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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Charles Stansfeld Jones
The House of the Juggler [Adams Cottage]
An XII
[4 September 1916]
Care Frater,
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
You are totally wrong about V°. The H.P. does not put the sack on, she is in the Red Room and only concerned to help Can[didate]. The [illegible] of Death is the Christian era; we don’t put people in hell for their ultimate good; we find them there and pull them out. Get this clear out of your head; atonement, and suffering, and self-sacrifice are all old aeon.
You have not acknowledged
De nuptiis deorum cum hominibus
and I’m a little anxious. All sent by registered post on successive days quite a long while ago.
I suppose your “Epistle of X°” means the first of these, and VIII° and IX° documents the other two.
Thanks for copy O.H.O. letter and original returned. I sent it, as is duty bound; but I don’t agree, as you’ll see from De Arte Magica, in a good deal. Any anyhow he doesn’t boast of much success, and is very vague. We must beat this all to hell. All well here.
Love is the Law, Love under Will.
Fraternally,
Θ
P.P.S. I have dined indeed! God is certainly good, or such beef croquettes as I have just cooked and eaten could not be. What I wanted to say was this; men are (as we all know) like sheep. Now get a nice fat Southdown with fleecy wool very neatly combed, and tie him with blue ribbons and a bell. The trick is done. We don’t want people; we want money. All the people we get are the wrong people; we want to be able to search the world through to find the right people. We might have a thousand million adherents, and they would all die; but one copy of the Equinox for ever. It has happened often; think the Book of the Dead. So the real essential of our work is to secure the universal distribution of our written stuff. To this end you must find a Lady Somebody aged 78 and fuck her till she leaves you all her money, or a Lord Sombodyelse; and flatter or bugger him (whatever he wishes) till he does the same. People will come and go in myriads; but the Word of the Lord abideth for ever.
Excuse writing—twilight, not alcohol!
Θ
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