TO
THE
MILLENNIUM AND BEYOND
Mrs
Reynolds
returned
from the kitchen bearing a small circular tray upon which
stood three mugs of steaming coffee, and gently placed it on the coffee
table
between the two men, who were still deeply engrossed in conversation. She glanced from the one to the other and,
catching their attention, suggested that they help themselves to the
coffee
whilst it was still hot. "I do hope
you won't find it too strong," she added for the benefit of their guest
-
a thin, dark-haired forty-year-old, who was privileged to be visiting
the
Reynolds' house for the first time.
Robert Moore reached out a
slender hand
with more hairs on the back of it than Jacqui Reynolds had ever seen on
any man
before and, lifting the bright-blue mug to his lips, duly confessed to
finding
the coffee just to his taste. (In point
of fact it was slightly sweeter than he would have liked, though he
didn't say
so for fear of giving offence. No doubt,
the two spoons of sugar she had put into it at his request were bigger
than he
had anticipated!)
Mrs Reynolds smiled her
relief and, helping
herself to the remaining mug, betook her slender form to the space
beside her
husband on their dark-green settee. From
his matching armchair opposite them, the young freelance writer on art
sipped
steadily at his drink and momentarily allowed his attention to be
caught by Mrs
Reynolds' shapely legs, which for a brief second or two, before she
tactfully
readjusted her skirt, were at least three-quarters exposed. He could very rarely resist the temptation to
stare at or, at the very least, notice an attractive pair of legs when
the
opportunity arose, and this time was to prove no exception! A faint blush suffused his cheeks as Mrs
Reynolds eased her skirt into a more modest position, and he was glad
in a way
to have the mug of coffee to hide behind.
It was just like a woman, he mused, to distract one from more
spiritual
matters!
But Mr Reynolds hadn't been
distracted to
anything like the same extent, and was now informing his wife that
Robert
thought the interior arrangement of their house could be bettered by
having the
sitting-room, in which they were all currently seated, on the first
floor
rather than downstairs, as at present.
"Oh, really?" Mrs Reynolds
exclaimed, her velvety lips briefly parting in a show of surprise. "And why's that?" she asked,
turning her attention upon their guest.
"Well, as I was just saying
to Philip
while you were in the kitchen," Moore replied, "it's a firm belief of
mine that the best possible arrangement for a two-storey house of this
nature
would be to have all the rooms dedicated to sensual or bodily needs on
the
ground floor and, by contrast, all those associated with spiritual or
intellectual pursuits upstairs, on the piano
nobile. Such an arrangement would
sharply distinguish
between sensual and spiritual, the lower needs of the body and the
higher needs
of the spirit, leaving one in no doubt as to the greater importance of
the
latter."
"The idea apparently being,"
Mr
Reynolds said, clearing his throat and focusing a pair of intense brown
eyes on
his wife's intrigued face, "that the ground floor should be seen in a
morally inferior relation to the one above, which would symbolize our
nobler
aspirations."
"Yes, the former might be
defined as a
feminine floor and the latter as a masculine one,"
Mrs Reynolds smiled
sceptically and a shade
wearily over her coffee, her gaze turning from their guest to her
husband and
back to their guest again, as she pondered the arcane logic of his
contention. "Presumably such a
topsy-turvy arrangement would necessitate one's having the kitchen,
dining-room,
bedroom, toilet, and bathroom on the lower floor, with the
sitting-room,
library, and study upstairs?"
"Absolutely,"
"Supposing one has more than
one
bedroom?" Mrs Reynolds queried, slightly amused by her previous
oversight. "After all, if one's
house contained two or more bedrooms, as most detached and semidetached
two-storey houses in fact do, how could one be expected to find enough
room for
them all on the ground floor, what with everything else there?"
"An interesting point!" Mr
Reynolds averred, putting his half-consumed coffee to one side and
helping
himself to a mild cigarette. "It's
generally the case, you know, that people have a greater number of
rooms dedicated
to sensual needs than to those of the spirit."
"That may well be,"
"Yet in a three-storey house
with two
or more bedrooms, you'd presumably still like to see the spiritual
floor, as it
were, upstairs, at the very top," Mrs Reynolds suggested with a smile.
"Yes, that has to be
admitted,"
said
Mrs Reynolds had to admit it
was a novel
idea, though she didn't much care for the prospect of sleeping on the
ground
floor in a two- or three-storey house.
She had always slept upstairs, right from childhood to her
current age
of thirty-eight, and couldn't imagine herself doing anything else,
least of all
sleeping down in a basement. For some
obscure reason basements always connoted, in her vivid imagination,
with rats,
and she was rather relieved that the Finchley house in which she and
Philip had
lived ever since their wedding, some three years previously, didn't
possess
one. If it had, she would have slept
well away from it. But what about Robert
Moore? Did he live in a house in which
this kind of hierarchical arrangement obtained?
"Unfortunately not," he
confessed, blushing faintly without this time being able to mask his
embarrassment. For the coffee had by now
ceased steaming and, besides, he had drunk most of it.
"I happen to live in a flat where the
rooms are all on the third floor, so I'm unable to put my ideas into
operation. However, as your husband is
an architect, I was hoping that a few words from me on the subject
would induce
him to plan some of his future projects along similar lines - lines,
that is,
in which rooms are arranged in an ascending order of importance,
according to
their contextual use."
Mr Reynolds allowed a terse
chuckle to
follow in quick pursuit of some freshly-exhaled cigarette smoke. "I don't normally permit other people to
influence my architectural ideas," he smilingly revealed.
"But where you
are
concerned, Robert, I just might make an exception!
