From: an3191@anon.penet.fi
Subject: part 001 of evasion (/zines/WeirdPart I of Celia Green's book THE HUMAN EVASION - Long
Organization: Anonymous contact service
X-Anonymously-To: talk.philosophy.misc
Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1993 23:32:07 GMT

I am posting the following transcript of Celia Green's book, "The Human
Evasion", very much without permission. I simply think it deserves a wider
distribution. There's a contact address for her research institute at the
very end, but it's probably not worth writing if you simply have a general
inquiry. Instead, find her other books and the research institute's other
publications first.
  This posting is coming from an anonymous server not because I'm anxious
to hide my identity but simply because it's the simplest way I can get
this to Usenet at present. The whole file is also available via anon ftp
from slopoke.mlb.semi.harris.com, /pub/incoming/evasion. -Mitch
(mporter@nyx.cs.du.edu)

THE HUMAN EVASION by Celia Green

FOREWORD by R H Ward
Chapter I - SANITY
Chapter II - THE CHARACTERISTICS OF SANITY
Chapter III - THE GENESIS OF SANITY
Chapter IV - THE SOCIETY OF THE SANE
Chapter V - HOW TO WRITE SANE BOOKS
Chapter VI - THE SANE PERSON TALKS OF EXISTENCE
Chapter VII - THE SANE PERSON TALKS OF GOD
Chapter VIII - THE RELIGION OF EVASION
Chapter IX - THE PHILOSOPHY OF EVASION
Chapter X - THE SCIENCE OF EVASION
Chapter XI - THE ALTERNATIVE TO SANITY: WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE?
Chapter XII - CHRIST
Chapter XIII - NIETZSCHE
Chapter XIV - WHY THE WORLD WILL REMAIN SANE
AN OPEN LETTER TO YOUNG PEOPLE

FOREWORD

  One way of seeing reality is to see the appearances we usually take for it
inside-out, back-to-front or looking-glass fashion. This is very difficult to
do, considering how habituated we are to those appearances. It is also very
difficult to be witty about vital and essential matters, though that is one of
the best hopes we have of seeing them objectively, which is about the only
hope we have of seeing them at all. Miss Green has achieved the looking-glass
vision and the wit. Many, therefore, will call her too clever by half,
forgetting that one of the things she is saying si that we are not half
clever enough, for the very reason that we lack her witty vision because we
wear the blinkers of our belief in appearances. So anyone who reads this book
(as opposed to merely reading its words) must be prepared to be profoundly
disturbed, upset and in fact *looking-glassed* himself; which will be greatly
to his advantage, if he can stand it. Few books, long or short, are great
ones; this book is short and among those few. One day, perhaps, it will become
part of holy writ: a gospel according to Celia Green. Which kind of `insane'
statement belongs to the book's own kind of truth.
                                                R. H. WARD

Chapter I - SANITY

  On the face of it, there is something rather strange about human psychology.
Human beings live in a state of mind called `sanity' on a small planet in
space. They are not quite sure whether the space around them is infinite or
not (either way it is unthinkable). If they think about time, they find it
inconceivable that it had a beginning. It is also inconceivable that it did
not have a beginning. Thoughts of this kind are not disturbing to `sanity',
which is obviously a remarkable phenomenon and deserving more recognition.

  Now sanity possesses a constellation of defining characteristics which are
at first sight unrelated. In this it resembles other, more widely accepted,
psychological syndromes. A person with an anal fixation, for example, is
likely to be obsessional, obstinate, miserly, punctilious, and interested in
small bright objects. A sane person believes firmly in the uselessness of
thinking about what he deos not understand, and is pathologically interested
in other people. These two symptoms, at first sight independent, are actually
inextricably related. In fact they are merely different aspects of that
peculiar reaction to reality which we shall call the *human evasion*.

  As I shall be using the word `reality' again I should make it plan at once
that I use it to mean `everything that exists'. Tihs is, of course, a highly
idiosyncratic use of the word. I am aware that it is commonly used by sane
people to mean `everything that human beings understand about', or even
`human beings'. This illustrates the interesting habit, on the part of the
sane, of investing any potentially dangerous word with a strong
anthropocentric meaning. Let us therefore consider the use of `reality' a
little longer.

  It is first necessary to consider what might be meant by the word `reality'
if it were usually used to mean `everything that exists'. It would have to
include all processes and events in the Universe, and all relationships
underlying them, regardless of whether or not these things were perceptible or
even conceivable by the human mind. It would also include the fact that
anything exists at all - i.e. that there is something and not nothing. And it
would include the reason for the fact that anything exists at all, although it
is most improbable that this reason is cocneivable, or that `reason' is a
particularly good name for it.

  In fact it is quite obvious that to most people `reality' does not mean
anything like this.

  Particular attention should be drawn to the phrase `running away from
reality' in which `reality' is almost always synonymous with `human beings and
their affairs'. For example: `It isn't right to spend so much time with those
stuffy old astronomy books. It's *running away from reality*. You ought to be
getting out and meeting people.' (An interest in any aspect of reality
requiring concentrated attention in solitude is considered a particularly
dangerous symptom.) This usage leads to the interesting result that if anyone
does take any interest in reality he is almost certain to be told that he is
running away from it.

  Although so far we have given only one illustration, some impression may
already begin to emerge of the way in which the sane mind has allocated to all
crucial words meanings which make it virtually impossible to state, let alone
to defend, any position other than that of sanity.

  In fact by now tihs is the chief means employed by sanity to defend itself
from any possible attack. Formerly it found it necessary to claim a certain
interest in `reality' in the sense of `that which exists'. There were
religions, and systems of metaphysics, you may remember, which professed a
certain interest in the creation of the world, and the purpose of life, and
the destiny of the individual.

  Now no such disguises are necessary.

  I am reminded of a book called *Flatland* in which an imaginary two-
dimensional world is described. Towards the end of the book a non-dimensional
being is encountered - a point in space. The observers listen to what it is
saying (but of course, since they are of higher dimesnionality than its own,
the point being canot observe them in any way). What it is saying to itself,
in a scarcely audible tinkling voice, is something like this: `I am alpha and
omgea, the beginning and the end. I am that which is and I am all in all to
myself. There is nothing other than me, I am everything and all of everything
is all of me and all of me is all of everything...'

