The present situation is only tolerable provided I can look forward to, at least, a very considerable improvement in the fairly near future. (Beside the fact that I cannot be doing myself very much good going on in this way, I am cut off from both the pleasures of the senses and the pleasures of renunciation -- though, to be sure, I still have the joys of amoebiasis --; and it is distasteful for me to think of even a week more of this, and a year or over is out of the question.) But, in fact, the stimulation or sensitivity seems to be continuing unabated, and my hopes of an early improvement -- and even of any improvement at all -- are not very great. I feel it is better to let you know my view of the matter while my decision is still suspended.
As you know, the seat of the emotions is the bowels (not the heart, as is
sometimes romantically supposed): all strong emotion can be felt as a physical
affection of the bowels even after the emotion itself has subsided. (I have
found that anger is constipating, lust sometimes loosening, and apprehension a
diuretic; and strong fear, I believe, is a purgative.)
[L. 24] 28 January 1963
During the last two or three days things seem to have improved a bit. With the help of the 'Reactivan' and of a spell of good weather, mental concentration has so much advanced that for the first time in seven months I have been more or less free of thoughts both of lust and of suicide. This is a considerable relief, even though it may only be temporary (mental concentration depends very largely on circumstances beyond one's control -- health, weather, and so on).
For the time being, then, even though I have not yet resigned myself to
the prospect of continuing to live, I find that I am relying a little less on
Nietzsche and a little more on Mr. Micawber[1] (though both ended up
badly -- Nietzsche went mad and Mr. Micawber went to Australia).
[L. 25] 9 February 1963
Many thanks for your kind letter heaving a sigh of relief at my recovery. The change, in fact, seems to be definitive, and came about almost as abruptly as the onset of the original condition. The stimulation, actually, remains; it seems to vary with the state of my guts and the time of day; but it no longer presents itself as specifically erotic -- it is something like a desire to micturate. The recovery, that is to say, is mental rather than physical (though perhaps that will follow), and the severity and stability of the condition while it persisted was due in part to its being a vicious circle of addiction. Like all vicious circles it was not easy to break out of, and the best that I could do was temporary forcible suppression by opposing the thought of suicide. Only by a radical improvement in mental concentration which is indifferent alike to sensuality and suicide, was it possible to escape from it.
The improvement in mental concentration has not kept up (I cannot expect
very much in my present condition), but I have not fallen back into the vicious
circle. Of course, so long as the stimulation remains it is a danger to me, as
a constant invitation to return; and there may arise fresh difficulties in the
future with possible re-infections of amoebiasis; but at the moment all is
well. Naturally, I am still not enamoured of life, and I continue to hope for a
not-too-painful death in the not-too-distant future; but, with the exception of
the prospect of a visit to the dentist in a few days' time, I no longer feel
immediately suicidal.
[L. 26] 1 March 1963
Far from being sick of doctors I am more and more grateful to them as time goes by; and as for their various treatments...well, I have to confess that I am rather fond of taking medicines, which, on the whole, have never done me very much harm. It is this sick body that I am sick of, not the doctors with their unfailing kindness to me.
I have been suffering from acute elephantiasis -- infestation by elephants. They come at night and wander about trumpeting in the surrounding jungle. Once one gets used to it, it is really rather pleasant, since it means one will not be disturbed by unwelcome human visitors.
P.S. After taking 'Librium' for the first time today I have experienced an
unusual freedom from intestinal discomfort (with corresponding benefit to
concentration). If this is its normal effect it will be a pleasure to take.
[L. 27] 7 March 1963
You said something in your last letter about the laughter that you find behind the harsher tones in what I write to you. This is not unconnected with what I was saying earlier about the difference between positive and negative thinkers. At the risk of being tiresome I shall quote Kierkegaard on this subject at some length. (Fortunately, you are not in the least obliged to read it, so it is really no imposition.)
