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THE WORKS OF ALEISTER CROWLEY
Vol. II, part 1 of 3
ASCII VERSION
March 4, 1993 e.v. key entry by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O.
January 11, 1994 e.v. proofed and conformed to the "Essay Competition Copy"
edition of 1906 e.v. by Bill Heidrick T.G. of O.T.O. Descriptions of
portraits retained, even though they are not in this edition.
(The winner of the competition was J.F.C.Fuller's "The Star in the West")
File 1 of 3.
Copyright (c) O.T.O.
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TIME
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TIME.
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A BRITISH SCEPTIC
AND AN INDIAN MYSTIC.
"Scepticus." Well, my dear Babu, I trust you have slept well after our
fatiguing talk of yesterday.
"Mysticus." Ah, dear Mister, if you will forgive my adopting what is
evidently your idiom, I found it, on the contrary, invigorating. What is it
the Psalmist says? That the conversation of the wise is like unto good wine,
which intoxicates with delight, while it hurts not the drinker? The balm of
your illustrious words, borne like spice upon the zephyr ---
"Scept." Shall we not rather renew our inquiries into the nature of
things, than, in unfertile compliment, waste the few hours we snatch awhile
from death?
"Myst." Willingly. But lately you were the "sahib" asking questions
concerning Indian Philosophy as a great prince who should condescend to study
the habits of horses or dogs -- yesterday we changed all that. {267A}
"Scept." I have but one apology to offer -- that of Dr. Johnson.<<Taunted
with having described a horse's "pastern" as his "knee," the great
lexicographer pleaded "Ignorance, Madam, pure ignorance.">>
"Myst." Pray forbear! Yet it may be for a moment instructive to notice
the consideration which led you to assume a happier attitude; viz, that such
identities of thought (implying such fine parallelisms of brain structure)
were discovered, that, in short, you admitted the Indian (as you have been
compelled to admit the Gibbon)<<See Huxley, "Man's Place in Nature," and
elsewhere.>> to classification in your own genus.
"Scept." You are hard upon my insolence.
"Myst." Only to make the opportunity of remarking a further parallelism:
that the said insolence is matched, maybe surpassed, by my own. A witty
Irishman, indeed, observed of the natives of the Tongue of Asia that "the
Hindu, with all his faults, was civilised, like the Frenchman: the Musulman,
{267B} with all his virtues, was, like the Englishman, a savage."
And indeed we are too apt to think of you only as only as red-faced,
drunken, beef-eating boors and ruffians, with no soul and less sense, as if
your were all soldiers; or as prim, conceited, supercilious, opinionated
prigs, as if you were all civilians; or as unspeakable stupidity incarnate in
greedy oiliness, as if you were all missionaries. Your highest placed women
make virtuous our courtezans by a comparison of costume and manners; if our
advices be true, the morality test is still in favour of our light ones.
Your law wisely forbids your own venal women to set foot on Indian soil; a
rumour is even got about that you have no such women: but political economy
is to be thanked, if it be so.<<1>> Now, though you know that I am aware
that India is simply the refuse-heap for your vilest characters and your
dullest brains, I see that you so little appreciate the compliment I am
trying to pay you, that your foot is already itching to assault my person,
and to cause me to remember that your cook never forgets to spit into your
honour's soup, were it not that we may find a refuge from difference of caste
and race, custom and language, in the supreme unity, that of the ultimate
force of which this universe is the expression.
<<1. "Cf." Crowley, "Epigrams" (1550 A.D.) --
"The bawds of the stews be turned al out;
But some think they inhabit al England throughout." -- A. C.>>
"Scept." I have listened with patience to what is after all (you must
admit) a rather spiteful tirade ---
"Myst." Forgive me if I interrupt. Do me the honour to remember that it
was said in self-blame. I tried to give your honour "the giftie" (as one of
your worst poets has said) "to see yoursel as ithers see you," the "ithers"
in this case being average Hindus, as ignorant of your real character as you
confess your untravelled folk to be of ours.
"Scept." Pray spare me Burns! We are -- that is, you and I -- on a better
understanding now. Let us return, if you will, to the subject {268A} we too
lightly touched on yesterday; that of TIME, and the real signification of
that mysterious word, which is in the mouths of children, and which to affect
not to understand is to stamp oneself, in the opinion of the so-called
intellectual classes, as a fantastic.
"Myst." Yet who of us does understand it? I, at least, am at one with you
in declaring its mystery.
"Scept." Your are of the few. Even Huxley, the most luminous of modern
philosophers, evidently misunderstands Kant's true though partial dictum that
it is subjective, or, in the pre-Kantian jargon, a form of the intellect.
"Myst." Lest we involve ourselves in controversy, Homeric body-snatchers
of Patroclus Kant, let us hastily turn to the question at issue itself. The
scholastic method of discussing a point by quotation of Brown's position
against Smith may do for the weevilly brain of a University don, but is well
know to bring one no nearer to solution, satisfactory or otherwise, of the
original problem.
"Scept." I heartily agree with you so far. We will therefore attack
thequestion "ab initio": I await you.
"Myst." As exordium, therefore, may I ask you to recall what we agreed on
yesterday with regard to "Tat Sat," the existent, or real?
