Approaches to Inner Life, Part Three

Lanza del Vasto

Translated from
LANZA DEL VASTO, APPROCHES DE LA VIE INTÉRIEURE
ÉDITIONS DENOËL, 1962

On Original Error

It is no small matter to know all the sciences, nor one science, nor half of half of one.

If one had to learn them all to understand something of this world, one would spend one’s life studying and understanding nothing.

But it now appears that this is futile — and that consoles us greatly!

It appears that, to have the ultimate truth, it suffices to know oneself. I rejoice greatly at this, for it is a subject for which I have always had a weakness. You see, myself and I understand each other well, since we’ve been going arm in arm, arm in arm. Here, we are then on the right path, and we have omniscience in sight, or nearly so.

“I...” Almost all our sentences begin this way. And we think we know well what we’re talking about.

But if someone asked us: “I? What is that?” we might perhaps realize that we don’t know how to answer.

Give me then a definition of the word “I.” Look for it in the dictionary, or rather don’t look for it, because there isn’t one.

Above all, don’t tell me that it’s “the first person singular” because that person is neither first enough nor singular enough to be me!

In the dictionary, there’s another definition missing: that of the verb to be. Could it be for the same reason?

“I” is “I.” There’s no other way to say it. And to be is to be. There isn’t another word to explain what it is. I cannot give you a definition of the scent of lilacs... It’s the scent of lilacs. Go smell the lilac. You’ll know the scent of lilacs.

There are three things that have no definition: I, being, and the scent of lilacs. Could it be for the same reason?

Even if we had an exact definition, and we will try shortly to make one as exact as possible, that still wouldn’t mean that we have knowledge of ourselves or consciousness. No mental or verbal acrobatics will teach us this. No amount of studies either.

And yet we feel deeply that we know the answer, since we are the answer.

Let’s take ourselves then, raw, as we are. And let’s take our knowledge of ourselves, raw, as it is. And let’s try to see what we mean when we say “I.” I eat, I sleep, I walk, I feel well. Who? What? Very easy, that! A body. And I immediately point out to you that there are people who never speak of themselves otherwise, for the good reason that it never occurred to them to conceive of themselves differently.

And these people say: “When I am no more.” And when they die indeed, people will say of them: “They have given up their soul.”

Ah! Really? Who then has given up his soul?

I know this is not your case. You, you have a body, you are not a body. You have received a good religious and even philosophical education. “Me, this bundle of tripe? Do you take me for an animal?” There! Calm yourself! This indignation is appropriate and you are right.

And now, prove it.

I’m not asking you to prove that it is so, but to prove that you know it.

“Let me learn.” And thought is born. We think, therefore we are. Some say we exist because we think.

Oh! That’s quite a funny thing: “We exist because we think.” It would then be necessary for someone to think before existing! Or must one do both at the same time? For when you realize that you are thinking, it’s already done. And when you realize that you exist, it’s already done too! Oh, what a religious and philosophical complication to no other end than to confuse our poor minds.

And you who read me, don’t you feel that a good story of the past, a well-recounted history would serve us better as a guidepost than all these intellectual subtleties? To know the past is not to number phrases, word by word, and count sentences and subordinate clauses. It’s to feel oneself move forward with those who went before us, and understand them as well as we understand what we call in grammar “the rule of agreement.” And you understand what I mean — you who aren’t caught up in all this “yoga of knowledge” business. This isn't simple village wisdom we’re dealing with here, but rather the domain of the philosophy professor. The real honor of philosophy isn’t in being some celebrated Professor of Error, but in knowing the difference — in other words, that’s everything.

“I am not my body,” you say: you who at this hour speak with such conviction, along with those rare ones who possess and prove this profound knowledge — not because they are disgusted with life, but because they love life, because they know life and don’t confuse it with its outer shell that hides its skeleton, already half-corrupted. These are the ones we call the Blessed, for they have passed through martyrdom. But the relationship between supreme happiness and extreme suffering measures this truth: I am not my body.

This rare knowledge — is there a method to acquire it? Yes. And what is this method called? It is called Asceticism.

The ascetic isn’t some guilt-ridden penitent, nor a maniac who enjoys torturing himself. He’s a master of experimental science concerning the living body: of the relationship between my body and myself. From each fast, each vigil, each conquered desire or fear, he concludes: what hurts my body doesn’t hurt me, for I remain joyful; what pleases my body doesn’t please me. Therefore what will kill my body cannot touch me.

But let’s return to the error from which we — and they, not without struggle — have emerged. It takes at least this much to escape from Error. It takes even more — it takes Grace, and for Grace to transform pain into a source of joy.

This error, we carry it within us. It’s the weight that drags us down into darkness. It’s impossible for us to break free from this error before the right age, before the moment the Spirit awakens. A nursing infant can’t conceive of itself as anything other than a body.

So it’s not without reason that we call this original error, being from the origin, being common to all, being present from birth.

