Desire and Destiny

I needed years of meditation to understand those words. Desire is the key to life because desire is power. The deeper the desire, the more power it contains. The power in desire is the power of the will. Every desire carries with it the will to bring that desire to fruition.

Think of desire as a river. Some people have lots of little desires that trickle in many directions. Trickles do not have much power, and little desires often fail to reach their goal. But then, just because they are little, it does not matter much if they go unfulfilled. What does matter is the sense of futility that builds up when desires are many and scattered. Like rain on a mountain peak that runs down the slopes on every side, vitality is dispersed; life itself is fragmented.

On the other hand, there are people whose lives are molded by one all-consuming desire, as overwhelming as a mighty river. If you have seen the Ganges or the Mississippi in flood, you know what power a river can have; anything in its path is swept away. Similarly, the man or woman who has unified desires sweeps all obstacles aside.

Wherever you find great success in life, it is due to this intense unification of desires. I remember an interviewer complimenting Dame Margot Fonteyn, one of the greatest dancers of our time, on her effortless grace. She laughed and replied that behind all that effortless grace lay years and years of brutal practice. From her early teens, she set everything else aside to attain her goal.

The best ballet schools, I understand, are as rigorous as boot camp. There are no vacations; you can’t afford the lapses. No ice cream after school; you can’t afford the extra pounds. And none of the other little pleasures that teenagers take for granted. Everything is ballet, ballet, ballet.

That gives an idea of how deep young Margot Fonteyn’s desire for excellence must have gone. It is not that she didn’t miss having friends and vacations and ice cream; I am sure she did. But much more, she wanted to become a great ballerina. “You are what your deep, driving desire is”: it shapes your will; it shapes your destiny.

Desire Is Power
At the university I had a physicist friend who thought all this talk about the power of desire was metaphorical. He would gladly discuss electric power, solar power, wind power, but harnessing the power of a passion or a craving—well, that was not dynamics; that was poetry. “Power,” he told me sternly, “is the capacity to do work. Work is the energy required to move a definite mass a definite distance. No movement, no work. No work, no power.”

My colleague was a dyed-in-the-wool empiricist, whose life, so far as I had observed, was spent at his desk with his calculations and a perpetual pot of coffee. Day or night I had never seen him far from that pot, from which I concluded that just as power implied motion and work, physics implied coffee and inactivity.

Then late one evening I came out of a movie theater and saw my friend striding along like an athlete, several miles from his home. I was astonished. “What got you up from your desk?” I asked. “You’re breaking the habits of a lifetime.”

“Coffee,” he muttered. “I ran out of coffee. I simply couldn’t think about anything else.”

That was what I had been waiting for. “Here,” I said, “a very definite mass has been propelled two or three miles, simply by one little desire for a cup of coffee.”

Desire and Destiny
It may not always be obvious, but we get in life what we deeply desire from it. Our unfulfilled desires, as unconscious drives, shape everything we do. Childhood interests, likes and dislikes in school, choice of work, the person we marry, the way we raise our children—all are molded by these deep, driving desires.

This is particularly easy to see in a person of genius. When I look at the life of Albert Einstein, for example, viewing it as one sweeping whole, it seems so clear how much was shaped by the deep desire to find one underlying explanation for the phenomena of nature. At first the desire gropes its way blindly but tenaciously, like an animal following a scent. It tries childhood thought-experiments about light, wonders about whether to go into mathematics or physics, chooses a job for the amount of time it will allow for “conscious brooding” about extracurricular matters like the universe.

Then, when it gets the scent, it pounces and pursues it heart and soul, often for the rest of life. “I soon learned,” Einstein wrote, “to scent out the paths that led to the depths and to disregard everything else, all the many things that fill up the mind and divert it from the essential.” Similarly, young Alexander dreamed of conquering the world, Mozart of writing great music, little Théresè of Lisieux of becoming a saint.

Somerset Maugham illustrated this in a fine novel, The Razor’s Edge. The title comes from the Upanishads: “Sharp like the razor’s edge, the sages say, is the path to self-realization.” The hero is a young American named Larry, who loses a friend on the battlefield and is plunged into a search for the meaning of life. When the story opens, everyone’s desires seem fresh, vague, almost incidental. But as the years pass, each character moves with blind tenacity toward the fulfillment of their deepest desires—most of them self-centered, some self-destructive—all unaware that their desires were shaping their destiny.

In the end, Maugham discovers with surprise, he has written a kind of success story. “For all the persons with whom I have been concerned got what they wanted: Elliott, social eminence; Isabel, an assured position; Gray, a steady and lucrative job; Sophie, death; and Larry, happiness.”

It is of utmost importance, therefore, to gain some control over what we desire. And the key to desire is will.

The Will Quotient
“Strength,” Mahatma Gandhi said, “does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” If the will is strong enough, anything can be accomplished; if the will is weak, very little. That is why I say that what counts most in life is not IQ but WQ, “Will Quotient.” In every endeavor, it is the man or woman with an unbreakable will who excels.

