A century of research on the moksha-medicine has clearly shown that quite ordinary people are perfectly capable of having visionary or even fully liberating experiences. In this respect the men and women who make and enjoy high culture are no better off than the lowbrows. High experience is perfectly compatible with low symbolic expression.
The expressive symbols created by Palanese artists are no better than the expressive symbols created by artists elsewhere. Being the products of happiness and a sense of fulfillment, they are probably less moving, perhaps less satisfying aesthetically, than the tragic or compensatory symbols created by victims of frustration and ignorance, of tyranny, war and guilt-fostering, crime-inciting superstitions. Palanese superiority does not lie in symbolic expression but in an art which, though higher and far more valuable than all the rest, can yet be practiced by everyone-the art of adequately experiencing, the art of becoming more intimately acquainted with all the worlds that, as human beings, we find ourselves inhabiting. Palanese culture is not to be judged as (for lack of any better criterion) we judge other cultures. It is not to be judged by the accomplishments of a few gifted manipulators of artistic or philosophical symbols. No, it is to be judged by what all the members of the community, the ordinary as well as the extraordinary, can and do experience in every contingency and at each successive intersection of time and eternity.
The telephone bell had started to ring. Should he let it ring or would it be better to answer and let the caller know that Dr. Robert was out for the day? Deciding on the second course, Will lifted the receiver.
"Dr. MacPhail's bungalow," he said, in a parody of secretarial efficiency. "But the doctor is out for the day."
" Tant mieux" said the rich royal voice at the other end of the wire. "How are you, mon cher Farnaby?"
Taken aback, Will stammered out his thanks for Her Highness' gracious enquiry.
"So they took you," said the Rani, "to see one of their so-called initiations yesterday afternoon."
Will had recovered sufficiently from his surprise to respond with a neutral word and in the most noncommittal of tones. "It was most remarkable," he said.
"Remarkable," said the Rani, dwelling emphatically on the spoken equivalents of pejorative and laudatory capital letters, "but only as the Blasphemous Caricature of true Initiation. They've never learned to make the elementary distinction between the Natural Order and the Supernatural."
"Quite," Will murmured. "Quite . . ."
"What did you say?" the voice at the other end of the line demanded.
"Quite," Will repeated more loudly.
"I'm glad you agree. But I didn't call you," the Rani went on, "to discuss the difference between the Natural and the Supernatural-Supremely Important as that difference is. No, I called you about a more urgent matter."
"Oil?"
"Oil," she confirmed. "I've just received a very disquieting communication from my Personal Representative in Rendang. Very Highly Placed," she added parenthetically, "and invariably Well Informed."
Will found himself wondering which of all those sleek and much bemedaled guests at the Foreign Office cocktail party had double-crossed his fellow double-crossers-himself, of course, included.
"Within the last few days," the Rani went on, "representatives of no less than three Major Oil Companies, European and American, have flown into Rendang-Lobo. My informant tells me that they're already working on the four or five Key Figures in the Administration who might, at some future date, be influential in deciding who is to get the concession for Pala."
Will clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
Considerable sums, she hinted, had been, if not directly offered, at least named and temptingly dangled.
"Nefarious," he commented.
Nefarious, the Rani agreed, was the word. And that was why Something must be Done About It, and Done Immediately. From Bahu she had learned that Will had already written to Lord Aldehyde, and within a few days a reply would doubtless be forthcoming. But a few days were too long. Time was of the essence-not only because of what those rival companies were up to, but also (and the Rani lowered her voice mysteriously) for Other Reasons. "Now, now!" her Little Voice kept exhorting. "Now, without delay!" Lord Aldehyde must be informed by cable of what was happening (the faithful Bahu, she added parenthetically, had offered to transmit the message in code by way of the Rendang Legation in London) and along with the information must go an urgent request that he empower his Special Correspondent to take such steps-at this stage the appropriate steps would be predominantly of a financial nature-as might be necessary to secure the triumph of their Common Cause.
"So with your permission," the voice concluded, "I'll tell Bahu to send the cable immediately. In our joint names, Mr. Farnaby, yours and Mine. I hope, mon cher, that this will be agreeable to you."
It wasn't at all agreeable, but there seemed to be no excuse, seeing that he had already written that letter to Joe Aldehyde, for demurring. And so, "Yes, of course," he cried with a show of enthusiasm belied by his long dubious pause, before the words were uttered, in search of an alternative answer. "We ought to get the reply sometime tomorrow," he added.
"We shall get it tonight," the Rani assured him.
"Is that possible?"
"With God" {con espressione) "all things are possible."
"Quite," he said, "quite. But still . . ."
"I go by what my Little Voice tells me. 'Tonight,' it's saying. And 'he will give Mr. Farnaby carte blanche'-carte blanche," she repeated with gusto. " 'And Farnaby will be completely successful.' "
"I wonder?" he said doubtfully.
"You must be successful."
"Must be?"
"Must be," she insisted.
"Why?"
"Because it was God who inspired me to launch the Crusade of the Spirit."
"I don't quite get the connection."
"Perhaps I oughtn't to tell you," she said. Then, after a moment of silence, "But after all, why not? If Our Cause triumphs, Lord Aldehyde has promised to back the Crusade with all his resources. And since God wants the Crusade to succeed, Our Cause cannot fail to triumph."
"Q.E.D.," he wanted to shout, but restrained himself. It wouldn't be polite. And anyhow this was no joking matter.
"Well, I must call Bahu," said the Rani. "A bientot, my dear Farnaby." And she rang off.
Shrugging his shoulders, Will turned back to the Notes on What's What. What else was there to do?
Dualism . . . Without it there can hardly be good literature. With it, there most certainly can be no good life.
"I" affirms a separate and abiding me-substance; "am" denies the fact that all existence is relationship and change. "I am." Two tiny words, but what an enormity of untruth! The religiously-minded dualist calls homemade spirits from the vasty deep; the nondualist calls the vasty deep into his spirit or, to be more accurate, he finds that the vasty deep is already there.
There was the noise of an approaching car, then silence as the motor was turned off, then the slamming of a door and the sound of footsteps on gravel, on the steps of the veranda.
"Are you ready?" called Vijaya's deep voice.
Will put down the Notes on What's What, picked up his bamboo staff, and hoisting himself to his feet, walked to the front door.