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As Related by J. P. Eddy, Q.C.
from
SCARLET AND ERMINE: Famous Trials As I Saw Them From Crippen to Podola William Kimber, 1960 (pages 155 - 159)
A barrister cannot pick and chose his cases. Indeed I have often heard it said that he is like a taxi-driver on the rank. He is available for the first person who wishes to hire his services. The rule in fact is that he is bound to accept any brief in the courts in which he professes to practise, at a proper professional fee, dependent on the length and difficulty of the case: but special circumstances may justify his refusal, at his discretion, to accept a particular brief.
Moreover, it is not the business of the barrister to judge his client's case. His duty is two-fold—to put his client's case effectively and fairly, and to assist the court to do justice.
As Dr. Johnson said: "A lawyer has no business with the justice or injustice of the cause which he undertakes, unless his client asks his opinion, and then he is bound to give it honestly. The justice or injustice of the cause is to be decided by the judge."
"Or," I might add, "by the jury, if there is one."
These reflections, I am sure, passed through my mind when I found myself in 1934 presenting to Mr. Justice Swift and a special jury the case of Mr. Edward Alexander (Aleister) Crowley. We had special juries and common juries in those days; the distinction has now quite rightly disappeared. But although there were moments during the trial when I felt decidedly uncomfortable, I never allowed my feelings to divert me from the task of putting Aleister Crowley's case to the judge and jury as best I could. The trial was fully reported in The Times newspaper, and I have looked at the reports again in order to refresh my memory as to its outstanding features.
It was what was known as the "Black Magic" libel action, and was brought by Crowley against the publishers, printers and author of a book entitled Laughing Torso for damages for alleged libel. The book contained this passage:
This was alleged libel. The case I presented was that magic was of two kinds. There was White Magic, which was on the side of the angels, and rested on faith in the order and uniformity of Nature. Black Magic was a degraded thing. It was associated with the degradation of religion, the invocation of devils, evil in its blackest forms, and even the sacrifice of children.
I need hardly say that Crowley's case was that he had nothing to do with Black Magic. The form of magic in which he was interested was White Magic. It was untrue to say that anybody had disappeared mysteriously, and the only goat on the premises was kept for its milk.
In opening the case, I told my Lord and the jury that Crowley's activities had covered many fields. It might be said that at times he had shown want of restraint and a passion for the unconventional. That was due to the fact that he had been brought up in the strict environment of the Plymouth Brethren, and he had taken the first opportunity of manifesting the spirit of revolt. He had been an undergraduate at Cambridge, where he wrote poetry, and afterwards he was interested in art, travel, exploration and mountaineering. So far from it being true that he ever practised Black Magic, he had been fighting it for years. White Magic, on which he placed stress, was connected with the importance of the will. He thought no one could achieve anything in the world unless he ascertained what he was fitted for, and then followed his true purpose. He had started a community or order at Cefalu to study White Magic. It consisted of a little band of people, and occasionally two or three children.
Of course I put Crowley in the witness-box. He said that the principle of his belief was embodied in the words: "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law; love under will." On that, he maintained, mankind should base their conduct. No man, he said, had a right to waste his time in doing things which resulted from mere wishes or desires. He must first discover by self-examination, or by seeking the advice of wise men, for what he was best fitted.
It was the cross-examination by my opponent, Mr. Malcolm Hilbery—now Mr. Justice Hilbery—which killed any chance my client might have had of recovering damages—even nominal damages. I take by the way of example a few passages:
"For a number of years have you been publicly denounced as the worst man in the world?"
"Only by the lowest type of newspaper."
"Did one newspaper call you a master of wickedness?"
"I do not know. There were only about two of them altogether."
"From the time of your adolescence have you openly denied all moral conventions?"
"No."
"Have you proclaimed your contempt for all the doctrines of Christianity?"
"That is quite wrong."
"Have you said that Judaism is a savage, and Christianity a fiendish, superstition?"
"I do not remember anything about it."
"Does it represent your view?"
"No. I am a student of religions, and my views have altered continually in the course of my studies."
