BOOKS BY JAMES KEYS

Probability and scientific inference
(published as by G Spencer Brown)

Laws of form (published as by G Spencer Brown)
Twenty-three degrees of paradise
Only two can play this game
PREFACE BY R D LAING
All rights reserved

including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form.

Copyright © 1972 by The Julian Press, Inc.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 72-80667
Published by The Julian Press, Inc.

1 5o Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10011

First U.S. edition September 1972

Manufactured in the United States of America
o

Very few people would write such a book,
and fewer still could.

This is a rare document,

of high quality,

and those who cherish such things,

will appreciate it.

R D Laing
London England
15 day of May 1972
(pdeds

SO\ =

Prescript 9
Introduction 17

Letter before 45

The Opening 49
An Accident go
Dog or Cat g1
Yesterday’s You 54
The Candle 56

Once upon a time  §7
7 You are my Wife 60
5 A Great Treasure 63
q Tell me Lies 64

{ O The Test 67
{1 Untitled 68
) Z Benediction 72

Extraduction 7§
Letter after 77
Postscript 83
Other Books 87
Goodbye Trip 117

Notes 123
To his Coy Mistress
thagoupr

If like me you were brought up in a western culture, with the
doctrine that everything has a scientific explanation, there will be
certain ideas you will not be allowed to know.

These ideas are in fact as old and as widespread as civilization
itself. But your education will have programmed you so that
whenever you hear or read about any of them, it sets off a built-in
reflex that shouts ‘mystical nonsense’ or ‘crazy rubbish’.

People who have already studied these ideas a little, and who
may have read some of the books I mention later on, will know
of course that they are neither all that crazy nor all that mysterious.
But if we wish to talk about them we are all handicapped by a

great gap in our education—we have no agreed method.

Itis of course true that everything can be scientifically explained.
It can be explained this way or any other way. But at a price. And
by price I mean something more serious than money.

We are maybe just beginning to realize what our scientific
knowledge is costing us. That the advantages it confers must be
paid for. And that the price is steeper than we thought.

The irony of it is that the price of scientific knowledge has
always been prominently displayed: and the cruel twist is this:
the place where it is displayed is in the books that scientific
knowledge itself insists are ‘not scientific’.

Once a person steps into the science machine, once he accepts
the doctrine as to what is ‘scientific’ and what is not, he is in a

9
foolproof trap. He has accepted a contract for which, from the
moment he signs the agreement, he can never know the price.

Let’s begin with some definitions. What do we mean by
‘western culture’? [ take it we mean the mode of life, at least
nominally Christian, of civilized residents in Russia, Europe,
occupied parts of Africa, Iceland, North and South Americas,
New Zealand, the Philippines, and occupied parts of Australia.
This is in contrast to ‘castern’ cultures, comprising largely
Buddhist, Confucianist, Taoist, and Hinduist civilizations. There
are at present nearly a thousand million of us in each of these two
groups, and about a thousand million more with cultures, the
most widespread being Islam, standing somewhere between.

And what do we mean by ‘civilized’? Well, if we follow the
word to its roots, we see that it simply means living in cities.

Every civilization has its culture. Although the culture of our
western civilization has many sources, its main roots are two: we
get our religious ideas from the early Jews, and our scientific
ideas from the ancient Greeks.

Now the early Jews and the ancient Greeks had this in com-
mon. They were both anti-female. Not in the same way.

The Jews were anti-female in their religion. The sort of heaven
they were after, if you examine it critically, is largely unisexual,
with the emphasis on maleness.

The Greeks were anti-female in a more mundane way. In
heaven they allowed equal rights to both gods and goddesses, but
on earth they were frankly homosexual. They thought that only
man has a soul, and that to love a woman, who is without one,

would be degrading.
Now, and this is the surprising bit, the feature that our culture
took from each of these two roots was in each case the one that is

anti-female. We took our science from the Greeks and our religion

10
from the Jews. We thus started life with a built-in double de-
gradation of one of our two sexes.

This, as I say, is surprising. What is not surprising, having
started life in this strange manner, is that we are now in deep
trouble.

There still exist cultures, side by side with ours, that have not
lost half their potential in this way, that are still very properly
conscious of the two sides of things. They are conscious of the
pompous, military, formal, impressive, idealistic, and utterly
humourless masculine side, but they are equally conscious of, and
allow an equal importance to, the intimate, secret, informal,
intuitive, regenerative, and hilariously funny feminine side. And
this side, alas, is the side that our culture won’t allow us to take
seriously.

Other cultures allow it. Ours does not. Other people’s heavens
are full of females with a complementary status to the males, and
complications galore. Ours does not approve of this sort of thing.
Officially, it is frowned on.

Of course, poets have always dug it. We dig it from the muse.
Hence music. And the muse, please note, is female. She is not a

god but a goddess.

But then poets, in our culture, are also frowned on. Of course.
Anyone foolish enough to think that a woman has anything sen-
sible to say to a man must be crazy. They must be joking.

Yes indeed. Joking. But does anybody ever stop to consider that
a joke is never the least bit funny unless it is true.

These other cultures, the ones that allow an equal importance
to both sides of existence, we have, from our one-sided view,
corrupted grievously. How it is that a half-culture can dominate
and corrupt a whole one, I shall discuss later in the book.

11
Since some years back [ have felt the need for an author, brought
up in the western tradition, and having attained at least a profes-
sional degree of competence in more than one science, to try as
best he can to bridge the gap between these two sides of human
nature. We need, it seems to me, to realize a perspective between
the formal and the inforral, between male and female, between
west and east, between the philosophy and religion of doing, and
the non-philosophy and non-religion of being.

It is difficult to write about. The subject is bigger than know-
ledge. It is as big as life itself, and takes about as long to learn.
No book about it can reveal very much. About all any book can
do is perhaps open the door. Just a little way.

This book did not in fact come of that plan. It was an accident.
It got written as a result of a very unhappy event for me and the
girl I was engaged to marry. What happened is described later.
For the moment, all I need say is that it meant the breaking of
our betrothal. Not because we didn’t love or didn’t fit—we did
both—but for reasons that seemed, to me at least, terribly wrong.

After this I became filled with despondency. I knew my misery
was a sort of mixture of fury and self-pity, but there seemed to be
nothing 1 could do to put an end to it. Despite all my efforts to
escape its thrall, it held me in a vice-like grip. My friends thought
I would die. I thought I might. I had to consciously remember to
eat, sleep, etc. The only thing I could do spontaneously was write.

Looking back on it now, I could perhaps wish the book had
been produced more calmly. But then, although it might have
contained fewer faults, it might also have been less entertaining.

We endure with scarcely a tremor the knowledge that the
universe will eventually collapse. We view with more concern
the fact that our solar system might one day cease to support life.
Even less attractive is the thought that the earth may soon be unfit
to live in. Worse than this, our country might get its balance of
payments wrong. Even worse, a member of our family might be

12
involved in some scandal. Worse still, one might sicken and die.
But what is more terrible than to be parted from one’s love?

In this book I break two unwritten rules. In the first place I try
to say something positive. In the second, I speak from my own
experience.

If you read a modern university textbook on, shall we say,
psychology, you would think the author didn’t have any experi-
ence of his own. [ know that the reason given for this extraordin-
ary omission is that, in respect of one’s own experience, one is
likely to be biased and therefore not ‘objective’. But if you can-
not be honest about your own experience, how the hell can you
expect to be honest about anyone else’s. And if you think you
are likely to be ‘mistaken’ about your own experience, how much
more likely are you to be mistaken about somebody else’s experi-
ence of which, by definition, you have no experience.

As for saying something positive, you will find, if you go to
college these days, that it simply isn’t done. Why? Well, for one
thing, it is so much easier to be negative.

The joke about modern philosophy teachers who call them-
selves positivists is that what they have to teach is wholly
negative. Give one of these ‘positivists’ something that really is
positive, a poem or some other observation written from experi-
ence, and what does he do? He tears it to pieces. But search his
own work, and you will find he has nothing to say. He makes, of
his own experience of things, nothing whatever. His literary
activity is wholly predatory.

Of course anything positive can be torn to pieces. What is
positive is what has made itself vulnerable. It has brought itself
as far as it can, faults and all, into existence. A lily is positive. So
is a child. So is love. All three can be very easily torn to pieces.
None can be so easily put together again.

In the history of this planet, mankind has been in scientific

13
labour for at least nine thousand years. With what outcome?
Well, he can make a weed killer. But he cannot make a weed.

Walk down the mainstreet of any big city. Look in people’s
faces as they pass. What do you see? Four times out of five, you
see pain. Maybe they are conscious of it, maybe not yet. But it is
already there, clearly visible.

If we wish, we can take it to the bitter end. We can act out the
tragedy, right to the final curtain. No one will stop us.

All the same, there really is nothing to prevent us rewriting the
stage-directions.

James Keys
Cambridge England
St Patrick’s day 1971
Children of the future Age
Reading this indignant page,

Know that in a former time
Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime.

William Blake
St

I chose my seat, as I usually do, opposite a nice-looking girl. I
remember she was reading Hemingway. She looked up at me,
and that was it. Flash.

When the train stopped at Liverpool Street we got out and had
coffee there in the dingy snack-bar.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t even touch. We just looked at
each other.

I wanted to miss my next appointment. I wanted to say to her,
‘Don’t catch your next train. Come home with me.’

Fool that I was. Afraid to express my feelings in case they
frightened her away. Maybe they would have. It was all the same
anyway. I kept my appointment and she caught her train. From
Paddington.

All the time I was keeping my appointment I wished I wasn’t.
When it finished I went straight to Paddington and searched all
over the station. In case she had missed the train. She hadn’t. I
knew she wouldn’t. But it seemed right to look for her.

We had swapped addresses, so I wrote. I told her I went to
Paddington in case she had missed the train. She wrote back and
said she wished she had. We wrote again. Love letters. I had
never written one before.

Within a month she decided to leave college and come to live
with me. A few days later I asked her to marry me and she ac-

cepted. It seemed inevitable.

17
We never believed in marriage before this. We considered it
dangerous because it deprives people of the right to live their own
lives. If married people come adrift their affairs go before some
finger-wagging magistrate. But now it didn’t seem to matter. We
felt we had no choice. The decision did not seem to be with us, but
with heaven, and we thought we might as well please our parents
and accept the social convenience of doing it the ‘proper’ way.

They say love is blind. What we overlooked was that the first
concern of a normal family is to ensure that its children are not
totally lost to the fold. The girl’s family were not so keen on her
being ‘overwhelmingly happy’ (as she wrote to her parents), they
were rather more concerned that they should have some say in
the matter of whom she married and when. Marriage being a
social contract arranged in respect of the huge personal and
sexual jealousies of the two parental families, part of the payment
in the bargain is usually that the new union should not be so close
that the original families can no longer keep tabs on the offspring

and exercise a certain measure of control.

My mistress’s family felt, and not without reason, that if she
married me she would be lost to them. They objected to the fact
that we were living together without being ‘churched’, and at
the same time did everything they could to prevent the marriage
ever taking place. Eventually, after a short sharp siege, they took
the girl away with them. She was sent back to college to finish
her degree course, and persuaded that it was ‘in her own interest’
to break off her engagement to me.

If our love was so easily sacrificed to these personal and aca-
demic ends, then it might as well be published. Others at least
might profit from our mishandling of it.

Traditionally, there is a place called paradise.

Instead of regarding it as a place, it is equally true, and some-
times practical, to consider it as a state of mind.

18
Looking at it this way, it may be easier to see the possibility of
any being attaining it any where and at any time. Thus, as has
always been known to the deepest Christian doctrine, a human
being can attain it on earth.

In the east they look at it slightly differently. They say there
are many paradises, and that our Christian heaven is one of them.
But where east and west agree is in the possibility of attaining it
on earth.

All artists, every where and at every time, are aware of this
tradition. And each artist, when he has developed his discipline
far enough, aims to go there himself, and perhaps record, if he
can, some message.

The state, or the place, whichever you like to call it, is fre-
quently attained by the artist while alone, removed as far as
possible from the distracting influences of the world.

What has become clear to me now is that it need not be alone.
Two people can, but quite a different way, take a trip to paradise
together.

All right, all right. The well-known magic of love. Well, if
you know it and wish to stop reading, dear Reader, please do.
But it is not, I find, so well known, at least in our present grossly
overinformed society, as you might think.

If you say ‘T love you’ to a girl, she thinks you mean sex. We
teach sex in schools, but love is a totally unmentionable subject,
and a totally forbidden object. It is so forbidden that most of us
have forgotten what it was, or even that it exists.

It is possible to know love and still miss the experience of total
relationship. When the completeness of love passes a certain
degree, a change takes place in the relationship of the lovers, and
what was magic is replaced by what is miraculous. In this book I
attempt to give an account of the experience, individually, jointly,

19
and cosmically, where love passes beyond this magic point. I feel
so inadequate to the task that I ought to apologize for attempting
it, but I am compelled to relate it and you, dear Reader, are not
compelled to read it unless you wish.

A man usually approaches a woman through her physical
attractiveness, normally at its zenith between 14 and 24. If he
gets no farther than this, he will cease to feel anything for her
when she loses her figure.

To marry a woman with any success, a man must have a total
experience of her, he must come to see her and accept her in
time as well as in space. Besides coming to love through attrac-
tion what she is now, he must also come to realize and love equally
the baby and the child she once was, and the middle-aged woman
and the old crone she will eventually become. This does not
mean, if he had first met her as a middle-aged woman, for
example, that he could necessarily have ever found his way in
from there. Nature has her own reasons for fashioning the
woman’s time-gate where it is, but once the man comes through
it, he can and must go beyond it and into the woman’s whole
being, or there will be no real marriage, it will be only a tempor-

ary affair.

Before this particular encounter [ might have said, if asked, that
I knew this total experience. After all ’'m a poet, I'd be supposed
to. But in fact I didn’t know it. And this was not for want of
previous encounters, instructive and delightful though they were,

with the opposite sex.

In previous encounters, each of us had something particular to
learn or to unlearn, the commitment did not really go much
beyond this. Undertaken in the friendliest of spirits, yes, but we
never expected the relationship to be permanent, and it never
was. Partings, when they came, were amicable, there was not
much suffering, and we remained friends.

I used to think this was all there was to it, and that getting

20
married meant staying together like this, or attempting to, for
rather longer than usual. After all, when one doesn’t know the

real th_ing, one naturally thinks v w is the real

thing.

But now it was different. Earlier loves, by comparison, seemed
thin and homosexual. Our culture confines us so much to the
similarities of the sexual relationship, the all-good-pals-together
act, that we can easily overlook the magic difference, the differ-
ence that in fact maEes it impossible for a man and a woman ever
reaflyibi'figlfl)gg:hei,_but nevertheless gives us the chance

" of being very much more.

Some of us have more to learn, or unlearn maybe, than others.
Anyway it seems to me to be important for people to have the
chance to try themselves out, and to try out each other, and learn
something of the possibilities and impossibilities of living
together, without immediately plunging into a contract that is
very difficult to break and, because of the nature of its provisions,
can hardly ever be undone without extreme nastiness.

Even these days it is still regarded as something of a sin to live
together without being officially married. The odd bit of sex is
OK, maybe, but actually living together, well, what will people
think, etc. Because of this I am sure there are many young people
today who are living together married, but who should really be
only living together. The divorce courts at least bear witness to
the truth of this.

The more advice you get, the less likely you are to realize what
your relationship can offer. When all is said and done, you are the
one who marries you partner, not your sister or your father or
your mother or your brother or your friend.

—

The person who really fits you is always recognizable, but may
take time to find. The status that such a person confers upon you
is the status of who you really are. Only you know this, but until
you meet the right person you may not be fully conscious of it.

21

|
Meeting a person who actually fits you is rare enough to
awaken extreme jealousy in other people, especially in those who
are near and dear to you. So in deference to their feelings, and in
fairness to yourself, you should never parade the fact.

I can make a song and dance about it now since I lost it. But
you, dear Reader, should never make a song and dance about it
when you find it. Not unless you also wish to lose it. You must be
quieter than a mouse. And so must your partner. It’s your secret,
and if that’s the way you want it, then that’s the way you have to
keep it. It is totally unnecessary to inform anyone at all that your
relationship is anything more than ordinary and humdrum. You
can marry whom you please. You do not have to give a reason. If

ou must, you can give some daft reason, like you admire his/her
hairstyle, clothes, intellect, anything fake. Bg_sgms_mgy_b_e_cgm
hostages, so make sure you give away none that you’d be sorry to
lose.

All the tragic lovers in literature let on about their love. They
told. So if you find yourself taking very strongly to another per-
son, and you know you mustn’t tell, how can you be sure it is
the real thing? Like this. If you have any doubt about it, then it
isn’t.

I suppose many people, when they first come to it, lose it again,
as we did, through indiscretion. And suffer in silence. It is after
all the practice of the poet to make a song and dance about what
other people accept with inarticulate reserve. And who is to say
that their silence is less noble than his song.

Some people express the view that the paradise of total love is
not a possible state to maintain practically for any length of time,
at least not for human beings. I am not convinced. It is true that
to maintain it must require great discipline. But great discipline
is possible to human beings, even though rare. And we must
remember that any couple who are maintaining such a state will
be pretending not to. So it might be a case where the public
doctrine is always opposed to the private practice.

22
Of course there are couples living together who are happv
enough not to have the experience. I don’t think many people I
know are engaged in total love, and I don’t think many people
even wish for such an arrangement. To begin with, it is not at all
an intellectual experience. Analytic discussion either seems in-
credibly funny or, if taken seriously, is poisonous.

Although more than usually intelligent, both my mistress and
I happened to feel a distaste for the purely intellectual, so we did
in fact welcome an involvement that seemed to deliver us from
some of its worst excesses.

This being so, it appears that onc may, if one wishes, and if one
is lucky enough, find a partncr and then procecd with him or her
to paradlse, without first going through the pains of purgatory.
The main requirement seems to be that the partner must be a
perfect fit, or as near perfect as makes no matter.

How does it work? Well, the fit, the lock-and-key affinity,
seems to be the answer. The egos or outer personalities of the
partners are dislodged by the tremendous affinity of the fit as the
two inner selves lock together If you go to paradlse alone, vou
must first go through shocking pain as cach scab of ego is dis-
lodged But when you go with your partner, your raw new inner
self is immediately fitted into and accommodated by the equally
egoless self of the other, where it sustains nourishment, pro-
tection, and a revitalizing communion with its own image-mate.

Dear Reader, I cannot possibly tell you what goes on in heaven.
I can only recommend you to go there one day and see for your-
self. Wangle yourself an invitation. It is incredibly hilarious.
There are Mr’ Forsytes, of course, and Mrs Grund\s just like
everywhere clse, onlv much larger and more important and
multidimensional and’ carefully skirted, and everyone is fully
conscious of what he, she, it, and everything else is up to,
because each person and thing, although manifestly scparate, is
simultaneously, in the unmanifest aspect, one and the same person
and thing, so nobody can keep up any artitude for any length of

23
time without bursting into laughter. The whole manifest world,
with poor serious pompous important little man perched some-
what totteringly out at the seventh level, counting down from the
centre, which is everywhere, all comes spinning out of the
nothingness in the middle of it all in the most indescribably in-
evitable way which is in fact, in form, and in content the only
possible way. Nothing is left to chance, precisely because if we
insist on making nothing into some thing, all this nonsense is the
only thing nothing can really be.

If not, my dear Sir or Madam, what the hell do you think all
this huge meaningless universe is, how the devil do you think it
got here, what the rude word do you think it came from, where the
even ruder word do you think it’s going to, and why?

The thing that puts poor dear sweet serious pompous little
man off about heaven is its simply stupendous rudeness. That and
its illogicality. The same thing really. After all, what is logic but a
set of polite formalities to hide everything? Imagine Beethoven’s
fifth symphony, about twenty million times ruder. And that’s
only the rudeness aspect. There’s all the other aspects to consider.
All infinity of them. Not to mention the more intimate arrange-
ments. Punch and Judy. And the completely perfectly carefully
careless dilettanteliberate infiltremendentitious circular formula
love-game we are playing in the First Division. Oh, dear, and I
haven’t even begun. You think it’s in the Bible? The arrangements
for the Vicarage Garden Party? My dear Sir, you haven’t even
begun. Whereas you, Madam, you knew it all along. Nearer to it
all all along, and more patient than your miserable menfolk.
Quite patient enough to wait several thousand years for it to
dawn on us again. Mind you we won't accept all the blame. But
we won't heap it all onto you any more either. We realize how
unfair it was of naughty old God to make you eat that rotten apple
and then go on and on at you about it for thousands of years as if
it was your fault. Just one of his practical jokes, I'm afraid, not in

frightfully good taste, what.
Honestly, what do you think heaven is? A polite tea party?

24
Well, I wouldn’t put it past it. It could be. We could get it
arranged. If this is what you wish. And when we are all tired of
the tea party, we could arrange something else. There really is no
limit to what we can arrange, as long as you are willing to take it
seriously. That’s all we ask. Otherwise you'll see through it. Then
there won’t be much point, will there? After all, we could save
ourselves the trouble.

