In a world that struggles with imbal­ance there is one being that by its very nature mir­rors the world's dis­ar­ray: the bal­an­cing artist called man. Fun­da­ment­ally, we can dis­tin­guish two types of people, the con­flict-avoider and the con­flict-maker. Some are driv­en to reach peace, oth­ers pre­cisely to avoid it. For the one, peace and bal­ance are the nat­ur­al ele­ment; for the other, they are an ener­vat­ing, unbear­able mor­ass. In man's psy­cho­lo­gic­al bal­ance a thou­sand things play a part: how well fed he is, his fin­ances, his emo­tion­al life, his exper­i­ences of suc­cess or fail­ure, per­haps even his ideals. Besides the con­flict-avoider and the con­flict-maker there is, for­tu­nately, a third kind of per­son too: the resolv­er of con­flicts, the bal­an­cer. He too needs imbal­ance, or even con­flict, yet not to fish in troubled waters and draw strength from dis­cord, but pre­cisely so that he can cre­ate bal­ance.

Man explores and prac­tises his per­son­al bal­ance, and at the same time he is part of the great sys­tem of the uni­verse. Ideally, the course of his per­son­al life fits the role that falls to him in the uni­verse. He travels his life's path and comes to exper­i­ence things that are part of his own learn­ing, but also of the uni­verse as a whole, and in this way he con­trib­utes to the plan­et­ary bal­ance. Where this is lack­ing, we may speak of a life in dis­ar­ray.

Man in his present state – des­pite his tech­nic­al achieve­ments – is grow­ing psy­cho­lo­gic­ally weak­er, on the wane. Most of our fel­low men are weak and fal­lible on their own; every­one needs a hand­hold, needs com­pan­ions to lean on. And it is the very neur­os­is of mod­ern life that man depends on oth­ers but can count only on him­self, lives for oth­ers but is bound to be dis­ap­poin­ted in those very oth­ers.

Bal­an­cing Artists

A par­tic­u­lar order of acrobats is the bal­an­cing artist, or equi­lib­rist. Ori­gin­ally, acrobats were strong­men who kept their bal­ance as they walked along a hori­zont­ally stretched rope. Those who walked a rope stretched at a slant were the schoenobates; the neurobates used gut strings or thin wire, and so seemed to float freely. On the slant­ing rope, sit­ting or lying down, the oribates per­formed their routines. Those who worked on a ver­tic­al rope or a wall were the tichobates.

Sadly, for many people today a state of bal­ance is hardly an attain­able goal. It is as if the world today set before man ideals that do not func­tion as goals. The world speaks more and more to us, but not of us. Unat­tain­able goals and dreams that never come true may be regarded as ills of civil­isa­tion. Money, women, fame, suc­cess – mostly mere allur­ing illu­sions, but as goals they prove inad­equate; rather, they ought to serve as means towards man's uni­ver­sal devel­op­ment, whose ideal is spir­itu­al.

Pres­ence of mind can help one find per­son­al bal­ance and keep it. A con­sciously lived life – bal­anced eat­ing, sleep, work, rest and so on – is not the uncon­scious drift of water­weed. Self-aware­ness, and the sense of belong­ing to heav­en, help man attain the enlightened state at the level of deep feel­ing, of first-hand exper­i­ence. Thus he may move up to a high­er grade: the world around him may well not change, yet he can share per­son­ally in the lived exper­i­ence of tran­scend­ent beauty, in the first-hand exper­i­ence of the high­er dimen­sions of exist­ence.

Most people ride the emo­tion­al roller coast­er of suc­cess and fail­ure, of pen­ury and mater­i­al gain, of bar­ren­ness of heart and sud­den flare-ups, and yet, as the ulti­mate acro­bat­ic feat, we must keep our bal­ance to the very end on the rope stretched between life and death.