Sydney Banks—the man who wrote more books than he read

By Douglas Todd, Salt Spring Island

Sydney Banks has written more books than he has ever read. You notice this immediately when you step into the simple study of this internationally renowned author, philosopher, and unconventional thinker, who lives on Salt Spring Island in Canada.

The room is almost bare. The bookshelf is sparsely stocked—a few Reader’s Digest novels and a small set of encyclopedias that clearly haven’t been opened very often.

Banks is 75 years old and a former welder at the Harmac Pacific Pulp Mill. He helped build the spacious house where he lives, surrounded by nature on Salt Spring Island. Here, he explains that a minor vision problem makes it difficult for him to read.

“The only books I’ve ever read are welding manuals,” he says with a wry smile.

“I don’t really read. I’d rather write.”

According to his own count, he has read three books and written six. Among them is the popular series *The Enlightened Gardener*.

Banks has never before given an interview to the press. Yet for more than three decades, he has been teaching his ideas in both North America and Europe. He comes across as both modest and deeply convinced of the truth of what he has observed.

His way of speaking is simple. He often uses short, declarative sentences and metaphors. At the same time, he points to something he himself describes as a deep insight into the nature of life.

He calls himself a philosopher and a theosophist. By “theosophist,” he means a person who learns through direct experience and through the knowledge that already exists within us.

His followers say that his teachings have reached tens of thousands of people in the English-speaking world.

Among them are psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, therapists, doctors, police officers, and business leaders. Well-known self-help authors such as Richard Carlson, who wrote *Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff*, have also been among those who found inspiration in Banks’ insights.

In several American cities, his ideas have been incorporated into social programs for people living in difficult circumstances—including initiatives working with inmates, the homeless, people struggling with substance abuse, and at-risk youth.

In the fall of 2008, more than 250 people from North America and other parts of the world traveled to the Vancouver area to attend one of Banks’ rare seminars. Among the participants was former NFL player Tyrone Keys, who now works with at-risk youth in Florida.

At one point, a research center named after him was even established at West Virginia University: The Sydney Banks Institute for Innate Health. The name was later changed to The West Virginia Initiative for Innate Health following criticism from some university staff members who felt that Banks’ work sounded too “New Age.”

Nevertheless, about 1,000 of his books and audio recordings are distributed or sold each month through the program's activities.

In short, Banks says that people suffer because they believe their thoughts.

While many therapists believe that one must work through the emotional pain of the past in order to move forward, Banks says something entirely different: The past is merely an illusion in the mind. Negative experiences exist only through the thoughts we have about them.

In *The Enlightened Gardener*, he writes:

“As long as you see the world through the ghostly veil of the past, you will never discover the beauty of living in the present.”

In these books, a British gardener named Andy appears as the central character—a clear parallel to Banks himself—as he teaches a group of American psychologists about the true nature of the universe.

For Banks, time, space, and matter are a kind of illusion—a dream. The only things that actually exist are three fundamental principles:

The mind, which is the source of all intelligence.

Consciousness, which makes experience possible.

Thoughts that shape our experience of life.

Many people find these three principles difficult to understand. But Banks is convinced that they hold the key to a deeper understanding of life.

When he picks me up at the ferry terminal on Salt Spring Island, he seems like any other friendly older man. Sitting next to him is his calm dog, Fergus.

We drive through the green countryside to his home, where he has lived on and off since 1963—with the exception of a few years in Hawaii. The house sits peacefully in the countryside and has a wide veranda running all the way around it. His wife is away in California, and Banks is a friendly host. Every now and then he looks for his glasses, and his hands shake a little—possibly due to a recent heart attack.

He speaks with a soft Scottish accent as we sit in the living room with an old pendulum clock and a large television.

He seems both humble and sincere.

To call Banks self-taught is almost an understatement. It is precisely his lack of formal education that is often highlighted as what makes his story so special.

He attended school only through 9th grade and grew up as an adopted child in a working-class family in Scotland. In 1957, he left the country and later settled on Salt Spring Island, where he worked as a welder.

It was in 1973 that something happened.

A realization. An insight. An awakening.

“It was the greatest breakthrough in the history of psychology,” says Banks. He explains how he and his then-wife Barb were having marital problems. Some friends suggested that they attend group therapy at the Cold Mountain Institute on Cortes Island.

Banks was terrified at the thought. First they signed up, then they dropped out. Then they signed up again, and dropped out again.

Finally, they left.

Shortly after the weekend began, Banks went for a walk outside and met a visiting psychologist. Banks told him that he felt insecure among such well-educated people.

“There’s no such thing as uncertainty,” the psychologist replied. “It’s just something you think.”

Banks says that something inside him changed at that very moment.

“My insecurity disappeared. I realized that my past no longer had any power over me.”

He hardly slept for three days and nights.

Shortly afterward, he had an experience by the sea.

“I was surrounded by a white light, and I discovered the true nature of God and the Mind. I saw that life is like a divine dream.”

When he returned to work at the paper mill, his best friend said to him:

“That’s Scotty’s closet.”

He hardly recognized him.

In the time that followed, people from all over the world began to make their way to his home on Salt Spring Island. Some days, there were over a hundred visitors.

Hitchhikers. Psychologists. Monks from the Himalayas. Psychiatric patients. And ordinary people.

“I talked to people, and their problems just disappeared,” says Banks, snapping his fingers.

He usually didn’t charge a fee. But eventually, he became exhausted by the large crowds and had to put a stop to the steady stream of visitors. Since then, he has lived a quieter life—holding seminars around the world and writing books. Judith Sedgman, who has worked for many years with psychiatrist Bill Pettit at the West Virginia Initiative for Innate Health, says:

“Sydney’s influence is enormous. He doesn’t actually realize it himself, because he’s always wanted to live a quiet life.”

She explains that thousands of people have been influenced by the programs his students have subsequently developed.

“He speaks from the heart. And that touches people. He helps them discover their own inner strength.”

Later, as we drive toward the ferry, Banks talks about his childhood in Edinburgh.

He grew up without his biological parents and in a family that did not place much importance on education.

Did you have a tough childhood?

“That’s what I thought back then,” he says quietly.

“That was pretty rough.”

But his view of the past has changed.

“The past is just history,” he says.

“An illusion in your own mind.”

His feelings toward his parents have also changed.

“At some point, I started to see a lot of love.”

He wished he'd had time to say goodbye to them.

“I would have liked to say that I love them.”

At the ferry terminal, the gates are almost closing, and I have to jump out of the car to make it on board.

A moment later, Banks walks around to the front of the car to say goodbye.

He opens his arms and gives me a big hug.