  The human race has taken to producing similar noises. Perhaps would not be
surprised at the sociologists murmuring to themselves from time to time, `in
society we live and move and have our being', as they scurry from communal
centre to therapeutic group, but these days everyone is at it.

  The philosophers have discarded metaphysics and have a tinkling song of
their own which says, `In the beginning was the word and the word is mine and
the word was made by me.' This is rather a strong position in its way, because
if you try to criticize it they will point out that you can only do so in
words, and they have already annexed all the words there are on behalf of
humanity. (And the meaning of the words is the meaning humanity gave them, and
they shall have no meaning beside it.)

  The theologians are finding theology rather an embarrassment, and one can
only suspect they would be happier without it. Their tradition does make it a
little more difficult for them to put God in his proper place, but all things
considered, they're keeping up with the times pretty well. Sartre said `Hell
is other people'; the up-to-date theologian says `God is other people'.

  It might have been thought that the `existentialists' would make some sort
of a stand for the transcendent, but it hasn't been serious. In fact many
people have found that a liberal use of existentialist langauge, loosely
applid, has been extremely helpful in stimulating an obsessional interest in
human society. (This interest is variously known as `commitment',
`involvement', and `the life of encounter'.)

  The questions which remain are these. *Are* people, in fact, matters of
ultimate concern to other people? And still more, can they be sources of
`ultimate solution' to them? If they are not, what psychological force is at
work to ensure that these questions are so seldom asked? Why, if you ask a
question about man and the universe, are you given an answer about `man in
society'?


Chapter II - THE CHARACTERISTICS OF SANITY

  Sanity may be described as the conscientious denial of reality. That is to
say, the facts of the situation (apart from a few which are judged to be
harmless) have no emotional impact to a sane mind.

  For example, it is a salient feature of our position that we are in a state
of *total uncertainty*. Possibly the universe started with a `big bang' a few
aeons ago, or perhaps something even more incredible happened. In any case,
there is no reason known to us why everything should not stop existing at any
moment. I realize that to my sane readers I shall appear to be making an empty
academic point. That is precisely what is so remarkable about sanity.

  The sane person prides himself on his ability to be unaffected by important
facts, and interested in unimportant ones. He refers to this as having a sense
of perspective, or keeping things `in proportion'.

  Consider the wife of the Bishop of Woolwich. She says `I have sometimes been
aske recently: "What effect has *Honest to God* and all the reaction to it had
on your children?"'[1]

  That is to say, what effect has it had on her children that their father has
written a book about the nature of reality which has attracted a great deal of
attention. Have they become interested in their father's importance as a
possible influence on the course of history? Have they started to take
themselves seriously and determined to influence their generation? Or have
they begun to take a precocious interest in theology, whether agreeing or
disagreeing with their father? The Bishop's wife assures us that none of these
unpleasant things have happened. What effect, then, *has* it had? `The simple
answer is - practically none at all,' she says. `Life goes on much as it did
before. The vital questions continue to be "Do you have to go out tonight?",
"What can I wear for the party?", and "What's for supper?"'

  This ability to keep things `in perspective', or upside down, is beautifully
exemplified by certain remarks made by the ageing Freud.

  Seventy years have taught me to accept life with a cheerful humility....
  Perhaps the gods are kind to us in making life more disagreeable as we grow
  older. In the end death seems less intolerable than the manifold burdens we
  carry.... I do not rebel against the universal order.... (Asked whether it
  meant nothing to him that his name should live) Nothing whatsoever.... I am
  far more interested in this blossom than in anything that may happen to me
  after I am dead.... I am not a pessimist, I permit no philosophic
  reflections to spoil my enjoyment of the simple things of life.[2]

  To appreciate the full force of these remarks one must realize that Freud
had already had five operations for cancer of the jaw, and was in more or less
continuous pain. (It may be held that when Freud looked at a blossom and found
it more interesting than pain and death and fame, this was because he was
overcome by the astonishing fact that the blossom existed at all. But if this
were so, I think he would scarcely refer to it as one of the `simple' things
of life.)

  He was not entirely immune from reminders of his finite condition, as is
shown by other statements which he made at various times.

  ... there is deep inside a pessimistic conviction that the end of my life is
  near. That feeds on the torments from my scar which never cease.[3]

  When you at a youthful 54 cannot avoid often thinking of death you cannot be
  astonished that at the age of 80 1/2 I fret whether I shall reach the age of
  my father and brother or further still into my mother's age, tormented on
  the one hand by the conflict between the wish for rest and the dread of
  fresh suffering that further life brings and on the other hand anticipation
  of the pain of separation from everything to which I am still attached.[4]

  The radium has once more begun to eat in, with pain and toxic effects, and
  my world is again what it was before - a lttle island of pain floating on a
  sea of indifference.[5]

  However, in spite of all this he did ont lose interest in trivia, and in the
eyes of any sane person this establishes his claim to possess great `emotional
stability'.

  Seeing things in perspective usually means that you stand at a certain
distance away from the objects of observation. The `perspective' in which a
sane person lives depends on avoiding this manoeuvre. You have to hold a
flower very clsoe to your eyes if it is to blot out the sky. The sane person
holds his life in front of his face like someone with short sight reading a
newspaper with rather small print. It follows that he cannot have emotions
about the universe, because he cannot see that it is there.

  This is a salient feature of sanity - it does not include emotions about the
universe. Some sane readers may object: `Once I was excited about anti-
particles for several hours'. or `I tried out solipsism for three whole days'.
So, if it is insisted upon, we may qualify this statement as follows: Sanity
may occasionally allow tansitory emotions about the universe or reality, but
it does not allow them to exercise any perceptible influence as motives in the
life of the individual. At this stage in our argument we must regard it as an
open question whether this is an accidental by-product of sanity, or whether
it is the deliberate but unstated objective at which all sane psychology is
aimed.

  I must explain what I mean by an emotion about the universe - since this is
an unfamiliar and bizarre phenomenon - so let me give an example. Ludwig
Wittgenstein, the founder of linguistic philospohy, which has made so great a
contribution to intellectual sanity in this century, was himself not quite so
sane as he would have liked. Indeed, it may be argued that linguistic
philosophy was itself the product of his strenuous attempts to remain sane
enough. A case of an irritated oyster producing a pearl - the sane may reply -
which does not detract frmo the value of the pearl. Possibly.