Suppose we divert ourselves for a moment into the appendix
called history. Down this particular alley we find a peculiar
blindness that can be traced back to the Jewish Old Testament.
In this document, God appears without a partner, a Creator
without a Creatrix. If a god of this magnitude is supposed to exist,
then what about his corresponding goddess-mistress? If, in His
houschold, She is never mentioned, it looks very suspicious.

To put it bluntly, it looks as if the male is so afraid of the
fundamentally different order of being of the female, so terrified
of her huge magical feminine power of destruction and regener-
ation, that he daren’t look at her as she really is, he is afraid to
accept the difference, and so has repressed into his unconscious
the whole idea of her as another kind of being, from whom he might
learn what he could not know of himself alone, and replaced her
with the idea of a sort of second-class replical of himself who,
because she plays the part of a man so much worse than a man, he
can feel safe with because he can despise her.

What follows is a typical psychoneurosis, with all its evasions,
explanations, and paranoid compulsions. Man becomes afraid and
resentful of the archetypal woman within himself. He begins to
paint her out, to block off his experience of her. But as soon as he
loses sight of the archetypal woman, he loses sight of the physical
woman too. And because it is the man’s business to be articulate,
not the woman’s, when the man forgets who the woman is, then
so does the woman.

Heaven knows no fury like a woman scorned. The archetypal
woman, now deeply unconscious in both sexes, begins to take

25
her revenge. She starts to destroy, and destroy quite ruthlessly,
the fabricated civilization that treats her this way. I man will not
acknowledge her, if she cannot thereby acknowledge herselt, then
of course she must destroy the negativity of the existence that
refuses to come to terms with the way she is.

We keep thinking the destruction is coming from the outside,
from the Russians, from the Chinese, etc. Just as they keep think-
ing it is coming from us. Really, of course, it is coming from the
inside. Our insides don’t care for the way we happen to make
out these days.

All man’s philosophy is a rationalization of his inner experience
— or lack of it. And a lack of inner experience of the archetypal
woman is cxpressed in a very obvious manner, by academic
materialism, or its modern offshoot, logical positivism.

Some logical positivists would not call themselves materialists,
but they still share the same attitude. They maintain that what is
real is only what can be described when you look outwards, when
you look at tables and chairs and suchlike. What you see w hen you
look inwards, the archetypal pattern, the divine love, the sense
of how it all fits together, this they say is unreal and ought to be
ignored. At the same time they manage somehow to suggest that
it is dangerous and ought to be done away with.

Of course the way they teach it is more sophisticated than this,
and very effective, I know, when confined to its own discipline.
But where it carries over to other disciplines, poetry for
example; or psychology, 1 think, without being unfair, this is
rather the sort of impression that generally gets across.

The original empiricist philosophers, men like Locke, Hume,
and Mill, were amongst the people who got this academic
materialism working for them in a big way. Their philosophies
were in some respects sadly contrary to normal experience.

Some of them taught a doctrine that the mind of a child starts

26
by being perfectly blank. All it ever knows, they said, is what is
imposed or impressed upon it from the outside. Oh yes. Where,
then, do original ideas come from? What about mathematics,
what about music, what about poetry?

Well, modern logical positivists have a very slick way of dealing
with these things. Not to put too fine a point on it, they say they
are all nonsense.

It is easy to see that the logical positivist, and to some extent
the modern scientist also, following the empiricists, have come
to treat only the masculine husk, the outward appearance of
things, as the reality, and to ignore or pooh-pooh the less
obvious feminine reality of their inward nature.

The mind, like the body, has an outside and an inside. It has
a superficial, obvious aspect, but it also has a deeper and much
more subtle aspect. Each is just as real as the other. Neither can
exist on its own. To suppose that the mind starts oft perfectly
blank, without an internal reality of any kind, is not only un-
warranted : it flies in the face of the evidence.

Anyway, as materialists often tell us, the mind is a reflexion of
the body. Do they think, then, that the body starts off by being
perfectly blank (whatever this would mean), and grows into its
present shape because of what is imposed or impressed upon it
from the outside?

Of course not. We know that the shape of the body is organized
and grows from within, and that there is very little we can do to
it from without except decorate or deform it.

—1.
At the very least, we have no evidence whatever to suggest

that the realest and most important structures of the mind are
not formed similarly from within, and that what we can do to it
from without, in the nature of training and education, is scarcely
more, by comparison with the body, than impress it with a few
decoratlons and deformities. ©N

27
In fact, those of us who have the courage to turn away from our
obsession with what is outside, which has become with us now a
sort of racial neurosis, and look back within, find here a whole
world of tremendous significance and familiarity, which the
poets of all languages have always kept alive, a world just as
complete and real and ‘objective’ as the world outside, to which
it appears intimately related, and without which the outside
world does not make sense.

This is of course to be expected. The essential shape of the
body does not vary from man to man. We should expect the
essential shape of the mind to be the same. In fact, we can sct
about to explore this inner microcosm. It takes many ycars, and
indeed it has been charted in many different ways, badly and well,
but in all cases quite recognizably in respect of its salient
features, over many centuries, in many textbooks which our
civilization now pooh-poohs and ignores. Yet the ‘reasons’ given
for ignoring these books would apply equally well to our present
textbooks of chemistry and physics, as being full of unproved
assumptions (which they are), disagreeing with each other (which
they do), varying according to what is fashionable (which they
do), and being full of errors (which they are). Discounting these
objections which, let’s face it, apply to all textbooks written by
human beings, we find, provided only that we have first familiarized
ourselves with the world they attempt to chart, that what they say is
substantially correct and agreeable. After all, let’s face it again,
a textbook of physics would be utter mumbo-jumbo to anyone,
however clever, who had, for some reason, never familiarized
himself with physical existence.

This is not meant to be a textbook, so I don’t intend to re-
chart much of the ground that has already been charted else-
where, except to say that, as all textbooks agree, what we find in
the microcosm or inner world contains a complete image of what
we find in the macrocosm, the outer world that the materialist
thinks is the only reality.

The words ‘microcosm’ and ‘macrocosm’, although they have

28
to some extent been used as I have just employed them here, are
not entirely suitable, either from their root-formations or their
historical associations, for the two aspects of reality that I wish to
consider further. In the pages that follow I shall use the word
‘holocosm’ for the aspect of reality that is observed by exploring
inwards, and ‘merocosm’ for the aspect that is observed by
exploring outwards. In the familiar Biblical analogy, the acorn
is a holocosmic aspect of the merocosmic oak tree, because,
perfected (as it were) within the relatively spaceless and timeless
compass of the acorn, is the essence or completion or kingdom
of the oak tree, the signs that, when interpreted, become the
laws of its being and possibility, irrespective of whether, in the
merocosmic world, it may emerge stunted or dwarfed or
diseased or lopsided or otherwisc accidentally identified, or even
not emerge at all.

These two aspects of being are equally real, but our education
at present leads us to attribute an excessive degree of reality to
the merocosm, and practically no reality to the holocosm. As we
all know, any failure to see a reality can be dangerous, but this
particular failure is unfortunately not one that can be corrected
immediately. This is because, even if they would, not many
teachers could instruct their charges in the holocosmic law. Our
degree of departure from this reality seems now to be nearing its
nadir, and although the vacuum of its absence is strongly felt,
there is not I think one teacher in ten thousand today who has
found the lonely road that will take him to a sufficient mastery
of the holocosmic forms to enable him to teach them, and above
all to relate them to our present inflated, overburdened, and
sprawling knowledge of the merocosm, with any degree of
confidence and authority.

It is necessary, I think, to be familiar with both sides of the
curtain. But it is always difficult to maintain any sensible basis for
discussion with someone who will keep on insisting that one side
is ‘the wrong side’.

The merocosmic materialist begins and ends his account of the

29
world with matter—more or less hard lumps of stuff flying about
in outer space. But when we try to find out what the ‘matter’ is,
we find we can’t. Apply the usual scientific tests, and what
happens? It fades away, dissolves, leaves ‘not a rack behind’.

This is not just a practical difficulty that could be resolved with
better instruments. It is a necessary and absolute limitation of our
knowledge of the external world, embodied in what we now call
the principle of Heisenberg.

The principle of Heisenberg was not clearly understood in
western science until 192¢, although the Chinese had already
realized? it as long ago as the fourth century BC, and possibly
before. It amounts to this.

To observe anything in the outside world, we have to interfere
with it, for example by shining a light on it. And the more
sensitive it is, the more the interference changes it. In respect of
the most sensitive reality, what we actually see can bear no
resemblance to what it really is.

In any objective investigation, this principle operates at every
level. The social sciences are perhaps too young to be very
conscious of its effects in their fields, but it operates here in two
ways. First, if you publish what you suppose (from your investi-
gations) people will do, they read it and do something else. Or
they do it because you suppose they will. Secondly, in any case,
people (like other things) that are being watched don’t behave
like people who aren’t being watched. In a very material sense,
the eye of the investigator alienates whatever it rests on, from the
electron upwards.

It follows that any sufficiently sensitive reality, of any kind,
material or otherwise, is completely unavailable to the kinds of
probing investigation that are, in fact, our only means of identi-
fving anything in the outside world.

Just supposing (as we might) that the ultimate reality, the

30
basic ground, as it were, that renders everything exactly as it is,
is something so incredibly sensitive—like a sort of infinitely fast
film—that the minutest outside probe, of any kind, obscures it so
that we cannot see it. If this were so, either we should never
know it at all, or we should have to find a totally different way to
approach it.

As it happens, there is another way. It is still possible (although
the out-and-out materialist of course denies it) to reveal, to our-
selves at least, what this ultimate reality is by looking not out-
wards but inwards. This way we do not disturb it because here
we are it. Indeed the faculty by which we do this is utterly
familiar. It is called, appropriately enough, insight.

Like any other faculty, the faculty of insight can be developed.
If you are to become a mathematician, or an artist of any kind,
you must develop it to a very high degree. And indeed, when we
have developed our insight far enough, we can begin to see how
the excessively ‘real’ appearance of the physical world is in fact

brought about.

It comes through a very clever trick. It depends on an elabor-
ate procedure for forgetting just what it was we did to make it
how we find it.

Amongst other things, what we have to forget so carefully is
the fact that we drew up all the hazards ourselves. Indeed the
principle of Heisenberg ensures that there really is no ‘outside
world’ other than the one we constructed. It is, in fact and in
fantasy, a projection of the shape of the instruments we used to
investigate it. And the instruments (i.e. ourselves) are of course
an introjection of this projection of this introjection of this pro-
jection of etc. Our forgetting how it is made up is our way of
fixing the appearance of the world in just the particular way it
happens to be. Of course we can’t undo it if we can’t remember
how we did it, and the less we can undo it the more independent,
the more beyond our control, it seems.3

31
In other words, what we forget, partly involuntarily, partly
deliberately, is that, many levels of existence back (seven, to be
exact), we (or, as we were at that point, it) made the original
decision, the original introjection that eventually, like dealing a
pack of cards, became projected as the distinctions between one
thing and another.

We only have to do it a different way, and the whole outer
world looks and sounds and feels and is quite different, although
the inner world, containing as it does all the possibilities of its
interpretation, remains always the same. Only from the inner
world can we see the outer world as one of an infinite variety of
arbitrary constructions. The magic and the miraculous, of course,
are the apparition, in the outer world, of a change to the bound-
aries, a reshuffling of the cards, originating in, or at least con-
ducted from, the inner world.

In the whole science of physics there is no such thing as a thing.
Hundreds of years ago we carefully forgot this fact, and now it
seems astonishing even to begin to remember it again. We draw
the boundaries, we shuffle the cards, we make the distinctions. In
physics, yes physics, super-objective physics, solid reliable four-
square dam-buster physics, clean wholesome outdoor fresh-air
family-entertainment science-fiction superman physics, they
don’t even exist. It’s all in the mind. If you separate off this bit
here (you can’t really, of course) and call it a particle (that’s only
a name, of course, it’s not really like that, more like waves really,
only not really like that either, not really like anything really)
surrounded by space (space is not what you think, more a sort of
mathematical invention, and just as real, or just as unreal, as the
particle. In fact the particle and the space are the same thing
really (except that we shouldn’t really say ‘thing’), the sort of
hypothetical space got knotted up a bit somewhere, we don’t
know exactly where because we can’t see it, we can only see
where it was before we saw it, if you see what I mean, I mean
even that’s not what it was really like, it was waves (or rather
photons) of light carrying a message that may well be very unlike
the thing, sorry, particle (remember this is only an abstraction, so

32
that we can talk about it (it? sorry, we don’t have an it in physics))
it (sorry!) came from. After all, we don’t know that a thing
(pardon!) is telling the truth about itself (would you mind look-
ing the other way while I change into something formal?) when
it emits (excuse me!) a blast (do forgive me!) of radiation, do
we?), THEN (if you have followed the argument so far) this (I
mean all these mathematical formulae, of course. What did you
think I meant?) is how it happens to come out. Of course, if you
start in a different place (no, I'm afraid I can’t tell you what a
place is, although I could of course draw you a graph) and do it a
different way (do please stop interrupting, darling, or we shall
never get done), it (it? What we are talking about, my dear. It is
convenient to at least pretend we are talking about something
otherwise there would not bé much point in doing physics,
would there?) would naturally come out different.

The significance of this way of talking, which, as everybody
knows, is called modern science,? is maintained by means of a
huge and very powerful magic spell cast on everybody to put us
all to sleep for a hundred years, like that nice Miss Sleeping
Beauty, while the amusements are being rigged up. We don’t
want people strolling all over the place asking awkward questions
and making it collapse before it is ready do we? All in good time,
when we have carefully finished building ourselves this nice big
house of cards, we can, if we all keep our eyes shut tight and
hold our breath and wish hard enough, we can all play this nice
game of houses and all go and live in it before it all falls down.
Except of course there isn’t enough room there for everybody
all at once, so we all have to not be too greedy and take it in
turns.

It is not to everyone’s taste, of course. Some don’t seem to
care for it much. Others try to change it when they get there.
But if, for example, you want to change the big dipper, the time
when you are least equipped to do so is the time when you happen
to be taking a trip on it. They forget that. Some buy another
ticket and go round again.

33
Well, Reader dear, we gota glimpse of the holocosm from the
merocosm, and now we seem to have managed a squint at the
merocosm from the holocosm. We have to be a bit careful about
doing it this way round, the authorities are none too keen on
letting every tom dick and harry behind the scenes, we built all
these amusements you see and of course we want them to be
used. Come along, ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses,
your last chance to visit the Universe, unbelievably realistic,
have your tickets ready! Our representative on the course is
waiting to greet you, so hurry along please, stand clear of the
gates, mind the doors, be good, see you all again soon!

Well, here we are, dear Reader, back in the old physical
world again, Bridlington pier and the old dip-the-dips, hold
tight, woops, how’s it feel, you can take your ear-plugs out now
and I promise not to say anything improper.

There happens to be a whole section of the holocosm that you
are still quite freely allowed to revisit while you are here as
guests in the merocosm. It is called mathematics.

Perhaps it never occurred to you that mathematical things such
as numbers are not in the physical universe ? Search as long as you
like, dear Reader, you won’t find a single number, not even of
any kind, down here, although there are, of course, enough
numbers to go round whenever you want to count things. The
source of supply just happens to be in a deeper level of existence,
that’s all. The ancients were well aware of the divinity of mathe-
matics. The material world and the mathematical world are
different orders of being, yet we can still see how closely they
marry and complement and give meaning to one another. It is the
same in other disciplines.

What we know in the holocosm, we can know for certain.
That n? = n to modulus p when n and p are natural integers and p
is prime, is not a matter of opinion.5 A mathematician knows it is

so, without the slightest doubt whatever. How can he be so

34
certain? Precisely because he does not use his human eyes to see
it with, he uses his insight to observe it as a spectacle or play
(theatre and theorem have of course the same root) put on for his
benefit in the holocosm where numbers exist, and evoked by the
particular way he learned, through his initiation into mathe-
matics, to conjure with certain symbols.

The precise secrets of the mathematician’s discipline or craft,
the cunning$ evocations whereby he calls up, from the depths of his
being, what can be known with absolute certainty, took him
many years to acquire, and in history took mankind as many
thousands of years to establish. This is why they are called secrets
—the mere telling of them carries little or no conviction, As in_
all holocosmic arts, the certainty of the truth they display comes
from the mastery of the Ja they embody.

Our direct vision or insight into the holocosm, once we have
learnt to use it, is no less certain than our ordinary (and, as
any neurologist will tell you, extremely indirect) physical vision
into the merocosmic world of tables and chairs and what we
are having for breakfast. The main difference, apart from its
added clarity from directness, is that what is seen in the holo-
cosm is so much more interesting because it is prior to what is
seen in the merocosm. ‘Prior to’ means exactly what it says:
more important. The inner levels strictly determine how the
outer levels can be, not the other way round. To fly to the moon
we must know, and strictly obey, amongst other things from
the holocosm, the mathematical laws of motion. But, to dis-
cover the laws of motion, it is not necessary to have been to the
moon.?

Poets and other master artists who visit other places and levels
of the holocosm observe them with the utterly clear direct vision
and precision of a master mathematician, and they see how it
applies with equal rigour to other fields of being and activity in
the material world, and it is because they are able to speak, how-
ever obscurely they do it (let’s be fair, even the best mathe-
maticians are often very obscure indeed), with a certainty equal

35
to that of a mathematician, that people who cannot see8 the
reason for their certainty find it so irritating.

' We all adore or hate in another what we have alienated in our-
i giand . . PV . =0 R -
/ selves. Adoration is not love, it is hatred in reverse. Those who
merely adore the Original Male Being in the holocosm, see Him
as two beings, God and the Devil, as the alternation of the
opposites, desire and disgust, with which they have polarized

their vision.?

What we have alienated in ourselves is in fact what it is pos-
sible to know in respect of the complete and universal totality of
being and non-being. Why do simple discoveries of the obvious

: take so long? Not because man is incapable of seeing them, but
because he is neurotically preveated from seeing them by his own
self:imposed alienation from what he knows must be so.

[

Jung has a nice instance of a man who decided to deny the
existence of his left hand. All the manifestations of his left hand
had to be explained away as ‘nothing but’ what could be most
easily sncered at or pooh-poohed, and his speech and manner
became idealistic, analytic, and doctrinaire in the extreme.

What the artist is offering is to return the stolen left hand—to
show his auditor something that every whole person possesses,
and, in particular, something that his auditor might not even be
aware, until his attention is drawn to it, that he had lost. Thus it

is that any real work of art, in any medium, has this in common
with cvery other such work ; the way it goes see ints

W and yet at the same time appears utterly astonish-

The compelling nature of an artist’s work that puts it above a

, jmerely personal record is that the artist speaks directly of his
auditor’s experience. How? Because the artist has learned to clean
his work of its merely personal elements, leaving behind the

common reality that belongs as equally to his auditor as it does to

himself,

36
The poet, having found his way to a place in his being ?hm
universal, undertakes to show us the way to it in ourselves. 1, he l
learns to go there alone. 2, he masters the formalities of at least |
one of the arts through which his experience of this place may be ‘
re presented, i.e. re called and re collected in himself and in
others. This takes him, for each art so mastered, some seven
years of devotion in which he must familiarize himself with the
secrets of his calling, the great and inviolable laws and the lesser and
breakable rules of his discipline or craft. Having then, by his
devotion to their disciplines, become a master of his arts, he is
fledged enough, 3, to take his reader or auditor on a trip with |
him to a place that is common to them both, but which the
auditor either could not find on his own, or if he happened to
stumble across it would be in danger of becoming lost. /

The poet has been lost many times, but, through persistence,
stamina, luck, guidance, and incredible turns of fate, he has
somehow survived these dangers and now knows his way around
well enough not to get lost, and to be able to take another with
him to and from the strange yet familiar places of the universal

archetypal world.

This is, of course, one of the reasons for the characteristic
form of a given work of art: being designed as a space-vehicle for
exploring inner space. A properly designed symphony, for
example, takes you on a kind of space trip in reverse. Blast off
with the first movement; first orbit; second orbit; clearance for
deeper space; arrival at objective; exploration of objective;
dance or diversion; recapitulation; re-entry; coda or leave-
taking. In short, a well-constructed work of art will pick you up,
transport you, show the secrets of your being, return you, and
plant you back on your feet again wondering what hit you.

God, of course, knows all our symphonies, all our poems, all
our theorems as the trivialities that, to Him, they undoubtedly
are. This doesn’t mean that He doesn’t need our formulations of
them: the holocosm and the merocosm are married to each
other as completely as any man and woman. Our often laboured

37
proofs of their evidence represent the ways in which we, as im-
perfect and highly involuted natural beings, must untwist our
contortions in order to see again directly what He, being un-
twisted and uncontorted in the First Place, can already ‘see’
without even looking. He does not need to perform the antics
that we have to perform to get our comparatively miserable
directions pointing towards certainty. But at least when we begin
to get them straight enough to approach the Godhead, we find
ourselves doing what is simple and obvious while everyone else
is still engaged in what is complicated and absurd.