Crowley agreed that he had practised magic since the days when he had come down from Cambridge, and that he had taken the motto of "Frater Perdurabo."
"Did you take to yourself the designation of 'The Beast, 666'?"
"Yes."
"Do you call yourself the 'Master Therium'?"
"Yes."
"What does 'Therium' mean?"
"Great wild beast."
"Do these titles convey a fair expression of your practice and outlook on life?"
" 'The Beast, 666' only means 'sunlight'. You can call me Little Sunshine'."
"You have written a number of books and many poems. Have nearly all your poems been privately printed."
"Certainly not."
"Would it be true to say that practically all your poems are erotic in nature and grossly indecent in expression?"
"It would be entirely untrue. I have written a volume of hymns which have been highly praised. . . ."
Hilbery read some passages from a poem written by Crowley, and then, looking straight at him, he asked, "Isn't that obscene stuff?"
"Well," said Crowley, with an air of confidence, "as you read it I thought it sounded like really great poetry."
And even Hilbery could not forbear to smile.
Then Hilbery went on to put this question to Crowley: "You have been well known for years as the author of all these things which I have been putting to you?"
"No," said Crowley. "I wish I had a far wider reputation. I should like to be hailed as the greatest living poet. Truth will out."
At this the judge looked at Crowley with considerable displeasure.
Crowley said he supplied the matter for an article in a Sunday newspaper. In that article it was stated: "They have called me the worst man in the world."
"Is that true?"
"I hear a new canard about me every week. Any man of distinction has rumours about him."
"Does any man of any distinction necessarily have it said about him that he is the worst man in the world?"
"Not necessarily. He has to be very distinguished."
"Have you said that Horatio Bottomley treated you as a 'dirty, degenerate cannibal'?"
"Yes."
"You have never taken action against any of the people who have said such things about you?"
"No."
Crowley said that in the article in the Sunday newspaper he said that practically the whole of his life had been spent in the study of magic. As the result of early experiments, when he was inexperienced, he evoked certain forces, with the result that some people were attacked by unseen assailants. On a later occasion he succeeded in rendering himself invisible.
So the cross-examination went on, and it was plain that the questions and, not least, the frank answers of Crowley, were having a damaging effect on his case.
The judge asked Crowley for a definition of magic. Crowley said that magic was a science and art of causing change to occur in conformation with the will. It was White Magic if the will was righteous, and Black Magic if the will was perverse.
"Does magic involve the invocation of spirits?"
"It may do so. It involves the invocation of the Holy Guardian Angel, who is appointed by Almighty God to watch over us."
"Is magic the art of controlling spirits so as to affect the course of events?"
"That is one small branch of magic."
"If the object of the control is good then it is White Magic; but if the object of the control is bad it is Black Magic?"
"Yes."
"When the object of the control is bad what spirits do you invoke?"
"You cannot invoke, or bring down, evil spirits. You must evoke them, or bring them up."
"When the object is bad you evoke evil spirits?"
"You put yourself in their power, but it is possible to control evil spirits for a good purpose."
Before the trial had run its full course the jury asked whether they could intervene.
The judge told the foreman that the jury could stop the case against Crowley when I had said everything I wanted to say, and he (his Lordship) had taken care to see that the jury knew what issues they had to try.
I addressed the jury, and at the end of my speech the jury said they were still of the same opinion.
The judge directed the jury, and said that he had never heard such dreadful, horrible, blasphemous and abominable stuff as that which had been produced by the man who described himself as the greatest living poet.
The jury promptly returned a verdict for the defendants. There was an appeal to the Court of Appeals in which I asked for a new trial on a number of grounds. But, after a very full hearing, the appeal failed.
So far as I know I never saw Crowley after the trial of his action. Where or how he lived after 1934 I do not know. But from the records I have seen he died in Hastings in December, 1947, and his remains were cremated at Brighton. At his funeral excerpts were read from his works dealing with the object of magic, and objections to this were raised later. So it seems to be clear that his life ended, as it had continued, on a note of protest. |