  But it is undeniable that Wittgenstein did occasionally have emotions about
the universe. So his biographer records: `I believe that a certain feeling of
amazement that *anything should exist at all*, was sometimes experienced by
Wittgenstein.... Whether tihs feeling has anything to do with religion is not
clear to me.'[6]

  Notice in passing the fastidiousness with which his biographer hastens to
disclaim any exact comprehension of this feeling. (`I believe the lower
classes eat fish and chips from newspaper. Whether this practice has anything
to do with nutrition is not clear to me.')

  What more can be said of the sane person? He is ubiquitous, and so his
characteristics are invisible. There is nothing to compare him with.

  But let us consider the picture given in a jolly little booklet called `A
*positive* approach to Mental Health'.[7] (The cover is adorned with a picture
of a happy fakir sitting beside an abandoned bed of nails.)

  `How does the person who is enjoying good mental health think and act?' the
booklet asks, and proceeds to inform us, among other things, that `He gets
satisfaction from simple, every-day pleasures.' Freud, you see, certainly
qualified.

  `He has emotions', the booklet also informs us, `like anyone else.' However,
they are `in proportion' and he is not `crushed' by them. I think by now we
have establishe what is meant by keeping things `in proportion' - i.e. you
have most of your emotions about unimportant things. The booklet does not
state this explicitly, but it certainly does not state anything to the
contrary. It might, for example, be said that `the mature man is not unduly
interested in matters of purely local significance, such as the state of
affairs on this particular planet, because he realizes that they are of little
ultimate significance.' You will observe how outlandish that sounds.

  The booklet becmoes a little lightheaded when it comes to the matter of the
mentally healthy person's interest in facts. `He's open-minded about new
experiences and new ideas.' A more accurate statement might be `A mentally
healthy person has made a value judgement in advance that no idea or
experience can be qualitatively more important than those he already
understands. He is able to rely on his defence mechanisms and can listen with
a bland expression to people with unpleasant ideas.'

  How does the mentally healthy person feel about his limitations? `He feels
able to deal with most situations that come his way.... He tries for goals he
thinks he can achieve through his own abilities; he doesn't want the moon on a
silver platter.' That is to say, he has so arranged his life that he doesn't
try to do anything that doesn't seem pretty easy. `If he can't change
something he doesn't like, he adjusts to it.' `He knows he has shortcomings
and can accept them without getting upset.' That is, he has ways of pretending
he does not mind about anything he cannot alter easily.

  And how does he feel about other people? Here a slightly threatening note of
reciprocity appears. `He is tolerant of others' shortcomings just as he is of
his own. He doesn't expect others to be perfect, either.' `He expects to like
and trust other people and assumes that they will like him.... He doesn't try
to push other people around and doesn't expect to be pushed aroud himself.'
Let us just imagine what might have been said instead - I know it will sound
like the wlidest fantasy. `He regrets his own shortcomings and is always
wliling to admire pepole with greater virtues and capacities than his own. He
wishes to help other people, particularly those with higher aims and a more
intense sense of purpose than he has himself. He does not expect to be liked
in return for his help.'

  We have established that the mentally healthy person isn't going to let his
life, with all its content of simple pleasures, be pushed around by anyone.
This, if you give it a moment's thought, ensures that all his relationships
must be characterized by mutual purposelessness. If you once admit a purpose
to the situation, it may make differential demands on different people.
Nevertheless, the sane person `is capable of loving other people and thinking
about their interests and well-being. He has friendships that are satisfying
and lasting. He can identify himself with a group, feel that he is part of it,
and has a sense of responsibility to his neighbours and fellow men.'

  Notice that a friendship should be satisfying - i.e. it is an end in itself,
and not a means to an end. It should also be `lasting'. Obviously if the
friendship depended on community of purpose, it might be outgrown.

  So it is plain that people constitute a rather large part of the mentally
healthy person's world, but that all associations of persons have to be
characterized by a mutual sacrifice of purposiveness.

  I am reminded of the porcupines of Schopenhauer. They wanted to huddle
together to keep one another warm, but found that their spines pricked one
another. If they kept too far apart, they became cold again. So they
established a distance at which they could keep one another warm without
actually making contact with one another's spines. `This distance was
henceforward known as decency and good manners.'

  The attitude of the mentally healthy person towards other people might be
stated as follows: `He expects to derive warmth from his proximity to other
people. He does not expect to derive anything else, and is willing to let
other pepole derive warmth from him so long as they, too, abandon their
prickly claims to possess needs of any other kind.'

  Before we leave this little booklet, let us consider that brilliant
expression `mental health'. It is, of course, a social euphemism of the same
genre as `rodent operative' and `cleansing official'. It saves sane people
from embarrassment by permitting them to say that their confined and
extraordinary relatives are not *mad* but `mentally ill' or even `mentally
unwell'. It implies that the human mind grows *naturally* and by *biological
necessity* into the image and likeness of the Human Evasion, as the human body
grows to a certain specified kind of shape. It implies that any deviation from
the Human Evasion is the same kind of thing as a tumour or a running sore. It
sanctifies the statistical norm. `Mental disease', the booklet says, `doesn't
indicate lack of brain power but rather a malfunctioning of the brain and
emotions. The individual just doesn't respond to various situations *the way a
normal person would*' (my italics).

  What can we add to this picture of the sane? One sane opinion. `... if I
could spend the course of everlasting time in a paradise of varied loveliness,
I do not fancy my felicity would be greatly impaired if the last secret of the
universe were withheld from me.'[8]

  This opinion was held by a Gifford Lecturer in the 1930s. His letures were
entitled `The Human Situation', and they are a marvel of sanity from beginning
to end. But they are outdated in one respect. We do not talk any more about
`the human situation'. The phrase implies that humans can be seen in relation
to something other than humans. What we talk about now is sociology. Everyone
is very proud of this fact. It is the quintessence of sanity.


[1] John A.T. Robinson, *The New Reformation*, S.C.M. Paperback, 1965, p.123.
[2] Ernest Jones, *Sigmund Freud: Life and Work*, Vol. III, The Hogarth Press,
1957. p.133.
[3] Ibid., Vol. III, pp.70-71.
[4] Ibid., Vol. III, p.226.
[5] Ibid., Vol. III, p.258.
[6] Norman Malcolm, *Ludwig Wittgenstein*, Oxford University Press Paperback,
1958, p.70.
[7] Richard Christner, Published by the National Association for Mental
Health, 1965.
[8] MacNeile Dixon, *The Human Situation*, Edward Arnold and Co., 1937, p.14.


