions could have killed you. There was no alternative but to do what I did, unbeknown to you.’

The man knew then that the rider had perceived a greater truth unavailable to him; and he was thankful for it.

Shakespeare tells of a similar experience in Taming of the Shrew in the description of Petruchio’s treatment of Katharina in waking her from her ‘sleep’ –

‘In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;

And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,

Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,

And sits as one new-risen from a dream.’ (IV.1)

What these and other tales are showing is that there are two types of knowing; that is, two ways of accessing knowledge. The ordinary person deals with conventional knowledge that comes mainly through external sources. The person of inner development is nourished from an objective knowledge that is received through a faculty of perception (often referred to as intuition). Rumi clearly indicates this in the following poem:

Two Kinds of Intelligence

There are two kinds of intelligence: One acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.

With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your preserving tablets.

There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you.
A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It’s fluid,
and it doesn’t move from outside to inside
through the conduits of plumbing-learning.

This second knowing is a fountainhead

from within you, moving out.[4]

The shift from one stage or state to another – such as from ordinary knowledge to perceiving inner, direct knowledge – is often depicted in various tales using the motif of transformation.

Perhaps the most famous use of this motif is the transformation from the ugly duckling to the swan in the Hans Christian Anderson tale that is a firm children’s favourite. This ‘alchemical’ transformation suggests a state-shift from a raw to a more developed stage. Another well-known example of this shift is in Shakespeare’s historical play Henry IV regarding the young prince Harry who, as a young man, leads a wild and hedonistic lifestyle – in taverns and with shady friends. His father despairs of him. Yet the young prince seems aware that he is experiencing the preparatory stage, until he is called upon to step up to his function. Upon his father’s death the young prince makes a sudden and radical change in himself. At this point he abandons his closest ‘friend’- the character Falstaff - as he leaves behind his earlier, lowly state with the now-famous words: ‘I know thee not, old man; fall to thy prayers; How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!’ (Henry IV – Pt2, V.5).

In terms of the developmental process, perennial literature has often made mention of three types of persons. These may symbolically be described as the ‘wise person,’ the ‘half-wise’ person, and the ‘stupid’ person. The wise person is invariably the Guide, the one who knows the way. The ‘half-wise’ person is the one who is awake enough to be able to recognize the existence of the guide and their function. And the ‘stupid’ person is the blind one who relies upon their own conditioned emotions and beliefs and refuses to acknowledge or accept the existence of the guide. This form is illustrated in the tale of the three fishes that appear in the Mathnawi:

There was in a secluded place a lake, which was fed by a running stream. In this lake were three fishes; the wise, the half-wise, and the foolish one. One day some fishermen passed by that lake and having espied the fish hastened home to fetch their nets. The fish also saw the fishermen and were greatly disquieted. The wise fish said, ‘I will not debate with the others, for assuredly they will dispute with me. And there is no time for arguments and persuasion. They love their native place so much that they will not be ready to come with me.’ Without any delay the wise fish left the lake and took refuge in the running stream, which was linked to it. In this way he escaped the impending danger. The half-wise fish delayed doing anything till the fishermen returned and threw their nets. The half-wise fish was quite distressed. He said, ‘I have lost the opportunity! Why did I not follow the guide? He has gone towards the sea and is freed from sorrow. Such a good comrade has been lost to me! But I will not think of that and will attend to free myself. I will become dead. I will turn my belly upwards and will commit myself to the water. To die before death is to be safe from torment.’ So he floated upon the surface of the water, pretending to be dead. A fisherman seized him and flung him on the ground. The half-wise fish, rolling over and over, managed to jump into the stream. In this way he gained his freedom. The foolish fish remained where he was, moving to and fro in agitation. That simpleton kept leaping about, right and left, in order that he might save himself by his own efforts. He was easily caught and killed by the fishermen. (Book IV, 2188-2300)

The aspirant cannot save themselves by their own efforts if such efforts are not guided by a minimal quota of knowledge or awareness. A similar state of affairs is symbolized in the form of the three men in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice who intend to marry Portia (who symbolically is the guide). Each of the men must pass their own trial in order to woo Portia. Each aspirant (suiter) displays their state of awareness through their subsequent actions.

