"The outer world, far from being the prison of circumstances that it is commonly supposed to be, has actually no character whatsoever of its own, either good or bad. It has only the character that we give to it by our own thinking. It is naturally plastic to our thought, and this is so, whether we know it or not, and whether we wish it or not." (Emmet Fox, 'Sermon on the Mount', p. 13)I've spent a lot of my life living, metaphorically, inside a cardboard box, painting the inside with pictures of what I think the outside world looks like, and then cowering or spitting at it.
If my external world evinces stagnation, that is merely a reflection of stagnation in my inner world of thought.
How do I know my inner world of thought is stagnant? Stuck needles.
How is thought changed?
First of all, I have to come to believe in the hopelessness and futility of life as I had been living it (p. 25, Alcoholics Anonymous). Life, not in any absolute sense, but as I had been living it.
(I have a habit, by the way, of blaming, for my predicament, 'life', whose true nature I'm blinded to, trapped as I am inside my own thoughts, images, ideas, attitudes, and judgements—the painted interior of the cardboard box. What would a passer-by say about that blame, hearing the despair, the shouting and cursing at the painted ghouls from inside the box?
I am so proud of my work—the Sistine Chapel of my mind—that the very suggestion I may be mistaken is highly offensive. What will happen to all that hard work? If I was wrong all along, what does that say about how much time and energy I have wasted? Is lifelong self-delusion really possible? What an appalling prospect!)
People say they're scared of change.
I am not. Not really. What is hopelessness but a fear that nothing will ever change? What is futility but a sense that nothing you do will ever cause change? What is hell but ever decreasing circles, ever-concentrating yet unchanging pain?
No, unless I can experience the hopelessness and futility of my situation, unless the walls close in, I am going to continue the recreational activity of the re-creation of my own thoughts, images, ideas, attitudes, and judgements, and from that will flow the perpetuation of the life I have created around me.
If I can see that stagnation is the problem and my thinking (thoughts, images, ideas, attitudes, and judgements) is the cause, there is a chance that I will start to find my thinking sufficiently "objectionable" (p. 76, Step Six) to abandon myself (p. 164, p. 59), the 'self', here, being the thought-world driven by the ego.
Fear of change? Really? When my radio is kaput and I get the chance to go and buy a brand-spanking new one, I am secretly thrilled, once I get over the anger at the shoddy manufacturing.
"Is not our age characterized by the ease with which we discard old ideas for new, by the complete readiness with which we throw away the theory or gadget which does not work for something new which does?" (p. 52)
I am not scared of change. My ego is afraid of its own death.
Step Seven involves humility—being poor in spirit, which, according to Emmet Fox, means "to have emptied yourself of all desire to exercise personal self-will, and, what is just as important, to have renounced all preconceived opinions ... It means to be willing to set aside your present habits of thought, your present views and prejudices, your present way of life if necessary; to jettison, in fact, anything and everything that can stand in the way of your finding God."
Surprisingly, this is not actually difficult terribly difficult, given the right awareness.
"This sort of thinking [obstinacy, sensitiveness, unreasoning prejudice, etc.] had to be abandoned. Though some of us resisted, we found no great difficulty in casting aside such feelings. Faced with alcoholic destruction, we soon became as open minded on spiritual matters as we had tried to be on other questions. In this respect alcohol was a great persuader. It finally beat us into a state of reasonableness." (p. 48)I pray, therefore, for a "great persuader" to make itself felt: alcoholic destruction or some other hell of stasis, stagnation, or inexorable deterioration. If I can see with clarity the inevitability of my annihilation—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, socially—brought about by a mind "fettered by superstition, tradition, and all sorts of fixed ideas" (p. 51), I can, at last, be restored to sanity, I will, at last, recoil from my own mind "as from a hot flame" (p. 84).
Get out of the cardboard box!