Chapter III - THE GENESIS OF SANITY

  It is fashionable to locate the origins of psychological attitudes very
early in life. The taste for doing so is not, perhaps, entirely unmotivated.
It is obviously fairly agreeable to regard one's psychology as the result of
conditioning rather than of choice. It is relaxing; one has nothing to blame
oneself for; one cannot be expected to change. It is, of course, possible
that the infant mind is capable of significant emotional decisions. but this
possibliity is never discussed.

  However, a perfectly satisfactory beginning may indeed be postulated for
sanity, and this does not interfere at all with standard theories of psycho-
analysis. Psycho-analysis deals with that part of a person's psychology which
has become fixated on *other people*; so it may well describe what happens to
the child in so far as that child becomes sane.

  It is well known that the younger people are, the less sane they are likely
to be. This has lead to the heavily-loaded social usage of the term
*maturity*. It is an unquestionable pro-word. Roughly speaking, the *mature*
person is characterized by willingness to accept substitutes, compromises, and
delays, particularly if these are caused by the structure of society.

  Young people are usually *immature*, that is to say, they wish their lives
to contain excitement and purpose. It is recognized (at least subconsciously)
by sane people that the latter is much the mroe dangerous of the two, so the
young who cannot at once be made mature are steered into the pursuit of
*purposeless* excitement. This is actually no very exciting, and is well on
the way to an acceptable kind of sanity, as it leads to the idea of
`excitement' being degraded to that of `pleasure'.

  Adolescents are known to think about metaphysics more than most people; thus
thinking about metaphysics becomes associated with the negative concept
`immaturity'. If someone thinks about metaphysical problems at a later age,
they are said to show signs of `delayed adolescence'.

  Now let us go back to the very beginning of the `maturation' process. It is
to be presumed that a baby which is being born experiences helplessness as
helplessness. That is to say, it experiences the painful and incomprehensible
process without any of those reflections which are such a miraculous source of
comfort to the sane - such as `It will soon be over', or `After all, it
happens to everybody', or `It shouldn't be allowed. It's *their* fault'.

  The infant may be presumed to find its condition intolerable - because it is
out of control of it. At this point of its life, what it minds about is that
it cannot control reality, not that it cannot control people.

  Now so long as one is finite - i.e. one's knowledge and powers are limited -
situations may always arise which one cannot control. But it is very hard for
an adult human to feel any emotion about his limitations vis-a-vis impersonal
reality. What emotion arises in you when you think that you would be quite
unable to lift Mount Everest? On the other hand, it is probably quite easy to
feel some emotion at the thought that so-and-so is an inch taller than you
are, or can always beat you at badminton. You may also (though less probably)
still be able to feel a pang of jealousy or regret that you are not Nijinsky
or Shakespeare or Einstein.

  Obviously a process of psychological development takes place which ensures
(so far as pssible) that the limitations of the individual will be experienced
*only* in comparisons with other people. Now it is obvious that the emotion
wihch accmopanies the original experience of helplessness is very strong. If
you can recall any experience of impotent fury or horror in early childhood
you may get some idea of this. This gives semo clue to the strength of the
*human evasion*. If people are to take the force of all this displaced
emotion, it is scarcely surprising that they should be the object of such
exclusive attention.

  At first very young children are not immune from a feeling of helplessness
*per se*. But it may be presumed that the part of their environment which is
most readily manipulable is soon seen to be *other people*. The younger the
child, the truer this is. Its own physical and mental grasp of the situation
is greatly exceeded by that of adult humans - particularly its mother - who
can affect the situation in its favour if they feel inclined to do so.

  It is very painful to try to do something and to fail. The retrospective
attempt to reject the combination of trying and faliure is well known in
social life. `I didn't really care about the game today.' `Actually I was
thinking that even if I was elected it was time I resigned to spend more time
on my other interests.' Therefore, by the time it has reached adulthood, the
sane person has evolved ways of relinquishing the attempt in favour of some
compensatory aim, in any situation in which it does not feel almost certain to
succeed. For example, as a mature adult, you cannot even try (with any
emotional involvement in the act of trying) to jump over a house. By the same
taken, you cannot *try* to make a door open by willpower alone, or *try* to
arrive home quickly without traversing the intervening space and navigating
such obstacles as stairs, walls, gates, etc., in the approved fashion. Your
immediate sensation if you attempted to try, would be an overwhelming sense of
*impossibility*.

  It is (philosophically or factually speaking) the case that no future event
can be demonstrated to be impossible. If something has happened once, this may
be said to show it is possible. If it has never happened this does not show
that it can never do so. But as has pointed out, reflections of this kind
although *true*, have no emotional impact to a sane person.

  As already mentioned, you may stlil (in rare circumstances) be able to *try*
to achieve exceptional things in some socially recognized and strictly limited
field. I.e. you may still be able to try and equal Nijinsky, Shakespeare, etc.
But it is far more likely that you have acquired some compensatory attitude
towards any such symbols of outstandingness. It can give a very pleasant sense
of gentle superiority to discuss Beethoven's deafness, and Shakespeare's
Oedipus Complex, and Nietzsche's lack of success with women, in a more or less
informed manner. Thus MacNeile Dixon:

  So with the famous monarchs of the mind. They terrify you with their
  authority.... How royal is their geture, how incomparable their technique!
  There is, however, no need for alarm. Pluck up your heart, approach a little
  nearer, and what do you find; that they have human wishes and weaknesses
  like yourself. You may discover that Kant smoked, played billiards and had a
  fancy for candied friut. The discovery at once renders him less awe-
  inspiring.[1]

  This kind of approach is not only useful for eliminating a sense of
inferioirity, it also makes it much easier to ignore anything Kant, Nietzsche,
Hume, etc., may have said about reality.

  Now although the ambitions of the adult are already restricted to narrowly
defined types of social recognition, even this form of aspiration is a
strictly *unstable* structure in sane psychology - i.e. if it is displaced
slightly from its equilibrium it will tend to fall further away from that
position, and ont return to it. On the other hand, *compensation* is a
*stable* psychological position in sane psychology.