But how can we say “We are in error” while still being in it? It’s the peculiar nature of someone who’s deceived not to know he’s deceived, because as soon as he knows it, he’s no longer deceived.

This is true of any other error, but this one is too deeply rooted in my nature. Certainly if, like ordinary people, I’m unaware of this common error, I can neither find nor seek a way out. Knowledge alone doesn’t let me escape, but it does allow me to open the door. If I know it, my head emerges, and that’s already a lot, for I can breathe, but the rest of the body still swims in error.

Ignorance of the Law is no excuse before any tribunal. Similarly, no one has the right to ignore the truth and ignore it with impunity. This is an ignorance without innocence. It’s not an excuse for sin, but is sin itself. And if we’ve called it Original Error, it’s precisely because it's linked to the Sin of the same name, sworn to the Tree of Knowledge.

But let’s see how, for man buried in his flesh up to his eyes, error becomes sin.

And let’s note first that his error doesn’t come from a lack of education, nor from faulty reasoning.

The animal, the reasonable animal, reasons very well. If it takes itself for an animal, how else would you expect it to behave? By good logic, it must behave like a beast.

But try as it might, it won’t succeed, because its intelligence prevents it.

For there is in intelligence an almost divine power that remains whole even when it is twisted and turned downward. And it is twisted and overturned when attached to the service of the beast, the nature of the beast being to take itself as the center of the world and draw everything to itself.

Thus acts the man armed with intelligence. I say armed, for the wolf has its fangs, the serpent its venom, and man his intelligence to make himself as beast prevail against other beasts and, of course, against other men.

The beast armed with intelligence is a hole, a scorch-mark in the harmony of things. Rather than a beast, it is a bestial spirit, it is a demon.

But he is not alone, he meets millions of others, each striving to surpass the others, hence the rivalries, wars, oppression and mutual exploitation, and then the accommodations dictated by fatigue, fear and cunning, which are called laws and morals, to ensure coexistence, so they can keep bumping up against each other while managing to survive; and that’s how what we call “this world” takes shape.

“Yes, but,” says God, “I shall see what their end will be!” What is the purpose of all this? To win, to triumph, to conquer, to accumulate, to become rich, to become powerful — that’s the goal. And the end? The end is that you will die and all that you will have accumulated you will not take with you.

God’s punishment... What is God’s punishment? And how do we know that a misfortune is a punishment, and not just an unfortunate accident or even a trial to overcome?

God’s punishment is that which the sinner zealously, eagerly, relentlessly applies to himself. God puts you to the right or to the left according to where you have put yourself — high or low according to where you have placed yourself.

The punishment for this error-sin of taking oneself for one’s body is that this error simply becomes reality. That’s enough. You took yourself for your body... well then, you are! You are a body and you will go where bodies go, under the ground!

And the soul? Don’t I have an immortal soul? Yes, you have an immortal soul. You have a soul. Only, you are not a soul. Ecclesiastes says: “What is dust returns to dust, what is spirit returns to spirit.” But watch out! You, you! Will you return there? To return there, you must get into the vehicle before departure. Don’t miss the coach!

I knew a banker, and now I learn of his suicide from the newspaper. They say he was about to go bankrupt. Here’s one at least who didn’t take himself for his body, since he made such short work of it: for a bit of money, worse, for the lack of a bit of money, he threw his bag of skin overboard!

But, given that he didn’t exactly look like an angel, one might wonder who he took himself for, this one!

Well, I’ll tell you: he took himself for Mister... Director of... President of the Board of Administration of... Decorated with the Order of... Member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences.

In short, he took himself for his character.

He took himself for a suit-and-vest adorned with a red rosette and topped with a delicately colored tie, with a pearl.

“I am Mr. So-and-so,” he would say, never forgetting the “Mister.”

And not only was he a character, but he also “believed in it,” as they say. But that’s not the kind of faith that saves.

What is a Character? It’s someone who plays a role in the theater.

And for there to be theater, you need costume, scenery, and a role learned by heart.

A character is first a suit, a name, a social position, and then a language, manners, a culture...

And all of that consists of learned and manufactured things. All of that has nothing to do with nature and reality. Business, politics, the world, success, fortune — all of that is nothing but fiction, convention, and comedy.

But is the role we play at least our own? The characters are all made up, like in Italian comedy, and there’s little room left for improvisation. As soon as the character appears, adorned with the distinctive signs of their social dignity, the other characters give them their cue. Whether I’m a peasant, a concierge, a committed writer, a soldier, or President of the Republic, I have only to recite.

My character — who invented it, who put it on me? Mister Nobody, pseudonym for Mister Everybody.

But I was about to forget an important piece of this personal wardrobe: the hat. The character’s hat is personal opinion. I know people who change hats according to fashion and season, and others who pride themselves on owning only one and having always worn the same. They’re so attached to them that they sleep with them.

