Arthur Koestler

I am trying to study for a final about dissident politics in the 20th century, which is no doubt very interesting, but I am no doubt likely to fail...Regardless, I was doing a little research on a guy named Arthur Koestler who we had talked about, and I found this article he wrote in response to Huxley: Doors of Perception. The guy was interested in many other things besides politics, like telepathy/telekinesis/quantum mechanics/synchronicity, and stumbled upon psychedelics later in life after receiving a letter from T Leary which is in this article. He takes a nice stance at the end in my opinion, which is sort of in an Alan Watts way of things, like "if you've got the message, hang up the phone..." Just thought I'd throw it out there, good writing- I hope to check out some of his books, apparently they have served as inspiration for Sting and the Pat Methany Group.

"In Heaven and Hell, defending the mescalin ecstasy against the reproach of artificiality, Huxley, the most highly respected exponent of the cult, argues that `in one way or another, all our experiences are chemically conditioned'; and that the great mystics of the past also 'worked systematically to modify their Body chemistry ...starving themselves into low blond Bugar and a vitamin deficiency. They sang interminable psalms, thus increasing the amount of carbon dioxide in the lungs and the bloodstream, or, if they were orientals, they did breathing exercises to accomplish the Same purpose.' There is, of course, a certain amount of truth in this an a purely physiological level, but the conclusions which Huxley draws, and the advice he tenders to modern man in search of a soul, are all the more distressing: 'Knowing as he does what are the chemical conditions of transcendental experience, the aspiring mystic should turn for technical help to the specialists in pharmacology, in bio-chemistry, in physiology and neurology ...'

I would like to answer this with a parable. In the beloved Austrian mountains of my school-days, it took us about five to six hours to climb a 7,000-ft. peak. Today, many of them can be reached in a few minutes by Gable-Gar, or ski-lift, or even by motorcar. Yet you still sec thousands of schoolboys, middle-aged couples and elderly men puffeng and panting up the steep path, groaning under the load of their knapsacks. When they arrive at the alpine refuge near the summet, streaming with sweat, they shout for their traditional reward -a Blass of shnapps and a plate of hot pea-soup. And then they look at the view-and then there is only a man and a mountain and a sky. My point is not the virtue of sweat and toil. My point is that, although the view is the Same, their vision is different from those who arrive by motorcar." -A. Koestler: Return Trip to Nirvana 1968