Injured Pride

The ordinary man repents his sins:
the elect repent their heedlessness.
     [Dhul’Nun Misri]

I must accept, based simply on observation, that the order of this world, meaning world and body, will never be anything but themselves; thus that they behave “naturally.” When the thought occurs that the great saints must be beyond this, I am reminded of Dhul’Nun Misri’s saying, suggesting that even the elect suffer from this fact. Dhul’Nun (796-859) was an Egyptian Sufi. Detachment is the root of human development—even detachment from the body’s state— and one imagines that in the elect this would no longer involve any active effort. But that would only seem to be possible when the self is already entirely turned to the higher dimension and perceives it palpably and strongly. Then of course the stimuli of this dimension, present although they still are, could be casually ignored. The lesson here?

It turns on detachment, a certain difficult humility, and the practice of useful techniques. Humility suggests to take things as they come. It’s a great blessing to be able to detach voluntarily—now and then. The natural, reflexive acts that flow from attachment? Well, there they are. Berating myself for being like that is actually injured pride, not realism. Who do I think I am? We need an effective trigger (although “trigger” is not the right word) to detach. The right words are “reminder” or “remembering” or “occasion.” Detaching requires an earlier moment of detachment first—to remind me, make me aware of the fact, that I’m captured. Here a paradox arises. I cannot will it. By the time I do so will it, I must already be detached.

As so often when virtue is in some way involved, I note that virtue in the past is the cause for it in the future. And from that a technique emerges. What I can do is plant seeds. I can do that by connecting, in times when I am detached, certain emotional states or states of mind with a reminder that they’re unwelcome. The sort of thing here is kin to telling myself that, the next time I reach for the car keys hanging on the side of the fridge, I must remember to buy scotch tape; the big ring on the keychain is the scotch tape. Such seed planting often works—so that, when the unwelcome state arises, the reminder will be there as well; becoming conscious of it will then provide me with the occasion to become aware. Sounds mechanical? Okay. Call it soul-craft.