Lao Tzu, Tao Teh Ching, poem 16
Wenry Wei, The Guiding Light of Lao Tzu, Wheaton, Illinois: Theosophical Publishing, 1985, p. 149
Empty the mind to the utmost extent,
Maintain quiescence with the whole being.
The ten thousand things are growing with one impulse,
Yet I can discern their cyclic return.
Luxuriant indeed are the growing things;
Yet each again will return to the root.
Returning to the root means quiescence;
Quiescence means renewal of life;
Renewal of life means in tune with the Immutable.
Knowing the Immutable brings enlightenment.
Not knowing the Immutable brings disaster.
Knowing the Immutable, one will be broad-minded;
Being broad-minded, one will be impartial;
Being impartial, one will be kingly;
Being kingly, one will attain the Divine;
Attaining the Divine, one will merge with the Tao,
And become immortal and imperishable,
Even after the disappearance of the body.
Plato, Timaeus
B. Jewett, The Dialogues of Plato, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1931, p. 513
When a man is always occupied with the cravings of desire and ambition, and is eagerly striving to satisfy them, all his thoughts must be mortal, and, as far as it is possible altogether to become such, he must be mortal every whit, because he has cherished his mortal part. But he who has been earnest in the love of knowledge and of true wisdom, and has exercised his intellect more than any other part of him, must have thoughts immortal and divine, if he attain truth, and in so far as human nature is capable of sharing in immortality, he must be altogether immortal; and since he is ever cherishing the divine power, and has the divinity within him in perfect order, he will be perfectly happy.
Plotinus, Enneads (I 6.vii)
John Gregory, The Neoplatonists, London: Kyle Cathie, 1991, p. 158-9
We must therefore ascend again to the Good, for which every soul yearns. Whoever has seen it knows what I mean in calling it beautiful. Even the desire for this is to be desired as a good; and the attainment of it is for those who make the ascent and turn to it, and strip off the coverings we have put on in our descent, just as those who ascend to the inner sanctuary of the temples must first be purified and put off their former garments and enter naked; until, after passing on the ascent all that is alien to God, each one sees in his own solitude the solitary Good, unalloyed, simple and pure, from which all things depend, and towards which all things look and exist and live and think, as the cause of Life and Mind and Being.
Should anyone see this, what pangs of love would he feel, what yearnings to be blest with it, what a shock of delight? He who has not seen may yearn for it as good; but he who has seen will marvel at its beauty, and be filled with wonder and delight and a sense of awe that brings no hurt; his love will be true love and his passion keen, and he will despise all other loves and disdain all that he once thought beautiful. Such is also the feeling of those who, after encountering gods or spirits in visible form, no longer take the same pleasure in the beauty of other bodies. What then shall we think of one who should contemplate absolute Beauty in its essential purity, not housed in flesh or body, not in earth nor in heaven, that it may keep its purity? For these are all extraneous, alloys, not primal but descended from the First. If one should see that Good, which provides for all but in self-contentment takes nothing for itself, what further beauty would one need, but to continue contemplation and find delight to be made like to it?
Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Transcendentalist
Brooks Atkinson, The Complete Essays and Other Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, New York: Random House, 1950, p. 88
The idealist, in speaking of events, sees them as spirits. He does not deny the sensuous fact: by no means; but he will not see that alone. He does not deny the presence of this table, this chair, and the walls of this room, but he looks at these things as the reverse side of the tapestry, as the other end, each being a sequel or completion of a spiritual fact which nearly concerns him.
Paul Tillich, Dynamics of Faith
New York: Harper & Row, 1957, p. 1-4
Faith is the state of being ultimately concerned: the dynamics of faith are the dynamics of man's ultimate concern. Man, like every living being, is concerned about many things, above all about those which condition his very existence, such as food and shelter. But man, in contrast to other living beings, has spiritual concerns—cognitive, aesthetic, social, political. Some of the are urgent, often extremely urgent, and each of them as well as the vital concerns can claim ultimacy for a human life or the life of a social group. If it claims ultimacy, it demands the total surrender of him who accepts this claim, and it promises total fulfillment even if all other claims have to be subjected to it or rejected in its name.
(…)
Faith as ultimate concern is an act of the total personality. It happens in the center of the personal life and includes all its elements. Faith is the most centered act of the human mind. It is not a movement of a special section or a special function of man's total being. They all are united in the act of faith. But faith is not the sum total of their impacts. It transcends every special impact as well as the totality of them and it has itself a decisive impact on each of them.
