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Correspondence from Marcelo Motta to Karl Germer
536 Reymond Building Baton Rouge 1, La.
December 31, 1959
Dear Karl:
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
I am answering yours of December 27; first of all let me thank you for your efforts on my behalf.
It is true, as you say, that I 'dream, dream, dream,' but can you really blame me for it? Consider the bleakness of the daily existence of most human beings and the brightness of the dreams that—you admit—I share with Aleister Crowley.
When I was eleven years old I read ZANONI, of Lytton; it inflamed my imagination, and far from considering it fiction I took it as reality. Why? Don't ask me; I still don't know why I could be that stupid. And after all these years—so many years, and yet! time does not seem to pass for me—after all these years I still have a sneaking suspicion that there are Zanonis in this world. . . .
Consider A.C., Logos of the Aeon, yet incapable of providing for his own living.
Consider the illustrious Brethren of the O.T.O. and Thelemites to whom you introduced me in California: bums, bartenders, handymen—which is not too good; but, not only that, but also: treacherous, malicious, petty and cowardly.
Consider all this, and ask me: Why do I keep believing that such dreams as ZANONI, Thelema and others are impossible?
I don't know. Unless it is the natural tendency of man to want to live as best he can; and to resort to dreams to that end when reality is too harsh and unyielding.
But it is in your hands to disillusion me, to tell me the hard cold facts if they are facts; and of course it is just one of my ultimate illusions that I should be willing to take your word for it; BUT, since one must start somewhere:
Is it TRUE? Is it FALSE?
When you invoke the help of the Energies of the Aeon, when you turn to Boleskine and invoke Aiwass and Therion and Babalon: are you invoking anything that exists?
Or are you creating out of your own mind a center of strength inside your own soul?
Is there any force outside yourself? And if so, where is your success, that is your proof?
All through history, it seems, mystics have protested that they have the Elixir of Life, the Universal Medicine, the Powder of Protection; and not only that! But also that they speak to God face to face, and converse familiarly with the resplendent Solar Angel, and KNOW the Secret of the Sphinx.
And all through history, it seems, they must either beg for their bread, these quasi-divine creatures, these Favored of the Lord!—or they must cheat the stupid or feed the hunger for soul-fodder of the rich in order to prosper.
In short, they either must be A.C.'s or they must build AMORCs. One of the other. . . . And each kind calls the other "Black Magician" and "Lefty."
Of course, when the poor average man points to Holy Men that despite their great spirituality they go about in rags and depend on others to subsist, Holy Men fly into rages or look down archly on the average man, and call him materialistic, or infidel, or uncouth, or faithless, or slave, or bourgeois. And then go on and beg him for money.
Yet, since the world of reality—the world outside man's dreams—the world of which we know only the shadows it projects in our minds, but at least there are shadows!—since this world is apparently the first and most material plane of all, I would like to know how come Saint's pyramids don't start on it.
After all, Saints should not disdain bourgeois so much when they depend on bourgeois to eat; and when, if it were not for the bourgeois's laws, they would be stoned, or imprisoned, or tortured to death by religions. . . .
You may ask what all this is for. My position is simple. I have been trying to conform my life to the premises of the books I have read.
I have written things that the public does not want to read—or at least things that publishers think the public does not want to read!—and some of them are very well-written indeed, if I may say so.
I have expected help from the Invisible, help from the August Forces of the Aeon in order to—as you say—break through.
I have broken with my family. I have not tried to find a job. I have been praying for help so I can leave here, so I can detach myself from Camille and the children.
What do I get? From publishers, rejections; from debtors, bills.
You may say—indeed, you have said—that God helps those who help themselves.
This is the same to say: There is no God. All gods are of man's making, phantoms of his imagination.
Including your dear Ra-Hoor-Khuit.
You must not think I am bitter; after all, you may have noticed I start this letter by proclaiming the Law.
But after all, that LAW has survived—with me—through all disappointments and the test of experience.
If there are no gods but man—why, then it stands even more to reason that Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. . . .
