Читать книгу The Little Book of Demons - Ramsey Dukes - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

HOW SHOULD I ADDRESS DEMONS?

The last example of the previous chapter expanded the field of enquiry dramatically, and introduced a new problem.

Until then, I seemed to be simply advocating talking to something—car, copier, cat, plant or whatever. Though revolutionary in concept, as I explained, it is hardly revolutionary in practice because it comes so naturally. Many more people talk to objects than would admit it—”Hurry up, you silly thing!” says the secretary as she stands fretting by the office printer.

But when I suggest talking to a complex comprising discrete phenomena—like a run of bad luck— and naming it a demon, then we are moving up a gear. How the hell does one talk to a run of bad luck? Let us begin with an illustration.

ILLUSTRATION – A YOUNG MAN WITH A PROBLEM

A bright young man has just left Oxford with a good degree and track record for enterprising extra curricular activities, and he needs to get a job.

He’s got used to a Summer vacation, so puts off thinking about the problem until September. Then he thinks about it.

After a couple of weeks thinking he discusses it with someone who suggests looking in the Guardian job adverts. So he buys the paper every day and studies the ads.

The jobs all sound so boring that he does not reply to any of them. After three weeks he hears that several of his old friends are being interviewed for jobs and panic sets in. He studies the next Guardian very thoroughly and decides that one of the jobs doesn’t sound too awful and might be worth considering. So he considers it for a week or two, discusses it with friends and family, looks up the company’s website and imagines what it would be like working there. In the third week he prepares a very careful application letter in great detail, re-wring it several times to get it perfect, then keeping it and re-reading it for a few more days before sending it off.

He is told that the position has already been filled. This precipitates a mild depression and it is a week before he looks at adverts again, and now they look as dull as ever but he makes a couple of desultory applications, trying now to sound as dull as the positions advertised. Then a fellow graduate who has just got his first job on a mouth-watering initial salary tells him he has nothing to worry about “I only got this job after I’d applied for hundreds of posts—you’ve got to keep applying—ten, twenty letters a day!”

This launches a period of frantic activity and hundreds of applications. After a few weeks he gets his first positive response, but cannot now find the advert among the mountains of old clippings, cannot remember anything about the company nor why he applied. He could look for a website, but his computer is on the blink after all that frantic work, so a few days pass and he feels a bit stupid and decides it is too late to respond, so tears up the letter. This has, however encouraged him to go on applying in a more positive spirit.

Mother is getting worried for him as he is spending more and more time brooding in his room, and suggests he ought to ask Uncle Ronald—a very successful businessman, but one whom our hero considers to be a ghastly prat—so he does nothing about it until mother invites Uncle to dinner. Uncle Ronald fixes an interview with a senior director, but the interview is a disaster because the man seems like just another ghastly prat and our hero responds by going moody. He doesn’t get the job and Uncle Ronald is embarrassed, but Mother is very sympathetic.

Stop, gentle reader, at this point and answer this simple question: will you come to the rescue and offer this bright young man a job?

Really? Why not? He’s had rotten luck and surely deserves a break!

The first thing to demonstrate is that one’s demons can be much more easily detected by other people. The answer I am hoping for is that you would not give him a job because he “clearly has a problem”— in the sense that he owns or is part of the problem himself.

But if we try pointing this out to him he might well protest, insisting that it wasn’t his fault he’d run out of stamps that day and the post office had early closing, that his computer went on the blink, that he’d applied for so many jobs that he got the people’s names muddled and said the wrong thing etc. etc.. All these failures are quite unconnected and surely could have happened to anyone....

Despite all these protestations we are left with a feeling that he is not really trying, that he is somehow pretending to himself that he is searching for work.

OK, so he now admits he has a problem, but externalises it: maybe by calling it “a run of bad luck”, or himself being “a victim of our corrupt capitalist system” or “typical inverted snobbery against Oxbridge graduates”. If he does come to own the problem it amounts to total identification with it: “I’m just a loser, I haven’t got a chance”.