Beethoven, in his insight, reports that he reached so near to the
Godhead that he experienced music timelessly, all at once. Mrs
Brown of Balham, when she approaches the Beethoven region of
the holocosm, reports a similar experience, although she is not
able to note down so much of the music, being devoid of Beet-
hoven’s colossal powers of expression. Beethoven reported that
the music even he had the power to write down was mere riff-
raff compared with the music he intimately knew.

This noting down of music, or mathematics, or poetry, is in
fact a more or less huge task of translation from what is practically
unimaginable and multiformal into son{ething practically imagin-
able and uniformal, and the earthly music, etc, that is the out-

\ come of this task is in fact very much poorer than the original
Bpermusic. etc, from which it was translated.

One of the profounder secrets of getting so much of heaven out
via a mere earthly work of art lies, in fact, in the particular form
in which the work is cast. The artist, in his translation, not only
respects the holocosmic content, but he moulds the form in which
it is to make its earthly appearance so that it itself resembles, in
some way, the formal balance of the holocosmic place where he
found the content. The result, if he gets it right, is that the work
possesses a sort of magical incandescence from the ‘beats’ or
interference patterns produced when the heavenly light shines
through the formality of an earthly window or grid that is itself,
in some appropriate way, also heaven-shaped. The master artist

38
marries his form with his content to produce this effect in-
stinctively, and rarely makes a mistake. The would-be artist,
alas, rarely gets it right, because he hasn’t yet reached the place
in his knowing where he feels all his powers of expression to be
so inadequate that he instinctively reaches out for some new
magic to render the impossible possible.

Although some arts, like mathematics, have obvious physical
applications, others seem to have no obvious physical application
at all. Like an extinct species, they end somewhere back, before
the present existence begins. Take music, for example. By
material standards, absolutely meaningless. If it were not for the
standards of another world, which even the dullest of us somehow
dimly remembers, why on earth should anyone ever bother with
music, let alone be able to judge that one piece is better than
another? How could it be better, unless it was a better representa-
tion of something we already knew? And how could music
possibly transport us as it does?

Music is an instructive example, because it is so obviously un-
representative of anything in the material world. Although
clearly a language, it is utterly undescriptive of anything out here.
The logical positivist doesn’t kriow what to do with it, except to
call it meaningless, which he does. And poetry too. He calls that
meaningless as well. And mathematics. Mathematics, he says, is
really ‘nothing but’ a set of meaningless truisms, poetry is merely
‘nothing but’ a set of descriptions of material objects, daffodils
and things, used emotively in various vague, ambiguous, and
otherwise meaningless ways, and music, well, music is clearly
‘nothing but’, er, well, er, he really has no very clear idea
exactly what it is nothing but, but at least he is quite positive that,
whatever it is it is nothing but, it certainly is nothing but it.

It is easier to get confused about poetry than about music,
because poetry makes use of a language whose more usual function
is to describe the physical world, to talk about tables and chairs.
In fact the master poet is not using the language like this at all,
he is making a magic incantation, publishing a secret recipe,

39
striking a master key to a forbidden door, like the master
musician and, yes, like the master mathematician. (Let’s get it
clear once and for all, mathematics is not what you learnt at
school. That was a technique called computing, boring, mechanical,
destructive, largely unnecessary, machines can do it better.)
Whenever a poet is not doing this magic thing, whenever he is
not striking these master keys, whatever else he is making, it
ain’t poetry. Verse maybe. After all he does have to practise. But
a discerning person can tell between a poem and an exercise. An
exercise may be clever and amusing and even edifying, but it
takes us nowhere beyond itself. It says no more than its inventor
intended it to say. It can be as true as you like, but it is not a
poem unless it also finds that subtle combination to unlock a
secret door to an other and limitless world.

Every artist, when he speaks as an artist, is speaking from the
holocosm. The patterns he makes, although in the merocosm,
are not primarily representative of anything in the merocosm. If
they are he is not an artist but a craftsman, and although every
artist must be a craftsman, not every craftsman needs to be an
artist. The artist is creating artificial patterns in the material
reality of the merocosm in the likeness of what exists in the non-
material reality of the holocosm. By this, and by no other,
criterion is his work, apart from its craftsmanship, truly judged.
How else, in all conscience, could a work of art possibly make
sense? Materialist ‘explanations’ of art, regarded dispassionately,
are impossibly far-fetched. Indeed, the best the materialist can
do, if he wants to stick to his guns, is to deny the validity of what
the artist is expressing, to say that people don’t in fact experience

what they palpably do experience.

This is of course an utterly fraudulent trick, a dishonesty so
brazen that it takes the breath away. What the materialist is
doing is attempting to dictate to us what we are to call experience.
Some of our experience is OK, he says, is in fact experience, but,
on the other hand, some of our experience is incorrect or mis-
taken, and is therefore not really experience. Oh, very clever!
See the trick? A calculation can be incorrect, an opinion (i.e. a

40
judgment or an interpretation) can be mistaken, an argument can
be wrong. But calculation and opinion and argument are ways of
processing experience, of acting on it and removing ourselves from
it: they are not, repeat not, themselves experience. We can no
more experience an experience incorrectly than we can dream a
dream incorrectly.

—-

True art is spoken directly from experience. A true poem can-
not be wrong any more than a dream can be wrong. It can, how-
ever, like a dream, be clear or obscure, polite or rude, profound

or trivial, fitting or disgraceful, well or badly recorded. And, !

and this is_the really huge distinction between art and other.
walks of Tife, it never, repeatfiever, expresses an opinion.10

To those who are perhaps trying to feel their way towards it,
the doctrine that attempts to deny them this way, although it
may be an inevitable outcome of how we suffer our reality, has
consequences that are, to say the least, unpleasant, both in-
dividually and collectively. For by ignoring what is within (what
is underneath, fundamental, what has to be fished out or divined)
and concentrating on what is without (what is superficial,
mutable, fashionable) we tend naturally to replace what is
important with what is trivial. And the most disastrous effects of
this trivialization of experience are first apparent in and to the
people for whom the prevailing fashion has not quite blocked off
what it was they once knew.

Though I want her back, I do not pretend to want my mistress
for any other reason than to recreate the experience, to live and
grow with her for the rest of our natural lives, to satisfy the
addiction I had formed for her. I do not say to satisfy her addiction
for me, although it scemed equally strong. The meaning of
marriage, as [ now see, is that two people become so addicted to
each other that they cannot live happily, or even live at all, apart.
The addiction, each equally for the other, is their total security,
and each renews and redoubles the strength of the other through
an ecstatic exchange of benefits as long as they both live.

41
With us this was not to be, I can only record its absence and
withdrawal. But I don’t think I was mistaken to regard it so
differently from any other experience I remember. It was not
like the ordinary ‘living together’ I was used to. It is a more than
ordinary attraction. I say again, I had not personally experienced
it before, not in this life, although, even before we met, it was
as though we were both seeking to recollect it from some earlier
existence. It is not what is called ‘transference’ in psycho-
therapeutic jargon. There are no fantasies. Every thing is as it is.

I can say little as to how it happens. It seems to be an outcome
of an inwardly marvellous fit, a truly compensating balance of
strengths. There is complete ranging, not of your accidental
class-conscious straightjacket egos, but of your two original
responsive and responsible selves, leaving no hostages to chance
on either side, no loose ends to turn to sourness in the woman,
or to masculine protest, and no misunderstood area to breed
pomposity or feminine musing in the man. You feel like an
instrument that has at last been tuned. The range of your whole
being—your real being, that is, not the personal accidents that
are considered so important in ‘planning’ a marriage—jyour two
ranges respond not just here and there, with a hit-or-miss in-
accuracy, but somehow miraculously your bumps fit her indenta-
tions, and hers yours, over the whole range of your joint respon-
sive scale, resulting in a massive coming-alive of your whole
potentiality, both jointly and separately, in a way that defies
description or even comparison.

It is not, to my knowledgc, in the psychological textbooks.
(Come to think of it, they seldom classify states of mind that
don’t allow the classifier to feel superior.) Jung does no -
mention it, although it is true that, in his Answer to Job, he_

vprqPEesies it. Even poets missed it, although some of the seven-

teenth century poets clearly knew it, as my mistress was quick
to point out. Earlier still, Dante seems to have found it with
Beatrice. And, of living poets, Robert Graves clearly seems to
speak of it, and I am sure there must be others.

42
It remains true that, as from the grace of any paradise, the fall
must be hard to bear. From the paradise of total love, the fall is
long and steep. But we do not get evicted, I think, unless we fail
in some way to pay the rent.

I keep this book, and other trinkets, as a reminder of what I
once knew, but neither the state of grace nor the fall from it can
be adequately described, even with talents much greater than
mine. You must know, dear Reader, that compared with what
was really taking place, this book is no more than a worthless
scrap of paper blown away by the wind.

43
Love consists in this, that two solitudes
protect and touch and greet each other.

Rainer Maria Rilke
e el

Lovely girl

What am I to say? You are testing me. I can only tell you what
you already know. What you and I have taken millions of lifetimes to
find out for ourselves.

You know this. Two people are struck in heaven, different sides
of the same being. They are scattered on earth, and must seek until
they find each his[her other side, over many lifetimes if necessary.
The search seems endless, often they think they have found each other,
but it is not so. When they do, they know it is so because heaven
opens to receive them back. The male and the female become as a
single one. The fields, the trees, the waters, the animals, the people
all rejoice, and happiness and beauty flowers all round them, because
they are content. Their relationship is without limit. The poetry of its
creation passes from this time forth for ever.

Love is acceptance. It is the highest discipline on earth. Anything
Iess is not love, but tyranny. In love, two people free each other. In
what passes for love, they bind each other. The key cannot correct
the lock, nor may the lock mould the key. If they do not fit, there is
only grinding pain and breakage, and the door is not opened. All
this we both know.

You know also this. I can make no decision for you, nor you Sor
me. That is your freedom and mine. Somewhere back along the line
someone has _fooled you into thinking you don’t have this freedom, and
you_feel guilty about using it. The amount of pain in the world is
constant, you cannot add to it or subtract from it, much as it might
boost your ego to think that you could. You are free to choose
pleasure or pain, as it suits your need of the moment.

45
Lovely girl, in heaven you are a Goddess and I am a God, but on
earth we are both weak and helpless and need endless patience and
understanding. Marry heaven and earth, and strength comes.

In becoming conscious of our divinity we lose nothing of our
humanity. In love I am human, with all the agonized and heightened
sensibility qf a human being in love. 1 sqfl'kr agonies when you do not
write, I look for the slightest sign of reproach, I wonder if I have
displeased you in some way. Any sign of affection is nectar to me, |
cannot have enough of it. I dwell on it, I read it all ways up, I try
to make it look more than it really is!

And yet, all the time, I smile above myself, knowing us to be but
two sides of one being—as well might one pull the daisy to pieces—
the dear day’s eye—in a frenzy of ‘She loves me! She loves me not!’—
knowing that the North Pole cannot feel the attraction of the South
Pole without the South Pole feeling the attraction of the North Pole,
that your own sweet beauty is also in the eye of the beholder, and
that if I sometimes see you at fault it is because I also feel myself so.

46
Had we but World enough, and Time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.

Andrew Marvell
Once every 500 ycars
The gates of heaven are opened
Just a little way

Just a little light

Just a little

Just enough

Soon

They will close again
Bang

Clang

Missed it

Ah well

Another goo vears

49
2.
fu Acidout—

My love, would you not come to me if
1 was wounded?

Would you not arrive to comfort me if
I had had a serious accident?

Well, I have had a serious accident.

I have been born.

5o
3
o (i

The biggest pet

I ever kept

Was a girl

With whom I slept
I never found
Another yet

So satisfactory

As a pet

A polar bear

Just isn’t there

A dog or cat

Is hardly that

A doggie might
Know how to fight
He don’t know how
My girl can bite

A pussy may

Know how to play
She don’t know how
My girl can stay

I would not let

My girlie loose

And go and get
Myself a goose

A herd of cows

As well might browse
Among my books
And take the vows
Of marriage to

A kangaroo

As think to make me

g1
Change my view
Nor would I wish
To keep a fish
When I can keep
My little dish

A clever dick

Who took the mick
And came between
Me and my chick
Would soon be sent
To where he went
With all his members
Broke or bent

I don’t prefer
Another more

Than the her

With whom I snore
Other women

I hear coming
Might as well be
Bathroom plumbing
And there ain’t
Another that

I slecp more zz with
Than my cat

What female partner
Anyhow

Could be more passive
Than my cow

And who are you
To say that moo

[s better than

My kangaroo

And let’s be fair
Just what is there
To hug me closer
Than my bear

52
Or make me sick
Or take the mick
Or love me like
My clever dick

I could not wish
For any dish
That’s quieter than
My little fish

And for intelligent
Abuse

Come and listen
To my goose

And anyway

My dog can play
And gets more faithful
Every day

So as a pal

Take my advice
An animal

Is very nice

I never found
Another yet

So satisfactory

As a pet

A dog or cat

Or come to that
A better beast

Or bird or bat

Or other creature fit
To keep with
Than the

One

I go to sleep with

53
14409041'3 ((d\k

Wot d’yer fancy then, luv?

Bit of termorrer’s new, then?
Or a bit of old yesterday’s 'ad it?
Wot we got, then?

Old )estcrda)’s you,
0Old \nsterda) s stew,
Old yesterday’s old fashioned mixture everyone knew!
Old yesterday’s chew,
Old \esterdav s view,
Old yesterday’s little old modern young yesterday’s you'!

Wot we got today then, luv?
Well, let’s see, we got

Wot we 'ad yesterday

Done up a bit

Wiv a lick an’ a freshener
An’ we got

Just come in today

To go wiv it

We got

All yesterday’s news,
All yesterday’s views,
And guess w! that’s for yesterday’s crossword—) esterday’s clues!
All yesterda) s blues
In yesterday’s shoes,
Who's dancing through all my tomorrows? Yesterday’s yous!

54
Wot’s new then, luv?

Wot we got today, then?

Well, today we got somefing speshul like
Today we got a real breakfroo

Today we got

Old yesterday’s you,
Old yesterday’s woo,
Old yesterday’s old fashioned pussy cat’s old fashioned mew!
Oh, what shall we do!
Let’s try something new!
How about little old modern young yesterday’s you!

58
5

b Con bl

Flame
My love is like a sun for you
To warm you, melt you, let you free,
It lights on every one for you
And what it melts returns to me.

Wax
My love is like a fuel to you,
You burn me up to fire your sun,
I only could be cruel to you
To stop the way my love would run.

Wick
I am the thread that comes between
To bind you and to let you part:
What could be, is, and might have been,
I am the cord that cleft your heart.

56
o
Quer Upm. (:T_WL

Once upon a time to go to bed now, there lived a very good
man. His name was Sir George Pig, or St George for short.

Everybody was very sorry for him, being called Pig, so
everybody was specially nice to him to make up for it. They
all used to say, behind his back, what a dreadful thing to be
called Pig, how awful for him, how brave of him to bear it
like a man and not change his name to some other animal,
such as Fox for example, or Rat. No, perhaps not Rat.
Anyway, how brave of him not to, and what a thoroughly good
man he must be.

And of course, being called Pig, everybody used to visit him
to see what he looked like. But you can’t just visit people to
see what they look like, so they used to bring him things.

‘I've called to bring you this cauliflower,’ they used to say,
or

‘I've just dropped in with this chicken.’

Which was very nice for Sir George, because it meant that
he could get on with his work, or enjoy himself as he pleased
and not bother with the shopping.

And of course, all the people who called were on their best
behaviour, being so sorry for Sir George being called Pig. And
they would do little jobs about the house for him, and go
away saying

‘That man is more than a Sir. He is a Saint.’

§7
And this was how Sir George came to be called St George.

Now it happened that in the Neighbourhood of Pigsty House,
in the village of Pigsney, County Snout, where St George
lived, there lived a Monster. And this Monster was very fierce
and fiery, with smoke coming out of its nose, so that everybody
said it must be very evil and bad, to have smoke coming out
of its nose. Really it was just like everybody else, only bigger.
The smoke coming out of its nose was due to the fact that it
smoked.

Now this Monster lived quietly with its Monstress at a place
which, as I have already said, was called the Neighbourhood.
But for some reason people thought that the Monster and the
Monstress ought not to live there, they would rather have
somebody else living there, not a Monster and a Monstress
who gave the Neighbourhood a bad name. It already had a bad
name, of course, being called the Neighbourhood, but they
never thought of that. Indeed, the County Council of County
Snout had decided to have the Neighbourhood pulled down,
so that it could be rebuilt and modernized according to a large
Plan drawn up by the County Planner, a very small man called
Doctor Worthwhile Whitewash. And, as soon as it was
replanned, the bad name of the Neighbourhood would of
course be changed to a good name. And the good name
Doctor Whitewash had thought of was to call it the Vicinity.

This Plan was very acceptable to the Snout councillors, who

all agreed that the sooner the old Neighbourhood was pulled
down, and the sooner the modern Vicinity was erected,

§8
When you have finished telling your family

How we make love

When you have finished being cducated

By men who know nothing

When you have finished being fucked

By men who risk nothing

When you have finished listening

To men who say nothing

When you have finished thinking

You have to finish an unpalatable meal

Because you paid for it

When you have finished supposing

You need a mark on a bit of paper

To open a door that is already open

When you have finished approaching marriage

So determined to make it fail

That vou have already decided what to do when it does
When you have finished wanting to prove your greatness
When it is already accepted

When you have finished trying to display your brightness
When it has already lightened my darkness

When you have finished seeking to show off your beauty
When it is already noted

When you have finished adding to your worth

When it is already enough

When you have finished looking for something better
Come back to me

Come back to me

Because you are my wife and I cannot let you go.

60
Without you

The house is silent and I cry
Without you

The house howls although my eyes are dry
Without you

The tree guards no kingdom
Without you

There is no meat

Without you

There is no drink

Without you

There is no slecp

Without you

There is no waking
Without vou

There is no play to be plaved
Without you

There is no work to be done
Without you

I cannot know

Without you

I cannot say

Without you

I cannot feel

Without you

I cannot be

Without you

I cannot live

Without you

I cannot die

Without you

There is no star

Without you

There is no sky

Without you

The sun cannot run
Without you

61
The world cannot fly

Without you

Thou art no state

Without you

No prince am |

Because you are my wife

Because you are my wife

Because you are my wife and [ cannot let you go.

62
A great treasure, my love, cannot be guarded without some
deceit.

Before I came to vou, my love, I did not know how great
my treasure was.

I told you the truth, my love, so you left me. You told me
lies, so I still love you.

I remember now that you told me to tell you lies. In my
pride I thought I knew better. Now see how my pride is
humbled.

Pray God if you return to me I shall lie to you always. This
much I owe you.

The truth is in my being and yours. We do not need words
to confirm it. We need words only to deny it, when necessary,

to hide it so that it may not be taken away from us.

A man does not put all his most valuable possessions on the
pavement outside his house.

63
Q
1 ME&M

Tell me lies to make me come
Tell me lies to keep me

Tell me lies to wake me up
Tell me lies to sleep me

Tell me lies to tempt me
Tell me lies to have me

Tell me lies to catch me
Tell me lies to love me

Tell me lies to marry me
Tell me lies to take me

Tell me lies to let me love
Tell me lies to make me

Tell me lies to father me
Tell me lies to grow me

Tell me lies to mother me
Tell me lies to know me

Tell me lies to cherish me
Tell me lies to lay me
Tell me lies to nourish me

Tell me lies to play me

64
Tell me lies to sew me up
Tell me lies to sleep me

Tell me lies to enter me
Tell me lies to reap me

Tell me lies to comfort me
Tell me lies to ease me
Tell me lies to bear with me

Tell me lies to please me

Tell me lies to make me laugh
Tell me lies to tease me

Tell me lies to buy me up
Tell me lies to lease me

Tell me lies to let me cry
Tell me lies to blind me

Tell me lies to fish me
Tell me lies to land me

Tell me lies to frighten me
Tell me lies to shake me

Tell me lies to lighten me
Tell me lies to wake me

Tell me lies to make me come
Tell me lies to let me

Tell me lies to cover me
Tell me lies to get me

65
Tell me lies to carry me
Tell me lies to have me

Tell me lies to let me be
Tell me lies to love me

66
10
e Toat—

My life is entirely at your disposal

You may kill me for sport if you wish

I'accept it in you because I know it with me

You accept me when you accept who you really are

Your idea of yourself is what you think is acceptable

You accept me when you accept more than that

I ' know your reservations

Because I know mine

Image to image

Mine are dissolving

In yours

I'am yours as you please

If you accept it

I enjoy it

I was charged with a great task

I did not know what my reward was to be

It is the greatest

It has been granted to me to be able to accept you

Complete

The task was my test

No other man woman child animal plant or inanimate thin
passed the test

No other being in earth or heaven has been or ever will be

Granted this privilege

67
1

You like I

One day

Wwill die

The wind

Will circle
Birds will cry
The world
Continues

And is gone
Where this emblem
Sun once shone

All the trinkets
Of your worth
Tokens of your
Infant birth
Will become
Like mine
Again
Recollections
Of our pain

68
Only two
Can play
This game
One can
Play it

Just the same
None

Can play it
Otherwise
Minus one’s
The one
That dies

I like you
Shall die

One day
Circling

The other way
Where the wind
Will take

This chance

A bird

Of paradise
Will dance

69
Take me

To your
Ancient place
Take me
Where |

Saw your face
Sun

And moon
Shone

On what
When you
Are gone
The world

Is not

Can

The cold moon
Love

The less

Can

The emblem
Sun

Unbless

All his
Planets

In

Their groove
And

Eclipse

The way
They move

70
Can

The wedding
Bells

Unring

Can

The winging
Bird

Unwing

Can

The marriage
of

The earth
Miscarry
Heaven

In

Your birth

You like I

One day

Will die

The wind

Will circle
Birds will cry
Where this emblem
Sun once shone
The world
Continues

And is gone
17—
Bm&i&{m

And now to god the father god the son and holy ghost

And now to goddess mum and goddess daughter with the most
And now to godhead being and unbeing in the Place

That I am ever seeing and unseeing in your Face

To desarts of eternity without a night or day

Beyond through every being through beyond what men can say
Beyond and ever inward to the way it all began

Beyond and ever outward to the fallen works of man

And on beyond all this to that unpromising recess

That last familiar secret what not nobody can’t guess

72
“Tut, tut, child!’ said the Duchess. ‘Everything’s
got a moral, if only you can find it.’