If you are tempted, my friends, to believe that your opinion is your own, remember that there are hat-makers called journalists, public speakers, politicians. Go bareheaded under the sky, my friends!

What animates and works the character, what makes it gesture through the world, is that emptiness which in good Latin is called “vanity.” And this emptiness produces empty satisfactions, swellings, which are called “pride,” “pomp,” “power.” And this emptiness also produces a dull anxiety. The character, poor thing, deep down knows very well that it is nothing. That’s precisely why it never goes deep down into itself. It’s careful not to, and this is one of the great works of the character, and of characters among themselves: to distract themselves. The point is to distract oneself from this grave truth that we are nothing!

The great business of our character is to make others believe we are something other than what we are: more interesting, more intelligent, more brilliant, more virtuous, more brave, more enigmatic, more seductive — or else more wicked, more shameless, more vulgar, more modest: in any case more! In my whole life, I’ve met only one man who said to me: “I am a man like everyone else.” All the others strongly assured me or let me understand that they weren’t like others. All were exceptional, except that one. That one was Gandhi.

I knew a pleasant fellow (and very intelligent, by the way) who, one day, contracted jaundice because he had heard that someone had said he was a... you know what!

The fellow had said it casually, in passing, trying to be funny. Ten seconds later, he wasn’t thinking about it anymore, if he had ever thought about it at all. But twenty years later, my intelligent friend would remember it with a stab in his liver every time.

That’s because a “you know what” is enough to deflate a person, given that the character depends entirely on the opinion that people form of it.

Anxiety too can become a stimulant to the accomplishment of great works, and the great work will aim to prove to others and perhaps finally to ourselves that we are somebody and even something.

There are men who have worn themselves out trying to dazzle the world, all to give importance to their character.

One such person ruins himself to establish an orphanage, not that he cares about orphans (he knows nothing more disgusting!). But what he caresses with his dearest desires is the marble plaque where his name shines in golden letters.

And the end of all that? The end is that perhaps, with a lot of luck, I’ll have my statue one day. And I, when I have my statue, I won’t be there to admire it. Ah! What an annoying setback!

From which I conclude that it is much less vain to fill one’s belly. For a belly is common enough and, with few exceptions, without glory or grandeur, but it’s something that offers the immense advantage of existing!

What do you think? It seems to me that the matter is going badly and taking a worrying turn. And yet we had started so well!

So then, when it’s not my body crying out for me to demand, to claim, to complain, or to shake itself up, when it’s not its needs that are speaking, its fears, its desires, its labors, its tricks (for it’s crafty, the big rascal!), then it’s my character, with its glass beads and tinsel, in search of spectators and applause.

And who else in us could speak in our name? Let’s reflect. Have you reflected enough? Yes, I have reflected and I have found. Here is the answer, it follows naturally: Who speaks, if not thought?

A great mind has said: “I think, therefore I am.” Consequently I am he who thinks. He who thinks, who feels, who wants, that one is called me. Moreover, it’s the only one who knows how to speak and give itself a name. In short, I am my Consciousness. The rest is perhaps mine, perhaps in me (I know nothing about it!), but is not me.

One couldn’t say it better: here’s a well-constructed discourse, arguments well-honed.

In fact, to take oneself for a belly is error in its raw state. To set oneself up as a character is the error proper to the civilized, the refined, the distinguished. But to identify oneself with consciousness is the philosopher’s doing. It is the rarest, purest, most perfect form of the same error.

Error? Hold on! That’s you who say it! Prove it! Answer!

I answer with a question: And when you sleep? Yes, when you truly sleep, deeply, without dreams. Then, are you or do you cease to be? Are you the same or another?

You see that to this question there is no answer except this:

Awake or asleep, I am the same: I am he who thinks himself, who feels himself, who wants himself, and I am he whom I do not think, whom I do not feel, whom I do not want!

In a word: I do not know who I am.

“Everyone knows quite well what they’re after; yet each says ‘As for me, I don’t know who I am,’” says Lao-Tse, the greatest of China’s sages.

Finally, to speak in the manner of the Tao Te Ching,¹ we can state:

The I that says I is not the True I.

Have you followed me well up to here? This is what we call the Three Steps. Step by step, have you followed me well up to here, at no point straying? Do you have the courage, the honesty, the lucidity to recognize that you do not know yourself?

If you have come this far, brought face to face with the obvious; humbled, bowed down, reduced to nothing to this degree —

Then, perhaps you have reached a turning point in your life,

For you are already entirely different from the passersby whom, passing yourself, you have met in the street while coming, who all believe they know the design they pursue and where they are going and who they are!

He who believes he knows is never more than a passerby who bypasses knowledge and faith.

The point where you are now, that of total obscurity, has such clarity, such decisiveness, such healing power, that one cannot remain there.

1.

The Tao Te Ching of Lao-Tse begins with these verses: “The path that can be walked is not the true path. The name that can be named is not the true name...”