As independent witnesses, however, we recognise that he is part of the problem but is not identical to it. Being aware of a problem does help distinguish oneself from it, so we might decide it is his “attitude” or his “commitment” that is at fault.

But what I am now suggesting is that he should externalise the problem in a different way, by calling it a demon. This guy has a demon that is persuading him he ought to get a job while sabotaging his efforts. The demon has occupied the space between desiring employment and failing to get it, and is quite comfortable in that niche. If our hero were to get a job, that space would close up and the demon would have to go or else adapt—maybe making him dissatisfied with the job he now has. So it is in the demon’s interest to keep him failing to get work. Equally, the gap would close if he were to give up wanting a job, so the demon wants to keep him trying.

This illustrates the fact that demons usually like to be left alone in their niche. The best option for this demon is that the hero just keeps trying and keeps failing, but it is not that simple. Our hero is a human intelligence that detects patterns and needs the stimulus of new approaches from time to time and this tends to raise the stakes. So, the way things are going, he might take to drugs to relieve the pain of not getting a job, and the resulting changes to his character make him even less employable. Then there is the possibility of suicide attempts, and maybe turning to crime.

If the demon wants to be left alone, the first problem will be how to convince our hero that there really is a demon. This is why he either projects the problem out by saying that he is simply unlucky, or a victim of society, or else totally takes over the problem by saying he’s a no-good loser. Whereas I say that he has a demon—a third thing that is neither fully out there nor fully him. The situation is summarised in this diagram—a whole host of “simple explanations” lie out there trying to tempt us away from the central realisation that he has a demon.

“Tempt us away”? that’s a curious way to put it —but it reflects the fact that all those other simple explanations are themselves just demons trying to attract our attention—an important extension of the argument but one that we put aside for the time being and will return to later.

So the next problem is to resist our own rationalising habits described in the introduction—the tendency encouraged by our religious and scientific culture to analyse and dissect rather than to personify. The questions it raises are along these lines: “but what exactly is this demon? Is it a problem in society or is it an unconscious complex?”. Is he not getting a job because he is a personification of youthful rebellion, a principle that could actually regenerate some hidebound organisation were it not for the fact that the establishment resists change and will refuse such people a job rather than accept the challenge of employing them? Or is he a mummy’s boy who doesn’t want to leave home but makes feeble little efforts in order to win mummy’s approval, while failing in order to qualify for her protection?

Stop it! I say. The answer to these questions does not matter. Don’t dissect the demon, speak to it. There are many other approaches to the problem that involve analysis at this stage, but I am describing a particular one that requires the problem to be addressed in its own right. At this stage it is actually better to picture the demon as a little horned being lurking behind our hero and ready to leap out and pitchfork his prospects, than it is to attempt to explain it away.

Instead of analysing the demon we analyse its relationship with our hero. This is how the personifying approach handles the logical dilemma of something that is “neither fully out there nor fully him”, it does so by projecting the demon out there while allowing it to be in personal relationship with him. The demon is seen as his partner—that is how it is neither fully out there nor fully him.

Partnership is not one-sided, it is not a victim state. Realising that fact provides the key to working with the demon. It can only have power over your life because it has paid for that power. The demon is providing some sort of service.

Demonic services can be broken into two categories—providing pleasure and avoiding pain. Better to avoid the loaded words “pleasure” and “pain” and simply say that demonic services are based upon feeding and avoiding.

In this case the demon is helping him to avoid change, avoid having to give up time to work, avoid having to commit to a career amongst others. It is feeding his sense of being a victim, a tragic hero, of being “too clever” or of being a failure. We don’t yet know which are the crucial exchanges in this case, but this is where we will start searching.

But it is also where we have to get ready to abandon our hero. Because the relationship with a demon is intensely personal in detail—only he can sort it out, not us, and there is no ultimate formula beyond this point.