Lewis Carroll
< baducian

Perhaps it was my refusal to share, with her, the destructive in-
vasion of my mistress’s family, to take it in, Judo-wise, even to
jolly it along, to be superficially destroyed by it myself, as she is,
and then, somehow, to learn to transcend it, to come through it,
as I did the destruction wrought by my own family. Perhaps this
way, with wisdom and patience, I could have taken her with me.
Perhaps even, if I humbly repent before her now, I still will. I
know, anyway, that I need a similar service of her, and that, if
she comes back to me, she will perform it without having to be
asked. She is made that way. Most women are.

I am not. I need to be taught. Only a woman can teach me.

Lawrence was rifiht when he wrote that a woman can say
nothing that a man has not taught her to say.

‘What he omitted was that a man can know nothing that a woman
has not taught him to know.

7§
She hath left me here alone,
All alone, as unknown,

Who sometimes did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.

Sir Walter Raleighll
Jellac ofjer

I know there is nothing wrong with your taking your degree if you feel
you must. Remember I always left this one to you, love. All I ever

did was to make myself available for you to come to, a sort of second
string as it were (though I hope one day to be your first), and if you
ever find yourself unwilling or unable to go on with what you are
doing now, well, here I still am.

I have experience of both learning and teaching in universities,
and I have seen many degrees failed or abandoned for archetypal
reasons, amid consequent and quite unnecessary shame and misery.

Don’t think that meeting me has made any difference. If you
hadn’t been seriously considering failing or chucking your degree
you wouldn’t even have answered my letters. You are not a fool, love,
although you may find it convenient to pretend to be one when you
play the family game. You know perfectly well that all my letters
were love-letters, and that all yours were come-on signals. Your
Sfamily, your sister in particular, seems to have drilled into you the
idea that there is something wrong in this. But, if you consider it,
the world would be a really terrible place, even more dreadful than
it is now, if it were not open to any person, irrespective of class, age,
occupation, nationality, or other accident of birth, to express, as
kindly and as beautifully as he can, his love to another person, and
for that other person to respond as she finds herself responding,
without let or hindrance from any third person.

1 cannot change your archetype, my dear. Nobody can. It is there,
and it will determine, in its way, your whole life. It is there, and
if you allow yourself to be guided by it, you go to heaven, and if you
resist it, you go to hell. Not in some future state. In this life. That
is the law. I didn’t make it.

77
I cannot change your archetype, I can only reveal it to you, as
others try, for their own ends, to conceal it from you. It is true that
I seek o reveal it for my own ends too, but that, if you think of it,
is your true security. You just cannot be secure with anyone, however
much he tries, however dutiful and undoubtedly good he may be,
whose own ends do not, in the final analysis, tally with yours. Not
your accidental, personal ends. Your archetypal ends.

I cannot change your archetype, but I can give it I!'fe. I can
cherish, nourish, and husband it so that what you are now will seem
poor, wizened, and wretched by comparison with what you will
become. And you, too, my love, would perform the same service for me.
Not out of duty, not because you felt obliged to, but because it is the

way you are made. What greater security can a mere human being
have than this?

Please note I am not attempting to tell you what your archetype
is, no one can do that. You are always queen of your own domain,
Jou are fiee to serve your archet)’pe or betm)' it as you wish, and it
is no business of mine, unless asked, to say what I think you are doing.
Maybe finishing your degree is serving your archetype, maybe not.
Unlike your family, I do not presume to judge, much less to force you,
by violent and disruptive pressures, into making decisions when your
mind is least composed. I know that they, and consequently you,
project these faults onto me. But please ask yourself, love, since when
has openness, honesty, and loving-kindness been called pressure? It is
true that love allows us all to press to be what we really are, to
overthrow the confines and limitations of our breeding and education.
You are ambitious, my dear, which means that you wish to be as
great as you know you really are. There is, if you think of it, no
other being for you. Either your greatness is already real, now, or
you will never be it. You cannot fool the world, my love. Nobody

can. Either way. If you settle for less than you really are, the world
will despise you.

All creative people, my love, all those with an unusually extended
range and depth of responsiveness, are troubled with their families.

What their families have to offer, in advice, education, etc, is

78
designed, however well-meaningly, for someone within a comparable
range to theirs. A family never accommodates to the  fact that one

of its members is out of their range. It is the story of the ugly
duckling over and over again.

1 love my family, but I never follow their advice. Not any more.
You only follow the advice of people you wish to be like. And even if
you wish to be like your Sfamily, my love, you cannot be, any more
than I can be like mine, however hard I try. Your family’s advice is
suitable only to someone who is conditioned as they are. So is mine.

There is a place for you here, if you wish to take it up. Can you
accept that an offer of marriage is not trivial? In making it, I offer
you all I have to offer. It might not be much. But it is all. In
accepting it, you gflrer an equal return. I make it without reservation,
Jou accept it so. Whether you go on to take your degree is immaterial
to me, always has been, you made the issue of it, not me. An offer
of marriage, and its acceptance, is an undertaking to another person
as they are, it is not subject to conditions and reservations. Put the
tribal bargaining to work on it, and it is lost. Look at all the
miserable ‘marriages’ you see around you. Why are they so miserable?
Because each partner went into it with reservations. With certain
moral, tribal, social, idealistic, or humanitarian principles, if you
like. And the reservations, in the end, are all that is left of the
marridge. Just a couple of reservations sharing a house, with a
number of small preserves to bind their non-union.

I cannot abrogate my function as a man, just because it has through
Jyears of neglect become obscured. I have to find it again. I cannot
save you if you throw out the baby because the bathwater is dirty.

To save you, I must tell you who you are. To save me, you must
show me who you are. To save you, I must tell you who I am. To
save me, you must show me who I am. This is the law. The fact that
it is being ignored does not make it any less the law. The law of
gravity is not weakened by ignoring it and falling over a cliff or
under a bus. The fact that the law of co-operation of the male and
the female is being ignored, the fact that our fundamentally

79
different functions are being falsely identified, is why the world is
breaking up and falling apart with an ever-increasing momentum
towards its very own self-guided self-destruction. It is now all systems
go. Towards destruction.

In bringing us to this place, our families had no choice but to
perform their difficult and thankless tasks. To be contained until its
time of usefulness, a great force must be greatly opposed. The
glinder opposes the force of the steam, without which its power is
dissipated uselessly. This is the reconciliation between the Jewish
Christ’s saying that one cannot come to Him without hating one’s
father and one’s mother, and the Mosaic law that one should also
honour them.

Equally, the world now has no choice but to destroy itself, to make
way for the new world that will rise_from the ashes of the old. We,
being the creatures who bridge both worlds, must be able to master
both sets of laws and use them appropriately. It is no good living in
one world, as I sometimes do, and stubbornly acting as though it is
the other. I need your help here to distinguish them. Our task is
great enough. We have, if we will, to survive in the old world, to
survive in the new world, and to survive the holocaust that stands
between the two. Neither of us could achieve it alone, but together
we can. As Wells said, men are slower and stupider, women are
quicker and sillier. To survive alone I am too stupid, and you are too
silly. Exchange these between ourselves, and your silliness becomes
the very quickness of the eternal life-spring that infuses the secure
_foundation and formality of my stupidity that gives it permanence
and prevents it from being dissipated into nothingness before it has
served its due time. Only you, a woman, give life to my form, only
1, a man, give form to your life.

So whenever you wish to take it up, there is a place _fl)r you here,
in the university of my being and yours. Just so long as the door
between us can be kept open. Because, and | found this totally
impossible to explain to your father, always always always it is the
woman who chooses. However much tradition may have it otherwise,
all we men can do is make ourselves available. And once a man has

8o
thus made himself available, once the King has exposed himself to
the mating net, he will be tdken by the first Queen who considers
him a fair catch. And, whoever she is, he will love her. If he has
lived a short time, he will love her for a short time. And if he has
lived a long time, he will love her for a long time. How could it be
otherwise?

Can you see that, in this message, there is no imposition. You, and
you only, show me what to say. Before I met you, I did not know it.
I say only what you teach me to say. I do only what you teach me to
do. I love only what you teach me to love.
When we remember we are all mad,
the mysteries disappear and life
stands explained.

Mark Twain
?odth

I posted this letter with the poems, and got no answer. | rang
her up. She said she would not answer. She thought she was
having a breakdown.

I reckoned I could reach her by train the same day, and went.
She was out, so I didn’t in fact see her till the next day.

Meanwhile her flatmates entertained me, and when she didn’t
return, let me slecp on the floor. They were all extremely con-
cerned about her and, because of what had happened, a bit
awkward with me.

When I finally saw her the next day, she was cold and distant.
She did not look happy and I, after a long journey and a night on
the floor, felt miserable.

She had gone back to the boy she was with before she met me.
Her omitting to tell me this was, I realized, a way of keeping her
options open with me.

I also realized now that if she wouldn’t close them, I must. I
felt myself to be bleeding to death. I had to cut off.

Whether she, in her turn, will cut herself off from me, whether
she will survive to marry another man, and whether she will be
able, in the end, to justify the course she has taken, I do not
know.

There is a game children play when the tide is coming in, sur-
rounding themselves with an ‘impenatrable’ wall of sand, keeping
the water out as long as possible. Of course the water seeps in
underneath, and eventually breaks through and floods everybody
out. It is a good game. Adults play a similar game, surrounding
themselves with an ‘impenatrable’ wall of argument to keep out

83
reality. Reality seeps in underneath, of course, and eventually
breaks through and floods us all out.

When a man takes a woman he becomes prince of all her
states. Or rather, he is prince of all the states in which she
allows him to ride and in which he is able and willing to ride. By
coming into each state, he puts and keeps it in order, defends it
with his body, and in return is allowed to reap his share of the
benefits.

Some women reserve some of their states, and do not allow
even their husbands to enter. Some men reserve some of their
talents, which they offer elsewhere, or keep to themselves,
instead of employing them in the service of the woman. To the
extent to which there are these reservations, a marriage is
incomplete.

My mistress reserved no state from me, and I reserved no
talent from her. To this extent our marriage was complete. But
amongst the states of which she was princess—amongst the
heritage of which, by marriage, she would become queen—
were certain strong but unruly states, notably her father, her
mother, her elder sister, and their internalizations in her. What
I said to her, in effect, might have been this.

‘I see, my dear, that you possess certain unruly states and that
you have thrown open the gates of these, also, to me. But when
I ride there the population throw eggs in my face and try to
knock me off my horse. 1like to be popular, it is unpleasant bei
unpopular, and I am not sure that I wish to be the ruler of states
such as these. Besides, if the truth were known, I am a little
afraid of the people in these states, I do not know how to defend
myself against them, and you know as well as I do, my dear, that
a king cannot rule subjects of whom he is afraid.

‘I suggest, my dear, since you allowed these states to get into
such a mess, that you rule them yourself, or better still, that we
cut them off from our kingdom and allow them to go their own

way.

84
To which she perhaps replied, ‘I have considered your pro-
posal, and although I am naturally interested in a prince who
enters parts of my domain that no man entered before, and who
has brought to order, husbanded, and reaped the most abundant
and satisfying harvest from them, the fruits of which we have
shared together, I find that, for sentimental and other reasons, I
cannot offer to abandon my unruly states just because you are
afraid, or do not know how, to be king there also, and to hus-
band these as you have husbanded those states of mine with more
fertile soil and a pleasanter climate.

‘Thus, though I appreciate your truly wonderful work else-
where, I regret that I cannot accept your offer of marriage that
does not extend itself to these states, in some ways more in need
of your help than the other states, which you already found in
fairly good order, although uncultivated.

‘Since you are, in other respects, all that I always wanted, it is
with great sorrow that I must now take my leave of you and
return to my former suitor. He may not be so clever as you, but
at least he knows his way around these states and is not afraid of
the people there. He might do something to help, which is more
than you offered to do. You offered to do nothing.

‘Perhaps later I shall consider these states to be less important
than I consider them now, and perhaps, also, you will learn not
to be so afraid of the people there, so that you can enter and ride
there without being knocked off your horse. Maybe if you would
get off your horse and go to meet the people they would not feel
the need to knock you off. At such a time, perhaps, I may be free
to reconsider your offer to be my husband.’

If this was our archetypal conversation, then whatever we had
said to one another at the time would not have touched the issue,
it would have been like clanging dustbin lids outside the house.
If I could not bring such a state of affairs to consciousness, how
could she be expected to?

8s
The Chinese gamut consists of the notes
d f d
6
i T

and presents serious difficulties to Christian missionaries, it being im-
possible to adapt the ordinary Western hymn tunes to the musical
H Gossin

[MFS
NIW »

r
2
8

system of the country.
Ot Bools

In a way, paradise is who we are irrespective of what the nexus
takes us to be. Practically the whole of our breeding and edu-
cation is devoted to fitting us in, and binding us to, the nexus.

Where the tragedy overreaches itself, is comedy. Where the
comedy forgets itself, is tragedy.

We leave the education of the young to serious high-minded
persons. This fits them only for tragedy. High-minded seriousness
is confused with responsibility. In fact it is irresponsible, failing
as it does to respond to the other side of human nature.

We do not have to take the nexus of our culture so exclusively
from high-minded ancient Greeks and humourless ancient Jews.
Both, in their ways, produced highly homosexual and thus
strongly warlike cultures. There are, both before and since,
wiser, more mature, less aggressive, less painful windows

through which to look at the world and relate with it.

Beware of the expert, the specialist who knows all about very
little and very little about it all. Remember he is a mercenary,
somebody pays him to dress up an opinion and show it off in the
most flattering light. Put him in another stable, find him another
paymaster, he might well have to say the exact opposite, he has
a wife and kids to support. Why do you think estimates of Govern-
ment expenditure, etc, are always so hopelessly wrong? Because
they are prepared by experts. You and I, dear Reader, can always
guess nearer the truth than the expert will ever calculate it.

If a man cannot get there by virtue of being a man, where can
he get by qualifying himself so as to become something less than
a man? People are made to forget the meaning of ‘qualify’—if

87
you qualify something you make it less than it was originally, not
more. A man qualified in any way is less than whole. Only by
abrogating his qualification and cultivating his self, by returning
from the outpost of his ego to the kingdom of his archetype, and
by ruling the pretence of his ‘I’ from the reality of his ‘me’, can
a man return to wholeness.

Speaking for my sex alone, I can say that every man is poet,
lover, actor, sculptor, builder, explorer, fighter, navigator, map-
maker, mathematician, orator, juggler, thief, liar, beggar, story-
teller, painter, soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor, farmer, hunter,
traveller, priest, doctor, saint, angel, devil, and god. For a start.
And all this he is, or can be, by virtue of being a man, not at the
expense of being a man. And, if it were not for so many expert
sneerers, all these things, in their proper places and at their
proper times, is what he would be. To the best of his ability.
Also singer, composer, player, dancer, teacher, learner, St
George, the Dragon, sinner, penitent, tradesman, prostitute,
athlete, brother, son, good boy, bad boy, slave, master, oracle,
visionary, healer, magician, king, prince, nobleman, servant,
fool, philosopher, refugee, minister, critic, celibate, profligate,
and when, but not before, he has finished separating himself out
into all this, and rolled it all back into himself, he can make a
present of it all (yes, I said all, there is no holding back) to some
nice young girl and become her devoted husband.12 And she, on
her side, can equally give all she has, whatever it may be, to
become his devoted wife,12 and at that moment they complete
the cycle. They find they still have what they gave away, and

infinitely more. They are neutralized and liberated. They are it.

What the hell13 is this so-called identity anyway? Just what is
it that is supposed to keep us all imprisoned in what we happened
to look like yesterday? So, yesterday I wore a blue suit. So
today I am expected to wear a blue suit. So tomorrow they can
call me Mr Bluesuit. The well-known personality. Have we all
gone utterly crazy? We seem to have this childish obsession with
personality, with the merely superficial, with what is material
only for communication with other material. We are conned like

88
sheep, driven into the idiotic. We thought it clever to live in
our personalities. As well might a nation obliterate itself and
maintain only its foreign embassies.

Sneer go the sneerers, the qualified people, the people who
have decided ‘what’ they ‘are’ (de = down, off, caedere = cut:
decide = cut down, cut off). Sneer sneer they go, having cut
themselves down to such hobbledehoy half-creatures, must they
sneer, sneer, sneer, cut, cut, cut everyone else down to their
size, anything to make what they did to themselves appear less
awful, to avoid seeing, for the price they had to pay, what a lot
of grot they got.

The communications media all connive in it. What is your
opinion, Dr Pigstein, as an economist? Instead of what is your
response as a man. Oh, no, that’s not good enough. Man is
invalidated, nobody listens to men any more, we are expected to
listen to economists, ontologists, sociologists, and other such
idiots. The final indignity has arrived, and the part is given

precedence over the whole.

This is, of course, the ultimate, irredeemable sin. Havelock
Ellis once defined corruption as the breaking up of the whole for
the benefit of its parts. Put the parts first, ignore the whole, and
you’ve had it. The world flies to pieces, just as the body falls
apart when you give it over to the microbes. And the microbes
don’t survive either, you get no gratitude from them. That’s it,
mate. Put the world in the hands of the experts, and you’ve had
it, you might as well start looking for another world right away.
You’ll get no more joy from this one.14

What is so wrong with the expert is that he is such an ac-
complished processer. We have all become so terrified of reality.
We want it canned, dehydrated, defused, made safe, shredded,
made up into convenient labour-saving dispensable packets.
Reality in the raw is something we imagine happening only to
other people, where we can watch it on the telly from a safe
distance. At all costs don’t let’s let it happen to us!

89
An aunt of mine, when she was dying, said ‘Why should this
happen to me?” My dear Aunt, it happens to happen to us all. You
have not been personally singled out for some unique and
specially unpleasant experience called dying, and if that is the
way it appears to you, those who made it appear that way were
grievously at fault. 1 don’t care how heartless it sounds, I am
prepared to maintain against all comers that it is vilely wrong,
fiendishly evil, and fraudulently inhumane to play these pretending
games about death, to make out that it is a sort of faux pas that
only happens to other people, something that no one in his right
mind would consider. It is, in my view, a most presumptuous
conceit on anybody’s part to attempt to invalidate and trivialize
and hush up one of the realest and most important and meaningful
and necessary experiences any of us is ever going to have, and to
make it scem somchow shameful and belittling. A dying person
has enough to suffer without having his experience invalidated
and sterilized. He has reached the end of this life, he is as wise
as he ever can be, he has nothing more to learn, he is taking his
departure. The occasion is momentous, whether we think he is
going to heaven, hell, purgatory, limbo, nirvana, the first bardo,
to another world, or just plain nowhere. Could we not just put
our opinions in the background for once, they are no use to him
now, and pay our respects to his experience, whatever it may be, and
so perhaps help him to come to terms with it and to validate it
for himself? And hope to God, or whatever it is we hope to, that
someone might be kind enough to do the same for us when our
turn comes.

What has happened to us? We seem to have become so scared,
so terrified of anything real, and so much at a loss that we seek to
take our reality from outside, to steal it from others, to come to
it vicariously so that we shall not be responsible to it. We prefer
to sit masturbating in the stalls while a sex-act is performed on
the stage. An invalid sex-act at that, because it did not happen of
its own accord, it was not done for its own sake, it was done with
a view to being watched and criticized, to provide a talking-point.
We have constructed a culture of voyeurs, we have become a
civilization of investigators.