A person who enters upon a developmental path will be required to go through a range of experiences that are likened to trials, in order to test various capacities. These trials usually expose a person to a spectrum of experiences from which they can learn. Many tales, ranging from within most if not all cultures, tell of the ‘hero’s journey’ through such a series of trials – from Jason of the Argonauts; to Odysseus; to Pericles, Prince of Tyre. This phase of the developmental path toward activation of higher states through a range of trials and experiences is often symbolically described as a journey or quest. In various forms of instrumental literature, it has been represented as a lover’s quest, the search for treasure, or indeed as the search for destiny or truth. Similarly, the entire series of Shakespeare’s History Plays can be seen as an illustration of the transformative process that gradually leads to the development of a true human ‘King.’[5]

Likewise, in perennial literature the unitive (love) energy is symbolically compared to wine. Its effect upon human consciousness is likened to drunkenness. Spiritual drunkenness, however, is only an intermediate step and not the objective. Hence, drinking and inebriation is required up to a certain point, at which time the person needs to abandon this stage if they are to progress further. Similarly, the term/image of the cupbearer refers to a spiritual guide (i.e., the keeper of the wine), and to be able to give a full cup of wine symbolizes the guide’s capacity to fill an aspirant’s heart with unitive energy (love). Many eastern poems deal with the theme of wine and intoxication – the most famous being the quatrains of Omar Khayyam.[6] Similarly, many references also occur in western literature of cupbearers presenting the King/Queen with wine (especially in Late Middle Age and Jacobean literature). The aspirant’s heroic journey is said to end in the lover’s meeting – the reception of the unitive love energy. Shakespeare used the Fool in Twelfth Night to express this as – ‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,/Every wise man’s son doth know.’ (II.3) Similarly, Rumi expressed the journey’s end as – ‘Unless you gain possession of the candle, there is no path. But when you have embarked upon the path, your path becomes the journey. And when you have reached the journey’s end, you meet the Truth.’

To ‘meet the Truth’ requires that first the process of inner development (the hero’s journey) leads to the formation of a new ‘organ’ of perception. This organ of supracognitive perception allows the human to act in accordance with the grander scheme. It is a perception that transcends ordinary space-time limitations. This ‘level’ of perception is referenced in the following short tale:

One day a mule was placed in a desert stable where he met a camel. The mule said to the camel –

‘How is it that you camels never fall down in the sand? We mules are always stumbling and falling down whereas you don’t seem to ever make a wrong step.’

The camel replied, ‘Our eyes are always directed upwards. We see far into the distance and know what is coming a long time before it arrives. Whereas you only look down and observe what is immediately beneath your feet.’

The operation of subtle faculties is an experience beyond normal senses – beyond the regular senses of touch, taste and smell. The activation of the subtle faculties is one stage in the inner development of a person. This is followed by the fusion of these new faculties as they form a more permanent state of inner being. This can be likened to the famous tale of the elephant in the dark room, whereby ordinary people are not able to perceive beyond their limited regular senses the fusion of the parts into an emergent inner being (in this case, the whole elephant). When a person has developed their inner faculties (the ‘subtle’ faculties), every act they make has constructive purpose. That is, they act in accordance with a greater plan. As such, their behaviour cannot be judged from the standpoint of the ordinary person, who is incapable of perceiving the ‘correctness’ of such acts.

The image of the peacock is often used in perennial literature to refer to vanity. As Rumi states – ‘Do not admire your peacock-feathers but look at his ugly feet, so that your vanity may not lead you astray.’ The peacock symbolizes a person who attaches too much importance to worldly affairs, which blocks evolutionary development. Such worldly attractions are often related to the peacock’s plumage. The aspiring seeker is in need of learning ‘proper conduct.’

The term ‘proper conduct’ is a technical term in developmental literature that refers to a process that leads to the unveiling, or activation, of higher inner states. The term ‘proper conduct’ does not refer to behaviour in line with social norms, customs, or rituals. This behaviour may be socially laudable – or an act of imitation – yet it remains far from the realm of the inner path. Rather, it refers to acts that correspond with an inner knowing that lead to the activation of higher faculties within a person.

Perennial instrumental literature is a consciously constructed vehicle that operates on multiple levels. It survives because it also serves a social need and has cultural value. That is, it can also provide entertainment value. This is its sheath. Unbeknownst to most people, a stream of wisdom has flowed, and continues to flow, through many and varied cultures. Some of the most valued and prized literature and tales are offerings of developmental instruction. And yet the perennial tradition remains a secret that protects itself. The astute person is urged to perceive through the veil that maintains the ghostly illusion of ordinary reality.

Taken from ‘THE MODERN SEEKER: A Perennial Psychology for Contemporary Times’ (Beautiful Traitor Books, 2020). Available online as print & ebook.

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[1] For more information on the confluence of these two historical figures, see - Shakespeare’s Sequel to Rumi’s Teaching by Wes Jamroz

[2] All quotes taken from Rumi’s Mathnawi are referenced according the Reynold A. Nicholson translation – The Mathnawi of Jalaluddin Rumi (Books I-VI), Edited and Translated by Reynold A. Nicholson (The E.J.W. Gibb Memorial Trust, 1982)

[3] Some versions attribute this tale to Alexander the Great.

[4] Originally from Mathnawi IV:1960-1968 – modern translation by Coleman Barks.

[5] For more information, see the Shakespeare for the Seeker series of books by Wes Jamroz (Troubadour Publications).

[6] The author would not recommend the popularist translations of Edward FitzGerald. Instead he would point the interested reader toward the controversial 1967 translation by Robert Graves and Omar Ali-Shah.