SPIRITUAL LEADERS

'At one time,' he said, turning to face us (the better, I dare say, to instil his knowledge into our heads), 'peace was the exception and war the rule. Nowadays, however, it's the other way round, and so the role of the army as a war-making institution has declined in proportion that the role of the police as a peace-keeping one has developed. In point of fact, the police are to the modern world what armies were to the ancient one - a reflection of the times. It's theoretically preferable to live in a police state than in an army state, though no state is, as yet, completely absolute in that respect. We live with a kind of army/police compromise, though while the army is trained to make war ... it occasionally finds itself having to assist the police in keeping the peace. Nevertheless, a day will come, I can assure you, when there'll be no armies!'

Yes, I respect that opinion, as do most of my fellow cadets at the Police Training Centre. We like to think of ourselves as a cut above the army, a truly contemporary body of men with a steady and, hopefully, peaceful future ahead of us, once we get out of here. Superintendent O'Brien encourages us in this belief. He has never been anything but a cop and sees no reason why any of us should ever be anything else either, least of all a soldier, which to him would amount to a cop-out! For to him soldiers are a dying breed, likened, in his imagination, to wolves. We, by contrast, he likens to sheepdogs, whose business it is to keep the flock, or masses, in order. We take our orders from the shepherds, or leaders of the flock. Leaders in the best sense of the word, who are themselves to a significant extent dependent on the Word, the Way, as proclaimed by the philosopher-kings, as they used to be called, though perhaps philosopher-commissars would now be a more appropriate terminology in view of the post-atomic nature of the age?

Smiling to himself on reading this paradoxical entry in his late-brother's journal, the politician Shane Brady reflected that O'Brien's metaphors for human society were fairly apposite, if a shade over-simplified and even arrogant. The fact that in an absolute society, such as the one he lived in, the 'shepherds' were derived from the 'flock' ... meant that they formed a relative distinction vis-à-vis those whom they led, not to mention those who kept the peace in the interests of law and order. The 'sheepdogs', as O'Brien called them, had come to supplant the 'wolves' in the course of time; though one could quibble with that metaphor as regards its applicability to the army, if one so desired. For armies tended, more often than not, to make war on other armies than to attack civilian populations, after the fashion of a wolf attacking a flock of sheep! At least that used to be the case prior to the twentieth century.

Still, there was a world of difference between soldiers and police. The heyday of armies had long since passed, because the emphasis in the modern world was on keeping the peace internally, within any given country, rather than on making war externally, vis-à-vis other countries - evolution having progressed from the apparent to the essential in the course of its spiritual striving towards a maximum internal goal. Modern armies tended to be kept in reserve, pending hostilities from without, more often than they were actually used in fighting a war. Theirs was an indirect mode of keeping the peace, involving preparation for war. They were not police, but at times they could almost be taken for police, as O'Brien had hinted in his straightforward way. Certainly they were no longer the out-and-out warmongers of earlier times! Their continual presence in the world could be described as a necessary evil, whereas the police were essentially a force for good, concerned with keeping the peace. There was a difference of quality between the two vocations, a greater degree of prestige accruing to the peace-keeping body than to the - potentially if not literally - war-making one. Virtually anyone could become a soldier, particularly in times of war; but not everyone could become a policeman!

Yet the modern army should not be belittled on that or other accounts, since it was perfectly capable of adapting to a variety of tasks and employments. Compared with ancient war-like armies, it was only nominally an army, which was just as well, even in countries that professed a greater respect for soldiering, like those with expansionist interests of one sort or another. Even their armies were relatively cautious and had long been such. Perhaps that was because they no longer had much work to do? Certainly the army in Shane Brady's country had done a fair amount of peace-keeping work in recent years, and now existed on a stand-by and relatively peaceful basis.

"Had enough of your reading?" Gavin Howe asked, having noticed that his colleague had the expression of a man lost in thought when he glanced-up from his own reading-matter, which, after more than an hour, was now becoming somewhat tiresome to him.

"Ah, so you perceive my self-absorption!" Brady responded with surprising alacrity. "I had gravitated from reading to thinking, as is my customary habit. Would you recommend such a tendency?"

Howe smiled guardedly, as if to justify his position, and replied: "No, not as a rule."

Brady's face accommodated itself to a look of surprise mixed with self-doubt. "But why ever not?" he wanted to know.