However, during the next few weeks I shall be
busy designing plans for a new church in Hampstead, so your suggestions
may
have to wait awhile."
"I see," responded Moore,
and his
heart metaphorically sank a bit, not because he had any serious hopes
that the
architect would eventually adopt his suggestions, but because he didn't
like to
hear it was a church the man would be working on over the coming weeks. He would much rather it was a meditation
centre, or a place in which people could directly cultivate the spirit. But meditation centres were probably projects
for the future. The architect had simply
not been authorized to design one.
Things would just have to take their logical course. And so, returning his by-now empty mug to the
small coffee tray, he at length asked: "What kind of a church is it
going
to be?"
"Frankly, I'm not yet
absolutely
certain," Mr Reynolds replied, screwing-up his features in deference to
the fact, "though I've one or two useful ideas in mind.
I haven't yet decided on whether to adopt a
modern or a traditional plan, if that's what you mean."
"No, I was thinking more
specifically
in terms of denomination,"
This time it was the
architect's turn to
feel embarrassed. "Oh, I beg your
pardon!" he said. "I thought
you were alluding to style." His wife
laughed shrilly at his expense, while their guest chipped-in with an
understanding chuckle. "Well, as a
matter of fact, it's going to be a United Reformed Church actually. Why, do you have any specific interests at
stake?"
"Not particularly,"
"I'd have thought that, what
with a
name like yours, you'd have preferred to hear it was a Catholic
church,"
Mrs Reynolds remarked. "You are
Irish, aren't you?"
"Yes, to the extent that I
was born in
Mr Reynolds raised a pair of
dense brows in
mute puzzlement. "What's that
supposed
to mean?" he half-humorously asked.
"Essentially the reverse of
an
Anglo-Irishman,"
"But I thought you said you
were born
in
"I did,"
"And presumably that was
Catholic?" Mrs Reynolds conjectured.
"Both Catholic and
Protestant
actually,"
"How unusual!" Mr Reynolds
exclaimed, suddenly looking at his guest as though he didn't quite
believe
him. "And how, exactly, did that
come about?"
Robert Moore shrugged
doubtful
shoulders. Although he knew how and why
it had happened, he didn't want to go into any of the sordid details
now. Undoubtedly the death of his Catholic
grandmother, to whom he had been strongly attached, had more than a
little to
do with it; though he didn't know exactly how much.
Nevertheless it was evident to him that his
mother, whose father had originally been Protestant, didn't feel under
the same
obligation to maintain his Catholic upbringing as formerly, nor even to
hold on
to him once her mother had died and - not having had the benefit of
marital
security or indeed any love from her estranged husband - she was
accordingly
free to dispatch him to a Children's Home, the denominational bias of
which was
Baptist, and effectively wash her hands of the past, the better to
continue
afresh in the present with someone else.
"And do you still consider
yourself a
Protestant?" Mrs Reynolds wanted to know.
"As it happens, I haven't
been to
church since I left school at seventeen, which should be ample
indication that
I've little enthusiasm for Protestantism,"
"The widespread
institutionalized
practice of transcendental meditation signifying direct contact with
the
Godhead in a more evolved civilization, is that it?" Mr Reynolds
ventured
to speculate on a mildly ironic note.
"Not entirely,"
"How, exactly, do you
suppose we'll do
that?" Mrs Reynolds asked, her face expressing bewilderment.
"Presumably through
meditation,"
her husband interposed, smiling wryly.
"Undoubtedly meditation
would play a
significant part in the process of our future transformation from human
beings
into the Holy Spirit,"
Mr Reynolds repeated his
earlier look of
puzzlement whilst exhaling a final lungful of tobacco smoke. Then, when he had stubbed-out the pitiful
remains of his tipped cigarette, he asked: "In what way?"
"Well, simply by being
there,"
Moore replied, simultaneously waving his right hand horizontally
backwards and
forwards through the air in an attempt to disperse the haze of
cigarette smoke
which had gradually built-up between the Reynolds and himself. "For the flesh is ever in mortal
opposition to the spirit and must inevitably limit the extent to which
the
latter can be cultivated with impunity.
You always have to attend to its needs, which are necessarily
sensual
and worldly. You have to eat, drink,
sleep, take exercise, urinate, defecate, copulate, etc., and
consequently turn
away from cultivating the spirit - certainly in any true sense - while
doing
so. And so your spiritual aspirations
are held back, as it were, by fleshy requirements.
You can never become ultra-spiritual and have
a body at the same time."
Mrs Reynolds felt obliged to
emit a faint
giggle, in spite of the seriousness of Robert Moore's tone-of-voice. There was something quaintly self-evident
about his last remark and she followed it up by suggesting that, in
that case,
one could never become ultra-spiritual at all, since one couldn't live
without
a body. "After all," she
continued, "without a body we wouldn't be able to cultivate the spirit
to
even a tiny extent, because it depends on the body for its survival. You can't have the one without the
other."
"Not under our current
historical
circumstances,"
His host and hostess stared
at each other
in bewilderment, before turning their attention upon their guest again. "D'you mean to imply that we'll probably
end-up looking like robots or something equally mechanical?" Mr
Reynolds
asked, his bewilderment changing to hostile scepticism.
"We could well do," Moore
replied, endeavouring not to be intimidated by a response which, in any
case,
he had anticipated all along.
"But that's preposterous!"
Mrs
Reynolds averred.
"Not as preposterous as it
might at
first seem," Moore rejoined.
"For if we don't eventually overcome nature in all
of its
manifestations, internal as well as external, we'll never get to the
supernatural, to that which stands at the farthest possible remove from
nature
and its sensuous offspring. The
attainment to transcendent spirit could only be effected through our
overcoming
everything which pertains to nature, including ourselves.