Negative thinkers therefore always have one advantage, in that they have something positive, being aware of the negative element in existence; the positive have nothing at all, since they are deceived. Precisely because the negative is present in existence, and present everywhere (for existence is a constant process of becoming), it is necessary to become aware of its presence continuously, as the only safeguard against it. In relying upon a positive security the subject is merely deceived. (CUP, p. 75)And where does the Buddha's Teaching come in? If we understand the 'eternal' (which for Kierkegaard is ultimately God -- i.e. the soul that is part of God) as the 'subject' or 'self', and 'that which becomes' as the quite evidently impermanent 'objects' in the world (which is also K.'s meaning), the position becomes clear. What we call the 'self' is a certain characteristic of all experience, that seems to be eternal. It is quite obvious that for all men the reality and permanence of their selves, 'I', is taken absolutely for granted; and the discrepancy that K. speaks of is simply that between my 'self' (which I automatically presume to be permanent) and the only too manifestly impermanent 'things' in the world that 'I' strive to possess. The eternal 'subject' strives to possess the temporal 'object', and the situation is at once both comic and tragic -- comic, because something temporal cannot be possessed eternally, and tragic, because the eternal cannot desist from making the futile attempt to possess the temporal eternally. This tragi-comedy is suffering (dukkha) in its profoundest sense. And it is release from this that the Buddha teaches. How? By pointing out that, contrary to our natural assumption (which supposes that the subject 'I' would still continue to exist even if there were no objects at all), the existence of the subject depends upon the existence of the object; and since the object is manifestly impermanent, the subject must be no less so. And once the presumed-eternal subject is seen to be no less temporal than the object, the discrepancy between the eternal and the temporal disappears (in four stages -- sotápatti, sakadágámitá, anágámitá, and arahatta); and with the disappearance of the discrepancy the two categories of 'tragic' and 'comic' also disappear. The arahat neither laughs nor weeps; and that is the end of suffering (except, of course, for bodily pain, which only ceases when the body finally breaks up).But the genuine subjective existing thinker is always as negative as he is positive, and vice versa. (CUP, p. 78)
That the subjective existing thinker...is immature. (CUP, p. 81)[1]
What lies at the root of both the comic and the tragic...is the discrepancy, the contradiction between the infinite and the finite, the eternal and that which becomes. A pathos which excludes the comic is therefore a misunderstanding, is not pathos at all. The subjective existing thinker is as bi-frontal as existence itself. When viewed from a direction looking toward the eternal[2] the apprehension of the discrepancy is pathos; when viewed with the eternal behind one the apprehension is comic. When the subjective existing thinker turns his face toward the eternal, his apprehension of the discrepancy is pathetic; when he turns his back to the eternal and lets this throw a light from behind over the same discrepancy, the apprehension is in terms of the comic. If I have not exhausted the comic to its entire depth, I do not have the pathos of the infinite; if I have the pathos of the infinite I have at once also the comic. (CUP, pp. 82-3)
Existence itself...involves a self-contradiction. (CUP, p. 84)[1]
In this way you may see the progressive advance from the thoughtlessness
of immediacy (either childish amusement, which refuses to take the tragic
seriously, or pompous earnestness, which refuses to
take the comic humourously) to the awareness of reflexion (where the tragic and
the comic are seen to be reciprocal, and each is given its due), and from the
awareness of reflexion (which is the limit of the puthujjana's
philosophy) to full realization of the ariya dhamma
(where both tragic and comic finally vanish, never again to return).
[L. 28] 16 April 1963
As regards possible help to other people, I have made notes on my
understanding of the Buddha's Teaching, and there is the prospect that they
will be printed. I should be glad to see them safely through the press myself
personally (though they are, in fact, in good hands). This gives me at least a
temporary reason for continuing to live, even though the survival of the notes
affects other people more than myself. (A doubt remains, however, whether
anybody will find the notes intelligible even if they do survive.)
