The Journey that Changed Me

At the beginning of the spiritual journey Paul Brunton describes in A Search in Secret India, the author may have attributed my beginning to read his most famous work at a time that I happen to be going to India as mere happenstance. At the end, he would almost surely have thought that the moment I picked up A Search in Secret India was simply another moment along the journey of my soul, predestined to arrive at such an impactful work of spiritual literature at the precise time when a last-minute trip to India was booked.

A Search in Secret India will likely land itself among the most impactful books I read in 2023, but its own journey into my hands takes place over the course of years. I received the book as a gift for my 21st birthday, at which point I was but a fledgling in my reading of philosophy. My attention to that point had been strictly turned westward, and as it happened my habit of reading had lapsed that year. However, I had built a penchant for being a reader, and so on my birthday I was bestowed with several books, one of which happened to be Brunton's book. It was a family gift, so it did not come without the gentle reminders to read it via questions about whether or not the task has yet been undertaken.

When at last I picked up the medium-length hardcover, being sure to tell my relatives, proudly, that I had started it, I soldiered through roughly three pages before putting it promptly back on the shelf from whence it came. I found the verbage and prose to be complex to the point of eluding understanding for the purpose of poetic flair.

My reading habit began once again in 2023 after struggling to complete but a few books in 2021 and 2022. In that time, I did manage to read another book in the 21st birthday gift bundle: The Third Eye, by Tuesday Lobsang Rampa. That book deserves its own post, but suffice it to say here that I found the narrative compelling for perhaps the first half of the novel, but afterwards it became ludicrous to the point of incredulity, and when I researched the origins of the infamous author, my skepticism was not allayed. In 2023, my interests were again solidly western. Without spoiling my year-end book review, I had avoided reading Eastern authors for roughly half the year. There was no inward prejudice in the matter; I was simply too excited to read the many Western philosophers and novelists whose books lined my shelves.

I will admit that, while I did not avoid Eastern literature out of a lack of respect or derision, I was undoubtedly dismissive. I vainly thought that I had already received much of the spiritual knowledge found in the East simply through osmosis in my Indian household. After all, I grew up performing puja - Indian prayer, to several of the most prominent deities throughout the year. I even had a very early post on this website centered around the ceremony, to which I was, and still am, ambivalent.

Several factors drove me at last to read Brunton. Firstly, my shelf was growing thin. My reading has been fairly diligent this year, with the result being that there are not many unread books left on my shelf. Secondly, I took a vacation with the very family who gave me A Search in Secret India and The Third Eye, and as it often happens, philosophical discussion was abound. They insisted on the value of the work, even to the well-trained Hindu, which I certainly am not, and so what excuse had I to further evade it? I also realized how unbalanced I was. I could talk endlessly of Nietzsche, of Frankl, of Jung, but where was my knowledge of Indian theory? My previous apprehension melted away, and I flipped open the book again.

The writing took some adjustment to fully comprehend. Brunton writes as a sophisticated British author in the early 20th century would write. He does not hold back on his prose or use concise descriptions when long ones will paint a more thorough picture. Here, my intrigue in Victorian novels served me well. Reading those books can often present a similar shock in the difference of linguistic styles, but if one simply perseveres through the first chapter or so, it becomes natural.

And now, as I sit in the Amsterdam airport waiting for my flight to Delhi, I am supremely glad that I pushed through that first chapter and immersed myself in a spiritual tale like no other. Perhaps unfortunately, at this stage of my life I cannot extricate myself from the Western perspective bounded by scientific reason, partially due to my philosophical background, but mostly because I grew up in a house full of engineers, scientists, and doctors, and I am now a scientist myself. This sort of cold reason does not lend itself to mysticism. Having seen misguided and often hypocritical religious fanaticism in India first hand, I was prepared to find more of the same in A Search in Secret India. I was most pleasantly surprised.

Brunton shares my perspective, lodged in science and reason. His keen eye does not bind itself to every wandering ascetic and deem them godly in nature. Rather, he approaches all interactions with intrinsic skepticism and can at times seem like a cynic. Despite this, he also feels strongly that something lacks in his life; he feels that some intangible thing has been missing since as far back as he can remember, and he seeks to find this thing in India. Brunton's portrayal of India in the early 20th century, at the beginning of the end for British colonialism in the country, fluctuates subtly through romanticism and stark review, as the situation dictates. I do not find him to be one of those "India-fanatics" who fall in love with the austere beauty of the Red Fort or the brilliance of the Taj Mahal. In fact, Brunton could care less for those relics of old times. He comes to India for spiritual guidance, to find the true masters of the ancient practice of Yoga.

In this journey, he does find true masters, but of them he requires tangible proof of their mastery in Yoga. While their methods are often bound to secrecy, Brunton does describe a few whose very spiritual power permeates palpably through a room. He portrays some quiet Yogis in India who are capable of remarkable feats. These people often do not seek to associate with society at all, and much less Westerners, and so Brunton has to go to great lengths to even speak with some of these people. He prostrates himself before them in a cave, skeptical and yet open to receiving any knowledge they possess. He endures long days in the sun baked arid land in India, and likewise fends off snakes in the muggy tropics. Chronic insomnia and a frustrating set of initial results plague him, but he continues through it all.

And for each true master, or each Yogi on his way to becoming a true master, he finds many charlatans. Some of them claim to be under vows of silence until God wills them to go into the world and solve the conflict of an alleged impending World War. Others are unable to produce even the smallest feat of Yogic power. These counter examples to true Yoga, to true "God-realized beings", provide the backdrop necessary for my belief in his words to be as honest as it can be. Having read A Search in Secret India, I now believe that some spiritual power exists which defies our understanding of science and the human body. Of astrology, I can only say that the Western form seems like a childish attempt to play with deeper concepts unveiled in the ancient East.

Of course, I don't want to make it seem like I am falling head over heels for Brunton in any way. I hold my reservations, having seen none of this "tangible proof" for myself. But A Search in Secret India has captured my heart and intrigue. I've bought two more of Brunton's volumes to further investigate his view of the inner self, the self which truly represents the "I". I also have a couple other books of India and of the East on my docket for the rest of 2023, and their corroboration of the fantastic aspects of Yoga described by Brunton would go a long way to cementing my faith in his magnum opus.

So where does this leave me? I still believe it necessary to read widely and openly, and so I'm not turning away from Western philosophy, for while the East may provide answers to going beyond the confines of our body and ego, the West does not lack its own merits. I will always turn to Nietzsche, who said, "I imagine future thinkers in whom European-American indefatigability is combined with the hundredfold-inherited contemplativeness of the Asians: such a combination will bring the riddle of the world to a solution."

I will end this long essay on a regretful note. I shall not be able to experience the same spiritual search as Brunton. When he landed on the shores of India in 1930, the population was roughly 280 million. Now, it has peaked 1.4 billion. This ridiculous increase has seen to the ultimate recess of truly spiritual Yogis. Already reclusive and rare folk, their rarity has been increase a hundred-fold by the absurd rise in population density. As if finding a handful of people in a sea of 280 million wasn't bad enough, now the "needle in a haystack" becomes more akin to a particular handful of sand on a beach. I am further lacking the unique grit required to search through Himalayan caves and the jungles of South India for these holy men.