Self-transcendence
A man's chance of attaining the fourth state of consciousness depends on whether or not he has experienced this state. If he does not even know it exists, he will not long for it any more than a bird born and raised in captivity can know what freedom is like or long for freedom. Man can, and from time to time does, experience the fourth state as a result of some religious emotion, under the influence of a work of art, in the rapture of sexual love or in situations of great danger and difficulty. In these circumstances it is said that he "remembers himself." This term is not entirely descriptive of the fourth state but it is the best available. Self-remembering is a certain separation of awareness from whatever a man happens to be doing, thinking, feeling. It is symbolized by a two-headed arrow suggesting double awareness. There is actor and observer, there is an objective awareness of self. There is a feeling of being outside of, separated from, the confines of the physical body; there is a sense of detachment, a state of non-identification. For identification and self-remembering can no more exist together than a room can simultaneously be illuminated and dark. One excludes the other.
Several characteristics of the fourth state of consciousness have been described by A. Maslow in a chapter entitled "Peak Experiences as Acute Identity Experiences." He emphasizes the paradoxical quality of this state: "The greatest attainment of identity, autonomy or selfhood is itself simultaneously a transcending of itself, a going beyond and above selfhood. The person can then become relatively egoless."
One statement in this chapter by Maslow calls for some elaboration: "Peaks are not planned or brought about by design; they happen." This may be perfectly true, but does not have to be. The whole practice of Creative Psychology is based on the hypothesis that man can change his level of being through intentional effort properly guided and persistently exerted. As a result of this effort, he will attain the fourth state of consciousness (roughly corresponding to Maslow's peak experience) with increasing frequency. He will also get glimpses of the fifth state of consciousness. The difference between experiencing these states by accident and inducing them deliberately is like that between finding money in the street and earning it by the sweat of one's brow. One may find money now and then, but it is not an event to be relied upon. In the same way, some drug experiences may produce a state akin to self-remembering and generate what Baudelaire called "The Taste of the Infinite." There are several ways of getting glimpses of the interior of the fourth room or even the fifth which a person may stumble upon more or less accidentally. This is not at all the same thing as finding the key and unlocking these chambers. For this, both effort and knowledge are required.
Once a man knows that the fourth room exists, he reaches a parting of ways so far as his life is concerned. He can either try to forget all about the fourth room, behave as if it does not exist, lapse again into the state of total identification, or he can decide to play the Master Game and set about looking for
someone to teach him the technique. Two factors will influence his decision: the intensity of his dislike of sleep and the intensity of his longing for real awakening. These are the stick and the carrot which between them get the donkey moving. The struggle to unlock and enter the fourth room and, having entered it, to remain there, is a task so difficult under the conditions of modern life that few undertake it and even fewer succeed. It may well be that even the appetite for this adventure is gradually disappearing from the psyche of man. In this respect, the words of Nietzsche in Thus Spake Zarathustra may be relevant:
Alas! there comes the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his longing beyond man. . . .
Lo! I show you the last man.
The earth has become small and on it hops the last man who makes everything small. His species is ineradicable like the ground flea; the last man lives longest.
It may be asked at this point why should one make great efforts to enter the fourth room when things have been made so easy and pleasant in the third room. For there is no doubt about it; we of the so-called advanced nations live, on the whole, like kings. Better than kings. Not all the wealth of Croesus could have brought him even so commonplace an experience as a flight through the air, nor did all the riches of Egypt suffice to give Cleopatra freedom from the pangs of childbirth. The great ones of antiquity were as prone to pestilence as the meanest of their slaves. Even for the rich, life was dangerous and uncomfortable. For the poor, it was one long struggle to keep body and soul together.
Things are very different now. Watched over from cradle to grave by a paternalistic government, protected from overwork by unions, from hunger by the bounty of a scientific agriculture, from pestilence by an art of medicine so advanced that all the great plagues of antiquity have been conquered, soothed by tranquilizers or stimulated by antidepressants, perpetually hypnotized by the unending circuses offered by television, radio, the movies, why should we ask for more? When the third room is comfortable, safe and full of delights, why should we strive to ascend to the fourth? What does it have to offer that the third room does not?
The answer, of course, is freedom. Only when he enters the fourth room does a man become free. Only in the fourth state of consciousness is he liberated from the tyranny of the personal ego and all the fears and miseries that this entity generates. Once he has attained the fourth room and learned to live in it, a man becomes fearless. The words "I" and "mine" have ceased to be meaningful. He does not identify the self with the physical body or attach much importance to the possessions of that body. He feeds it, dresses it, cares for it and regulates its behavior. In due course he leaves it. One of the powers conferred by entry into the fourth room is the capacity to die at will.
Man in the third room may think he is his own master but actually has no control over his actions. He cannot so much as walk down a street without losing his attention in every stray impression that "takes his fancy." Man in the fourth room really is his own master. He knows where he is going, what he is doing, why he is doing it. His secret is that he remains unattached to the results of his activity, measures his success and failure not in terms of outward achievement, but in terms of inner awareness. He is able, as a result of his knowledge of forces at work about him, to know what is possible and what is impossible, what can be achieved and what cannot be achieved.
This may sound like a small accomplishment but it is actually a very large one. Dabblers in various forms of occultism and theos-ophy, dilettantes who play with what they imagine to be yoga, show a pathetic naivete when it comes to evaluating what can and what cannot be obtained by these means. All sorts of miraculous achievements are accepted as possible, for man in the third state of consciousness tends to love miracles and to believe all sorts of nonsense that could not possibly happen. In the fourth state of consciousness such naivete disappears. A man knows what combination of forces can produce what sort of result. He knows that everything happens in accordance with certain laws governing the relations of matter and energy. He knows that there is no miracle and anything that appears to be a miracle is merely a manifestation of some rare combination of forces, like the rare combination of skill and knowledge that enabled the master magician, Houdini, to extricate himself from every form of restraint that was ever applied to him.
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excerpted from: The Master Game, by Robert De Ropp