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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Louis Umfreville Wilkinson
Oct. 26 1942
140 Piccadilly
Dear Louis
Do What Thou Wilt is the Whole of the Law.
Most gratified by your prompt and educative answer—just what I wanted. Smart of you to spot the monosyllable trouble: It is an actual though almost incredible fact that words have to be pulped into the same sloppy fodder as those cattle have been trained to chew, or they are shocked and bewildered. Any sort of clear statement leaves them aghast. This is one reason why “there oughtn’t to be any slaves” is fatuous. Hitler’s theories (see his private talks with [Hermann] Rauschning [Hitler Speaks]) are not as crazy in many ways: but the ‘Herrenvolk’ are those, regardless of race, who are self-determined to be masters. Most average men, even men very high up, funk responsibility. In Whitehall it’s a system!
Your soldier, poor fish, doesn’t know what his girl thinks in her heart.
I didn’t go to Buchmansville after all: the prospect of a Heatless hotel daunted me. Peter Brook is a producer, and a ‘character’; as an actor, not at all good. He is in danger of swelled head: doesn’t answer letters promptly, has too many things on his mind at one time.
You are right, of course; one must not analyse farce. With all its faults, the importance is wonderful; but it could have been lots better. [Oscar] Wilde’s wit was very artificial for the most part; & his invention goes threadbare. He was worse than the Maugham [Somerset Maugham] at shoplifting. You don’t seem to take this as seriously as I do: but then my conscience has always been praeter-Nonconformist in all matters of art.
You could certainly turn Mr. A[mberthwaite] into light comedy; the date would even add poignancy if you had a character to point out the reefs on which these people were drifting. Useless to suggest me; all I could do would to be to work on a well-articulated skeleton. Do ring up soon! I’m lonelier than ever.
Love is the Law, Love under Will.
Yours Aleister.
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