'Man is something that should be overcome,'
said Nietzsche, and, by God, how true that statement is!
So long as we remain victims of the mundane,
we shall never attain to the transcendent, never create or establish
the only
possible and sensible climax to evolution in an eternity of bliss. For bliss is the highest condition of which
we can conceive, and it's perfectly understandable that we should want
such a supreme
condition to last for ever. Admittedly,
as human beings, we can only experience bliss in relatively small doses
over
short periods of time. But as post-human
transcendent minds, we would undoubtedly be better equipped to
experience it on
a much more intensive, not to say extensive, basis.
And it's only in terms of the post-human that
one should conceive of the Beyond."
Yes, how true that statement
was for Robert
Moore! He wasn't one of those who
conceived of the Beyond in terms of a posthumous survival of death, an
afterlife in which the individual's spirit merged with the Clear Light
or
whatever in heavenly absorption. Indeed,
whenever he thought of what people had traditionally believed about
salvation and
God, he was almost amused. For there was
something pathetically naive about the optimistic presumption people
had once
had - and, in many cases, continued to have - with regard to their
prospects of
salvation in the next life, and, no less significantly, their methods
of
getting there! To be sure, most people
had been incredibly optimistic as to the criteria of admittance to the
transcendental Beyond, never for a moment imagining that it would
require the
highest possible technology in the most advanced civilization to effect
a
complete and literal victory over nature.
Indeed, they hadn't even considered it necessary to get beyond
nature. Yet that was the way it had to
be, considering they knew no better and were themselves victims of a
stage of
evolution in which a more comprehensive and rational knowledge of the
Beyond
would have been impossible. Their
delusions were necessary and, in a sense, quite admirable.
At least they had some bearing on human
destiny, no matter how tenuously!
Even today, in this
so-called enlightened
age, there was no shortage of like-delusions concerning salvation and
the means
of attaining to it. But that, too, was
understandable and, to a certain extent, inevitable.
However, such delusions had to be combated by
those who knew, or imagined they knew, better and, if possible,
replaced by
truths or, at the very least, delusions which were less delusive and
possibly
closer to the Truth. That was the way
evolution progressed, no matter how slowly in a world still largely
under
nature's influence. For human progress
was ever a struggle waged by those who were less sensuous over their
more
sensuous opponents. It was a struggle of
sorts that was taking place in the Reynolds' sitting-room at this very
moment,
as a more enlightened guest sought to convince his less-enlightened
hosts as to
the validity of what he believed. Not
being particularly profound thinkers, they had never conceived of the
Beyond
like him, in a sort of transcendent way, and were accordingly somewhat
sceptical
about what he was saying. [When people who do not think profoundly,
either
through force of professional circumstances or basic intellectual
inability,
are confronted by the thoughts of someone who does, the chances are
strongly in
favour of their not seeing eye-to-eye with him, considering that 'the
superficial' and 'the profound' are ever on very different wavelengths. This is a perfectly logical, not to say
fairly inevitable, state of affairs, by which a deep thinker needn’t be
unduly
perturbed. For once he realizes that
'the superficial' aren't on his wavelength, he won't be surprised,
still less
offended, by their opposition to his views but, on the contrary, will
take it
more or less for granted - a position our leading character, Robert
Moore, was
indeed inclined to adopt.]
"Yet if, as you maintain,
the Beyond
is a phenomenon that's destined to materialize, as it were, at the
climax of
evolution, where does the Millennium come in?" Mr Reynolds now asked,
displaying fresh signs of puzzlement.
"I mean, isn't the Millennium supposed to be the logical outcome
of
history, a period of happiness on earth rather than in Heaven?"
Moore nodded his large head
in tacit
agreement. "Viewed from a strictly
Marxist angle, the Millennium is the outcome of historical development
or, at
any rate, a period of maximum social progress towards which the world
would
seem to be advancing," he declared.
"I want the Millennium to come about, that's to say I want to
see
life on earth better than ever before, so good as to be almost heavenly. But I don't conceive of the Millennium simply
in terms of material well-being for the masses, equal opportunity,
regular food
and drink for all, sexual freedom, or what have you.
No doubt, we'll have to pass through a phase
of social evolution, as at present, when such material considerations
are
paramount. But, you know, 'Man does not
live by bread alone', and this is no less true or relevant now than
when Christ
first said it. In fact, it's even more
relevant, since evolutionary progress should entail greater degrees of
spiritual commitment. After all, we
aren't beasts but men and, as such, we're given to the spiritual to a
degree
which no beast ever can be. It's, above
all, our spiritual capacities and aspirations which distinguish us from
the
beasts and elevate us above them. God
forbid that the end of human evolution should be conceived merely in
terms of
material well-being, as though we were simply intelligent animals with
a belly
to feed and the need of a roof over our heads!
No, for me, the Millennium would be a stage beyond that of
material
well-being, in which the utmost efforts were being made by society to
attain to
the climax of evolution in spiritual transcendence.
It would be a time when everything possible
was being done to facilitate our transformation into pure spirit. A means to a higher end, not an
end-in-itself."
Mrs Reynolds swallowed a
last mouthful of
coffee and returned her by-now empty mug to the tray.
She found this kind of talk a little above
her head but didn't like to say so, especially since her husband always
prided
himself, somewhat perversely she thought, on having an intellectual
wife. "So presumably it would entail the
widespread practice of transcendental meditation?" she suggested, by
way
of a constructive response.
