• The Spirit of Solitude
  • Aleister Crowley
  • Democracy dodders.
  • Ferocious Fascism, cackling Communism, equally frauds, cavort crazily all over the globe.
  • They are hemming us in.
  • They are abortive births of the Child, the New Æon of Horus.
  • Liberty stirs once more in the womb of Time.
  • Evolution makes its changes by anti-Socialistic ways. The “abnormal” man who foresees the trend of the times and adapts circumstance intelligently, is laughed at, persecuted, often destroyed by the herd; but he and his heirs, when the crisis comes, are survivors.
  • Above us to-day hangs a danger never yet paralleled in history. We suppress the individual in more and more ways. We think in terms of the herd. War no longer kills soldiers; it kills all indiscriminately. Every new measure of the most democratic and autocratic governments is Communistic in essence. It is always restriction. We are all treated as imbecile children. Dora, the Shops Act, the Motoring Laws, Sunday suffocation, the Censorship—they won’t trust us to cross the roads at will.
  • Fascism is like Communism, and dishonest into the bargain. The dictators suppress all art, literature, theatre, music, news, that does not meet their requirements; yet the world only moves by the light of genius. The herd will be destroyed in mass.
  • The establishment of the Law of Thelema is the only way to preserve individual liberty and to assure the future of the race.
  • In the words of the famous paradox of the Comte de Fénix—The absolute rule of the state shall be a function of the absolute liberty of each individual will.
  • All men and women are invited to co-operate with the Master Therion in this, the Great Work.
  • Thy feet in mire, thine head in murk,
    O man, how piteous thy plight,
    The doubts that daunt, the ills that irk,
    thou hast nor wit nor will to fight—
    How hope in heart, or worth in work?
    No star in sight!
     
    Thy Gods proved puppets of the priest.
    “Truth? All’s relation!” science sighed.
    In bondage with thy brother beast,
    Love tortured thee, as Love’s hope died
    And Love’s faith rotted. Life no least
    Dim star descried.
     
    Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled
    To find itself a chance-cast clod
    Whose Pain was purposeless; appalled
    That aimless accident thus trod
    Its agony, that void skies sprawled
    On the vain sod!
     
    All souls eternally exist,
    Each individual, ultimate,
    Perfect—each makes itself a mist
    Of mind and flesh to celebrate
    With some twin mask their tender tryst
    Insatiate.
     
    Some drunkards, doting on the dream,
    Despair that it should die, mistake
    Themselves for their own shadow-scheme.
    One star can summon them to wake
    To self; star-souls serene that gleam
    On life’s calm lake.
     
    That shall end never that began.
    All things endure because they are.
    Do what thou wilt, for every man
    And every woman is a star.
    Pan is not dead; he liveth, Pan!
    Break down the bar!
     
    To man I come, the number of
    A man my number, Lion of Light;
    I am The Beast whose Law is Love.
    Love under will, his royal right—
    Behold within, and not above,
    One star in sight!
  • —Aleister Crowley, “One Star in Sight”
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