Students make a good example. I have been a teacher for many years, and I can testify that the difference between an outstanding student and an average one is often not so much intelligence but the willpower to keep after a job until it gets done. No one likes to do homework, you know. Something else is always more appealing. The good student, bright or not, is the one who can stick to an assignment until it is finished. Only then does he or she go out on the town. Students like this might not be brilliant, but they have the capacity to attain any realistic goal they set for themselves, not only in school but in life.

Unfortunately, most of us lack this kind of willpower. We postpone until the eleventh hour with a sincere intention to make a big push at the end. “Why waste a good Saturday evening?” we say. “Let’s go down to the Café Mediterraneum. In the morning we can get up early, clear the desk, and hit the books for all we’re worth.” But while these fine words are being said, the will is sitting back in his corner and saying, “Not me! You can count me out.”

And sure enough, when morning comes we cannot get the covers off. We look at the pile of papers on the desk and do not know where to begin. After a while, we get dispirited. “What’s the use? Maybe a little coffee will help me think better.” And down we go to the Mediterraneum again.

After that, of course, it is going to be even more difficult to get to work. Procrastination uses the will for a dartboard: every time something is postponed, it stabs a hole in it. We also attack the will, usually through absurd little self-indulgences: a bite of this, a drink of that, an unkind word, an unnecessary complaint. “What does it matter?” If nothing else, what matters is the will. Every time we give in to a self-indulgent impulse, we are twitting the will. The will can stand a lot of twitting, but after hundreds of twits every day for a couple of decades, it goes into hibernation. And not content with this, we often sneak down to the refrigerator, say, and drop a couple of goodies into our mouth. “After all,” we ask, “who’s the wiser?” No one may be the wiser, but the will is weaker.

Many, many failures in daily life are no more than failures of the will. Whenever we become irritated, speak harshly, criticize, belittle, or vacillate, the will is lying down. We don’t really want to hurt people; we simply cannot control what we say and do. The implication is surprising, for even to be kind, to love, to stay loyal in relationships or steadfast in our ideals, we need some strength of will.

In daily living, a strong will often shows as a particular inner toughness, the endurance to put up with difficulties without breaking or giving up. Without this, we are at life’s mercy. I have seen even great tycoons, men used to facing the bulls and bears of Wall Street with a will of iron, suddenly throw a tantrum because a line of traffic was moving too slowly. Where is that iron will then?

Usually we excuse ourselves from such lapses on rather flimsy grounds. Once I noticed a three-year-old friend looking at me with a peculiar glint in her eyes. “What’s the matter, honey?” I asked.

“You’d better watch out,” she warned. “I haven’t had my nap.”

That may be reasonable for a three-year-old, but a thirty-year-old has no reason to be ill-tempered because he or she got only six hours and thirty-seven minutes of sleep. The only reason we consider this a good excuse is that we are so physically oriented. When we begin to break through the conditioning of body-identification, we can be patient even if we go all night without sleep—simply because we have the will. Those whose will is uniformly strong can always adapt. They can function beautifully no matter what life deals out. Such people are free. They enjoy life’s ups and downs.

The Great Race
We can think of Will and Desire as competitors in a really long marathon, one that goes on for years. All the bets are on Desire. He has been training for many years, so he is in the best shape. He crouches at the starting line like a leopard, lean, lithe, and powerful, bursting with the desire to win.

For most of us, however, the will is still in bed. I say “most of us” without any deprecation, for this is the conditioning the world shares today: the attitude that pleasure is everything, and the deprivation of pleasure the worst of fates.

Once we start questioning this attitude, a new desire comes: the desire to master our desires. That is the signal that the race is about to begin. But first we have to wake the will. “Go away,” he grumbles. He is as grumpy as a hibernating bear. After all, it is we who lulled him to sleep; is it fair to roust him out of bed again after all these years?

Finally we have to shake Will a little. Probably he will try to hit us. At that time there are those who say, “Who wants to be hit? Why not let sleeping wills lie?” They go back to watch the race between desires in which, no matter who wins, we lose. But the person with determination, who is tired of losing in life, goes to the kitchen, gets a pitcher of cold water, and pours it on Willie’s head.

Will gets up fast, shaking off the cobwebs. We give him some black coffee. As he wakes up, he starts to complain: “I haven’t run in years; I’m a marshmallow.” We have to humor him: get the right clothes, tie his shoes for him, practically carry him to the race. Even then the spectators look at poor Will and laugh. “He shouldn’t even be here!” And in fact, he scarcely is—yet.

Will slouches at the starting line while leopard Desire crouches eagerly. Runners in a race are sometimes allowed one or two false starts; here the will is allowed a number of false reverses. This is too much for me, he thinks. I’m going back to bed. He tries to tiptoe off the track, and we have to keep bringing him back.

The will needs constant encouragement, especially at the outset. We have to console him for being so out of condition, reassure him not to be self-conscious about the bulge about his waist, tell him the story of the tortoise and the hare—whatever it takes to keep him in the race.