"That's right," Moore
confirmed. "And quite possibly the
widespread use of 'Moksha’ or some such synthetic upward
self-transcending drug
intended to expand the mind and facilitate otherworldly sentiments." He was of course alluding to a term coined by
Aldous Huxley to define psychedelic drugs like LSD and mescaline, a
term with
which both Philip and Jacqui Reynolds were vaguely familiar. "But meditation and synthetic drugs
wouldn't be enough," he went on.
"For, as I said earlier, it would also be necessary to minimize
fleshy influences, and for this purpose the introduction of artificial
limbs
and mechanical parts would, I contend, prove especially efficacious. We couldn't end-up approximating to cyborgs,
however, without having gone through progressively more artificial
stages of
evolution in the meantime, so it's reasonable to believe that the
introduction
of mechanical parts would take place slowly and by degrees, in
accordance with
the social and technological position of civilization at the time. One has to earn the right to look like
cyborgs and, by God, we still have a long way to go before we can
manage to
dispense with natural limbs!"
Mrs Reynolds just had to
laugh at this
juncture in their conversation. For the
earnestness with which Robert Moore spoke seemed utterly absurd to her. She couldn't possibly imagine herself looking
forward to a cyborg-like existence, as he appeared to be doing. "One would think you were an admirer of The
Bionic
Man," she remarked, referring to an American television serial in
which
a man partly constructed from mechanical parts assumes a superhuman
role of
dynamic strength and power against evil.
"In point of fact, I don't
watch all
that much television," Moore confessed.
"But from what I can remember of the serial in question, it
confirms my opinion of the tendency of evolution away from nature. They spoke, during the introduction, of the
insertion of mechanical parts into the shattered astronaut's body
resulting in
his becoming quicker, stronger, better than ever before, or something
to that
effect, and, believe me, that's a truly remarkable sentiment, a
sentiment
whereby man assumes mastery over nature by producing, through his
growing
technological expertise, a cyborg-like being superior in essence to a
natural
man. When people get to this stage, a
stage of believing they can produce superior works to nature, then
there's
certainly hope for the future development of humanity in
self-transcendence. To worship the
natural is to be a sensuous pagan. To
turn away from it is to approach spiritual transcendence.
Yes, The
Bionic
Man is indeed a
foretaste of things to come! Though
perhaps, being female, you'd prefer Wonder Woman, Jacqui?"
"Frankly I'm not
particularly keen on
either concept," she confessed, frowning.
"If you must know, I prefer the human body as it is."
"What, even with all the
colds and
bouts of 'flu, fevers and aches, pains and stings, cuts and bruises,
malfunctionings and diseases, breakdowns and lesions, etc., not to
mention all
its tediously diurnal wants and needs?" Moore objected, raising
incredulous brows. "Really, I am
surprised at you! One would think that
you wanted us to suffer the harsh consequences of being enslaved to
nature for
ever, as though it were an ideal condition!"
"On the contrary, I just
don't want us
to end-up looking like machines," Mrs Reynolds retorted.
"Ah, but unless we do
replace
the natural body with artificial parts in due course, we'll always be
subject
to the numerous ills which befall it," Moore averred.
"And not only that, we'll always be
prevented from cultivating our spiritual self to the degree we need to,
if
transcendence is ultimately to be achieved.
So it seems to me that the adoption of artificial parts is a
must in ensuring
that we get to the transcendental Beyond, which would, after all, be
the most
supernatural of all conditions."
"But how would the brain
survive
without a body, assuming, as you're doing, that we become increasingly
artificial and wish to remove every last obstacle to our spiritual
development?"
Mrs Reynolds protested. "I am of
course supposing that the spirit is a function of the brain."
"More correctly, a function,
in
Koestlerian parlance, of the new brain which, in psychological terms,
can be
equated with the superconscious," Moore declared deferentially,
alluding
to the writer, Arthur Koestler, whom he much admired.
"The old brain would, I believe, prove
an obstacle to spiritual development, since aligned with the sensuous
subconscious, and might therefore be subject to curtailment and even to
surgical removal in due course, depending on the circumstances. But you're rather jumping the evolutionary
gun, as it were, by asking me that question, because there would
doubtless be
many intermediate stages of body-mechanization ... before we arrived at
our
goal of being able to dispense with everything but the brain. However, the most feasible conjecture leads
one to the conclusion that the brain would be kept alive via a sort of
mechanical heart, which would pump blood through it in much the same
way as the
natural heart, but without the disadvantages of being mortal. It could well transpire that such a
mechanical heart would permit a longevity of the brain which would
prove
crucial in the spirit's quest to attain to the transcendental Beyond,
by
granting it the requisite time, so to speak, in which to cultivate a
truly
transcendent potential."
"What a terrible prospect!"
Mrs
Reynolds protested, making an ugly show of her face.
"A mechanical heart? Whatever next!"
"A stage beyond the
transplantation of
natural hearts, I should imagine," Moore rejoined.
"And, hopefully, a more reliable means
of sustaining the brain! But, seriously,
we're already committed to artificial limbs and mechanical parts, as a
visit to
virtually any large hospital would confirm.
There are glass eyes, metal legs, plastic bones, etc., not to
mention
wheelchairs of various kinds for the severely disabled.
Indeed, it might well be that our concern for
the disabled, in this respect, is partly founded on an unconscious,
barely-articulated drive towards the widespread adoption of mechanical
limbs,
and that they to some extent serve as guinea pigs for continuous
experimentation. Paradoxically, the
disabled themselves could be regarded as, in some sense, our
evolutionary
superiors, insofar as they're dependent on artificial limbs or parts
and are
thus ahead of us in their use. A man
with an artificial leg has less of the natural about himself than
someone like
you or I."