So what does he actually do? that’s the question which arises again and again, but all I can reliably answer is “personify the problem: treat it as an equal, an intelligent, aware being until evidence consistently proves otherwise”.

Unless the person is exceptionally gifted, or unlucky, he won’t actually see the demon and hear its voice. He can speak to it—out loud is good, provided no-one else is around to make it embarrassing!

The answers can come in various ways, but it is worth remembering that demons usually prefer to hide. We are dealing with something akin to a wild person or animal that runs away when we actually address it.

So what would you do with a wild creature? You would stalk it, follow its tracks and be subtle.

The tracks of a demon can show in various ways. One we have already seen—in this case it was a string of missed job opportunities. Often the demon manipulates us through feelings: feelings so familiar as to be almost invisible. So I would advise our hero to look closely at his feeling reactions to certain aspects of his failed job hunt.

When one of his carefully worded job applications is met with a crude rejection, or even totally ignored, what does he feel? Anger? Where does that anger go? Inwards? Outwards? Is it dissipated or stored? Where is it dissipated or stored?

How also does he feel when an application is turned down, but in a really sympathetic and humane way—maybe with a genuine-sounding regret that the post has already been filled and “may we keep your details on file in case another vacancy arises”? Does he still feel angry in that case? or does he feel a subtle sense of relief? That would be a clue!

When his father asks how the job hunt is going, how does he feel? Does he relish telling father how it has failed? Is there a hint of “you smug smartiboots bastard—look what a fucking failure your son has turned out to be!” in his response? That too would be a clue.

A letter comes back from a company—don’t rush to open it, hold it in your hand trying to sense what it will say, and trying to anticipate what you really want it to say, and how you will react to it.

I say it again—we can go no further at this point because the relationship is a personal one—and that is what makes it so meaningful to him and so arbitrary to us. So we must leave him at this point and return to general comment on how to handle demons.

DEMON? WHAT DEMON?

In the above example, it was suggested that the hero might well resist the idea that he has a demon, and insist on another explanation. We need to explore that possibility further.

In the diagram are several alternative explanations. Taking a couple that lie quite close to each other:

• I’m not getting a job because the work ethic is a corrupt system designed to crush those at a disadvantage.

• I’m not getting a job because I’m too clever and that scares those ignorant bastards who post recruitment ads.

Ideas like that can be quite addictive: the more you believe them, the more evidence you find to confirm their truth. If our hero ignores my advice and opts for explanations like that, it could be his undoing, but it also could work very well. He might, for example, build up such a level of protest that he is driven to express it in violent punk music, or to write a scathing first novel.

Even the most negative ideas on the diagram can lead to success in their own terms. For example: “the reason I can’t get a job is that I’m just a fucking loser” could lead to a downward spiral towards self immolation and suicide that looks from the outside like an outright failure but is actually a superb victory over pompous attitudes in an arrogant, self righteous family—”get them where it really hurts” stuff.

Either way, a tempting thought grows into an addiction where it can lead to ruin or it can lead to triumph. More properly, as we shall see, it can lead to both. The loser gets revenge on his proud father, but sacrifices his life. The protest singer soars to fame, but will be particularly vulnerable to the other temptations of that lifestyle—including drugs.

So you don’t have to follow my advice in order to succeed. Does this weaken my case? Does it mean that demonising is just an alternative psychological trick to solve problems?

My answer is instead to extend the principle from therapeutic technique to broad life principle, by claiming that all those alternative explanations are simply demons in their own right. That is what makes them so addictive. We do not see them as demons, we insist that “I’m a loser” is just an explanation, rather than a parasitic life-form that is seeking a niche in the ecology of our minds. As a result “I’m a loser” gets a foothold, becomes a demonic partner to us and begins to manipulate our behaviour to confirm its validity and strengthen its hold. This is an example of a demon preferring not to be recognised and named, and thus it can grow without interference.

So the analysis has shifted. Instead of a choice between demons or not demons, I present a choice between two sorts of demonic pact. In one case we name, shame and co-operate. In the other we deny and are taken over.

Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that.

TOUGH AND TENDER APPROACHES

If I said to our hero “you have a demon” he might reply “don’t be soppy, it’s just a run of bad luck” or “just the fault of the narrow minded British approach to work” or whatever. Many people would say this reply is being “tough-minded” or “hard-headed” relative to my approach.

There is something in that. Working with demons can be a bit like Alice Through The Looking Glass— a topsy turvy world where you sometimes make better progress by walking backwards. Politicians are very aware of this and often say the exact opposite to the truth, and it is a very effective technique. In this example, people who go along with the herd and meekly bow to establishment values by insisting “it’s just coincidence” or “the government’s fault” are called “tough-minded”, while those who champion a revolutionary diagnostic technique are called “soppy”. Fair enough. It’s no worse than insisting that people are being tough when in reality they are so feeble that they pine for “strong leaders”.

Nowadays you follow the herd by denying that demons exist. In religious times, like the Middle Ages, you did it by insisting that demons are evil. In either case it is forbidden to make a pact with them. The following is an extract from The Grimoire of Pope Honorius⁴, a medieval book on demonic magic, and gives an idea of their approach to the subject.

“I .... conjure thee Spirit ...., by the Living God, by the true God, by the blessed and omnipotent God... etc. etc.

In the Name of Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Sacraments and the Eucharist...” etc. etc. for another 6 lines.

I conjure thee into this circle, O accursed Spirit, by thy judgement, thou who hast dared to disobey God. I exorcise thee, Serpent, and I order thee to appear immediately in human form, well shaped in body and soul, and to comply with my commands without deception of whatsoever kind, and without either mental reservation: and this by the great names of God ...” etc. etc. for another 7 lines

I conjure thee, O evil and accursed Serpent, to appear at my wish and pleasure, in this place and before this Circle, immediately, alone and without any companion, without any ill-will, delay, noise, deformity or evasion. I exorcise the by the ineffable names of God ...” etc. etc. ad nauseam...

The whole thing reads very much in the style of a heavy handed legal summons or warrant for arrest, and is a far cry from the tender negotiations I am recommending. The fact is that there are other approaches than the one I recommend, but they are more risky.

In the example given earlier, I suggested that the hero might deny that he has a demon, insist that his failure is the fault of society, and get so worked up about the idea that it leads to a brilliant career as a revolutionary rock singer. Although this looks like a denial of the demonic diagnosis, it actually confirms it, by suggesting that the notion “society is at fault” is itself a demon that has taken him over and used him as a vector for spreading its message into the youth culture.

As an alternative way of working with demons it has definite advantages. Following my prescription he might overcome his resistance to work and end up with a safe job in Dad’s firm. The other way he becomes a folk hero. I know which I would prefer.

The problem is that, the way he did it, he denied the existence of the demon and so became its vehicle. Great benefits could result, but the position is very dangerous because people who succeed because of being driven by a demon are people who have made a career out of addiction and are therefore very vulnerable to the addictive qualities of success itself.

If instead he had realised he had a demon in the form of deep contempt for certain elements in our society, and he had made a more conscious pact with that demon by allowing it to drive him to the top, then he would have a greater chance of handling the situation when he became a teen idol. It is still a risky choice, because the better you control a demon, the less powerful it is. The more you allow it to control you—for example by insisting there is no demon, the more freedom it has to grow.

I associate this division between tough and tender demonic contracts with the right/left division in politics. Consider this: what does a politician do with its criminal or unpopular elements?

The left wing approach is to communicate with them and try to assimilate them back into society: a murderer who genuinely repents and wishes to make amends is not just another honest citizen, he is an honest citizen with extra insight into the mind of the murderer and can therefore make an even bigger contribution to our society.

The right wing approach is to punish them, alienate them in order to make them strong and to use their strength. This is typified by Adolph Hitler’s approach: put your thugs into uniforms and use them to increase your political power. Or by Margaret Thatcher’s approach: the more underdogs become re-classified as criminals, the more the middle classes will be terrified into voting for her government.