[L. 29] 22 April 1963
There is nothing like the thought of the possibility of a sudden death, perhaps within a few hours, to keep one's attention securely fixed on the subject of meditation, and consequently concentration has very much improved during the past few days. Not only is no even remotely erotic thought allowed admittance, but also the Buddha himself has said that in one who consistently practises ánápánasati there is agitation neither in mind nor in body[1] (and from what little that I have done of this, I know it to be true). And what better sedative could there be than that? Furthermore, if one succeeds in practising concentration up to the level of fourth jhána, all breathing whatsoever ceases,[2] which means that the body must be very tranquil indeed. Of course, I know that if one takes enough barbiturates the same effect will ensue -- the breathing will cease --; but if you stop the breathing with barbiturates there may be some difficulty in getting it started again, a difficulty that does not arise with fourth jhána. ('Librium', incidentally, though it facilitates sleep, does not seem to be specifically hypnotic and does no harm to concentration.)
The question of coming to Colombo for a check-up has a certain comic
aspect about it in the present circumstances. If I could be reasonably certain
that after the check-up was ended I should be informed 'Your condition is
hopeless -- we do not expect you to last another week', I might work up some
enthusiasm about it. But what I fear is that I shall be told 'Your condition is
fine -- absolutely nothing to worry about -- carry on just as before'.
What would Doctor __ think if, having told me this in a cheerful
voice, I were to step
outside his consulting room and there, on his front doorstep, in the middle of
all his waiting patients, cut my throat -- might he not wonder whether the
check-up had really been worth while?
[L. 30] 25 April 1963
The weather, happily, continues to be bright and bone dry; my guts, by some miracle, are giving little trouble; and concentration has been steadily improving -- indeed, it is better now than it has been at any time during the past couple of years or so.
If anyone is going to commit suicide -- not that I advocate it for anyone -- it is a great mistake to do it when one is feeling at one's most suicidal. The business should be carefully planned so that one is in the best possible frame of mind -- calm, unmoved, serene -- when one does it. Otherwise one may end up anywhere. The present time, therefore, would seem to be the best for me to kill myself, if that is my intention. All the melancholy farewell letters are written (they have to be amended and brought up to date from time to time, as the weeks pass and my throat is still uncut);[1] the note for the coroner is prepared (carefully refraining from any witty remarks that might spoil the solemn moment at the inquest when the note is read aloud); and the mind is peaceful and concentrated.
But it is precisely when all obstacles have been removed and everything is
ready that one least feels like suicide. There is the temptation to hope that
the good weather will last (which it won't), that one's guts are improving
(which they aren't), and that this time at least one will make some real
progress. So it is just possible (though I don't want to commit myself) that,
weakly giving in to the temptation to survive, I shall once again let slip a
golden opportunity of doing away with myself.
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Editorial notes:
[24.1] Wilkins Micawber, in Dickens' David Copperfield, was a projector of bubble schemes, sure to lead to a fortune but always ending in grief. Though indigent, he never despaired, always 'waiting for something to turn up' while on the brink of disaster. [Back to text]
[27.1] CUP, pp. 81 and 84: These passages are quoted in full at L. 119. [Back to text]
[27.2] the eternal: So the Ven. Ñánavíra's letter; but the published translation reads 'Idea' rather than 'eternal' throughout this passage. [Back to text]
[29.1] no agitation: 'When mindfulness-of-breathing/mindfulness-of-breathing-concentration is developed and made much of, there is neither vacillation nor agitation of the body nor vacillation nor agitation of the mind.' (Ánápánasati Samy. 7: v,316) In his previous letter the Ven. Ñánavíra had written that he had begun to experience palpitations of the heart, and inquired whether the condition was significant. ('In particular, I should be glad to know if there is any likelihood of a complete heart failure without any warning. This is important because one should, if possible, not be taken unawares by death. As I have told you, I shall not be heartbroken [or is that, medically speaking, exactly the wrong term?] if I died in the near future, but, like everybody else, I am anxious to avoid as much pain and discomfort as possible.') The palpitations seem to have ceased after about ten days, without complication. [Back to text]
[29.2] all breathing ceases: D. 34: iii,266; Vedaná Samy. 11: iv,217; A. IX,31: iv,409. [Back to text]
[30.1] farewell letters: None were discovered.
[Back to text]