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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Gerald Yorke
May 20 [1932].
C∴[are] F∴[rater]
93.
It was you who proposed that we should kill ourselves. I have your letter to that effect. Our idea was that we were being murdered. As we are: month after month slow torture. Typical: every word you write is an attempt to dodge your own responsibility. Why a "gamble on A.C."? Why not confidence in your integrity and capacity? I wish it were not so hopeless to keep on saying that with £3000 and a man like Walker to manage it, the whole show would go over big in a matter of months. If you will write to him offering to put up that cash on condition that he handles the whole affair, you will really solve the problem. Incidentally, did you do so, he would come in too. It is your own condition of funk and unbelief that is responsible for failure. People se you as half-hearted, and it puts them off.
Meanwhile, do you do anything at all, bar spasmodic efforts to raise about half the cash required to carry on? What of the paper of instructions you took with you? Cope [Stuart R. Cope]? Norman Haire? and so on.
The £30—not yet here—means reprieve till the end of the month. No more. And it does not in the least remove the feeling that we are standing on the drop. You are treating us as Boston treated Sacco and Vanzetti; and you apparently expect compliments and gratitude! !
Why in the Devil's name you suppose us to have been at "Werthe" passes conjecture. Typical again. You really must let me take charge of your mind for a bit, and correct all these inaccuracies. The idea of you in China, interpreting the subtlest of all peoples to the D.T., would have made a fortune for a farce in the days when reality was a serious and reasonable matter.
Now here is another ethical point, and one so deadly serious that I must copy your words, and rub it in. "If we start talking of the "cat", I would suggest you qualify for its reception by involving a sick woman in your affairs when you were not in a position to look after her properly". You really wrote that base and vile sentence. It is before my eyes, or I would find it hard to believe that any man—however low—could have written it. But I'm afraid that's you all over! "What? he's sick? he's poor? he's likely to die? his work is in danger? Hurrah! that lets me out". "Your one thought is to abandon the ship". "Allright I'll take the MSS. and you can die in the gutter".
I am not delegating any of my work to any one else. Who is there in the field? I only want a chance to carry on—which nobody can do without some sort of guarantee against disturbance. For years now I have been thwarted in just this way: I started scores of things, and always the axe fell and prevented fruition.
Your £4 a week plan is rubbish. One cannot live and work my kind of work on less than £50 a month; and that is cutting it fine. Takes no account of urgent medical and dental treatment, which I must have if I'm to live at all in any conditions. Never mind! Go on with your little dinners and dances with people who don't count, and are doomed any how to perish of their own stupidity. Really, you know, your failure to understand the essence of the Work of the Order, which is to abolish the original Curse, is heartbreaking. You almost make me turn philanthropist.
A word about your puerile form of fatalism. "If it is important it will happen". Your child is drowning: if it is to live, it will; so you walk away whistling.
You seem not to trust me on these points: I do wish you would ask the opinion of the first Admiral you happen to be dining with. Nobody can oppose Fate; but if you don't do your damnedest, you're a cur and a bloody murderer. And apparently such a fool that you think nobody will notice you sneaking out of the trenches! (this isn't abuse, dear lord; just paternal. Only I do wish you would reach puberty!)
93 93/93
F∴[raternal]ly
666.
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