  The replacement of *aspiration* by *compensation* is perhaps most clearly
seen among college students. They frequently arrive at university with
immature desires for greatness and an exceptionally significant way of life.
Not infrequently, also, this leads to emotional conflicts and disappointments
of one kind and another. They *adjust* to their problems with startling
rapidity. The solution which occurs to nearly all of them, and is suggested to
them by psychological advisers, etc., if it does not occur to them
spontaneously, is to *accept their limitations*. The *acceptance of
limitations* is accompanied by a marked increase in the valuation placed on
*other people*.

  `I used to be quite self-sufficient and thought I wanted to be nothing but
an intellectual. I lived for my work, and of course maths/classics/anything
you like is the nearest thing there is to heaven. But it would be selfish to
live like that. I see now you've got to take an interest in life - I mean,
you have to live with other people. It's *difficult* to get on with people.
Social problems *are* difficult. The other is *easy*. It's running away from
reality.'

  What is usually omitted from this exposition by the patient is that between
the period at which classics (or whatever it may have been) was `nearly
heaven' and the period at which human relationships became the central thing
in life, there was usually a stage at which classics was no longer
particularly easy.

  It is a simple law of human psychology, therefore, that as soon as conflict
arises, it will be eliminated by some compensatory manoeuvre in which *other
people* are the central pivot. The process of becmoing thoroughly sane depends
on repeated manoeuvres of this kind.

  This process may be presumed to have started in earliest infancy, when it
was much more rewarding to aim at responses from one's mother than at
controlling the environment directly. Here began the child's lifelong efforts
to limit its trying to regions in which it could succeed. This process, of
necessity, remained imperfect in early life, as moderate (though never
disproportionate) efforts to learn things must be sanctioned in the young.
These efforts are almost at once heavily conditioned by social acceptability,
though this is not yet the exclusive criterion. It is possible to find people
who remember, as children, having tried (or attempted to try) to walk away
from the stairs into the air instead of going on down them one by one. But
even then they found it impossible to try very hard.

  Why is it so painful to *fail* in something you have tried to do? In the
case of the young child it is evidently because it reminds it of its limited
powers, wihch suggests the possibility of permanent finiteness.

  It is bad enough to be finite at present; it is intolerable to believe that
one wlil always be so. If one tries and fails it proves that one's trying is
insufficient. Better therefore to believe that *one doesn't want to try* - at
least at present.

  This view of the matter is not so far removed from that of orthodox psycho-
analysis, which does, after a fashion, recognize the child's desire for
omnipotence. Psycho-analysis is, however, most concerned with what happens
once human person's, such as the child's father, have become partial symbols
of omnipotence. There is also a tendency to describe the child as having a
muddle-headed *belief* in its own omnipotence. This is, of course, less
justifiable than a *desire* for omnipotence. Sane people cannot distinguish
very easily between different attitudes of this kind.

  Of course in the child and adolescent there are still remains of the belief
that one will, at some judiciously selected time in the future, attempt
altogether more ambitious tihngs. In tru adulthood this idea has disappeared
(or becomes transformed into some such form as `it would make all the
difference if people were only decent to me and gave me my rights').

  Thus the sane, adult person wants (or tries to want) to have what it can
have and to do what it can do, and exercises a good deal of ingenuity in
attempts to want not to have what it cannot get.

  One or two points must be made in parentheses. The sane person will not, of
course, admit that the prospect of being premanently finite is intolerable.
Even if he looks so miserable that he cannot with any conviction claim to be
happy himself, he will utter constant affirmations that `most people are
pefectly all right and quite happy as they are.' `Why should I mind about
being finite? Suppose I *enjoy* it like this?'

  This does not make our hypothesis about the development of the human evasion
any less probable. Our argument is that a sane person's life has been spent in
an increasingly successful attempt *not* to find finiteness intolerable. Thus
if he makes assertions of this kind, he is telling us only that he has
succeeded.

  After all, it is accepted in psycho-analysis that one of the objects of a
psychological reaction to an unacceptable fact is, eventually, to conceal the
true origin and purpose of this reaction.

                        *               *               *

  The sane adult will, of course, object that what happens when one comes up
against one's limitations is not that one is reminded of the *possibility* of
permanent finiteness. It is *certain* that the limits of one's capabilities
are defined by what one can and cannot achieve.

  The very young child reacts emotionally as if it believed that limitation is
only potential; it does not yet identify itself with its limitations. In this
its emotions are in accordance with the most abstract philosophy; whatever may
be achieved in certain circumsatnces on one occasion or even on a great many
occasions, it may still be the case that something quite different may be
achieved on a future occasion. In the most abstract sense, this might simply
happen in the way that everything might stop existing at any moment or start
existing according to different laws. This, I know, is the sort of
consideration that has no force at all to a sane adult. But even within the
normal world-view, it cannot be claimed that very much is known about the
psychological factors that restrict or permit achievement, and the possibility
cannot be ruled out that if someone adopted a different kind of psychological
attitude from any they had had before, they mightfind their abilities
radically changed.

  Initially, then, the child is merely horrified at the prospect that a single
failure may contain some implication of permanent restriction; some barrier
set forever between him and the possibility of omnipotence. It is a matter of
social conditioning that he increasingly learns that he is regarded by others
as defined by his failures, so that any single one comes to have the force of
a *permanent measurement of what he unchangeably is*.

  This process is accompanied by a continuous shifting of the idea of failure
away from *absolute* failure (i.e. faliure to fulfil one's own will) toward
`failure by comparison with other people'. To the mature adult only the latter
is of any interest.

  The child is trained, then, to react to failure not only by regarding his
limitations as final, but by substituting something more readily obtainable
for what he originally wanted. The substitution is usually eased by a shift of
emphasis from what the individual himself wants, to what other people want
from him. It may be the substitution of a *different* ambition from the first
one, on the grounds that it will be just as useful to society, or it may be
the substitution of social approval *per se* for any ambition at all.

  Consider some well-known gambits. `Never mind, darling. Even if you fail
your exams, you know we'll still love you.' If the person concerned is
actually worried about the exams, there is an obvious motivation for
attempting to find this comforting. `Well, we know you did your best, and
that's what counts.' The latter is particularly subtle, since it combines the
idea of *finality* of failure with the offer of social approval. What it is
really saying is: `Provided you accept that you coudln't possibly have done
better, and you really are worse than all the other boys, you may have our
affection as a good boy who tries.'