Mr Reynolds, who had been
respectfully
quiet for some time, suddenly gave vent to a short, sharp burst of
incredulous
laughter. "You're not seriously
implying that we able-bodied people should get ourselves incapacitated
or
crippled in order to join the morally superior ranks of the disabled,
are
you?" he cried.
"Of course not!" Moore
retorted,
becoming embarrassed. "I was merely
suggesting that there is something about the use of artificial limbs
which has
a bearing on the future and could perhaps be viewed in a more
optimistic
light. After all, it does seem that a
person dependent on a wheelchair is a bit closer to the supernatural
culmination of life on earth than someone who walks about on natural
limbs. He's entirely reliant on a
mechanical mode of conveyance, which should correspond, I believe, to
what will
generally become the case for people in the future.
Yet, even today, an ever-growing number of
perfectly able-bodied people are more dependent on mechanical modes of
conveyance than ever before, as can be verified by the increasing
amount of traffic
on our roads. Is there not a
correspondence here between the brain-directed automatons of H.G.
Wells' The
War
of
the Worlds and the modern motorist?
Is not the Martian-like creature of the future already incipient
in the
motorcar?"
Both the Reynolds smiled
what appeared to
be simultaneous concessions to that assumption, with Mr Reynolds also
vaguely
nodding his sparsely-haired head. He was
the proud owner of a Porsche and couldn't very well deny the element of
truth
in Moore's statement. "Yes, I
suppose I shall have to concede you the benefit of the doubt there," he
admitted, in due course. "We have
largely
abandoned the use of our legs for the comfort of the automobile, though
I
scarcely need remind you that the principal motive for doing so is to
enable us
to get about more quickly and travel farther afield, not simply to rest
our
legs."
"But what about you, Robert,
you're
not a motorist by any chance, are you?" Mrs Reynolds asked.
"Unfortunately not," he
replied,
frowning slightly. "I happen to be
one of those inferior creatures who depend on the pavement more than
the road,
although I do avail myself of public transport from time to time. Like this evening, for instance."
Yes, he did that all right! But he
very often found it to be an unnerving
and depressing experience, seated in the company of people who were
suffering
from foul germs of one kind or another and tended, in consequence, to
snivel or
cough or blow their snot-clogged noses all around one.
Normally he tried to get a front seat in
order to minimize contact with them. But
that wasn't always possible, especially when the bus was crowded. Then one just had to sit where one could and
take whatever germs came one's way for granted.
Rather hazardous, but there it was!
We weren't exactly living in the most advanced of times. Colds and 'flu were rife among the masses and
would doubtless continue to be rife among them for some time to come. In fact, until such time as a preventative
was found or, more likely, men grew beyond the reach of germs by
adopting
mechanical limbs and/or synthetic parts.
Meantime, people would always be subject to victimization from
this
rather sordid aspect of the natural world - a world abounding in germs.
And not only in germs but
also in various
kinds and degrees of downward self-transcendence, as Mr Reynolds seemed
only
too keen to demonstrate by helping himself to another cigarette, which,
having
lit with the aid of a silver lighter, he vigorously proceeded to smoke,
exhaling obnoxious fumes in Robert Moore's direction.
Admittedly, a mild kind of downward
self-transcendence by comparison with some kinds, but a downward
self-transcendence nonetheless! Another
obstacle in the way of spiritual progress.
One could never hope to attain to the transcendental Beyond and
smoke at
the same time. For tobacco grew from the
earth and was therefore naturalistic. It
carried one away from the spirit, like beer or food or sleep or sex. So long as one indulged or needed to indulge
in sensual pursuits, there wasn't a chance of one's attaining to any
sort of
heavenly bliss, not even the slightest!
One would inevitably remain rooted in the mundane, the world. Now as a human being one had no option but to
remain rooted in it to some extent, one had no option but to eat, drink
(not
necessarily alcohol), sleep, walk, etc.
Indeed, if in one or other of these obligatory natural contexts
one was
failing to pay one's dues to the Devil, as it were, to the extent that
one
should, either through unfortunate circumstances or wilful choice,
there was
always the likelihood that, if one didn't wish to suffer the
consequences of
starving one's sensual self, one would have to compensate it by
indulging in
one or other of the less respectable, because least obligatory, kinds
of sensual
pursuit. Consequently a person who
didn't get enough sleep or sex might well find himself obliged to
indulge in
the consumption of tobacco and/or alcohol of one kind or another as a
form of
sensual compensation. It wasn't
necessarily the case that because one smoked or drank, one was more
sensual
than those who didn't.
Whether Mr Reynolds smoked
because he
needed to compensate himself for some more obligatory sensual lack or,
alternatively, because he was a relatively shameless sensualist, it
wasn't of
course possible for Robert Moore to tell.
So he hesitated to pass moral judgement on the man.
Yet he knew for a fact that unless men
eventually overcame both necessary and
unnecessary sensual indulgences, they would never attain to salvation
in the pure
spirit of ultimate transcendence. Unless
the natural body was eventually superseded by a mechanical one, men
would
always be subject to the demands - and limitations - of the flesh. There could be little doubt, therefore, that
evolution was slowly working towards overcoming the natural in all
its
aspects, and would culminate in the complete and utter triumph of the
spirit. Any other interpretation of
human destiny was futile or inadequate, partial or incomplete. Willy-nilly, God had to be the outcome of our
endeavour, not simply material comfort.