90
Mrs Brown of Balham, an ordinary not very musical housewife
with no expert training in the art of composition, started to write
marvellous music, quite comparable in form and content to that
of Liszt, Chopin, Brahms, and other composers who, she says,
provide her with inspiration and guide her through technical
difficulties that would otherwise be beyond her. So what do we
do? Instead of publishing and recording as much as we can for
our instruction and delight, we send round experts to investi-
gate, without the least success, how she does it. And a famous
pianist, on the telly, instead of playing it to us, looks embarrassed
and says he hopes there is some rational explanation. Does he
want a rational explanation for Bach, Mozart, Beethoven? Does
he only play, at his concerts, music for which there is a rational
explanation? Music with the stamp of logic and the blessing of
the computer? If so I don’t think many people will listen to it.

No poet, of course, needs to investigate Mrs Brown’s ability.
He already knows exactly the secret she has discovered in herself.
It is not a secret that opens itself to investigators.

Thanks to expertise, we have already managed to investigate
nearly everything out of existence. Animals have become extinct,
it’s OK, we have films and tape-recordings. Whole peoples, with
diffeient, self-contained modes of life, have been invaded,
exploited, corrupted, and destroyed, it’s OK, we made anthro-
pological studies of them. The earth is polluted and made barren,
it’s OK, the Encyclopaedia Britannica will tell us what it used to
look like.

We have invented a dangerous and predatory way of life, that
cannot be self-contained because it consumes faster than it
replenishes, multiplies itself faster than it dies, an ethnologically
lunatic way of existence that even infects, with missionary zeal,
its own disease upon hitherto stable and self-contained com-
munities. Plain arithmetic, and indeed everything else in the
holocosm, shrieks out that it is so, yet mankind, once infected
with this disease, becomes deaf to any voice, however loud,
blind to any lighf, however bright, frenzied and delirious, madder

91
than the maddest Gadarene swine. Very shortly, when he has
devoured or infected or polluted all that is otherwise in the
world, he will have only himself left to prey upon. An agonized,
dying, self-eating cancer.

Our very social and economic policies read like a textbook
written for cancers on how to make a tumour. Get dangerously
busy rather than remain harmlessly idle. Increase your rate of
productivity above your rate of decay. Make your exports
bigger than your imports, and at the same time do everything
you can to boost your consumption of raw materials. Increase
your population. Standardize your units. And above all, send
working-parties and missions to all the poor fools in regions
where they have not yet learned to do these things, and regale
them with the advantages of an ambient philosophy that en-
courages expansion, mechanization, productivity, and growth
over whatever ‘backward’ and ‘primitive’ gospels they might
have enjoyed before you arrived on the scene.

You just can’t have a world where every country exports more
than it imports. Why? Because the arithmetic doesn’t add up.
This and dozens more insane shibboleths are all the product of the
expert mentality, paid to exploit a sectional interest and never
mind the whole.

O expert man, you have much to answer for. And yet how can
we fairly blame you? You are as much the product as the cause.
We have devised a system in which anybody who is not an expert
is left out in the cold, considered useless, left to starve, things
proceed from bad to worse at an accelerating rate, and suddenly
all the kettles and pots begin to scream at one another how black
they are. And all the experts get together and come out with the
answer: more experts!

It is not so much the people who are skilled at making or
moving things, who master a trade or do a job, and mind their
own business, that take us so far from reality. It is the people who
do nothing but talk.

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There is so much talk going on, so many words flung around,
that nobody can see a thing. We send a child to school, and then
university, and then a postgraduate course. Twenty years of talk
talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk
talk talk talk talk talk. With the result that, at the end of it all, the
child knows nothing whatever, and can do nothing at all. Except
talk.

You leave the university. You go to a dinner party. There is a
lull in the conversation. Quick, somebody, say something, any-
thing, before some terrifying reality begins to intrude. Quick,
blot it out, distract us from it, get the talk going again.

Talk becomes the rule. Talking is polite. Not talking is rude.
Talking is the game. Anyone for talking? Sorry, Sir, Madam, the
rules do not permit other games to be played in this club.

Dimmed by years of talking, your reality ceases to be what you
see, hear, feel, taste, and smell, it becomes what you are told,
what you read in the newspapers, what the commentators say.

You don’t believe me? One day my car caught fire on the motor-
way. 1 stopped it on the hard shoulder, rescued as much of my
luggage as I dare, climbed up the grass embankment, sat down,
and watched it blazing away. The police arrived. The fire-engines
came. Other motorists stopped their cars, got out, climbed up
the embankment to where I was sitting. The first thing they said
was, ‘Is it on fire?’

Careful, like, you see. OK, so it looks on fire, but we’d better
make sure, we’d better get someone to tell us, we’d better get it
on some authority what it is. We’d better ask the owner. It’s his
car. He should know if it’s on fire or not. If he says yes, that’ll be
all right, we can go home and say we saw a car on fire.

Leave the car. You feel ill. You don’t know what you’ve got.
You go to the doctor. He says you’ve got fantibular incubolitis.

That’s better. At least you know what you’ve got.

93
Leave the doctor. Go home. Look at your cat. It despises you.
Why? Because it hasn’t been blinded by science, it hasn’t got
fantibular incubolitis, but it can see you have, very badly, and it
feels obviously superior about it. It can see straight into you,
straight past all your talk, it knows who you are, how you are,
and what you are thinking. Not what you are thinking in your
talk-factory, not how you are adding up the milk-bill, but how
you are motivated, where your peculiarities and complexes are,
what you are thmkmg of domg next, what your feelings towards
it happen to be now, how it can get round you to get what it
wants. It has to know these things, itis not gifted (or handicapped)
with your intellect, it has to get you to feed it, look after it, and
give it shelter by studying your responses and relating with you
in a real and primitive way, without all that talk-twaddle that
occupies so much of your time and energy. It feels superior
because it knows it is superior, it knows it knows so much better
than you do what is really going on between you and it. But if
you come out of your talk-twaddle for a change, if you go into
your own primitive reality, you can see directly what the cat is
thinking. You now know what it knows. And it immediately
knows you know what it knows, and that you know that it knows
what you know. You stop trying to communicate with it, and
start to commune with it, and it stops despising you.

Babies are the same. A mother sometimes sees her baby just
watching her coldly and dispassionately, sizing her up. Some
mothers can’t stand it.

I picked up a girl’s baby, two or three months old, sat it on my
knee and told it a story. It listened with rapt attention. Without
changing the tone of my voice, I started talking nonsense. The
baby stopped paying attention, looked round the room, fidgeted
and started to cry. I stopped talking nonsense and started talking
sense again, and the baby stopped fidgeting and started to pay

attention again.

I do the same for my cat. It listens with the most respectful
attention when I tell it something, or explain to it what I am

94
doing. It doesn’t understand the language, of course. That is
foreign to it, as it is to the baby. But, provided you are not just
talking, provided you mean what you say at a deep enough level,
the cat (or the baby) will pick up your meaning at that level, and
this is why it will direct its attention to you. It is repaying you the
compliment you pay it when you direct your attention to its
own level of being.15

People who have momentarily been there all say how de-
lighted their animals are to greet them in this condition. The
animals simply grin at you. So, my dear human being, they say,
at last you have come to meet us! At last you have taken off
your blinkers, you have come out of your complicated language,
and you are now privileged to see what we see and know what
we know. You have come to your senses, and we are pleased
to accept you.

Naturally, when we go back into our complicated linguistic
egos, the animal is nonplussed. It cannot follow us there, nor
can it get through to us any more. It knows that we are now
utterly blind to its own reality, that we have replaced our vision
of it with a sort of projected cardboard image of an animal, not a
real animal any more, which doesn’t fit into language, but a sort
of explanation of an animal, which does. It feels meaningless and
shrivelled up. And it can’t help itself, it actually begins to be like
how we project it.

Man’s linguistic ego is both destructive and self-confirming.
Animals start behaving according to biological theory, people
start behaving like sociological doctrine. But externally. Intern-
ally, somewhere, they still have their reality. But it gets harder
and harder to find. It is all covered up under thicker and thicker
layers of language, theory, doctrine, clothes, fashions, ideals,
politics, religion, respectability, decency, and humanity.

Yes, I did say humanity. In particular, one’s merely human
nature is ignorant, proud, superficial, conceited, and didactic.

These are specifically human characteristics, they don’t belong \

95
to animals or gods. They are, in fact, precisely what distinguishes
a human being from an animal or a god.

Surprise? Not if you consider it. We get confused, obviously
enough, if we fail to make the distinction between a man and a
human. Man alone contains the Godhead, which belongs in all
things that are whole. But the human part of man is precisely his
non-divine nature, it is exactly, because definitively, the part of
him that is without the Godhead. Who would think of replacing
“To err is human’ with ‘To err is manly’?

A pretence that human nature is of itself the greatest value,
that it alone is our proper standard, leads inescapably to trouble
and strife in the beginning, and to disorder and disaster in the end.
Only by what is divine in man can we safely bring order to what
is human. If we rule by humanity alone, we replace what is just
by what is expedient, awareness and order give place to fear and
tyranny, authority is degraded and people fall prey to tricksters
and racketeers.

A man’s humanity is largely concerned with his social life, and
his social life is necessarily undertaken in respect of precisely what
is most superficial to his being. And to me, at least, it is axio-
matic that you cannot safely import what is superficial to order
what is fundamental. If you do, then the whole thing explodes.
That is why I am neither a socialist nor a humanist. I am not any
kind of ist. I refuse to be driven into corners. I speak as a man.

Don’t go thinking that I'm offering some sort of religion.
Divinity was never a monopoly of the church, although all
churches have, in their time, established and maintained funda-
mental divinities. And obscured them, in the end, with the
inevitable incrustation of doctrine. What is divine, as the word
tells us, is simply what is underneath: what is, therefore, not
apparent on the surface, but has to be divined.

You know what a water diviner is. There is nothing fishy about
the word ‘divine’, other than that it is to do with fishing. Diving

96
in, going underneath to find what is fundamental, to review the
foundations on which it all rests. The humanist, the man who
tries to govern on merely social principles, is like a man who
builds a house without first looking to the foundations, and then
is surprised and hurt when it falls down.

The word ‘divine’ is rooted in Diana, the original goddess
mother. If you wish to explore her divinity, dear Reader, it is a
mistake to think you can get there instantly. We expect so many
instant miracles these days, instant potatoes, instant sex, instant
explanations, instant government. Just add water, words, or
what have you, and the whole thing puffs up most lifelike.

Not so. Can’t be done. After all, if you wished to do something
superficial, like climbing Everest, would you expect to be up
there in a jiffy? Well, then. Be serious. Remember you have been
brainwashed into thinking the holocosm is unreal. Suppose some-
one had conned you into thinking Everest was unreal. [ wouldn’t
give much for your chances of reaching the summit.

It is a commonly accepted theory, but one which I don’t see
how anyone but a thoroughly educated person could possibly
believe, that animals are without minds and not conscious. I sat
down in Richmond Park and a squirrel trotted up to within a few
yards of where Isat. It looked at me. I looked at it. It leapt in the
air and did a backward somersault. It looked at me carefully to
see if it was appreciated. [ grinned. It did it again. Not conscious?

This animal meeting is of course one of the joys that lovers
rediscover, the revelation of endlessly spinning out the hours and
the days and the months without talking, the new, fresh, pristine,
enchanted world that grows so miraculously in its own space and
time, free at last from the bonds and fetters of all those words.

The job of us poor poets, dear Reader, is so much harder than
it looks. Words were made to bind you. We have to use them to
do exactly the opposite. You are a bird trapped in a net. We are
sent to set you free. And what do we have to do it with? Another
net. No wonder we nearly go off our rockers.

97
It’s not so bad for the psychotherapist. You pay him to keep
quiet while you talk. Mind you, he’s got to listen, so it may not
be so good for him. On and on you go, years and years, explaining
it all to him while he sits there and never says a word. This
is just too good to be true. I can say what I like. Anything I
please. And at last (or at least we hope so, for this was the
object of the exercise) you see what a lot of twaddle it all
was, and that you had better stop talking and sit quiet for a

change.

We poets can’t do this. If I left all these pages blank, which is
what I really should do, then you, dear Reader, would be un-
likely to buy the book. I have to buy food and shelter, same as
you, and I know that you are much more inclined to pay good
money for a lot of twaddle than for a lot of blank pages. So you
see, dear Reader, I am doing what I can to give you value for
your money. Thank you.

You may look at the world any way you please, through any
window you choose. Nor does it always have to be the same win-
dow. Naturally how the world appears, what you see and what
you miss, and the angle on what you see, depends on which win-
dow you are using, but how can a window be right or wrong? A
window is a window. I elaborate on what can be seen through
various windows, not to say that you should look through them,
more to point out that there are other windows that sane, sen-
sible, responsible, able, amiable, and otherwise normal people
can and do look through, and it is perfectly OK to try another
window if what you see through yours seems meaningless
or inadequate. Naturally if you enjoy the view, there is no
need to change it. Alternatively, if you come to another window,
it may take time to adjust to what you see. If you are used
to a box camera, your first efforts with a 3gymm may be
disappointing.

The number of different windows is endless. The unbridled
conceit16 of the western nexus is to say that only certain windows

are ‘sound’, and that the others are wrong, misleading,

98
hallucinatory, etc. So be warned. If you look through a window
that is disallowed for any of these reasons, be very careful whom
you tell, and how you tell it. If in doubt, keep quiet. Above all,
don’t blurt it out to people who haven’t been there and wouldn’t
go there, however much you might like them to accompany you.
It will only upset them, and they will feel that they have to attack
you, to invalidate you in some way. Of course looking out of a
window cannot really damage you, after all what you see was
there all the time, but if you tell other members of your nexus,
they may feel that they have to say that it is damaging, they may
indeed feel that it is damaging to them, that their carefully pre-
served ‘identity’ will be spoiled by what you see, unless they and
not you choose the window through which it is to appear.
Naturally they will return tit for tat, projecting the damage they
feel is being done to them, or rather to their public image of
themselves, back onto you. Furthermore, if you fail to look
damaged after this, they may feel justified in damaging you
personally, of course under the guise of ‘helping’ you, so as to
keep up the pretence.

At this point they play their trump card. Having damaged you
(under the guise of ‘helping you’, ‘setting you straight’, etc, ‘for
your own good’, etc), they must (to preserve, this time, their
private image of themselves) somehow shift the cause of the
damage from themselves to that ‘wrong’, ‘dangerous’, etc
window you were misguided enough to look out of and let on
about, and so they now have to say something like ‘There, what
did we tell you, you went to that evil window and look what it
did to you!’

Such is the power of hypnosis welded to violence that an other-
wise quite sane person will actually come to believe that it was
what he saw through the window that did the damage, whereas
of course it was only the people who caught him at it. It was they
who damaged him for ‘selfishness’, ‘ingratitude’, ‘antisocial
behaviour’, ‘deviation’, ‘defection’, ‘schizophrenia’, or any of
the other meaningless formulae by which some people justify
wounding, incarcerating, and killing other people.

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Don’t complain. It is the way of the world. It is at least a
partially forbidden window through which one sees that it is the
way of the world. The world doesn’t tell you that if you make
discoveries you will be punished. It says you will be rewarded,
and then punishes you. Artists, engineers, inventors, all of us
some time or other get this shock, and serve us right for being so
naive,

No being in earth or heaven, who is seen at a disadvantage, will
welcome your making the fact public. This is why, if you look
through forbidden windows, you must learn, when the occasion
demands it, to keep quiet, to tell not another soul, not even
your best friend or your beloved wife or husband. To talk point-
lessly, to be incontinent with the truth, is tactless and destructive.
Measure your words in respect of their consequences: remember
that to describe how things are comes quite low in the list of
priorities that words serve. As Mark Twain said, truth is valuable,
let us economize it.

One of the great joys of being with my mistress, of being made
whole by her, was that I was for the first time absolved from the
curse of being an artist. I knew this. So did she. The irony of it
was that she left me partly because of an ambition to be an artist
herself, not fully realizing that this is a condition one should
avoid if one can. An artist is homeless and wanders from window
to window. When he finds a window where the view is so
marvellous that he doesn’t wish to change it, he is home, he dis-
appears as an artist. Thank God.

By returning from our long separation as sexes, what we do is
put an end to the art that bleeds through a muse. A muse is the
absence of a complementary being, and of course the outline of the
muse is identically that of the complementary partner. But since
the partner is in fact absent, the art is to this extent negative. I
suspect that the return of the sexes to wholeness, although put-
ting an end to our traditional muse-type art, may give rise to a
more positive kind of art of which we have as yet little concep-
tion.

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The typical western artist bleeds music rather than radiates
contentment. He is a christ rather than a buddha. And the un-
creative many, who feed parasitically upon the blood of the
creative few, conspire to keep the wound open so that the
bleeding may not stop.

If you like the view through any of these ‘wrong’ windows in
this book, you might like to try other ‘wrong’ windows. There
are many hundreds of books, good, bad, and indifferent, all of
which, in the eyes of some in-group or other, are considered
wrong. Here’s a score for a start.

Eedy—

1. A H Cuapman, Put-offs and come-ons, PUTNAM

A classification by a psychiatrist of some of the unpleasant
things people do to one another while pretending they are
reasonable.

2. ALAN WarTrts, This is it, PANTHEON

A group of essays on holocosmic experience. The aspects he
touches are sometimes quite advanced, but he writes so lucidly
that I put the book in the easy bracket. He is one of the few
writers who can write about very non-western states of mind with
a very western style and focus of interest.

3. Kantir GiBRAN, The prophet, KNOPF

Perhaps the best-known of his many similar works. He tends
to write from one level only, which makes it easy for the reader
to stay in the groove. Very, but tactfully, non-western in outlook
and approach.

Node,

4. SHELLEY, A defence of poetry
Even if you cannot bring yourself to like any of Shelley’s poems,
as I confess I cannot, this marvellous essay is beyond price in the

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understanding of what poetry is. You must read the original, every
secondhand account kills it dead.

5. PauL FosTer Cask, The tarot, MACOY
The tarot is a book of life disguised as a pack of cards. Paul

Case’s is the best simply-written account I know of the symbol-
ism they embody.

6. Wu CH’ENG-EN, Monkey, GROVE

A translation by Arthur Waley of the 16th century Chinese
novel. The story may be compared (to its advantage) with those
of Tolkien, to which it bears a superficial resemblance. But
whereas Tolkien is remembering what happened on earth during
(I think) one prehistoric existence, Wu Ch’éng-&n is remember-
ing a series of perhaps 1000 existences, including heavenly and
other interludes between, and presenting them, like a cinemato-
graph, so that they appear as one hilarious biography. The jokes
come in all sizes. Some of them are enormous.

7- C G JuNg, Answer to Job, WORLD

The great Dr Jung at last gives his talents their due scope and
undertakes to psychoanalyse God. The result is very penetrating
and extremely funny.

8. R D Laing, The politics of experience, PENGUIN

Dr laing, also a psychiatrist of great distinction, adduces
powerful reasons for considering the view that going ‘mad’ is in
fact a perfectly normal reaction to being put in an impossible
position by a nexus of people who are supposed to be ‘sane’. The
book is a series of essays written around this theme, and the
writing contains more than meets the eye at a first reading.

9. D H LAWRENCE, Fantasia of the unconscious, VIKING

The book contains two essays, first published in 1923, and by
common consent among the best Lawrence wrote. The theme is
yet another aspect of what I have been plugging away, that one’s
deep unconscious is not, as Freud made out, a mere cesspool of
unacceptable memories and repressed desires, but rather (as

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Jung later began to discover) the very life-spring of one’s corpor-
ate %)eing and reality.

1o. JOHN JOCELYN, Meditations on the signs of the zodiac,
THE NAYLOR COMPANY, SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
This is not a book about astrology, but about the deeper mean-
ings of the twelve signs. I was at first put off by the style, but its
discursiveness can make it easier to read. It contains an unusual
degree of divinity together with some humanity. It mentions the
total love-experience.

Hend

11. BEETHOVEN, Piano Sonatas 28, 30, 31

‘No evil fate can touch my music. He who divines its secret is
freed from the unhappiness that haunts the whole world of men.’

Beethoven read the poets. It is time poets paid the composer a
similar compliment. I willingly confess to having learned more
of the poet’s art from this single poet who wrote in another
medium, than from any one writer in my own.

In music the poet’s meaning is stripped and stark : the composer
must get it right: if he fails to do so, there is no secondary meaning
that can come to his aid.

I choose three compositions for the piano because they are
perhaps casier to read than quartets or symphonies, although if
you read music as badly as I do I would recommend that you
listen to recordings of a professional pianist playing them first.

It is not so generally known that the last five piano sonatas are
of the same transcendental order as the last five string quartets,
and can blow the fuses of your mind equally effectively. The three
I have chosen are perhaps the least characteristic, not like the
well-known public tragic ego-y Beethoven everybody expects to
hear. Apart from the haunting theme for the variations in
number 30, which is perhaps the simplest and most moving
expression of this artist’s deepest unfulfilment, the music is
hardly recognizable as from Beethoven’s pen.