  Now the child may well have an obscure feeling that in some way he wasn't
feeling *right* about the thing; or that somehow everything felt *wrong* at
school in some indefinable way that made it quite certain that he couldn't do
that kind of thing there. But his mind must be distracted from any attempt to
work out how one does ake oneself feel right to do things. (If he does start
reflecting on the effect of circumstances upon him he will most likely be told
he is `making excuses'.)

  The denial of psychological reality is very importan to sanity. It cannot
afford to admit the existence of a psychology of achievement, still less to
understand it. However, one of the few pieces of psychology that is understood
by sanity is how to make young humans with aspirations feel discredited and
absurd. Any aspiration bears an uncomfortable resemblance to a desire not to
be finite at all. Inspiration is of little interest to modern psychology; it
is about as unfashionable as witchcraft. If the subconscious mind is
considered at all, it is considered solely as a repository of associations of
ideas about parts of the body and members of one's family.

  Of course there is a kind of non-aspiring psychology of success which is
understood by sanity. It is roughly as follows: the most stable, least
excitable, most normal, people will tend to be most consistently successful.
Even if this seems to be supported by observation, it must be borne in mind
that these are the conditions for success (of a moderate kind) in a society
composed of sane people.


[1] Ibid., p.16.


Chapter IV - THE SOCIETY OF THE SANE

  Society begins to appear much less unreasonable when one realizes its true
function. It is there to help everyone to keep their minds off reality. This
follows automatically from the fact that it is an association of sane people,
and it has already been shown that sanity arises from the continual insertion
of `other people' into any space into which a metaphysical problem might
intrude.

  It is therefore quite irrelevant to criticize society as though it were
there for some other purpsoe - to keep everyone alive and well-fed in an
efficient manner, say. Some degree of inefficiency is essential to create
interesting opportunities for emotional reaction. (Of course, criticizing
society, though irrelevant, is undeniably of value as an emotional
distraction for sane people.)

  Incidentally, it should be onticed that `keeping everyone alive and well-
fed' is the highest social aim wihch the sane mind can accept without
reservation or discomfort. This is because everyone is capable of eating - and
so are animals and plants - so this qualifies magnificently as a `real' piece
of `real life'. There are other reasons in its favour as well, of course, such
as the fact that well-fed people do not usually become more single-minded,
purposeful, or interested in metaphysics.

  It has been seen that the object of a sane upbringing is increasingly to
direct all emotion towards objects which involve *other people*. Now basically
the situation of being finite is an infinitely frustrating one, which would be
expected to arouse sensations of desperation and aggression - as indeed it may
sometimes be seen to do in very young children. I am aware that I must be
careful, in using the word aggression, to state that I do not mean aggression
directed towards people. What I mean is an impersonal drive directed against
reality - it is difficult to give examples but it may be presumed that
geniuses who are at all worthy of the name preserve a small degree of this.

  However, sicne *all* emotion must be directed towards people, it is obvious
that the only form of aggression which a sane person can understand is
aggression against people, wihch is probably better described as sadism or
cruelty.

  Now it is obvious that the open expression of cruelty towards other people
would have a destructive effect upon society, apart from being unprofitable to
the human evasion in other ways. So the usual way in which aggression is
displaced onto other people is in the form of a desire that they should *be
limited*. This, after all, is very logical. If the true source of your anger
is that you are limited yourself, and you wish to displace this anger onto
some other person, what could be more natural than that you should *wish them
to be limited as well*.

  This desire is usually expressed in the form of a desire for social justice,
in one form or another. (`In this life you have to learn that you can't have
it all your own way.' `Well he can't expect to be treated as an exception
for ever.' `It's time he learnt to accept his limitations.' `Don't you think
you should try to think more what other people want? We all have to do things
we don't like.' `Why should *they* have all the advantages.')

  This means that *society* is not only the chief source of compensation to a
sane person, but his chief instrument of revenge against other people. It is
useless to point out that there is no need to revenge himself upon them. If he
were ever to admit that they were not responsible for his finite predicament,
he would have to direct his hatred against the finite predicament itself, and
tihs would be frustrating. It is this frustration that the human evasion
exists to evade.

  Any atempt to *do* something involves the possibility of failure and may
remind you of reality. For this reason the sane society discriminates against
*purposeful* action in favour of *pleasure-seeking* action. The only purposes
readily recognized as legitimate by the sane mind are those necessitated by
the pursuit of pleasure. E.g. pleasure seeking cannot efficiently be carried
on unless the individual is kept alive and moderately healthy. Therefore his
physical needs are regarded as important and ambulances are provided with
noisy bells. There is no corresponding necessity that he should fill, say, his
intellectual potentialities. In fact the attempt to do so is likely to appear
unduly purposeful.

  It is obvious in any number of ways that a *sense of purpose* repels rather
than attracts assistance. You have only to consider the immediate sympathy
that would be aroused in a sane mind by the complaint of some child that it
was being driven to work at things far too difficult for its capacities,
compared with the distrust and reserve with which it would view cmoplaints by
the child that it was not being allowed to work hard enough.

  To the sane mind, even aggression against people is infinitely better than
aggression against infinity. And it is the chief defect of sane society that
it is boring. It is so boring that even sane people notice it. And so, from
time to time, there is a war. This is intended to divert people's minds before
they become so bored that they take to some impersonal kind of aggressive
activity - such as rseearch, or asceticism, or inspiration, or something
discreditable of that kind.

  In wartime, rather more purposeful activity than usual is permissible. Even
sane people relax their normal beliefs that nothing matters very much, and
some time next week is soon enough for anything. This is regarded as justified
because the war is always about something connected with *other people*, and
may be regarded as an assertion of the belief that *the tihng that matters
most is politics*.

 And yet it might seem that war was going rather far. It does contain a very
considerable risk of contact with reality. It is difficult to pretend that
people never die, or that they only die in soothing situations with up-to-date
medical care and loving relatives to keep their minds occupied with family
news. War is full of reminders that things happen, and that space and time are
real, and that before the bomb blows up is not the same as after, and that
there are risks and uncertainty.

  How then can a sane society run the risks of allowing its population to have
experiences of this kind, even occasionally? I think if you ask this question
it is simply because you do not appreciate the robustness of sanity. If you
shut people up in a prison camp, and torture them for a few years, they will
not come out saying: `I am a finite animal in existence and it is beyond
endurance. How can I go on living in a body that can be tormented in these
ways? I demand that human society stops all it is doing and starts attacking
finiteness in every conceivable way....'