"I would define it as a relapse from passive intellectuality into active intellectuality, from a relatively passive use of the will to its absolutely active use," Howe declared.

"Oh, come now!" Brady protested, in what appeared to be a mildly face-saving exercise. "Such distinctions are trivial. In point of fact, you'd probably be more correct to distinguish between a relatively active use of the will and an absolutely active use of it. After all, reading does require an exertion of the will, both in terms of following the words and simultaneously making some sense out of them. Awareness is being applied to something other than itself, i.e. to words on a printed page, which are akin to external thoughts. In reading, we absorb other people's thoughts through the medium of print, which is mind objectivized, as it were."

Gavin Howe chuckled softly and commented that, if one were a writer oneself, one could end-up reading one's own thoughts fairly regularly - a comment which Brady was obliged to swallow with a reluctant admission of its truth, whilst also admitting that it wasn't very often that he found himself reading any of his own objectivized thoughts, not being a writer. "Nevertheless, you'll have to agree with me that reading signifies a morally superior use of the will than thinking," Howe in due course retorted.

"Perhaps it does," Brady reluctantly conceded. "Though from what I gather from certain knowledgeable sources, hardly the most morally superior use of it!"

"I'm not so sure," Howe confessed, shrugging faintly. "You see, will is awareness, or spirit, directed to some objective outside itself, like thinking or reading. When, however, awareness isn't directed beyond its spiritual confines but exists for itself, as in meditation, then will is transcended, because awareness reflecting upon itself corresponds to an absolute use of the spirit. When spirit is used in conjunction with soul it becomes will, which signifies its relative use. Now if meditation is morally superior to reading, it isn't because it signifies a less relative use of the spirit but, on the contrary, because it transcends relativity ... in the absolute. There is no will in meditation, and so one can't talk, as you approximately did, of a morally more superior use of the will than in reading - as implying meditation. As far as I'm aware, reading is morally the most superior use of the will, since it involves more passivity or, as you seemed to imply, less activity than thinking. Thought leads, on the highest levels, to writing, which, when read, brings us a step closer to meditation. We think in order to write, we write in order to read, and we read in order to meditate - even if only indirectly."

Brady smiled in admiration of this philosophical conundrum and admitted that, though confusing on the surface, there was probably some truth in it underneath, so to speak, in its metaphysical depths. "An approximation, in essence, to Schopenhauer's metaphysics," he averred. "Though that good philosopher would probably have had more respect for thought-for-thought's sake than you."

Gavin Howe half-agreed, via an affirmative grunt, with the probability of that assertion and remarked: "To my mind, thinking unconnected with any purpose outside itself, like writing, is a kind of madness, particularly when taken to extremes. After all, there's only a difference of degree between a person who habitually thinks to himself and one who habitually talks to himself, the former being a more introverted version of the latter - one might almost say a better class of madman. The only reason we recognize the self-talker as mad and overlook the self-thinker, is that the one is more conspicuous, because audible, than the other. The one advertises his madness to all-and-sundry, whereas the other keeps it to himself. Though neither of them realizes he's mad, which, of course, is usually the way of things with lunatics."

"How enlightening!" Brady exclaimed, intrigued by the prospect that the world harboured numerous secretive madmen. "I'd never considered private thought in that light before." He chuckled faintly, before adding: "Perhaps that explains why you interrupted my, er, brown study earlier, fearing for my sanity?"

Gavin Howe refrained from directly answering Brady's suggestion, but contented himself by saying that some books gave rise to fruitful reflections which, providing they didn't get out-of-hand, were nothing to worry about, particularly if destined to lead to fruitful writing in due course.

"As, no doubt, did some of Schopenhauer's reflections," Brady commented.

"Especially those paradoxically treating of denial of the will in the interests of spiritual quiescence," Howe confirmed.

"Which the intelligent reader would doubtless have been impressed by," Brady rejoined, chuckling anew.

"Perhaps even to the point of giving-up reading in the interests of meditation," Howe concluded. For, thereafter, both men gave-up thinking aloud and reverted or, rather, gravitated to reading their respective books.