"Scept." That it was one, unknowable, absolute.
"Myst." Objective?
"Scept." Without doubt.
"Myst." Did I not, however, observe that, however that might be, all
intuitions, if knowable, were subjective; if objective, unknown?
"Scept." You did: to which I pointed out that Spencer had well shown how
subjectivity, real or no, was a mere proof of objectivity.
"Myst." And "Vice versa."<<This is not an "ignoratio elenchi," but a
criticism, too extended in scope to introduce here. -- A. C.>> Ah! my
friend, we shall be tossed about, as the world this 2500 years, if we once
enter this vortex. Let us remain where all is smooth in the certainty that
the Unknowable is Unreal!
"Scept." We agreed it to be real! {268B}
"Myst." Oh never! The word "real" implies to us subjectivity; a thing is
only real "to us" so far as it is known by us; even its Unknowablility is a
species of knowledge of it: and, by Saviri! when I say real "to us," I say
real absolutely, since all things lie to me in the radius of my sensorium.
"To others" is a vain phrase, ---
"Scept." True; for those "others" only exist for you inasmuch as, and in
so far as, they are modifications of your own thought-stuff.<<The physical
basis of thought, as distinguished from its physical mechanism. A Hindu
conception. Sanskrit, Chittam.>>
"Myst." Agreed, then; instead of looking through the glasses of the
metaphysician, we will content ourselves with the simpler task of measuring
our thoughts by the only standard which is unquestionably valid, "i.e.,"
consciousness.
"Scept." But if that consciousness deceive us?
"Myst." We are the more deceived! But it is after all indifferent; for it
is we who are deceived. Idle to pretend that any other standard can ever be
of any use to us, since all others are referred to it!
"Scept." Ah! this is equally a branch of the former argument.
"Myst." That is so. However, we may defer consideration of this problem,
though I suspect that it will sooner or later force itself upon our notice.
"Scept." No doubt. This is very possibly the ultimate unknown and
infinite quantity, which lurks unsuspected in all equations, and vitiates our
most seeming-certain results.
"Myst." But, for Heaven's sake, let us postpone it as long as possible,
eh?
"Scept." Indeed, it is the devil of a subject. But we wander far -- By
the way, how old are you? You appear young, but you know much.
"Myst." You are too polite. I am but an ultimate truth, six world-truths,
fourteen grand gereralisations, eighty generalisations, sixty-two dilemmas,
and the usual odd million impressions.
"Scept." What is all this? You are surely --
"Myst." No, most noble Festus. Put me {269A} to he test, and I the matter
will reword: which madness would gambol from.<<I an not mad, most noble
Festus. Acts xxvi. 25. The rest is from "Hamlet." There are many other
such apt or perverted quotations in the essay.>> How old may your honour be?
"Scept." Forty-five years.
"Myst." Excuse the ignorance of a "Babu," but as Mr. Chesterton<<1>> well
knows, we do {269B} not easily grasp Western ideas. What is a "year"?
<<1.
MR. CROWLEY AND THE CREEDS
AND
THE CREED OF MR. CHESTERTON
WITH A POSTSCRIPT ENTITLED
A CHILD OF EPHRAIM<<a>>
<<a. The children of Ephraim, being armed, and carrying bows, turned them
back in the day of battle.>>
"CHESTERTON'S COLOSSAL COLLAPSE"
----
MR. CROWLEY AND THE CREEDS
BY G. K. CHESTERTON.
Mr. Aleister Crowley publishes a work, "The Sword of Song: Called by
Christians 'The Book of the Beast.'" and called, I am ashamed to say, "Ye
Sword of Song" on the cover, by some singularly uneducated man. Mr. Aleister
Crowley has always been, in my opinion, a good poet; his "Soul of Osiris,"
written during an Egyptian mood, was better poetry than this Browningesque
rhapsody in a Buddhist mood; but this also, though very affected, is very
interesting. But the main fact about it is that it is the expression of a
man who has really found Buddhism more satisfactory that Christianity.
Mr. Crowley begins his poem, I believe, with an earnest intention to
explain the beauty of the Buddhist philosophy; he knows a great deal about
it; he believes in it. But as he went on writing one thing became stronger
and stronger in his soul -- the living hatred of Christianity. Before he has
finished he has descended to the babyish "difficulties" of the Hall of
Science -- things about "the plain words of your sacred books," things about
"the panacea of belief" -- things, in short, at which any philosophical
Hindoo would roll about with laughter. Does Mr. Crowley suppose that
Buddhists do not feel the poetical nature of the books of a religion? Does
he suppose that they do not realise the immense importance of believing the
truth? But Mr. Crowley has got something into his soul stronger even than
the beautiful passion of the man who believes in Buddhism; he has the passion
of the man who does not believe in Christianity. He adds one more testimony
to the endless series of testimonies to the fascination and vitality of the
faith. For some mysterious reason no man can contrive to be agnostic about
Christianity. He always tries to prove something about it -- that it is
unphilosophical or immoral or disastrous -- which is not true. He can never
say simply that it does not convince him -- which is true.
A casual carpenter wandered about a string of villages and suddenly a horde
of rich men and sceptics and Sadducees and respectable persons rushed at him

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