  Instead, they will come out saying: `It is terrible that other people should
let wars happen, in which it is possible to be so degraded and reminded of
one's limitations. It shouldn't happen; it is contrary to human rights; we are
*appalled* at the evil in the heart of man. Meanwhile we demand reparation
from society - employment, and housing, and disablement allowances...'

                        *               *               *

  Society, they say, exists to safeguard the rights of the individual. If this
is so, the primary right of a human being is evidently to live
unrealistically.

  It has been pointed out that by the time a person is fully mature he will
not, i normal circumstances, be made aware of his finiteness except in
comparisons with other people.

  It is not possible to ensure this absolutely. But it is possible to limit
the loopholes to those of physical accident, illness and death. Human beings
regard it as a sacred duty to be particularly untruthful about these things -
particularly to the afflicted person and to any young person who may be
around. For example, the following account of the death of Madame Curie may
well seem rather touching to a sane person.

  Then began the harrowing struggle which goes by the name of `an easy death'
  - in which the body which refuses to perish asserts itself in wild
  determination. Eve at her mother's side was engaged in another struggle; in
  the brain of Mme Curie, still very lucid, the great idea of death had not
  penetrated. The miracle must be preserved, to save Marie from an immense
  pain that could not be appeased by resignation. Above all, the physical
  suffering had to be attenuated; the body reassured at the same time as the
  soul. No difficult treatments, no tardy blood transfusions, impressive and
  useless. No family reunion hastily called at the bedside of a woman who,
  seeing her relatives assembled, wold be sddenly struck to the heart with an
  atrocious certainty.
    I shall always cherish the names of those who helped my mother in those
  days of horror. Dr. Toben, director of the sanatorium, and Dr. Pierre Lowsy
  brought Marie all their knowledge. The life of the sanatorium seemed
  suspended, stricken with immobility by the dreadful fact: Mme Curie was
  about to die. The house was all respect, silence and fervor. The two doctors
  alternated in Marie's room. They supported and solaced her. They also took
  care of Eve, helped her to struggle and to tell lies, and, even without her
  asking them, they promised to lull Marie's last sufferings by soporifics and
  injections.
    On the morning of July third, for the last time Mme Curie could read the
  thermometer held in her shaking hand and distinguish the fall in fever which
  always precedes the end. She smiled with joy. And as Eve assured her that
  this was the sign of her cure, and that she was going to be well now, she
  said, looking at the open window, turning hopefully towards the sun and the
  motionless mountains: `It wasn't the medicines that made me better. It was
  the pure air, the altitude...'[1]

  It may be remarked that although the vulnerability of the human body makes
it possible even for a fully-matured human being to be reminded of his
limitations, no power on earth can remind him of the transcendent, in any
shape or form. His reactions to pain, danger and death are limited to fear,
depression, anxiety and commonsense. They do not include liberation, elation,
or an interest in infinity. That is to say, the impact of reality has been
rendered entirely negative.

                        *               *               *

  In order effectively to distract people from reality, society has to
provide them with pseudo-purposes, guaranteed purposeless. (Or, alternatively,
with pseudo-frustrations, guaranteed permanent.) There are two main kinds of
pseudo-purpose or -frustration; they are known as `earning a living' and
`bringing up a family'. They both provide as person with a cast-iron alibi for
ont doing anything he wants with his life. (He does not, of course, want to be
free to do what he wnats, so this is all right.)

  Sane people regard an apparently purposeful activity as disinfected by
numbers - i.e. if a sufficiently large number of people is involved, they feel
sure that they outcome will be harmless to sanity, no matter how frenzied the
labours may seem to be. The most large-scale examples are war and politics.
Into these activities, people allow themselves to enter with almost single-
minded devotion.

  Noth war and politics have played a particularly helpful part in retarding
the march of progress. In fact, the history of the human race is only
comprehensible as the record of a species trying ont to gain control of its
environment.


[1]Eve Curie, *Madame Curie*, Garden City Publishing Co. Inc., 1900,
pp397-398.


Chapter V - HOW TO WRITE SANE BOOKS

  It will be convenient to have a name for that part of reality which is not
emotionally regarded as `real' by the sane person. We shall call it the
Outside.

  The Outside consists of everything that appears inconceivable to the human
mind. In fact everything is inconceivable to the human mind (if only because
it exists) but not many people notice this.

  In religious and philosophical writings it is often difficult to eliminate
all reference to the Outside. There are a number of ways of dealing with this
problem. One of the most successful is to generate a distinctive kind of
ambiguity about the meanings of crucial words.

  Consider the following passage in which the words `being' and `existence'
are used. `The term "being" in this context does not designate existence in
time and space.... (It) means the whole of human reality, the structure, the
meaning and the aim of existence.'[1]

  It is tolerably clear that at least when Tillich *first* uses the word
`existence' he means by it what I also mean when I use the word. It seems that
what we both mean by `existing' is `being there'.

  However, Tillich then explicitly repudiates this sense and goes on to define
the word `being' in a second sense. The term `being' means the whole of human
reality, Tillich says. The meaning of this phrase is not obvious.

  Perhaps Tillich means the sum total of the mental content of all humans -
illusions and all? What humans think is real? Or that part of reality which is
accessible to the human mind?

  The last seems to be the best we can do. So let us suppose that `human
reality' does mean that part of the mental content - actual or potential - of
humans which is actually in accordance with what exists.

  `Human reality' is then placed in apposition with `the structure, the
meaning and the aim of existence'. What is to be understood by this? The `aim
of existence' seems at first sight to be clear, unless `existence' has made an
unannounced change of meaning since it was first used. It would seem that this
phrase must mean `the purpose for which everything exists'.

  But this is difficult, because `the aim of existence' is in apposition with
`human reality' which certainly does not include the purpose of existence.
This leads us to a distinct suspicion that when Tillich talks of `the
structure, meaning and aim of existence' he does not mean `existence' at all,
but `human life' instead. If he does mean this, there seems no reason why he
should say so - except that it would rob what he is saying of a status it does
not possess. And if he does mean this, we have arrived at the following
definition of the word `being' - `whatever happens to be realistic in the
mental content of humans; the stucture, the meaning and the aim of human
life'.