As a boy Beethoven detested the study of fugue, and seldom

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used it in his compositions until towards the end of his life. Apart
from a few early exercises, his first great essay in this formality
was the last movement of the third Rasoumowsky quartet, surely
one of the most astonishing fugues ever published. But in the end
he seemed to find that the fugue was often the only formality
capable of carrying the intimacy of the relationships or of sus-
taining the colossal climaxes of which he was now capable, and
his last works are in fact studded with fugues.

In these three sonatas the final movements all use fugues to
introduce or to sustain climaxes which, if you stay with them all
the way, are almost unbearable. The composer, who was by this
time deaf, never heard them played.

12. The Gospel according to Thomas

The secret sayings of Jesus of Nazareth, many of them so much
deeper and stronger than what we find in the canonical gospels as
to make it a different order of book. For example, it says much
more clearly (gives an exact recipe, in fact) what you actually
have to do to enter eternity. I think the best English translation
is the one published by Collins.

13. The Tao Te Ching

This deep, quiet book has perhaps suffered even more trans-
lations than the Bible. I possess some half-dozen or so of the
forty-odd translations into English alone. They differ widely
because the Chinese language is so powerful that any ‘translation’
into a western language provides only one of the many possible
interpretations of the original. Chinese is a pictorial language,
very poetical and mathematical, with no grammar and no parts
of speech. If your mind is not trapped in the ways of the literal
languages, it is the easiest of languages to learn. It is also highly
economical, to write anything in Chinese requires fewer strokes
than it does in a western language.

A well-known scientist of my acquaintance once showed me
an ingeniously efficient language he had invented for computers,
etc. On examining it I was able to say that he had invented a
form of Chinese, and that since the invention had proved its

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worth over the past seventy-odd centuries or so elsewhere, he
might well be able to sell it as a new gimmick over here.

To get back to the book. It divides into two parts, the Tao
Ching, or Book of the Way, and the Te Ching, or Book of Virtue.
Like most eastern texts it is atheistical, or rather pretheistical,
rooting itself in the metaphysical Zero, or Female Principle,
rather than the physical One, or Male Principle. This does not
of course prevent such texts from telling how Male Principles,
or Gods, are constructed. The Tibetans, for example, worked
out before we did that the First God must be a Trinity.1 But this
book spares us these exercises. Briefly the Tao Ching, comprising
the first 37 stanzas, says something of how it all is, what it’s all
about, and how we can know it must be so, and the Te Ching, in
the other 44, gives examples of the application of this knowledge
in everyday life. The text is of great beauty and simplicity.

One of the better versions in English is contained, together
with other material of great interest, in A Source-Book of Chinese
Philosophy, compiled and translated by Wing-Tsit Chan and
published by Oxford University Press. Another that runs it close
is that of Arthur Waley, under the title The Way and its Power,
published by Allen and Unwin. And for anyone who wishes to
check with the original Chinese, as one eventually must if one is
not content to miss nine tenths of the sense, there is a version by
Dr John C H Wu, published in New York by St John’s University
Press, with English and Chinese texts side by side.

As the Chinese measure time, the book is comparatively
recent. It is thought to be about twenty-three centuries old.

14. DANTE, La divina commedia

I am not keen on epic poems, and I cannot pretend to like this
one, although I have no doubt of its greatness and authenticity.
I possess copies of the original Italian and several translations, I
use mostly the one in English verse by thriller writer Dorothy
Sayers (it is in Penguins).

The poet recounts, with mountainous detail, his being in hell,
followed by his passage through purgatory and his attaining of a
paradisal state through his total love for Beatrice.

I have long felt that epic poems are not really poems, but

10§
stories written in verse. The verse may be of the highest order,
the story may be great and poetical literature, and the author
may be a poet of true calibre, but this still doesn’t seem to me
to make it a poem. I also think it is perhaps not a true function of
poetry to describe heavenly states, any more than it is to
describe carthly states. It is not, I think, a correct interpretation
of the poet’s musc to operate at a purely descriptive level, like
science, or even to explain the world like philosophy, although
the poet, by tradition and for the adequate performance of his
task, must possess a working knowledge—theory alone is not
enough—of the major disciplines of his age, and a fair smattering
of minor ones besides. In fact all the great poets have been
natural philosophers of the highest order, and when Coleridge
made his famous optical blunder, the error went howling
through the corridors of time, where it still simpers, greatly
detracting from his credibility as a poet.

In this respect Dante was a poet. He knew the world inti-
mately, he understood his disciplines, he suffered his purification,
and he wrote of it immortally. T don’t feel happy about calling
what he wrote a poem, although I am equally not sure what else
to call it.

A poem, as I see it, reminds us of what we once knew, but in
a rather unusual way. What it says does not end at its face-value.
It illumines one level of existence in the exact observation of
another. It says something beyond its literal sense, its meanings
flash from level to level. In Dante’s composition the meaning,
though sublime, seems to me to stay so often with the literal
description, as if it were a textbook of inspired psychology.

I realize that through this view, much literature of great value
must be excluded from the realm of poetry, even though it is
usually accorded this rank. Some of the compositions of St John
of the Cross, for example, in which he describes very genuine
beatific states, though of course to exclude them by this test
does not make them inferior.

Whatever view we take (and I admit my view is impossible to
stick to, it is too inconvenient. There ought to be another word),
the Divine Comedy contains, for those who will look for them,
truths of the highest order, as well as at less exalted levels. It

106
reminds me, in some respects, of the paintings of Hieronymus
Bosch. As for the poet’s final vision of God Himself, there is no
doubt, to my mind, that Dante was privileged to be called to
stand witness to the First Presence, and that his description in
the final canto is a true account, in so far as any such account can
be true, of his divine experience in respect of It.1

It is worth considering, I think, how this huge account of the
whole creation, tragic, painful, blissful as it may be, is neverthe-
less designated, above all, as a comedy, and we may note how
often the whole formality of being and existence appears this
way to those who seck to interpret it. Among Beethoven’s last
words, when he had received the extreme sacrament, were
‘comoedia finita est’—the comedy is over.

15. ROBERT GRAVES, The white goddess, F. s. & G.

Another huge book, and a mountain of learning. The author
writes of the total love-experience thus.

“True poetic practice implies a mind so miraculously attuned
and illuminated that it can form words, by a chain of more-than-
coincidences, into a living entity—a poem that goes about on its
own (for centuries after the author’s death, perhaps) aficctlng
readers with its stored magic. Since the source of poetry’s
creative power is not scientific intelligence, but inspiration—
however this may be explained by scientists—one may surely
attribute inspiration to the Lunar Muse, the oldest and most
convenient European term for this source? B\ ancient tradition,
the White Goddess becomes one with her human representative
—a prlestess a prophntcss a queen- -mother. No Muse- -poet
grows conscious of the Muse except by experience of a woman
in whom the Goddess is to some degrce resident; just as no
Apollonian poet can perform his proper function unless he lives
under a monarchy or quasi-monarchy. A Muse-poet falls in love,
absolutely, and his true love is for him the embodiment of the
Muse.’

He goes on to say that she usually leaves the poet because she
is embarrassed by the spell she casts over him. I find myself in

107
complete agreement with this, but 1 am saying that her embarrass-
ment is not itself inevitable, other than in the context of our
peculiarly narrow-minded culture. The spell the poet casts over
his Goddess-mistress is equally magic, and this she finds deeply
disturbing until she ceases to identify herself with the cultural
nexus, which strictly forbids the indulgence in a magic experi-
ence.

Since a culture, by definition, affects more deeply those who
have suffered more than the usual dose of its educational processes,
the pressures it mounts against people who are articulate enough
to write and read poetry are in many ways more effective than
they are against those who, by these standards, are comparatively
mute. There must, I think, be many inarticulate ‘poets’ and
hidden ‘muses’ who, when they find each other, marry and
remain spell-bound for life. Nobody knows much about them,
because they are wise enough not (or perhaps lucky enough not
to be able) to tell their secret.

16. DioNYSIUS THE AREOPAGIT, The divine names, translated
by C E Rolt, MACMILLAN

A more or less descriptive account of the archetypes in western
religion. I recommend this particular edition for the translator’s
spectacular introduction, without which I find the text almost
unreadable.

Much of what is in this book is confirmed, with a very different
method, in the next book. The reader’s attention may be drawn,
for example, to the parallel accounts of the emergence of time,
i.e. the statements of what we have to do to construct an element
that doesn’t exist in any of the five orders of eternity.l We
attempt to recount, in other words, what are the essential magic
spells for creating a temporal existence, just as books such as The
Gospel of Thomas aim to give the essential magic whereby these
spells may be reversed.

A historical fact of some interest in this connexion, which we
cannot afford here to touch more than briefly, is that the founder
of any religion is the man who tells how to undo the spells: but
the church that establishes the religion, being so to speak its
material embodiment, must, to maintain its worldly existence,

108
present the founder’s knowledge essentially in reverse, so that
within its corpus the original knowledge becomes secret.

A relatively superficial and uncomplicated illustration of this
is furnished through the teachings of the German philospher
Ludwig Wittgenstein, who may for the purpose of this example
be considered as a minor christ. He taught that all philosophy,
including his own, is nonsense, and that any order of existence
other than the physical, although not unreal, is unspeakable.

For the purpose of this example we may take the philosophical
school of linguistic analysis, or logical positivism, as Wittgen-
stein’s established church. The teachings of this school at least
suggest, if they do not actually say, that philosophy is the only
way to talk sense, and that any order of existence, except the
physical, is not unspeakable, but unreal.

Its method, by the way, of dealing with books such as The
Divine Names is to ignore them. It can adopt no other course
because its philosophy, as I am sure those who adhere to it would
be the first to agree, has no equipment for discussing the ideas in

such books.

17. G SPENCER BrowN, Laws of form, JULIAN

An account of the emergence of physical archetypes, presented
as a rigorous essay in mathematics.

Starting with nothing and making one mark, we trace first of
all the eternal forms. From these we obtain two axioms, and
proceed from here to develop theorems.

The word angel, as we find if we look it up, means messenger,
and the algebraic consequences that spring from any mathe-
matical system are always the ‘angels’ through which the mathe-
matics, which is basically structured in the eternal regions,5 may
be interpreted or applied in everyday life. In this particular
system, the consequences enable us to construct logic and to
build computers.They turn out to be, in other words, the prin-
ciples underlying Boolean algebra. It thus appears that accounts
of the creation of the world, from Genesis back to Yin-Yang and
beyond, turn out to be more or less evident, if incomplete,
accounts of certain fundamental properties of Boolean mathe-
matics.

109
Having arrived, then, at a point where we have reconstructed
Boolean algebra, we then proceed to take it considerably further
than the ordinary textbooks, into equations of the second and
higher degrees, which Boole found no way of doing. What in fact
we do now is extend the disciplines of Boolean algebra, as in the
ordinary numerical algebras, to include both real and imaginary
values, thus introducing into Boolean mathematics what turns
out to be an exact analogue of the arithmetical i = y/(—1). In
the Boolean form, of course, the imaginary value is not in any way
numerical, but does behave in all other essentials like its numerical
counterpart, enabling us to solve equations and to reason in ways
we could not manage without it.

Most astonishing of all, the use of this imaginary value re-
produces, in the forms necessary to represent it, rccognizable
archetypes (what I call ‘precursors’) of particle and quantum
physics, thereby constructing, without any outside help, the
ground of what we call material existence. It is constructed from
nothing other than an unbroken sequence of argument whereby
we see that, if we distinguish anything at all, then ‘all this’—
including in the end the physical universe—is how it must
eventually appear. In short, what I prove is that all universes,
whatever their contents, are constructed according to the same
formal principles.

It might be helpful if, with the reader’s leave, I break off my
task of reviewing for a moment to make a more general comment.
In Laws of Form [ attempted to state as far as [ could the masculine
side of thmgs just as in the present book I try, again as far as my
limited talents allow, to say something of the feminine side. The
two books are thus in some respects companion volumes.

Because they look from different sides, they cannot fairly be
assessed from the same side. In dealing with the form, it is the
argument that matters, however absurd or inadequate the sub-
stance of it may seem. But in dealing with the content, it is the
substance that matters, even though the argument may seem
inadequate or contradictory. Any man with the least experience
of the world should know by now that it is inappropriate to
argue with a woman.

110
The poct, when possessed of the muse, may contradict himself
in every breath, and still reflect a reality that the most meticu-
lous argument might never approach. Only the male principle
represents itself in the perfection and penetration of eitherfor, the
method of all argument. The female principle is in the reception
and completeness of bothfand, the embodiment of all life. It is a
measure of our colossal cultural bias towards maleness that we
tend to think we can invalidate any ‘serious’ piece of literature
by faulting the argument.

The really awful joke is that women thought they could be
‘liberated’ by going to universities and learning to argue like men.
They only fell further into the man-trap, becoming still more
alienated from the knowledge that what they have to offer of their
own accord is at least as important, and very much other than all
this masculine shouting.

The male who has become related to the female no longer
shouts, even when he is presenting the masculine side of things.
And the female who is related to the male no longer feels the
need to ape him, although she will relay his views with hers
because she will have come to see that he is, in this respect, her
looking-glass.

The trouble starts when the man begins to reflect something
else. He may not be entirely to blame. The woman may be with-
holding something. But once it starts, it is vicious. The woman no
longer trusts the man’s knowledge that does not reflect her
experience, so withholds more and more. The man finds the
woman morc and more sccretive and eventually stops trying to
get through to her. He goes off and sets up shop with his male
cronies, where they crack dirty jokes about females. Meanwhile
the woman arranges tea parties with her female friends where
they gossip about male inadequacy. And so the dismal pattern we
all know so well becomes established.

It is as if the woman were the body to the man’s breath: the
dispirited body cannot speak:: it can only gossip: the disembodied
spirit cannot know: it can only shout: marry them, and the
body knows and speaks, and the spirit speaks and knows.

The man being the voice in the partnership, he speaks from and
for the woman in all things, whether male or female. Thus the

111
man is still speaking from the woman, even when he speaks of
the form.

18. The Graphic Work of M C Escher, HAWTHORNE

The techniques of graphic art, the laws of line, balance, and
perspective, are so obviously concerned with the geometry of
formal projection, that there is a temptation for the artist to use
them to represent, in the 2-space of his planar medium, some-
thing that he has fetched no farther than from the ordinary
3-space of physical existence. His difficulty, being denied one of
the space dimensions and the whole of the time dimension, is to
represent anything at all from the holocosm, where there are
more spaces and times than in physical existence.

The problem is not resolved, as some artists attempt to resolve
it, by disregarding some of the techniques at hand. In all art, the
problem is to do what we can with the already inadequate re-
sources available, and the task is not lightened by overlooking one
or more of these resources, although the artist can and must
deliberately discard one or another of them when it is not de-
manded by what he has to say.

An artist who has failed to master a particular formality can
seldom be fully confident in respect of whether it might be
demanded in the context of what he has to express. It is like a
rule of etiquette: you may break it with perfect confidence
provided you know it: and it is apparent, to anyone who knows
it, whether another person has broken it deliberately or through
ignorance of its existence or purpose. Hence Bismarck’s defini-
tion of a gentleman: a man who is never unintentionally rude.

In each art there are, as it were, certain acid tests, certain
formalities that are so difficult to fulfil adequately that, when an
artist is seen to be able to fulfil one of them, you know he has
made it. For example in mathematics there is the statement and
proof of a theorem. In drawing there is the naked human form,
in music there is the fugue, in poetry there is the sonnet. Each
of these formalities demands of the artist an unusual degree of
maturity in its handling and of technical skill in its execution.
And each leaves him more than usually exposed to critical
comment.

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If we reexamine these formalities in search of a common
element, we find, when we review them in depth, that each such
formality can be seen, in its way, as an illustration of the marriage
contract. I mention5 in the notes how this applies to the proof of
a mathematical theorem. In the Petrarchan sonnet the same test
is evident in the union of the octave with its resolving sestet.
And so on through the other disciplines. Readers familiar with
other formalities will I think immediately see how it applies to
them all.

But I digress, although not without point. The point is that
this artist has mastered the formalities of his medium so superbly
that he is able to use it with a magic that is, as far as I know,
unique to his discipline. Even the absence, in the medium, of the
temporal dimension that the composer and the poet find so use-
ful, becomes, under his hand, another blessing, for it compels him
to record the clear, flat, ancient, and tremendously familiar
scenes that project themselves between temporal regions.

19. The Tibetan Book of the Dead

An English edition of this remarkable classic, together with
outstanding (and necessary) commentaries by able and dis-
tinguished commentators, is published by Oxford University
Press. It is exceedingly advanced and difficult, but I would
recommend it very strongly if you feel you can take it.

There are so many ways an unprepared westerner is unfitted
to take in the subject matter of books such as this, one of them
being our strong desire to persuade or ‘convert’ other people to
our way of thinking. The eastern policy is generally the opposite,
it is considered wrong to disillusion or ‘trouble’ people with
knowledge they do not seek of their own accord, and to attempt
to force knowledge of any kind upon others is regarded as
harmful.

It is obvious enough, if we think of it, that knowledge must be
shaped to the vessel that is to hold it. If we try to force in more
than the vessel will hold, the vessel breaks. Thus a teacher may
say to one pupil what he may not say to another.

Equally, the whole field of doctrine, considered to be so
‘important’ in western politics that people have always been

113
prepared to murder one another in respect of it, is regarded in
the east as in a sense worth no more than the paper it is written
on. You are not encouraged to believe what you are told, but to
experience it for yourself. The doctrine, other than as a guide to
the experience, is considered literally worthless.

What is fully true cannot get away, cannot be lost, is at all
times evident, is always here to be appreciated, and only what is
fully true remains thus safeguarded by its own indestructibility.
It is not dependent on what you or I say about it. What is false,
on the contrary, is utterly dependent on what is said, and to
maintain it we have to keep on saying it.

The book is difficult because it gives an account of what is
perhaps the highest form of Buddhist doctrine. In reviewing it I
think 1 should affirm that I am neither a Buddhist nor not a
Buddhist.17 As I have already said, I am not any kind of ist, for
that would be fixative of partiality and incorpleteness. But by
not being a particular ist, one does not thereby discard or deny
oneself the way of being it holds. An ist is a person who main-
tains, for example, that reality is only ‘nothing but’ what can be
measured, shall we say, with a thermometer. He might call him-
self a Thermometist. By saying one is not a Thermometist, one
does not thereby deny oneself, for ever after, the use of a thermo-
meter, and nor does being caught employing a thermometer in
any way brand one as a Thermometist, although I regret to say
that this is the way we all do learn to argue. The game we call
Debate depends for its effectiveness upon the constant use of just
such misleading tricks. Until we recall that games of this kind
are in fact only games, to be invested with whatever significance
we write into the rules, we cannot even begin to follow, much
less to understand, this highly sophisticated book relating how
death regards life.

To gain from such a book we have first to learn how to put on
a doctrine, a way of presenting things, and then take it off again
like a suit of clothes. If you wear the same suit all your life, you
can very easily forget what is underncath. Most people spend
most of their lives imagining they are their clothes.

A colleague tells me there was once a crow who, being of a

114
religious turn of mind, flew off (as crows fly) in search of the
Great Crow. After many vicissitudes (whatever these may be) he
finally came to one or more crows (I forget exactly) who could
tell him, so he asked them. Why, they said, surprised, you are
the Great Crow.

20. The I Ching

The I Ching, or Book of Changes. The Richard Wilhelm
translation (into German) has been rendered into English by
Cary F Baynes, and is published by Routledge and Kegan Paul.
This, in spite of the double translation, is the only edition I
know that retains the magic. Others claim greater accuracy, but
in fact miss much of the deeper significance. Chinese being what
it is, a translation from it is virtually restricted to the wisdom of
the translator himself, and this disbars almost any translator in
the world from attempting this book.

The Book of Changes is a magic oracle. You may ask it a question
for help, but never out of curiosity. The psychologist Carl Jung,
who writes a preface to this edition, asked the Book to help him
write it, and this it did with great cunning.

Recorded in the Book are 4096 ways the world can change for
better or for worse, and even if you don’t use it as an oracle,
what it advises each time is generally considered to be very wise,
and seems so, also, to me.18

1t
The Angel that presided o’er my birth
Said, ‘Little creature, form’d of Joy & Mirth,
Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth.’

William Blake
(,jeo@%flhp

Well, here we go, dear Reader, together for one last trip. First
we must take off into space. Inner space, outer space, it is all
the same this time. Wherever you go in outer space, your image
goes in inner space, so you can look at it from either side as you
please.

So then, are we all ready? Fasten your seat-belts, Ladies and
Gentlemen! If anybody has cold feet, now’s the time to own up.
Unfasten your seat-belt, and get out while you still can. What,
Madam, you get travel-sick? Then please don’t come! And you,
Sir, I see that your ego is your only means of support. You had
please better stay at home.