Yet it was precisely this
belief that
puzzled the Marxist-oriented Philip Reynolds, who had never looked
beyond the
concept of a socialist millennium and, in dismissing the hypothetical
Christian
Beyond ... of posthumous salvation, had satisfied himself that a heaven
on
earth, founded on socialist principles, was all that really mattered. In the silence following Moore's last
comment, this discrepancy of belief between their two viewpoints
prompted him
to question his guest as to the justification for his assumption that
God would
be the outcome of evolution. After all,
wasn't a 'heaven on earth' sufficient?
"No," Moore replied at once,
firmly shaking his large round head in the process.
"The earth would always prevent a true
heaven from coming about, would always be subject to winds and rains,
storms
and quakes, floods and droughts, not to mention the 1001 other
distasteful
phenomena which occur on it. No matter
how far man evolved, there would always be opposition to his
civilization from
the elements, including the sun, which would undergo continuous changes
of
temperature and eventually oblige him to seek alternative
accommodation, if
possible, elsewhere in the Universe. Yet
since stars are all destined to collapse and disintegrate one day, so
it's
inevitable that a 'heaven on earth' wouldn't last for ever, being at
the mercy
of stellar devolution."
"Not a particularly
satisfactory
arrangement," Mrs Reynolds opined, wincing at the prospect of an
advanced
civilization suddenly crumbling to ruin with the onslaught of solar
disintegration - a vision of some apocalyptic scene by John Martin
briefly
appearing before her mind's eye, like a thunderbolt from the blue.
"Indeed not!" Moore
confirmed,
grimacing. "Especially after all
the effort we'd put into evolving to an advanced level of life over the
millennia. We wouldn't want the most
sublime civilization to be at the mercy of the stars, and therefore it
should
be fairly obvious that we'd want to get beyond their influence, to
evolve to a
level where we weren't affected by their inevitable cessation. And what could that level be if not some
heavenly transcendence which would constitute, in its timeless
eternity, the
Omega Point, to use a term favoured by that great Frenchman, Teilhard
de
Chardin, for that which corresponds to the hypothetical culmination of
evolution."
"But where exactly would
this heavenly
transcendence be?" Mr Reynolds asked in a slightly exasperated manner.
"God knows!" his guest
somewhat
ironically exclaimed. "I can only
suppose that it would be somewhere in space, possibly at or close to
the centre
of the Universe - assuming the Universe has a centre, that is. But it would be immense, an immense globe, as
it were, of transcendent spirit ultimately composed of all
the
superconscious mind of which the evolving universe was capable, which
would
have converged towards it over a long period of heavenly time, adding
to its
sum-total of bliss. Indeed, I reckon it
would be so blissful that no human being or man-equivalent life form
would be
able to go within millions of miles of it with impunity."
Mr Reynolds raised strongly
incredulous
brows. "You mean, any prospective
long-term contributors who wished to get a glimpse of Heaven from their
spaceships, or whatever, would be obliged to keep their distance?" he
at
length conjectured.
"They certainly would, and
possibly to
the extent of not being able to see more than a tiny globe of pure
light shining
inwardly in the distance," Moore averred, sticking to his mystical
guns,
which even he sometimes considered to be over-ranged.
"For I'm confident that this ultimate
bliss would prove too much for non-transcendent minds who went too
close to it,
and would probably result in their derangement.
So, in all likelihood, no-one would dare go too close to it, no
more
than anyone dares - or could dare - go too close to the sun, albeit for
the
opposite reason - namely that they'd get roasted alive.
But as extremes are equally fatal to anyone
or anything in-between, so it should be pretty obvious that premature
bliss of
the magnitude of Heaven wouldn't be greatly conducive to one's personal
well-being. On the contrary, it might
even prove as detrimental to it as Hell."
"Hell presumably being the
sun,"
Mrs Reynolds responded, a serious if slightly sceptical expression on
her
attractive face.
"I prefer to think of it in
terms of
the totality of stars," Moore declared flatly, "the star directly
responsible to our planet therefore being but a component of Hell. For as Christian theology has long
maintained, Hell is a context of flame, of excruciating heat, and very
definitely exists. To study it, albeit
from a relatively safe distance, one need only acquire access to a
powerful
telescope and direct one's attention on various of the nearest stars,
like an
astronomer. But you aren't ever likely
to end-up in it or in one of its innumerable components.
The nearest you could go to it, short of
taking a spaceship in the general direction of Venus, would be to stand
out in
the middle of some desert, like the Sahara, and feel the sun burning
into your
skin. Of course, you could alternatively
elect to get burnt alive. But that would
be a slightly different matter - more a case of 'hell on earth' than
Hell
itself, if you see what I mean."
"Oh, Robert, do you have to
be so damn
negative!" Mrs Reynolds objected, frowning.
"Sorry, Jacqui, but where
the subject
of Hell is concerned, you can't expect to hear anything positive,"
Moore
remarked. "For Hell is the ultimate
negativity, creating, in its raging fury, not bliss but agony, the most
excruciating agony conceivable."
"And it was apparently from
this
negative power that the planets were derived, was it?" Mr Reynolds
commented,
warming to his guest's thesis.
"So it would appear," Moore
opined. "And not simply the
planets, but also whatever life forms they subsequently possessed. As far as we know, there are no intelligent
life forms on the other planets in the Solar System.
But it's quite possible that the Universe as
a whole contains earth-equivalent planets on which such intelligent
life forms
exist, and they would likewise have sprung from the solar roots of
cosmic Hell. Now because Hell is
compounded of innumerable
stars and is thus manifold and separate, it need not surprise us if its
offspring take on the attributes of the diabolic inceptive force and
are
likewise manifold and separate. Even in
this world the diversity of animals and peoples testifies to the
diabolic
influence of Hell, being a source of continuous friction and strife. One might say that the lower the stage of
evolution, the more influence does Hell have on life and the greater is
the
degree of strife resulting from it, as the blood-drenched pages of
human
history sufficiently attest. The further
evolution progresses, on the other hand, the more emphasis do we place
on unity
and the correlative reduction of strife, and the closer we therefore
draw to
the One which, as God the Holy Ghost, would be the outcome of organic
evolution, the end-product, as it were, of the drive away from
diversity."
