Олдос Хаксли - Eyeless in Gaza

In the end, Anthony settled down to The Way of Perfection of St Teresa . When Brian came in, an hour later, he had got as far as the Prayer of Quiet.

‘B–busy?’ Brian asked.

Anthony shook his head.

The other sat down. ‘I c–came to s–see if there was anything more to s–settle about to–m–morrow.’ Mrs Foxe and Joan Thursley, Mr and Mrs Beavis were coming down to Oxford for the day. Brian and Anthony had agreed to entertain them together.

Hock or Sauterne cup? Lobster mayonnaise or cold salmon? And if it rained, what would be the best thing to do in the afternoon?

‘Are you c–coming to the F–fabians this evening?’ Brian asked, when the discussion of the next day’s plans was at an end.

‘Of course,’ said Anthony. There was to be voting, that evening, for next term’s president. ‘It’ll be a close fight between you and Mark Staithes. You’ll need all the votes you can … ’

Interrupting him, ‘I’ve st–stood down,’ said Brian.

‘Stood down? But why?’

‘V–various reasons.’

Anthony looked at him and shook his head. ‘Not that I’d have ever dreamt of putting up,’ he said. ‘Can’t imagine anything more boring than to preside over any kind of organization.’ Even belonging to an organization was bad enough. Why should one be bullied into making choices when one didn’t want to choose; into binding oneself to a set of principles when it was so essential to be free; into committing oneself to associate with other people when as likely as not one would want to be alone; into promising in advance to be at given places at given times? It was with the greatest difficulty that Brian had persuaded him to join the Fabians; for the rest he was unattached. ‘Inconceivably boring,’ he insisted. ‘But still, once in the running, why stand down?’

‘Mark’ll be a b–better president than I.’

‘He’ll be ruder, if that’s what you mean.’

‘B–besides, he was so a–awfully k–keen on g–getting elected,’ Brian began; then broke off, suddenly conscience–stricken. Anthony might think he was implying a criticism of Mark Staithes, was assuming the right to patronize him. ‘I mean, he kn–knows he’ll do the j–job so well,’ he went on quickly. ‘W–whereas I … So I r–really didn’t see why … ’

‘In fact you thought you might as well humour him.’

‘No, n–no!’ cried Brian in a tone of distress. ‘Not th–that.’

‘Cock of the dunghill,’ Anthony continued, ignoring the other’s protest. ‘He’s got to be cock—even if it’s only of the tiniest little Fabian dunghill.’ He laughed. ‘Poor old Mark! What an agony when he can’t get to the top of his dunghill! One’s lucky to prefer books.’ He patted St Teresa affectionately. ‘Still, I wish you hadn’t stood down. It would have made me laugh to see Mark trying to pretend he didn’t mind when you’d beaten him. You’re reading a paper, aren’t you,’ he went on, ‘after the voting?’

Relieved by the change of subject, Brian nodded. ‘On Syn … ’ he began.

‘On sin?’

‘Synd–dicalism.’

They both laughed.

‘Odd, when you come to think of it,’ said Anthony when their laughter subsided, ‘that the mere notion of talking to socialists about sin should seem so … well, so outrageous, really. Sin … socialism.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s like mating a duck with a zebra.’

‘You could t–talk about sin if you st–started from the other end.’

‘Which end?’

‘The s–social end. O–organizing a s–society so well that the i–individual simply c–couldn’t commit any sins.’

‘But do you honestly think such a society could exist?’

‘P–perhaps,’ said Brian doubtfully, but reflected that social change could hardly abolish those ignoble desires of his, couldn’t even legitimate those desires, except within certain conventional limits. He shook his head. ‘N–no, I don’t kn–know,’ he concluded.

‘I can’t see that you could do more than just transfer people’s sins from one plane to another. But we’ve done that already. Take envy and ambition, for example. They used to express themselves on the plane of physical violence. Now, we’ve reorganized society in such a way that they have to express themselves for the most part in terms of economic competition.’

‘Which we’re g–going to ab–abolish.’

‘And so bring physical violence back into fashion, eh?’

‘Th–that’s what you h–hope , d–don’t you?’ said Brian; and laughing, ‘You’re awful!’ he added.

There was a silence. Absently, Brian picked up The Way of Perfection , and, turning over the pages, read a line here, a paragraph there. Then with a sigh he shut the book, put it back in its place and, shaking his head, ‘I c–can’t underst–stand,’ he said, ‘why you read this sort of st–stuff. S–seeing that you d–don’t b–believe in it.’

‘But I do believe,’ Anthony insisted. ‘Not in the orthodox explanations, of course. Those are obviously idiotic. But in the facts. And in the fundamental metaphysical theory of mysticism.’

‘You m–mean that you can g–get at t–truth by some s–sort of d–direct union with it?’

Anthony nodded. ‘And the most valuable and important sort of truth only in that way.’

Brian sat for a time in silence, his elbows on his knees, his long face between his hands, staring at the floor. Then, without looking up, ‘It s–seems to me,’ he said at last, ‘that you’re r–running with the h–hare and h–h–h … and h–h … ’

‘Hunting with the hounds,’ Anthony supplied.

The other nodded. ‘Using sc–cepticism against r–religion—ag–gainst any s–sort of i–idealism, really,’ he added, thinking of the barbed mockery with which Anthony loved to puncture any enthusiasm that seemed to him excessive. ‘And using th–this st–stuff’—he pointed to The Way of Perfection —‘a–against s–scientific argument, when it s–suits your b–b–b … ’ ‘book’ refused to come: ‘when it s–suits your bee–double–o–kay.’

Anthony relit his pipe before answering. ‘Well, why shouldn’t one make the best of both worlds?’ he asked, as he threw the spent match into the grate. ‘Of all the worlds. Why not?’

‘W–well, c–consistency, s–single–mindedness … ’

‘But I don’t value single–mindedness. I value completeness. I think it’s one’s duty to develop all one’s potentialities— all of them. Not stupidly stick to only one. Single–mindedness!’ he repeated. ‘But oysters are single–minded. Ants are single–minded.’

‘S–so are s–saints.’

‘Well, that only confirms my determination not to be a saint.’

‘B–but h–how can you d–do anything if you’re not s–single–minded? It’s the f–first cond–dition of any ach–achievement.’

‘Who tells you I want to achieve anything?’ asked Anthony. ‘I don’t. I want to be , completely. And I want to know . And so far as getting to know is doing, I accept the conditions of it, single–mindedly.’ With the stem of his pipe he indicated the books on the table.

‘You d–don’t accept the c–conditions of th–that kind of kn–knowing,’ Brian retorted, pointing once more at The Way of Perfection . ‘P–praying and f–fasting and all th–that.’

‘Because it isn’t knowing; it’s a special kind of experience. There’s all the difference in the world between knowing and experiencing. Between learning algebra, for example, and going to bed with a woman.’

Brian did not smile. Still staring at the floor, ‘B–but you th–think,’ he said, ‘that m–mystical experiences b–brings one into c–contact with the t–truth?’