So then, all those not coming stop reading this paragraph, put
the book down, and snap out of it.

So now (no, Madam, you cannot come and not come at the same
time, not on a single ticket), now, the rest of us, are we all
ready? We are? Then off we go.

Swoosh!

This is Commander Girth, your Captain, speaking. Your
Navigator, Lieutenant Calculus, has prepared a flight-plan, which
your Stewardess, Miss Terylene, will be passing round to all
passengers in due course. There is no need for alarm. You may
unfasten your seat-belts and start smoking. Orders for duty-free
drinks will now be taken by Miss Terylene.

As you will see Ladies and Gentlemen from the flight plan, we
aim to station ourselves at a medium distance from Galactic

Planct Number 587902613, known to you as Earth, from where,

117
Ladies and Gentlemen, you have just come. Shortly we shall be
on station.

We are now on station, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Ladies and Gentlemen, in the pockets of the seat in front of you
you will find your wide-angle time lenses. They have the property
of condensing a span of 200 years into the space of two minutes
or so. Please put on your wide-angle time lenses, Ladies and
Gentlemen, and observe the earth.

On your right you will see the Summer of 1770. Beethoven,
you will observe, is in his mother’s womb, but he is, as you can
see, already very well aware of himself. Later on you can observe
how he will forget himself, in almost every department except
his music. Look farther left, Ladies and Gentlemen, towards his
death, and see how he begins to remember himself again, to fit
the pieces together. By this time, you will notice, God has
already struck him deaf, and rendered him ill and nearly blind
and almost friendless. This is because He (God) wishes to observe
how the music of the spheres might appear when squeezed out
through the involutions of a stricken and suffering human.
Although omniscient, God cannot of course experience how the
realities of heaven are expressed in the illusions and suffering of an
carthly existence, without twisting himself up into such an
existence, so as to look out of human eyes, to hear through
human ears, to feel with human nerves, to particularize and chop
himself up into a human brain. From our present vantage point,
Ladies and Gentlemen, we can see clearly that any human impres-
sion or expression is a record of how God feels and appears after
being forced through a sort of material mincing machine.

Adjust the focus of your space-reducing attachment, Ladies
and Gentlemen. You will now observe that the earth herself is a
living creature, and that what you have called men are the
microbes on her skin. You can see clearly the spots that the
microbes call towns, and the larger eruptions or boils that they
call cities. T am sure you can imagine, Ladics and Gentlemen,

118
how itc,hy the spots are, and how painful the boils must be to the
poor earth.

Pan left, Ladies and Gentlemen, towards the sun, now setting
on the part of the earth we are examining. Observe that he also
has spots. They are caused by microbes much more powerful and
virulent than men.

Pan right again to Earth, Ladies and Gentlemen. You will
notice that on the parts of her skin that the microbes call
‘civilized’, the boils are so large and close together that they are
beginning to merge into one another in great blotches, and the
rash of spots round these blotches is almost continuous. You will
observe, too, that the pus from these sore places is spreading over
the surface and running down rivers to infect other areas. Adjust
your time-lenses, Ladies and Gentlemen, and observe how rapidly
the infection is spreading, and how quickly the microbes are

multiplying.

Adjust your fine screws, Ladies and Gentlemen, and you will
see amongst the microbes some that are smaller than the others.
These are viruses, and their cell-structure is incomplete so that
they are only fully operative when they become part of other
cells. In their own language, you may remember, they are called
Experts.

Observe if you will Ladies and Gentlemen the operative cycle
of an Expert. You will see one of them entering a normal,
differentiated cell. Observe that it goes straight to the nucleus.
It has the power to do this because it is incomplete, and when it
gets to the nucleus it starts to rearrange the structure there.
Remember, Ladies and Gentlemen, the well-known law that
only what is partial can change what is complete. Your physicists
split the atom, you may remember, by bombarding it with parts
of atoms, because whole atoms leave it unchanged.

Observe how, shortly after the entry of the Expert, the normal
cell becomes larger and squarer, less like its neighbours, and

119
starts to multiply very rapidly into what are called (down there)
production plants and office blocks. You will also notice that
many of these large square cells break down and, instead of the
one Expert that went in, they release hundreds of new Experts, all
identically constructed, which rapidly disperse to infect more cells.

We are very sorry to have to tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen,
that these huge square cells have been diagnosed as malignant. I
regret to say that the planet Earth is suffering the terminal stages
of a virulent and rapidly spreading cancer of the skin.

Through the other port, Ladies and Gentlemen, you can use
your long-distance attachment to observe a more advanced
planetary world, Number 1213602. There you will see that the
microbes have evolved far enough to use Experts without
destroying their host planet. We can go there shortly and pay
them a visit, Ladies and Gentlemen, although I must warn you of
the strict quarantine regulations with which you will have to
comply. You will be housed with other beings on the planet
somewhat like yourselves, all specialist trained, who act as
slaves to the more evolved inhabitants. In this planet they use
education as a means of making people insensitive and confining
them inwardly, thus producing beings who remain at the same
task, however irksome, without needing physical chains to hold
them there. So in this planet, Ladies and Gentlemen, you will
find that only the underprivileged are forced to suffer the indig-
nity of education. This is to brand them with an identity called a
profession, and to cripple them internally so that they will be
incapable of doing anything else. You will note that the children
born of these slaves are also made slaves, not by any external
imposition, but because the slaves themselves are taught to
despise the free people, and are proud of the brands of their
qualifications, and make sure that their children are similarly
crippled and branded from an early age.

What’s that you say, Sir? Madam? Did you say how much older
is this planet than the earth? Not older, Ladies and Gentlemen.

t is about 300,000 earth-years younger.

120
What'’s that Sir? Mr Want, isn’t it? What was your question,
Mr Want? Well, yes, of course we can, if you wish. How does
everybody else feel? Yes, certainly, Mrs Wish. We aim to please
everybody. Yes, Miss Desire. Of course. Naturally. We quite
understand about your boy friend Mr Lust.

Quick, Miss Terylene, the sedatives. Ladies and Gentlemen,
there is no need to be alarmed. We are returning to Earth. We
hope you enjoyed your trip with us. Please fasten your seat-belts.
The re-entry may be just a little bit bumpy but Miss Terylene is
on her way with a free drink that will enable you all to forget it.

What'’s that, Mr Lust? Your council house in Harbury? Well,
I’m afraid, yousee . . . Yes, Miss Desire, I quite understand your
feelings, but yousee . . . No, Mrs Wish, I'm afraid not, but . . .
No, of course not, Mr Want, we do the best we can.

Now Ladies and Gentlemen, no more questions please, is
everybody ready for the re-entry? All drunk your sedatives?
Good. All in a hurry to get back, sure we understand. People
down there waiting for you, wondering where you are. Naturally.
Of course. Miss Terylene will be passing round Customs
Declarations Forms which you are to fill in stating your desired
destination and nature of business. Meanwhile Mr Calculus will
be calling base and making the necessary bookings. It depends to

some extent on vacancies.

Vacancies where, did I hear you say, Madam, Sir? Where? In
the maternity wards, of course!

121
[}

[

ol

I relegate to the notes matters that, for any reason, might
interrupt the flow of the narrative. Sometimes, but not
always, they deal with topics too advanced to be suitable to a
narrative text. In any case, although each note is latched to a
certain point in the text, it is not necessarily meant to be read
at that point.

This not being a textbook, the deepest matters are touched
only lightly, and I make no claim to any kind of textbook
thoroughness in the coverage of such matters. My only hope
is that the few simple remarks I do make might serve as a
guide to give some perspective to what is covered more fully
in other books.

As Robert Graves records (p 256) in The White Goddess, the
Genesis story is archetypally false, having been corrupted by
some early enemy of women. That Eve should be produced
out of Adam is patently absurd.

Rival religions have produced different terminologies, and
what was in any case difficult has become almost impossible to
follow through a multiplication of names. Let me try to do
some sorting out.

Space is a construct. In reality there is no space. Time is
also a construct. In reality there is no time.

In eternity there is space but no time.

In the deepest order of cternity there is no space. It is
devoid of any quality whatever.

This is the reality of which the Buddhas speak. Buddhists
call it Nirvana. Its order of being is zero. Its mode is complete-
ness. Its sex-emblem is female.

It is known to western doctrine, sometimes as the Godhead,
sometimes as IHVH, or that which was in the beginning, is
now, and ever shall be. This way of describing it, like any

123
other, is misleading, suggesting that it has qualities like being,
priority, temporality. Having no quality at all, not even
(except in the most ‘degenerate sense) the quality of being, it
can have none of these suggested properties, although it is
what gives rise to them all. It is what the Chinese call the
unnamable Tao, the Mother of all existence. It is also called
the Void.

In a qualityless order, to make any distinction at all is at
once to construct all things in embryo. Thus the First Thing,
and with it the First Space and the First Existence and the
First Being, are all created explosively together.

This does not of course mean that the ‘big bang’ theory that
cosmologists suggest for the creation of the universe is the
true one. The ‘explosion’ into existence does not take place
in time, and so from the point of view of time is a continuous
operation. Thus the ‘big bang’ theory and the ‘continuous
creation’ theory, like all famous ‘rival’ theories in western
culture, are both equally true.

This First Creation, or First Presence, is the order of which
the Christs speak. Christians call it God. Its order of being is
unity. Its mode is perfection. Its sex-emblem is male.

It is known to eastern doctrine, as it is to western, as the
Triune God or Trinity. In western books of magic it is called
The One Thing. In China it is called the namable Tao. In
Tibetan Buddhism it is called the densely-packed region.

This last name is most vividly expressive, it being the region
of the creating or seeding-out of all qualities from no quality:
it is, in other words, the place where every blade of grass and
every grain of sand is numbered, the place where nothing is
forgotten. It is the place where all is still ‘small’ enough to be
reviewed together.

The quality of being in nascent existence, and as yet without
any size, is what makes the densely-packed region the region
of omniscience. Unlike the Void, which is the place without
quality, the densely-packed region is the place where all
qualities can be seen at once to be capable of infinite variety
and extension. How they may become extended is of course
how, in some universe or other, they actually are extended. It

124
is here that every universe is worked out from first principles,
except that the ‘working out’ does not take place mathematic-
ally step by step, as it is done on Earth, or at the physical level
of one of the other universes so constructed, but is all at once
obvious and immediate, as there is no time. Hence the
omniscience.

In Laws of Form, by the way, I took just the tiniest thread of
one of these ‘calculations’, and teased it out laboriously step
by step just far enough to give some inkling of how the
material of our own universe is created. It took me, down
here on Earth, some ten years of the most unremitting and
painstaking labour to get it right. Up in the densely-packed
region it is all done in a jiffy, and this and every other
possible universe are all constructed, maintained, known,
and every feature docketed before you can say ‘flash’.

Human beings who have entered this region, and then
found their way back from it to the region of their ordinary
humanity, report that in it one is indeed omniscient, but the
knowledge one knows there cannot all be carried in a human
frame.

A Buddha, of course, has to go through this region to reach
the void. Other human beings who reported, like Dante, to
seeing It from a distance, without actually entering into Its
being, describe It as a point of the most dazzling brightness.
The reasons why It must appear this way, although not com-
plicated, are unsuitable for inclusion in a book of this
informal character.

The Christian mystics, although they knew through simple
insight that the One Thing, or First God, is a Trinity, were
not, as far as I am aware, able to say why. The doctrine thus
remained a mystery and a weakness in the armory of Christian
apologists. I am not sure whether the Buddhists were able to
explain it, although they knew it, of course, before the
Christians did.

The explanation of the Trinity in fact turns out to be simple
enough. When you make a distinction of any kind whatever,
the easiest way to represent its essential properties mathe-
matically is by some sort of closed curve like a circle. Here

125
the circumference distinguishes two sides, an inside and an
outside. The two sides, plus the circumference itself, which
is neither the inside nor the outside, together make up three
aspects of one distinction. Thus every distinction is a trinity.
Hence the First Distinction is the First Trinity.

We can even go so far as to identify, in this mathematical
representation, which aspect represents what. The inside
represents the aspect where the Void or IHVH remains un-
disturbed and undistributed. It is, in other words, the aspect
of the Godhead in the God, and is called, when considered as
an aspect of the Trinity, God the Holy Ghost. It is thus the
senior member of this colossal triple partnership, and this is
why, in Christian doctrine, -a sin against the Holy Ghost is
regarded as the most unforgivable.

Next we have the ‘line’ of distinction itself—the circum-
ference of the circle in the mathematical representation. This
line (it is only a line in mathematics, of course, not in reality :
like a line that exists in a drawing, but not in the thing drawn)
—this line is actually the ‘seeding’ of the densely-packed
region, the embryonic outline of all things. In the Christian
Trinity it is what is called God the Father: first in creation,
second in seniority.

Finally we have the outside. The first distinction may be
regarded as cleft into and projected out of the Void, and this
outer projective region, before it becomes further differen-
tiated, as it does in the rest of creation, is the aspect known to
western doctrine as the Word or First Message. In the Trinity
it is the junior partner, God the Son.

At this point, before we carry the story further, it is I think
appropriate to recall Blake’s couplet to God, which runs,

If you have made a Circle to go into,
Go into it yourself and see how you would do.

The story of creation can of course be protracted in-
definitely. To cut a long story short, it turns out that there
are five orders (or ‘levels’) of eternity, four of which are

126
existent (although not of course ‘materially’ existent, this
comes later) and one of which is non-existent.

The non-existent order is of course the inmost, the one the
Greeks called the Empyrean. In the mathematics of the eternal
structure the five orders are plainly distinguishable, and it is
a fact of some interest that the early Greek explorers, who
were not so well equipped mathcmatlcallv as we are today,
nevertheless confirmed, from observation alone, that the
number of eternal regions or ‘heavens’ stands at five.

At the next level, travelling outwards from within, an
extraordinary thing happens. As we come into the sixth level
(i.e. the fifth order, recollecting that the first level is of order
zero) by crossing the fifth ‘veil’—mathematically speaking a
‘veil’ is crossed when we devise an ‘outer’ structure that
embodies the ‘rules’ of the structure next within—when we
cross this fifth veil, a strange thing happens. We find that we
cannot in fact cross it (i.e. it is mathematically impossible to
do so) without creating time.

The time we create first, like the first space, is much more
primitive and less differentiated than what we know in
physical existence. The time we set our watches by is actually
the third time. The first time is much less sophlstlcatcd Just
as the regions of the first space have no size, so the intervals
of the first time have no duration. This doesn’t mean, as it
might suggest in physical time, that the intervals are very
short, so short that they vanish. It means snmp]y that they
are neither short nor long, because duration is a quality that
has not yet been introduced into the system. For the same
reason, all the heavenly states, although plainly distinguishable
from onc another, are in reality neither large nor small,
neither close together nor far apart..

Everything reflects in everything clse, and the peculiar and
fundamental property of the fifth order of being reflects itself
all over the universe, both at physical and metaphysical levels.
An interesting reflexion of it in mathematics is in the fact that
equations up to and including the fourth degree can be solved
with algebraic formulae. Beyond this a runaway condition
takes over making it impossible to produce a formula to solve

127
equations of the fifth or higher degrees. A similar ‘runaway’
condition applies, as we shall see in a moment, when we cross
the fifth ‘veil’ outwards into the first time.

It requires only a moment’s consideration to see that what
we call time is in fact a one-way blindness, the blind side
being called ‘the future’. Once we proceed into any time, no
matter how primitive, we come out of heaven, i.e. out of
eternity, out of the region where there is no blindness and
where, therefore, in any part of it, we can still see the whole.
And as we proceed further and further out into each succes-
sive and less primitive time and space, our blindness at each
crossing is recompounded. It is thus easy to come out, hard to
find one’s way back in.

For those who do find their way back in, the procedures
and the crossings all have to be reversed.

When in my review of the Commedia I stated that I thought
Dante’s vision of God was genuine, this was not irresponsible
guesswork on my part. It was the result of a careful checking
of his account with the known holocosmic principles.

For example, before arriving at a place where he could see
God, Dante reports to suffering two successive ‘deaths of the
eyesight’. Actually there are three, but the first is not
usually experienced so noticeably as the other two.

On the first stage of the journey inwards, we cross the
seventh veil, arriving in what is known as the subtle world.
By the way, when going inwards the veils are usually counted
the other way, so that the seventh veil becomes the first, the
sixth the second, and so on. The subtle world is in fact another
material world, although the material is not physical. It looks
very like the physical world. Going there is what is known to
many people as learning to see with ‘the third eye’.

Perhaps I should say a little more about this closest of all of
the non-physical existences, as so many people these days are
familiar with it. Mediums generally learn to see it as part of
their discipline. Things in it look much the same only
brighter and sharper. People appear very much brighter and
sharper. Most people appear roughly the same age, shape, etc,
as their physical appearance, but some appear different. For

128
example a physically young man might have the subtle body of
a very old man. This is not an illusion. Everybody else using the
‘third eye’ sees exactly the same. Some women, although this
is comparatively rare, have the power to assume whatever age
and shape they please. This accounts, of course, for the well-
known cases of witches who approach young men looking as
hideous as they know how, and proposing marriage. When the
young man demurs, they promise that, when married, they
will change into whatever shape he likes. The story makes sense
because when in love or closelyrelated with a person, we tend to
see the subtle body rather than the physical, and this is often
why lovers are unable to describe the physical appearance of
the loved one. Love is, indeed, the most powerful of all
agencies that can transport us to the deeper levels. And what
better example of it than Dante?

In the subtle world you see things in whatever direction you
turn your physical eyes to look at them, and so it may be some
time before you realize that you are not using your physical eyes
to see them with. The first time I learned to use subtle vision, it
took me about an hour, and several experiments, to convince
myself I wasn’t using my eyes. Dante himself could well have
missed noting this first and subtle ‘death of the eyesight’.

But not the next two. They are much more striking. For
example St Paul was physically blinded for several days after
unintentionally crossing the next veil but one.

Dante’s description of God is consistent, it seems to me,
with that of someone who has found his way, or been guided,
to one of the outer heavens.

Both naturally and supernaturally, space is female and time
male. It is indeed the intercourse of a multidimensional space
with the always singular dimension of time that brings about
the conception of the lower (i.e. more outward) orders of
existence.

That space is female and time malg is a fact (not a fancy or a
speculation or a theory or a tradition or a guess) so obvious to
a poet that he may forget that it is something that ordinary
educated people have to be told. The process of western
education consists of so coarsening the inner sensibilities that

129
one becomes almost entirely dependent on the outer (i.e.
physical) senses, and the spectacle of the man of science
demonstrating with huge, lengthy, and costly experiments
what may have been quite obvious in the first place, is part of
the price we all have to pay if we are to enjoy the undoubted
material advantages that such science brings in its service.

I remember not so many years ago, when the sexedness of
all things was just beginning to dawn on me, finding it con-
firmed in Blake. What he says is again worth recalling.

‘Allegories are things that Relate to Moral Virtues. Moral
Virtues do not Exist ; they are Allegories & dissimulations.
But Time & Space are Real Beings, a Male & a Female.
Time is a Man, Space is a Woman, & her Masculine
Portion is Death.’

Eternity does not of course mean ‘going on for ever’, which
is a mere extension in time, but is simply the place where time
does not exist. The male elements here are not temporal : they
are formal.

We see from all this that at every level of being, eternal or
temporal, the male element emerges from the female, rather
than the other way round. So if the Genesis account of the
birth of Eve were true, something would indeed have gone
very wrong with the universal archetypal law, As above, so
below, and its particular reversal, As below, so (in some
respect) above. How things are is a strict result of how things
can be, and the knowledge of how things can be has never been
denied to mankind, although he frequently chooses to cut
himself off from it.

As I point out in the text, the reason why this innate
knowledge of how things can be is called divine, is because it
has to be dug for or divined. It is not what is apparent on the
surface. In respect of the question, how deep is divine, the
answer is, as deep as you care to go. As far as Nirvana, that is.
There is no place deeper than this.

By way of comparison, the Freudian unconscious consists
largely of personal elements that must be made conscious and

130
purified before it is safe to proceed deeper. Jung’s racial
memories and archetypes constitute the next stage, although
their initial manifestations are still outside the eternal regions.
The deeper we go, the more they are the same for everybody.
The deepest level is the same for all.

How long does it take to get there? Well, counting only
from the year when he dropped out, it took the Prince of
Kapila a total of six years to find Nirvana.

I know of no safer way of exploring the divine than through
the experience of total love. The cleft of the First Distinction
can see its own outline as male on the one side and female on
the other. By pretending successively to be one side of itself
and then the other, it can make out to itself that its one out-
line is in fact two persons, thus engineering the huge love-
partnership that is Heaven’s First Family Joke. It is a very happy
joke, and one which is quite available to human lovers who
proceed far enough into themselves to find the place where
they meet. It is available in any total love-experience between
a male and a female.

I think I should warn the reader that there are two major
confusions she, or he, is likely to meet in other books. The
first is a serious one.