"Then, judging by the amount
of
friction and strife still prevailing in the world, we must be a long
way from
the One at present," Mr Reynolds surmised, as he exhaled a final burst
of
tobacco smoke.
"Unfortunately, that would
indeed seem
to be the case," Moore conceded, nodding with sagacious regret. "For we haven't yet evolved to a
particularly high level of civilization and are accordingly still
subject to a
great deal of diabolic influence, some of us, admittedly, more than
others. But I believe that we're heading
in the right direction and, providing we don't completely destroy
ourselves in
any future war, should continue to head in it, becoming all the while
less
diversified and more unified."
"And would the gradual
introduction of
mechanical parts into the human body and, eventually, its supersession
by
artificial supports, or whatever, for the brain ... be further
conducive
towards the development of this higher unity?" Mrs Reynolds asked, once
again revealing a measure of her former scepticism and irony in the
face of
Robert Moore's radical argument.
"Most certainly!" he
replied. "For it would remove the
physical inequalities which currently exist and have existed, often in
more
marked forms, for centuries, thereby enabling people to treat one
another as
equals with more ease and conviction than would otherwise be possible. After all, if 'A' is better-looking than 'B'
and 'A' knows it, the chances of 'A' taking 'B' for an equal will be
pretty
slim. Now 'B' won't exactly consider
himself the equal of 'A' either, but will almost certainly be envious
of 'A'
for being better-looking, and privately annoyed, moreover, that such
physical
inequalities should exist. Yet if,
thanks to social and technological progress, both 'A' and 'B' look
exactly
alike, then the chances of their treating each other as equals will be
correspondingly greater, and so a truly classless society could develop. Needless to say, such a society isn't likely
to materialize for some time to-come!
But we can at least console ourselves in the hope that one day
it will,
thereafter ridding humanity of the frightful differences of appearance
which
have contributed so much to the sum-total of friction in the world. And when, thanks to further industrial and
technological progress, mankind have been rid of the frightful
differences of
occupation which currently exist, compliments of bourgeois
civilization, the
prospects for a truly unified society will be infinitely greater than
at
present. For so long as we continue to
do different things, we'll always be divided against one another. Thus not only uniform appearance on a variety
of levels and,
I
should add, intelligence but, no less importantly, uniform
occupation, preferably through meditation, would be indispensable
prerequisites
of the highest civilization - a civilization whose members were
dedicated to
attaining to transcendence, and so to the abandonment of this world
once and for
all."
"I'm not sure that I'd want
to be part
of such a civilization," Mrs Reynolds declared, frowning down at her
beautifully slender hands, which at that moment were resting limply on
her lap.
"I rather doubt that women
would be a
part of it anyway," Moore rejoined bluntly. "For
the
way I see it, women would have
been transcended at some previous stage of evolution.
The quest for the transcendental Beyond is,
in my opinion, a radically male one, and thus it's more likely that the
highest
civilization would be entirely beyond women, making use of artificial
reproductive methods to safeguard its survival.
Women, who are fundamentally appearance, would have little place
in a
society so exclusively dedicated to essence, and so it's unlikely they
would
exist there. Short of transforming
themselves into men or, rather, supermen, women will always remain more
closely
aligned with the natural or sensual world, even in the heart of a big
city."
"Thank goodness for that!"
Mrs
Reynolds exclaimed. "You men wouldn't
get very far along the road to your ultimate salvation, or whatever, if
it were
otherwise!"
"Indeed not," Moore
conceded,
offering his outraged hostess a mildly ingratiating smile.
"For it's only through woman, through
propagation, that we can keep humanity going, and thus progress a
little closer
to the Beyond in question with each succeeding generation.
Woman serves our cause, and so too, believe
it or not, does the Devil, which, as Hell, keeps everything and
everyone going,
though in a rather more fundamental sense.
For without the Devil's help, so to speak, we would never get to
God,
seeing as there would be no cosmos at the back of us and therefore no
stellar
and/or solar support for the world. The
Devil supports the world and we struggle against it, principally
through
civilized progress. But we shouldn't
make the mistake of becoming Devil-worshippers, as though the natural
world
were the best of all possible worlds and our evolutionary strivings
merely an
idealistic aberration! We needn't be
grateful to the Devil for plaguing us with materialistic life, as
though such
life were its own reward ... without reference to anything better! No, if there's something we should
be
grateful for, it's that we're not beasts but men, and that it's our
destiny, in
consequence, to create God ... the Holy Ghost ... in due course. And not just figuratively or materially this
time, but literally, out of our own spiritual selves.
For we have always been creators of God or,
more accurately, gods, as the statues of our distant ancestors
well-attest. We ourselves were created
via the diabolic inceptive force but, being men, we aspire towards the
divine
culmination of evolution, no matter how humbly or crudely at first. We approach divinity through materialism. We imagine the statue is God.
Terrible delusion! Yet inevitable
at a primitive juncture in
time."
"This is apparently the
pagan stage of
evolution," Mr Reynolds commented, showing signs of interest despite
his
congenital distaste, born of empirical objectivity, for metaphysical
speculation.