Off goes the gun; Desire springs from the starting blocks. Will lumbers to his feet to the jeers of the crowd. “Hey, you shouldn’t be on the track; you should have stayed in bed!” The voices are our own. There is a certain amount of self-deprecation when we try to master strong desires, but on no account do we need to take this kind of jeering seriously. Even if he appears weak, we should put our money on the will. The miracle is that even the Most Flaccid Will in the Guinness Book of Records can be made immeasurably strong.

Just as there are exercises for strengthening different parts of the body, so is there a powerful exercise for strengthening the will: resisting any conditioned, self-centered desire, particularly one that benefits nobody, not even ourselves. It may be the desire for some sensory pleasure, or it may be the more subtle demand to have our own way, to have others conform to our expectations. Whatever it is, if we yield to that desire, the will is weakened; if we resist, the will is strengthened.

You can start training first thing in the morning, when it is time for meditation and unutterably pleasant to huddle under warm blankets and doze. Don’t stop to think; just throw off the blankets and jump out of bed. That wakes the will up fast.

The opportunity to choose between what is pleasant and what is beneficial comes up countless times throughout the day. The more we look, the more opportunities we will find, many of them quite unsuspected. Being kind, staying patient, not making a clever remark at someone else’s expense—all these strengthen the will. Go to work a little early, and leave your job there at the end of the day instead of bringing it home; you’ll be strengthening your will. And if you can give your best to people around you and try to work out differences harmoniously, you are not only making the will stronger, you have him out on the track jogging.

In all fairness, I must say that Will is a plucky fellow at heart. After just a little training he is ready to compete, even if Desire has run so far ahead that he feels he can never be challenged. Once he starts training, be it ever so slowly, Will gains ground every day.

Finally Desire looks casually over his shoulder and rubs his eyes in disbelief. There is Will, rounding a far corner! He is not puffing along anymore; he is lean, fit, beginning to feel his stride. Soon Desire can hear his footsteps, almost feel him breathing down his neck. At this point, Desire will probably start running for all he is worth.

But finally comes one of the most thrilling moments in spiritual development. This first-rate professional, Desire, suddenly finds himself running neck and neck with the amateur Will. For a while, in fact, we never know who is going to win. Just a couple of inches marks the difference between victory and defeat. This makes us vigilant every minute, which is a prerequisite of spiritual progress. If we thought the race was in the bag, our effort would slacken; growth would cease.

At last Will gives one great leap forward, pulls into the lead, and breasts the tape. After that, your will is unbreakable.

The Transformation of Desire
Sometimes in spiritual circles you will hear invectives against desire. I have even heard the Buddha misquoted as saying that desire is suffering. Not at all. Right desires—desires that benefit everyone, including yourself—can be as strong as they like. If a desire gets a little too strong, the will simply lengthens its stride and pulls out in front. Selfish desires don’t even venture onto the track. Selfish desire is suffering—in fact, it is the source of all suffering. But desire itself is simply power, neither good nor bad. Without the tremendous power of desire, there can be no progress on the spiritual path; there can be no progress anywhere. The whole secret of spiritual growth lies in transforming selfish desire into selfless desire, personal passions into the overwhelming drive to attain life’s highest goal.

In my earlier days, I confess, I would have agreed with the rest of the world that defying a strong desire can’t be done without an explosive backlash or repression. Whenever the river of conditioning rushed down on me, I too believed I had no choice except to let the current sweep me away. But as my meditation deepened, I began to glimpse another dimension. Beyond repression and indulgence, I saw I had a choice that led to freedom: transformation. Instead of giving in, I could turn against the current and develop the strength to swim upstream.

For a long time I did not seem to get anywhere. The muscles of my will were too weak. But I went to work on strengthening my will by resisting all sorts of little, self-centered desires throughout the day. What once had looked like opportunities for pleasure I began to see as sources of power. And gradually a wonderful thing happened. I felt I was recalling some old strokes I had once learned but long forgotten—butterfly, breaststroke, Australian crawl. I said to myself with some amazement, “Hey, I can do this! I’m not being swept back anymore.”

That brought a whole new perspective. Instead of deprivation, going against desires became a challenge, a sport. Just as there are people who like nothing more than to ride a turbulent, treacherous river, I began to find a fierce joy in fighting my way against the stream of my conditioning, like a salmon returning to its source. This is not repression; it is transformation. When I approved of a desire, I still knew how to swim with the current and enjoy it. But when I disapproved, I had a choice. I no longer lived in the everyday world of stimulus and response; I lived in a world of freedom.

After years of this kind of practice, the climax comes when the will is unified from top to bottom. Then, if anger rises you can transform it effortlessly into compassion. The moment disloyalty arises, you can transform it into love. Every negative emotion can be transformed like this, which means that your personality can be remade completely in the image of your highest ideal.

Ruysbroeck, the great Flemish mystic of the 14th century, wrote, “The measure of your holiness is proportionate to the goodness of your will.” As he told some university students, “You are as holy as you want to be.” And, I would add, as happy as we want to be, as loving, as wise. The choice is ours.