The name is grandiose—"transcendental meditation"—but the entry procedure is extraordinarily simple. After just 15 days of abstinence from non-prescription drugs, the novice is ready for initiation. If he goes through the typical ceremony, he takes one clean handkerchief, three pieces of sweet fruit and at least six fresh flowers, symbolic offerings to be laid before a portrait of the Indian guru who once taught the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of the International Meditation Society. Alone with his own mentor in an atmosphere made mystical by candlelight, incense and the chanting of Sanskrit phrases, the neophyte is taught the word that he has come to learn: his specially assigned mantra, an apparently meaningless sound that is really an ancient Hindu incantation.
The recruit then takes three more two-hour "lessons," pays a modest fee ($75 generally, but only $45 for college students) and he is ready to reap the full benefits of transcendental meditation. Simply expressed, the goal of TM, which despite its Oriental trappings is not a religion but a quite secular relaxation technique, is to enjoy life more, to shuck tension by letting the mind travel far from mundane concerns a couple of times a day. To TM preachers, the practitioner is "expanding his awareness," developing his "creative intelligence," experiencing "subtler states of thought," and achieving "deep rest as a basis for dynamic action."
Harmless. It sounds absurd, of course; yet many otherwise rational people are enthusiastic about TM. And unlike many supposed remedies for psychic malaise, it has drawn little criticism from behavioral scientists. At worst, say the experts, the hordes of American meditators—an estimated 250,000 strong, with thousands of new converts a month—are doing themselves no harm, though they may be kidding themselves about TM's effectiveness. At best, the meditators may really be on to something.
Whatever its merits, TM has been taught for credit at dozens of U.S. colleges, including Yale, Stanford and the University of Colorado. The Department of Health, Education and Welfare has granted $21,540 to show 150 high school faculty members how to teach creative intelligence through TM. At the University of Michigan, a researcher has studied the use of TM to help stutterers, and at the Institute of Living in Hartford, Conn., Psychiatrist Bernard Glueck Jr. is about to investigate the technique's possible value in treating both neurotics and psychotics. "If we laugh at the hocuspocus, we may overlook something," Glueck observes. "If there's anything that might possibly help patients, I'm willing to try it." Even more surprising, the Army has permitted experiments with TM to help drug addicts and alcoholics on eight bases, and some federal prison officials think that it might be of help in rehabilitating convicts.