* * *

The Leader slowly paced backwards and forwards behind his desk, as was his habit when reflecting on imparted information and, with a sudden tensing of his brow, which others might have called a frown, he said: "A pity Howe is becoming what you say he is - a kind of absolute spiritual teacher. I'd always thought of him as an able politician, which, frankly, he still is in my eyes; though if, in future, he decides to become something else, I should have nothing against the fact."

Shane Brady fidgeted ostentatiously in his chair, since he was of the opinion that Howe ought already to have quit politics and gone on to something else. Yet he kept silent.

"The emphasis in politics, as in science, is always on changing the world or, at least, one's own bit of it for the better," the Leader continued, tensing anew, "and so it must be for us. Of course, there are people who abjure the politically active approach to life in loyalty to a religiously passive approach to it, who turn their back on the world in the interests of spiritual advancement. Such people are usually deluded, since they imagine that the spiritual approach is alone right and that, if they keep at it long enough, it will eventually take them to Heaven. Unfortunately that isn't the case, and anyone who realizes as much is unlikely to remain an absolute upholder of the spiritual approach for long! Rather, he'll come, in some fashion, to understand the importance of the active approach accompanying the passive one, not as an absolute alternative, contrary to what some people still think, but as a means to a higher end, a subsidiary approach to bringing into effect our eventual salvation in spiritual absolutism. In short, the political approach must be harnessed to the religious one, in order to create a new synthesis in which technology serves the spirit in the interests of transcendence."

Shane Brady nodded his aching head and smiled the smile of a man who only half-understood what the Leader was getting at. The latter, however, had no intentions of letting-up, but went on:-

"Was it not Marx who wrote: 'Hitherto philosophers have only interpreted the world; the point is to change it'? Well, change it we shall, though not for the mere sake of change but - and this is the crux of the matter - in order to make salvation possible. Of course, the act of changing the world devolves upon politicians and scientists rather than philosophers, since philosophy can only draw attention to what changes need to be made and why. The philosopher necessarily interprets the world and draws what conclusions he can from it, and then the politicians and scientists come along and actually affect change. Some philosophers, like Marx, appeal more to those materialistic changers than others; some, like Schopenhauer, primarily appeal to the idealistic changers - the priests and artists; and some, like Hegel, strive to establish a balance between the two categories in an attempt to reconcile them, appealing now to the one, now to the other. I, myself, wrote in the vein of a synthesizing philosopher, which is why I adopted a political stance not wholly materialist but embracing a concern for the spiritual life, primarily in terms of transcendentalism and the correlative building and staffing of meditation centres. If we are politicians, we're politicians with a difference; men who are opposed to purely materialist values and seek to further the spiritual life through our actions, working indirectly, via politics, for a higher religion. It is we who safeguard the spirit! Indeed, we're so concerned with the spiritual life that an impartial observer would be justified, I think, in regarding us as priests in disguise, transcendentalists who take the responsibility of government upon ourselves not only in the interests of spiritual progress, but from a grave concern, more particularly, that it should ever get into wholly materialist hands whose money-grubbing instincts would thwart spiritual development and deny the validity of a transcendental approach to the world."

Shane Brady nodded understandingly and admitted to himself that, although Howe had probably veered a little too radically towards spiritual quietism, his was only an extreme manifestation of what, essentially, they were all concerned with and, as transcendentalists, sought to uphold - namely religious progress.

"Yes, we should regard ourselves primarily as transcendentalists," the Leader continued apace, as was his custom when addressing subordinates, "and so consider our political duties as of secondary importance. Before that atomic dichotomy between politicians and priests, or state and church, arose, religious matters were largely in the hands of politicians who, as in ancient Greece, served in the temple on a part-time basis, a subsidiary obligation to their principal responsibilities as political rulers. Religion, at that time, was predominantly materialist. Well, now that we've evolved beyond the church/state dichotomy, we find ourselves in the converse situation ... of being spiritual leaders who take political responsibility upon ourselves without, however, regarding politics as our principal concern, but solely in order to keep power out of the hands of materialists, who, as already said, would impede further spiritual progress. We are spiritual leaders with a subsidiary obligation to politics."

Shane Brady raised sceptical brows slightly, since he was becoming a trifle confused by the apparent discrepancy that still existed between theory and practice in his country.

Divining as much, the Leader went on: "Admittedly, we're still in early days and therefore can't claim to have taken our spiritual leadership to the point where politics, and hence the state, ceases to exist. We often see ourselves as politicians, and, to be sure, some amongst us are more genuinely political than others."