"Precisely," Moore
confirmed. "But it doesn't
last. For along comes a dualistic, or
Christian, stage to supplant it. Now
although
men still fashion statues, they distinguish between the statue and the
god,
never imagining that the spirit of the latter resides in the body of
the
former. The statue becomes for them
merely an image, a reminder, as it were, of the spiritual
essence of the
deity which resides elsewhere - namely, in Heaven ... compliments of
transcendent
concepts like the Resurrection. But this
dualistic stage is no more an eternal phenomenon than the
pre-dualistic, or
pagan, stage before it was. As men cease
to live in a balanced relationship with nature, that's to say balanced
between
nature and civilization, along comes a post-dualistic, or
transcendental, stage
of evolution in which men cease to depend even partly on materialistic
images,
but dedicate themselves to actually creating God through direct
cultivation of
the spirit, thus paving the way for their future transformation from
the world
to the Beyond, from spirit to the Holy Spirit, which should signify the
climax
of evolution."
"Some task!" Mr Reynolds
exclaimed, automatically drawing the back of his hand across his brow
as though
to underline the fact. To be sure, it
was enough to make one sweat, listening to Robert Moore speak. Few men were as spiritually farsighted!
"Though, apparently, not a
task that
we women need bother our pretty heads about," Mrs Reynolds deduced,
somewhat cynically. "No doubt,
you'd disapprove of the Assumption of the Virgin, Robert."
"As a matter of fact I do,"
he
admitted, blushing faintly. "Though
theology would doubtless insist that Mary was no ordinary woman but the
Mother
of God, and thus a case apart. However,
not being a practising Christian but a self-professed
transcendentalist, I
wouldn't allow myself to be impressed by it.
Or, rather, I'd maintain that whilst theological symbolism has
its
justification, it's necessarily restricted to a given time-span, i.e.
the
period of Christianity, and should make way, thereafter, for the Truth. And, so far as I'm concerned, the fact of the
matter is that God doesn't exist - at least not yet!
The Christian god is one thing, the actual
establishment of Ultimate Godhead quite another!"
"In other words, the
difference
between Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost," Mr Reynolds observed.
"Quite," Moore confirmed. "Between knowledge and truth.
And this is something the finer Christian
minds have long recognized, though without perhaps realizing that the
Holy
Ghost is more a projection towards the future culmination of evolution
than an
already-established fact. I mean if, as
Teilhard de Chardin maintains, the Universe is converging towards the
Omega
Point, progressing from the Many towards the One, then what can the
domes of
the finest churches signify if not just such a convergence - that
inward-turning curvature from diversity to unity which is symbolized by
the
apex of the dome, with its lantern of light.
Take the case of San
Ivo
della Sapienza in Rome - undoubtedly
one of the world's finest churches. Not
only is the Holy Spirit symbolized by the lantern, but also by the
convergence
of the dome towards its apex, thus signifying the diabolic nature of
the Cosmos
in contrast to the divine essence of God.
One couldn't ask for a more objective depiction of evolution
than that,
and Borromini can only be praised for having had the genius to execute
it. I'm confident that de Chardin would
have
found ample confirmation of his convergence theories there!"
Mr Reynolds raised his brows
in response to
the mixture of scepticism and surprise he was feeling with these
comments. "I must confess to never having
viewed
domes of that nature in such a pleasingly optimistic and radical light
before," he confessed, smiling faintly in response to the clash between
his own rather more alpha-stemming view of domes and Moore's seemingly
omega-oriented one. "But, now you
mention it, I can only marvel at my narrow-mindedness!
Yes, what an apt device the dome can be for
illustrating evolutionary progress, for anticipating, as it were, the
outcome
of evolution. Really, I'm quite ashamed
of myself for not having realized as much, considering that I'm a
professional
architect who has spent years studying churches - romanesque, gothic,
renaissance, baroque, neo-classical, neo-gothic, modern ... you name
it."
"Well, perhaps you'll make
use of your
new-found knowledge by incorporating a dome into the church you're
about to
start work on," Mrs Reynolds ventured to suggest, but in a
tone-of-voice
intended to reveal that she didn't for one moment believe that domes,
not even
in the case of San
Ivo
della Sapienza (which, after all, was a Catholic
church, and thus one germane, in her estimation, to the theocracy of
the
Father), were as omega-orientated as their guest, with his
transcendental
radicalism born of a post-Christian Prometheanism, liked to imagine!
"Yes, why not?" Moore
seconded,
unable or unwilling to grasp the implications of what Mrs Reynolds had
just
said. "Though you might go one
better than Borromini by placing some kind of artificial light at its
apex,
thereby granting the symbol for the Holy Ghost a less-natural and
correspondingly
more-spiritual essence. For ordinary
daylight is too naturalistic, being a product of the sun, whereas
artificial
light stems from man's evolving civilization and is therefore more
suited to
the transcendent. Any dome with an
electric light at its culmination-point would certainly be spiritually
superior
to one dependent on natural light."
"Yes, you're probably right
there!" Mr Reynolds conceded.
"Seeing as I have ambitions to do better than previous
architects,
I'll take your word for it and incorporate a dome into the design. Better, I'll make the entire church a kind of
dome, so that the converging universe to the Omega Point can be seen as
the
principal aspect of the building."
"Then I wish you every
success,"
Moore rejoined, rising from his chair and extending a friendly hand to
the
architect. It was getting late and he
had to take his leave of them now, if he was to catch the last bus home. "I'd rather it was a meditation centre
you're about to design, but since the theological establishment
requires a
church - well then, good luck to you! I
hope the vicar approves of the result."
"Yeah, so do I," Mr Reynolds
responded, graciously accompanying his guest to the door, doubtless for
the
first and last time. For her part,
however, Mrs Reynolds just smiled in sceptical derision and began to
clear away
the empty coffee mugs.