I am not bitter; but I warn you, I am becoming skeptical. And it is for this reason that I must ask you a question—implying, of course that I shall trust your answer—which I may or may not, but at least it will provide me with further data!
I have been working under the delusion that he who wants to do honest, clean work, and who has truly accepted the Law until it breathes in him, will deserve help from—shall we say the Forces that dwell in Boleskine?
If this is a dream—tell me so.
For I am capable of standing on my own two feet, thank you; and if worst comes to worst, of dying by my own hand; but I do not want to hang on to the dream that there are things that there are not unless I make them: I like to dream, indeed, but I can draw a line.
If I am to feed Gods out of my own substance, at least I want to know that these are the facts of the case; should I bow before the larvae of my own creation, no matter how shiny and awesome they may look? Bah!
I see about me men who proclaim lies—and prosper by it.
I see about me men who do not believe in dreams—and they are millionaires.
I see about me men who drive nice cars, own nice homes, pay all their debts regularly, are respected by society and the law.
And I see yon Thelemites.
And I compare.
The favorite argument of Holy Men, apparently, has always been that you cannot both serve God and Mammon. . . .
Presumably, one cannot become rich unless by the help of the Devil.
But if the tenets of Thelema are true, there is no god and no mammon, or if there is, they are one.
And frankly, if one cannot serve two Lords, at least one can be served by two servants.
You introduced me to a law that—supposedly—will make me a free man and a king.
Then you continually reproach me for not having the obliging outlook of a servant; for not having the meekness of a slave; or the innocent believingness of a child.
But I do have the last one! I believed your Law would make me free.
Yet, if I don't get some money soon, somehow, I'm sure to land in jail.
Can you blame me if I compare the dream with the facts? Perhaps I do not dream as much as you think I do; in fact, perhaps I dream less than you do!
What Master is this, who owns the Universe, yet complains of toothache?
He is not my Master.
And he is not the kind of Master I wish to be.
Do not mistake me: I am a Thelemite; perhaps a better one than you.
But I do not think any man has a right to call himself Master unless he can take his pleasure on all planes.
For, after all, My adepts stand upright, their feet below the hells, their heads above the heavens, or words to that effect.
And the material plane lies somewhere between; at the height of the belly, perhaps.
In short, I will be glad to work for Thelema; but I would like to know the terms, and of what the work consists.
If Thelema is but a dream, I am ready to work to make it reality, or at least to die in the attempt; but I want to know that this is what I am doing.
For it really is cheating an employee is he creates something, or helps create something that was not there before, and yet is led all the time to believe that what he creates was already there in the first place, and could have got along fine without his efforts and his help.
I read about immortal adepts bridging the centuries in their incorruptible, Elixir-kept bodies; I have not met one.
I read about powerful magicians with command over all the legions of heaven and hell—and they don't have enough money to pay the bus.
I read about many strange wonderful things, miraculous things, things that—if they truly happened—should revolutionize forever men's conceptions of the world in which they live. But I notice it is always hearsay. Even A.C.'s reported visions and experiments are vague and disorderly; yet I will admit that they are the best.
Still, unless I find evidence outside myself of similar things as his, I cannot accept his or mine.
Hankering after phenomena? Perhaps; but is not the method supposed to be that of science, the aim that of religion?
Scientific method is experimentation; and the test of a theory is that a controlled experiment should reach a predicted result. A scientist, when he discovers something, and wished to impress the truth of his discovery on the minds of his colleagues, tells them: "If you do such and such, such and such should happen. Then connect cause with effect, and the modus operandi is the law that confirms the theory."
Even when there is a factor infinite and unknown, this method remains valid. The half of the equation that is solved, at least, should yield results.
If it does not—who is to furnish the motive power? They?
We?
Us together?
So, don't blame me for dreams for as far as I can see, what is Thelema but a beautiful dream?
But tell me to wake up if I am truly dreaming; be frank and get the cat out of the bag if there is a cat; and see if I can't take anything you dish out.
Love is the law, love under will.
Fraternally,
M.
P.S. I shall add another book to the books I send.
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