In many western texts, be they of magic, occult science,
religion, or the most profound theological doctrine, there is
some confusion, and often gross confusion, between the two
original orders of being, i.e. between the Zero and the Unity,
the Godhead and the God, the Female Constant and the Male
Constant, the Yin and the Yang. In eastern texts there is
seldom such confusion, they either get it right or don’t get it
at all. But in western doctrine God and the Godhead are
frequently mixed up, and the sex of the Godhead is often
" omitted, or even mistaken, thus making out God to be homo-
sexual. Most frequently, of course, the Godhead is just not
mentioned at all. In other books the confusion extends over
unity and zero, such books often speaking of ‘the One’ when
they mean ‘the Void’. This, I think, is partly a failure to
distinguish between ordinal and cardinal numbers. Order

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zero (the Void) is the first order we count. Just as note zero
is the first note in this book. But the confusion over sex, or the
missing out of the female reality altogether, I put down to our
severe cultural neurosis, especially in Christianity and Judaism,
concerning women.

The other confusion, though just as prevalent, is not so
serious. Because the heavens are supposed to be exalted, but
we have to dive deep to find them, there is confusion in all the
literature as to whether the divine is up or down. It is, of
course, in every direction and in no direction at all, because
it is here with us now at the very centre of things, as well as
everywhere else which, when we get there, we find is the
same place.

If we imagine this ‘centre’ of it all surrounded with layers
like a pearl or like an onion (‘onion’ and ‘union’ are the same
root, as you might have guessed), then in this analogy the
divine is what is relatively deep and the mundane is what is
relatively superficial. This way there is no confusion. ‘Above’
as in ‘heavens above’ properly refers to the order of priority of a
given office in the total residence of the divine family and its
kingdom, just as we say on earth that one rank is hlgher than
another without meaning that its office is higher up the build-

mg

‘What a man desires to know is that (i.e. the external world).
But his means of knowing is this (i.e. himself). How can he
know that? Only by perfecting this.’—Kuan Tsu.

Considering this ancient doctrine with relation to modern
physics, we can note that the analysis of either view amounts
to this: that the universe we se€ is the equivalent of a measure
of the instrument we use for looking at it: in other words it is
itself the consequence of the capacity of its particular observer:
and thus we have only to change our own fundamental
capacity, and this is sufficient to change, in any desirable way,
the universe we actually experience.

‘In short, the world must then become quite another. It

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must so to speak wax or wane as a whole. The world of the
happy is altogether different from the world of the unhappy.’
—Wittgenstein.

The fact that a ‘normal’ person can recollect little, if any-
thing, from the first five years of his or her life, and in
particular from the first three, is not irrelevant to this discus-
sion. His or her early indoctrination or brainwashing requires,
to give the illusion of necessity, permanence, and, above all,
a characteristic exclusiveness to the ‘reality’ that is to be
imposed on the child as ‘the only sensible’ interpretation of
its experience, that the child shall forget that such an in-
doctrination ever took place. Those upon whom the in-
doctrination didn’t properly ‘take’, can eventually find that the
content of their first five years is as readily available as that of
any other five years, and can see in what ways the usual for-
getting of these important years, although ‘normal’ to our
culture (it is not I think normal to every culture), is un-
healthy and unnecessary, and how it in fact prevents the
development of our insight and fixes our view of the outside
world.

Why the form of the indoctrination, once started, perpetu-
ates itself is obvious enough: no ‘normal’ adults, who have
lost so much of their reality because of it, are able to bear the
thought of any child possessing, in its understanding of the
world, what would amount, if they didn’t do something about
it, to a huge advantage over themselves, and so they take steps,
self-protectively and instinctively, and practically from the
moment of its birth, to make the child into ‘one of us’, i.c. to
put a stop to what it knows that we now don’t know. More-
over, the really telling part of this procedure takes place at an
implicit level, not overtly, so that no one who doesn’t know
what to look for can see what is really going on.

This is, of course, a process by which the basic ground of
any culture is automatically transmitted from one generation
to the next, and generally there is no need to interfere with it.
But when a culture somehow reaches a point in its history
where its own built-in values will inevitably lead it to disaster,

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as is now obvious, in our case, even to people who are still
operating from within the nexus of these values, it becomes
necessary, for as many of us who can do so, to take the lonely
road out of it as fast as we can, to see what the alternatives are.
There are quite a few of us, in every level of society and from
all walks of life, who are doing just this, and what we have in
common is that we all feel, now, that there is no solution
(other than its total self-destruction) to be found within the
values of the culture itself.

When we drop out, it is not from any wish to ‘wash our
hands’ of our native culture, or to ‘escape’ from it, as its
obtuser adherents so interminably and so vociferously com-
plain, but as a necessary, difficult, and dangerous operation to
save what seems to us to be worth saving from a fate they either
cannot see coming or haven’t the remotest idea what to do

about if they can.

The reader who thinks I am having her on would do well to
glance at some not-too-difficult summary of the development
of quantum physics between the two world wars. A glance, for
example, at A History of Science by W C Dampier (he was
originally called W C Dampier Dampier-Wetham but
dropped the Wetham and one of the Dampiers on the under-
standable ground, I imagine, that it was too much. I confess I
never think of him without great concern for his problem of
what to do with his name. He is dead now so he won’t mind
this), a cursory glance, as I was saying, at p 396 onwards, will
show what I mean.

Very briefly, after thousands of years of investigation,
physicists have found no ‘solid matter’ at all. Only little
‘storms’ of ‘waves’, of which we can somehow perceive a few
side-effects, although we can’t see them, feel them, or sense
them in any way with any outward-probing sense or instru-
ment. We don’t know what they are or where they are, in
short, the only ‘reality’ they possess is the mathematical equation
that predicts not what they will do, but what we might
experience.

This is what led physicists like Eddington and Jeans to say

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that the universe is made entirely of mathematics. But the
elements of mathematics, although we know they exist, don’t
in fact exist in any physical form. The numerical elements, for
those who are interested in such things, exist in the Fifth
Order with the first time, i.e. two levels deeper than the
physical. It is, I think, what is called the astral plane in magic.
As we travel inwards, it is the last of the material existences.
Its structure is transparent and crystalline. In the middle ages
it was projected out and called the crystalline heaven, although
it is not, technically speaking, an eternal region, It is where
the eternal regions are first plotted and counted, for there are
no numbers in eternity itself. You cannot count without time.
When we proceed from here into the heavens themselves, we
lose all numbers in a blinding flash as we return through the
fifth veil into the outer heaven. From here on, if we are to
survey what we sec mathematically, we have to use Boolean
elements, which are not numerical.

Eddington and Jeans thus secem in a way to be right, al-
though the view they present is somewhat too narrow. For
example we can’t take the mathematics in with us into any of
the eternal regions, any more than we can bring it out with us
into physical existence. We can use it only in its own place,
either to formulate what we can observe of its own and other
temporal structures, or to relate, from a temporal existence,
what we can remember of the eternal structure. In the next
note I shall hope to illustrate this.

If you raise a number n to the power of a prime number p, and
divide the result by p, there will be a remainder of n. For
example
47T =4 X 4 X 44X 4X4X4X 4=16384.

Dividing this by 7 leaves a remainder of 4. It doesn’t matter
if we make p smaller than n because the theorem doesn’t say
that the remainder has to be the smallest. It just says that one
of the possible residues remaining after taking p from n? an
appropriate number of times will in fact be n. And it says it
is 5o, not only in the cases we have actually tried, but in all of
the infinity of cases we haven’t tried and can’t because we

13§
haven’t time to try them. In other words, it says something not
merely about temporal existence, but about eternity.

Certain particulars of this theorem were known to the
Chinese in goo Bc, but a more general statement of it appears
in the private correspondence of Pierre de Fermat, a French
lawyer, in 1640 AD, and the theorem usually bears his name.

A proof that it is true can be found in any university text-
book of elementary arithmetic. You will find if you examine
such a proof that it has two parts, a numerical part and a
Boolean part, a calculation and an argument, and that it is the
marriage of these two, the temporal form with the eternal,
that bestows upon the theorem the gift of certainty.

Old English cunnan, whence keen, ken, know, can, and con
= steer, navigate, as in conning tower.

In celebrating these great journeys into outer space, we tend
to overlook the colossal and equally heroic journeys in the
opposite direction undertaken, for the occasion, by men such as
Isaac Newton. Without the extremely difficult, disciplined,
and equally dangerous journeys into inner space, no journey
into outer space could ever succeed.

‘Here blinded with an Eye: and there
Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.’

This has long been a sore point between heaven and earth.
God, by which I mean the first manifestation of the IHVH, and
not the moralizing father-figure we project for the purpose of
worship, has practically no understanding of good and evil,
and is constantly amazed by our apparent preoccupation with
‘objects’ of which He, as Himself, has no experience what-
ever.

‘A poet therefore would do ill to embody his own conceptions
of right and wrong, which are usually those of his place and
time, in his poetical creations, which participate in neither.
By this assumption of an inferior office of interpreting the

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11

12

effect, in which perhaps after all he might acquit himself but
imperfectly, he would resign a glory in the participation of
the cause. There was little danger that Homer, or any of the
eternal poets, should have so far misunderstood themselves as
to have abdicated this throne of their widest dominion. Thosc
in whom the poetical faculty, though great, is less intense, as
Euripides, Lucan, Tasso, Spenser, have frequently affected a
moral aim, and the effect of their poetry is diminished in
exact proportion to the degree in which they compel us to
advert to this purpose.’—Shelley.

As Robert Graves has it in The White Goddess. What Sir
Walter Raleigh (or Rawleigh or Ralegh) actually wrote was

She hath lefte me here all alone,
All allone as vnknowne,

Who somtymes did me lead with her selfe,
And me loude as her owne.

Sentiments never change, but rhythms of speech do. A skilful
editing in respect of its rhythm can give an ancient poem the
appearance of being contemporary.

One of the troubles of our civilization is that we have lost our
roots. We use words without the least idea what they mean.
I would advise anyone to get a good dictionary of roots, and
look up every word he has ever used. He will be astonished. There
are many such dictionaries, Eric Partridge has written a very
readable one called Origins. Learn to read it, and you will
know what God and man is.

Just for a start. Husband, from hus = house, bond (for
buandi) = a person dwelling. The latter root is the same as for
bond, band, something that holds together, a boundary. Thus
a husband is a man who gives a woman meaning by providing
order, law, form. Derivably we have husbandman, a farmer
(farm, firm, firmament, and throne are all akin) who cultivates
his farm or estate or kingdom, tends her in sickness, reaps her
in health, enters her, rides in her, works for her, mends her

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fences, protects her, plays with her, and so on for ever and
ever.

Now wife. From vibrare = vibrate. So literally a man’s
wife is his vibrator! She is the life that completes his form. Just
as he makes the law of the household, so she makes the run-
ning of it. She is what makes it go, she is the inner principle
that makes it all work. He is the case, the design, and the
hands of the clock, and she is what is making it tick. She
doesn’t know what the time is without the hands to tell her.
But the hands have no idea what to tell her unless she is there
ticking away inside making them go. From here we spread out
into a galaxy of words like wave, waver, weever, wiper, viper,
whip (through the German of course), woman, waif, and so on
for cver and ever.

This is so colossal that my pencil refuses to come to rest. It
wants to say it again. And again. Very well.

A clock without a tick, without a pendulum or balance-
wheel to regulate it, is utterly stupid. Unrepresentative.
Irresponsible. Mischievous. No idea what it’s about. It
hasn’t lost count, there just isn’t anything to count. Wheels
and works, cogs and gears and hands all over the place, but
no pendulum or balance-wheel ticking away for all this
machinery to interpret.

While all this is going on, or rather going off, somewhere
far away is a tick without a clock, a balance-wheel that has
nothing to count how many ticks it has ticked since eternity,
a pendulum without works or hands, without anything to
measure and interpret and display what it is up to, a regulator
with nothing to regulate, a solitary thing ticking itself silly.
Tick-tick-tick gabble-gabble-gabble.

Man, your sole purpose on earth is to house and interpret
woman. Nothing else matters. Without you she is homeless
and meaningless. Only you can provide what she lacks. What-
ever you do that is not thus entirely devoted to her is an
infidelity, and you both will suffer for it. Woman, your only
meaning on earth is to occupy and motivate man. Without
you he is purposeless and moribund. You are his sole occupa-
tion, his only motive and regulator. Nothing else is. Any part

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13

of your being that is not so placed at his disposal is misplaced,
and you both will suffer for it.

In short, man’s every talent is for woman’s delight, and her
whole being is his playground.

Corny ain’t it? Ever so soppy. Still, there it is. If you want
it another way, nuclear bombs, fall-out, specially prepared
nerve gas, specially cultured plague viruses, not soppy, who
am I to say you can’t have it that way, as far as I am concerned
you are welcome to it that way, I wish you good luck and I
hope you will profit from it. It’s your trip.

Our tribal structure, our family nexus, takes us to hell, and
keeps us there, by the simple expedient of rewarding pain and
punishing pleasure. Every time the child hurts itself it is
comforted, fed, cuddled, rewarded in countless ways. If it
does not hurt itself it is ignored, if it pleases itself it is
punished.

After twenty years or so of such conditioning, overlaid and
reinforced by a continuous sanctimonious hypnotic verbal
commentary, it is no wonder at all that the child, now sup-
posedly grown up to ‘independence’ and confronted with the
choice we all have to make between a pleasant life and a pain-
ful one, unerringly chooses the painful one. And goes to hell.

The usual way from hell back to heaven is via purgatory, and
in one respect purgatory is worse than hell. It is worse because
in hell one becomes so inured to it that one learns not to feel
it. In fact one learns not to feel anything much. One becomes
a sort of zombie, a science-fiction automaton. One fulfils, in
fact, the form of the technocratic propaganda continuously
droning on and on to the effect that this is really all one is
anyway.

Purgatory is worse than hell because, having realized,
slowly or suddenly, that one is in hell, that one’s so-called
life is without meaning or direction, that one has been conned
and cheated out of one’s real experience of one’s self, well,
one starts to get one’s feelings back, one begins to come out
of the hypnosis, to wake up from the anaesthetic. And Christ!
It hurts.

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15

Heaven’s way of recalling us back to heaven is as simple as
our parents’, our family’s, our tribe’s, our country’s, our
humanity’s way of calling us out of heaven into hell. It
reverses the polarity. It rewards pleasure, and punishes pain.
Try the permutations as you may, there is no other way.
Utterly simple, utterly obvious, yet realized so rarely that its
realization is generally taken to be a miracle, and the resulting
passage through purgatory is called a deliverance through grace.

When it happens, although both pain and pleasure are re-
doubled, it is mostly pain that has to come first. Indeed, the
greater the damage, the greater the pain. There is little
pleasure in beginning to come round after a terrible operation.

But the pain of purgatory is compensated by the knowledge
that at last we have started to do something about our
condition. In the end, after a definite period of being punished
for having allowed ourselves to be punished, we are rewarded
with the pleasures of the paradisal state, and further rewarded
for allowing ourselves to be so rewarded.

I am not of course denigrating the specialist as a specialist. He
set up his shop, and must promote his trade like anybody else.
What [ am trying to say is that we must put out of our minds
the idea that we can ever be led by specialists. Except, of
course, to disaster.

There is nothing more dangerous, to my mind, than the mod-
ern craze for professionalism in politics. A leader needs qualities
that are universal and intuitive, not partial and calculating. He
must know how to be right, not how to reason wrong. He
must, above all, have come to his own authority, and not be
acting on somebody else’s. He must have come to his senses.

How could a baby ever learn something so complicated as a
language were it not for this deeper route (and root) to its
meaning. We try to teach it the wrong way round. If you want
your baby to speak as you do, don’t begin with daft baby-talk.
Talk to it naturally, as you would to a colleague, don’t simplify
what you say because it is a baby. It is more perceptive than
you are. It models itself on your inner expectations, so above

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16

all don’t think of it as a baby. If you follow this procedure
from birth, any normal child, by the age of about three,
will be perfectly capable of discussing anything you wish to
discuss with it. The only trouble is that in two years’ time
you will be required by law to send it to school, where it must
now either adopt a mask of common idiocy or be isolated as
a freak. I saw this happen to a little girl with parents who let
her be herself without imposing their fantasy of what she
‘should’ be. At three she was a most marvellous companion,
especially since she was still fully conscious in the holocosm,
and could impart or confirm much that we wanted to know
about it, and she was, as babies and animals are until they
have it dinned out of them, fully telepathic and clairvoyant. At
five, when she went to school, she opted, wisely I think, for
the mask of common idiocy expected of children of that age.
Her speech became babyish to the required degree, and she
cannot remember what she used to talk about, she cannot
even recollect talking about it. She has lost her capacity for
direct vision.

Normal people of our cultural background have children
for the purpose of fulfilling certain fantasies. They wouldn’t
have them otherwise. But since fantasies are fantasies, every-
one in the end is disappointed. Really onc is not fit to have a
child unless one is prepared to go to one’s front gate and take
in the first stranger that happens to come by, offering him, or
her, the astonishing gift of free board and lodging and other
attentions for the next sixteen years or so.

The fact that many people wouldn’t have children if they
knew in advance that this is what it meant, could only be to the
general good. This planet is already overpopulated beyond
danger limits, and will, in not many years from now, be over-
populated beyond disaster limits.

There are certain commentators who propound, in respect of
the arts, what I shall call the shufflebottom theory. For example
they accept the work of Shelley, Beethoven, and Pythagoras,
to name but three, as sound, representative, eminently com-
petent, and sane. But although Shelley, Beethoven, and

141
Pythagoras, to name but three, all substantially agree in
respect of how and why they produced their work, the same
commentators, shuffling from one buttock to the other, now
pronounce Shelley, Beethoven, and Pythagoras, to name but
three, to be utterly insane, and therefore not competent to
say how or why they produced their work. This, they now say,
is a matter for the decision of experts, who, although utterly
incapable themselves of producing such work, are supposed,
by some miracle they do not specify, to be able to say exactly
how it is done.

I personally should not feel competent to judge how
Beethoven composed his music, and so I am perfectly willing
to accept his account of the process, since his experience in this
matter is so much greater than my own. I am naturally
interested to see that his reports of how and why he composed
music substantially agree with my experience of how and why
I compose poetry. But even if he had said something different,
I should not consider that I knew better than he.

What the shufflebottom theory fails to account for is the
fact that the poet is the first enjoyer of his work. He finds it
just as astonishing as if it had been written by somebody else.
In presenting it to the public, he acts in the capacity of editor.
But in actually recording it, he feels himself only as the
instrument. As Beethoven sums it up, the spirit speaks to me and
I compose something.

To ignore or pooh-pooh the implications of Beethoven’s
remark, even in the so-called interests of science, seems to
me to be simple-minded and unscientific. The theorist who
thinks he knows better has not, it seems to me, learned any-
thing beyond the way he was taught to do ‘composition’ at
school, i.c. as something ‘thought out’ and ‘made up’.
Naturally if you ‘think out’ what you are going to say in
advance, the result, when you say it, is not in the least
astonishing. And nor, since it has already been decided in
advance, can it appear, when produced, to fit the occasion. A
thought-out statement must always be irresponsible, because
it is made regardless of the circumstances, instead of in
response to them.

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18

In fact the whole discipline of art begins where the thinking
theorist left off. He is perfectly within his rights not to under-
take it. But having exercised these rights, and not paid the
price, to make a public claim to know the nature of the out-
come must surely rebound to his discredit in the end.

I once complained to a friend that I found the idea that a
person might have more than one incarnation incredible. ‘Do
you not find it incredible,’ he said, ‘that you should have even
one incarnation?’

It may be instructive to see how a book written today can
appear to a critic who lived some twenty-seven centuries ago.
When I came to the end of writing this book, I asked the I
Ching if it would be so kind as to review it. It gave hexagram
54, and I quote from the commentary.

‘Above we have Chen, the eldest son, and below, Tui, the
youngest daughter. The man leads and the girl follows him in
gladness. The picture is that of the entrance of the girl into
her husband’s house.’ It ‘shows a young girl under the guid-
ance of an older man who marries her.’

‘While legally regulated relationships evince a fixed con-
nection between duties and rights, relationships based on
personal inclination depend in the long run entirely on tactful
reserve. :

‘Affection as the essential principle of relatedness is of the
greatest importance in all relationships in the world. For the
union of heaven and earth is the origin of the whole of nature.
Among human beings likewise, spontaneous affection is the
all-inclusive principle of union.’

‘Thunder stirs the water of the lake, which follows it in
shimmering waves. This symbolizes the girl who follows the
man of her choice. But every relationship between individuals
bears within it the danger that wrong turns may be taken,
leading to endless misunderstandings and disagreements.
Therefore it is necessary constantly to remain mindful of the
end. If we permit ourselves to drift along, we come together

143
and are parted again as the day may determine. If on the other
hand a man fixes his mind on an end that endures, he will
succeed in avoiding the reefs that confront the closer relation-

ships of people.’

It also gave a change, but this, although equally penetrating,
and equally tactfully put, was a matter of personal advice to
the author, and thus meant for my eyes alone.