  In fact, we may suggest this paraphrase of what Tillich is saying: `When we
talk of "being" we do not mean the Outside. We mean the Inside.'

  This example illustrates a standard procedure for appearing to take the
Outside into consideration without actually doing so. The rules for this kind
of writing are very simple and roughly as follows.

  There are a number of words and phrases which may mean something about
existence or something about humans. For example: `existence', `depth',
`ground of being', `ultimate concern', `meaning', etc. Whenever what you
really mean is `human relationships' or `day-to-day living' you should replace
it by some existential-sounding combination, such as `the depth of being'. It
is a good idea to use compound phrases (`the depth of historical existence',
`the ultimate ground of meaning') as a considerable degree of obscurity can be
created by summating the nucertainty of a number of nucertain terms.

  It is usual to define these terms as little as possible. But if you wish to
appear to do so, it is best to use a series of phrases in apposition (as in
the example just considered: `the whole of human reality, the structure, the
meaning and the aim of existence'). This gives a very good effect of
struggling to define something difficult with precision while actually
generating ambiguity (on the principle of summation of uncertainty already
mentioned). The device of apposition itself introduces an additional modicum
of doubt, since if you appose two such phrases as `the depth of maning' and
`the inmost stucture of reality' on one will be sure whether the two phrases
are ways of saying the same thing, or whether they are intended to complement
one another.

  Other verbal devices may be used for placing together in the closest
possible proximity `human' words and `Outside' words. Words like `ultimate'
and `reality' should be used in phrases like `human reality' and `ultimate
conern', and the word `meaning' should be softened into `meaning and
coherence'. (The word `meaning' might be regarded as informationally
sufficient; however, the addition of `coherence' contributes a useful implicit
suggestion that `meaning' must hang together in a way that is recognizable and
rather agreeable to humans.)

  To illustrate these instructions, consider the typical phrase `life and
existence'. Now the word `existence' may mean `human life', but if it does it
is adding onthing to the meaning of the phrase. So this phrase would seem to
mean `human living *and* the fact that things are there' - which seems a
srtange combination to discuss in the same breath.

  Another example of the way in which abstract words such as `transcendent',
`meaning', `existence' should be combined with human words such as `life' and
`confidence':

  High religions are ... distinguished by the extent of the unity and
  coherence of life wihch they seek to encompass and the sense of a
  transcenent source of meaning by wihch alone confidence in the
  meaningfulness of life and existence can be maintained.[2]

  May I suggest a paraphrase, which I think does ont reduce the informational
content. `High religions are distinguished by making the whole of human life
feel meaningful to the human being.' As human life already feels meaningful to
sane human beings, tihs would appear to let anything or nothing qualify as a
`high religion'.

  It is true that my paraphrase reduces Niebuhr's meaning if he is using the
word `transcendent' in a transcendent sense. If so, what he is saying becomes
more complex, but questionable. Assuming `transcendent' to mean `possessing a
validity which cannot be affected by any consideration whatever', or perhaps
`directly related to the reason for existence', it is difficult to see why a
`transcendent source of meaning' should be expected to maintain anyone's
`confidence in the meaningfulnes of life'. For this to be true, we should
have to accept the psychological supposition that people can only
confidently accept transcendent meanings as meaningful.

  What is more, we should also have to accept that a transcendent source of
meaning would have the characteristic of making a human being confident about
the meaning of his life. It is an interesting sidelight on human psychology
that it should be so often assumed that a transcendent purpose *must* be one
that `gives a meaning to life'. In fact, anyone sufficiently unusual to think
occasionally about transcendence finds that it makes his life feel intolerably
meaningless. (This is why people do not go on doing it.)

  If we assume that Niebuhr is using the word `transcendent' in one of the
senses defined above, the most obvious characteristic of a transcendent
meaning would seem to be that it invalidates all subordinate meanings. This,
after all, is what `transcendent' means - that which invalidates, but cannot
itself be invalidated. So if Niebuhr is really using the word `transcendent'
to mean that which transcends, what he is saying becomes: `High religions are
distinguished by making the hwole of life meaningful by reference to something
which makes the whole of life meaningless, which is the only way in which it
is possible to maintain confidence that life is meaningful.'

  As this is patently absurd, I assume that he is not in fact using the word
`transcendent' in a transcendent sense. It is much more likely that when he
talks of a `transcendent source of meaning' he means `anything which is
capable of making the whole of human life seem meaningful to a large number
of people'.

  I leave the reader to appreciate the following without further explanation:

  God made the world, and is never absent from it. So, within the mind of
  modern secularism there are feelings after the meaningfulness of human
  existence, recognition of supreme obligations in human relations, gropings
  after an undefined `otherness'.[3]

  The name of this infinite and inexhaustible ground of ihstory is *God*. That
  is what the word means, and it is that to which the words *Kingdom of God*
  and *Divine Providence* point. And if these words do not have much meaning
  for you, translate them, and speak of the depth of histroy, of the ground
  and aim of our social life, and of what you take seriously without
  reservation in your moral and political activities. Perhaps you should call
  this depth *hope*, simply hope.[4]


[1] Paul Tillich, *Systematic Theology*, Vol. I, p.17.
[2] R. Niebuhr, *An Interpretation of Christian Ethics*, Meridian Books,
1956, p.17.
[3] Archbishop of Canterbury, *Sunday Times*, December 20, 1964.
[4] Paul Tillich, *The Shaking of the Foundations*, Penguin Books, 1949, p.65.


Chapter VI - THE SANE PERSON TALKS OF EXISTENCE

  When the sane person talks about life he sometimes mentions the Outside, but
here a splendid confusion can be created from the simple fact that *other
people* are, in a certain sense, *outside* relative to the individual. And so
it is possible to find passages like the following:

  And what, too, would our reactions to (ESP) tell us about ourselves? That we
  feel safer living in splendid isolation, *a huis clos*? Or that we are
  prepared to face the possibility of being membres of one another in a world
  which, as mathematicians already know, is first and foremost one of
  relationships, and which now, as a great mathematician, Hermann Weyl, has
  dramatically put it, is being made by modern science itself `to appear more
  and mroe as an open one... pointing beyond itself.'[1]

  This, incidentally, provides a particularly ostentatious example of the use
which is contantly made by sane pepole of words with two possible meanings.
Here the word `relationship' is used to assimilate the two concepts `human
relationship' and `mathematical relationship'. A little analytical thought

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