Here Brady smiled in gratified recognition of the fact, even though there was an undercurrent of derision in the Leader's voice and he ought really to have known better.

"But eventually we, or our future successors, will treat our religious obligations to the people more seriously," continued the Leader, "we shall go down to them more often in our capacity as meditation leaders, until we get to the stage where politics is only a very part-time concern of ours in relation to spiritual leadership. As yet, the people meditate in public for no longer than an hour on Sunday mornings, and so we don't have to exert ourselves in a spiritual capacity to them very often or for very long. But a time will come, comrade, when they'll be meditating for a number of hours every day, and then we, or our future successors, will be obliged to set them a spiritual example by being on-hand for much longer periods of time. At that more fortunate juncture in time, politics will indeed be a very subsidiary concern of ours, as 'the church' takes over from 'the state' to such an extent ... as to presage the complete eclipse of the latter in the absolute spirituality of the post-human millennium, when only religious concerns will prevail as, first, the collectivized brains of the Supermen and, then, the collectivized new-brains of the Superbeings bring life on earth closer to transcendence, and thus to the attainment of pure spirit to the post-millennial Beyond. In the meantime, however, government will remain firmly in the hands of spiritual leaders, like me, and so a continuity of religious progress will be guaranteed. It is we who stand firm against undue materialism and have the means to ensure the dissemination of spiritual truth when the time comes for the world at large to embrace civilization on the highest post-human level - namely, that of transcendentalism. And we are not alone in this matter."

Shane Brady nodded affirmative agreement and emitted the sigh of a man who was both relieved of doubts by the Leader's confidence and anxious not to detain him any longer than was strictly necessary.

Perceiving this, the latter concluded: "As for Howe, I shall have a personal word with him and decide whether he should perhaps modify his spiritual commitment to suit our short-term requirements or, if that cannot be done, take a different post in the administration - possibly as Commissar for Spiritual Development, or Commissar for the Arts." So saying, he extended his hand and bid Brady a friendly good-day.

As usual, the Commissar for Internal Security departed the Leader's presence reassured that things were under control and gradually working out for the better. He, too, was a member of this spiritually-biased administration and had a right to uphold religious progress in the face of materialist concerns. Indeed, it was an integral part of his job to ensure that no-one threatened the spiritual integrity of a country which, as a socially transcendent one, signified a transition, as it were, between 'state' and 'church', or politics and religion - the former socialist, the latter transcendentalist. Except for a few cases, the leaders in the current administration were indeed spiritual men, priests in disguise, as the Leader had called them, who were intent upon furthering the evolution of 'the church' at the expense of traditional concepts of the state, so that the state's gradual withering depended, as much as anything, on their volition, since not connected with a dualistic antagonism between political and religious leaders.

Back in his office, Brady turned to his late-brother's journal, which he was still reading, and opened it where he had left off. Smiling, he read: Another day O'Brien said to us, 'What you have to realize is that you're a force for good in this world and have a duty to uphold the integrity of the police. You're not there to make war on the people but to keep the peace, and thus to serve the cause of evolutionary progress towards the post-human millennium, when, in all probability, you'll cease to exist, having fulfilled your destiny as peace-keepers within the human context. Your origins were in atomic society, with the growth of a dualistic distinction between proton equivalents and bound-neutron equivalents, which is to say, between army and police. But you came into your own in the post-atomic context of the police state, and increasingly function as free-neutron equivalents within such a context. Your loyalty, as protectors of the peace, is to the leaders who, as transcendentalists, function as free-electron equivalents in the people's interests. You may not wear black uniforms, but the navy-blue uniform you do wear symbolizes both your good intentions and honour as policemen. It contrasts sharply with the bright-red tunics formerly worn by certain armies prior to the day when proton equivalents became quasi-electron equivalents and increasingly took on a role in society subsidiary to your own. One day, as I've already said, such protons-in-disguise will cease to exist, as society arrives at a completely absolute orientation favouring free-neutron equivalents alone. Which country is destined, I wonder, to become the first absolute police state?'

Still smiling, Brady closed the journal and put it away in the right-hand draw of his desk. Probably it would be safer if they all became absolute police states in conjunction, he mused. Assuming 'state' was really the appropriate term?