The right wing approach is certainly effective, but the trouble is that it depends upon increasing the strength of the demons and you can end up with a demon too strong to handle.

We are talking about two different forms of demonisation. My type of demonisation begins with a recognition that demons exist, and then studies how best to handle them. The other approach is to deny that there is any such thing as a demon, then to give some problem all the supposed characteristics of a demon—evil cunning, base motives, social outcasting etc..

In these terms, the Tory government gained a brief electoral rush in the 1980s by blaming the ills of society on feckless single mothers and the resulting demonisation lead to even more marriage breakdowns and eventually enough single mothers to provide a significant addition to the ranks of opposition voters. The result was that not only were more of these feckless women liberated from their feckless husbands, they were eventually also liberated from Tory governance.

THE BASIC RULE

In conclusion: in this book I am mostly advocating a left-wing, co-operative handling of demons, but I will also keep my sights on the right-wing combatitive approach as I recognise and respect its potency—after all, if the socialist re-assimilation of criminal elements was taken to its logical conclusion there would be nothing worth watching on television any more.

I suspect that the best relationship with demons involves a combination of both approaches, one that must be discovered and developed by the readers themselves.

And that brings us back to the basic rule underlying all approaches to demons: resist the continuous temptation to look for rules and laws; return always to the present situation and empathise.

After reading the last section, many people will habitually form questions such as: “When do you recommend the tough approach, and when is the tender approach better?”

To this I say: consider that baby who has just started exploring the difference between a spoon that falls to the floor every time it is dropped and a mother that usually picks it up immediately but sometimes refuses or waits. Were the baby able to talk, it might well pose questions to me such as: “How often does she pick it up before she starts refusing?” Crude formulaic answers to that question may provide some immediate satisfaction but eventually numb the sensibilities. Better that the baby returns to the reality of the moment (a reality embracing the weather, the emotional atmosphere, the feng shui of the surroundings, the sense of hurry or relaxation, the baby’s own mood and behaviour and the shadows of the recent past) and then asks itself: “how many more spoon droppings would I tolerate if I were her?” It isn’t science, but it does foster wisdom.

To help underline this lesson—a lesson that will be much easier for some people than others—I will now pose a problem as follows. Let us say you have read thus far, considered your situation, located a demon and started to approach it from the tender way, but it turns tough on you. Or vice versa: you get tough with your demon and it goes all tender and reconciliatory on you. The question is this: “Does this disprove my analysis into tough and tender approaches? If not, then what has gone wrong?

While you are considering this problem, I will expand on the distinction I am making.

As explained in the introduction, this is not one of those Seven Simple Laws of Total Mastery type books, because it only has one recipe in it, namely “empathise and explore”. And yet I do suggest certain guidelines along the way – such as the distinction between tough and tender approaches. These are, however, not laws, algorithms or formulae, but simply guidelines, and must be recognised as such.

Compare them with signposts. If you are in Cheltenham and you take the road signposted to Stroud as if it was a formula for Stroudness, then you will be quite upset after ten minutes when you find yourself not in Stroud but a place called Brockworth. Don’t give up. Trust me. But when after a further fifteen minutes you are now in a place called Pain-swick—no more Stroudlike than either Brockworth or Cheltenham—then you will probably decide the signpost was ‘false’ and give up. Guidelines, like signposts, are not laws or formula that are liable to such objective testing, they are always dominated by the reality of the situation in all its objective and subjective aspects.

So, back to that problem. You have happily accepted my analysis into tough and tender approaches, you have located a demon and begun the most tender reconciliatory approach to it, and it has turned into a snarling monster. What has gone wrong?

It’s so obvious.

Think!

All that has happened is this: the demon has been reading this book too. Over your shoulder.

Put yourself in its position. You are like a long-term marriage partner. No matter whether the marriage has been comfortable or unhappy, how do you react when you find your partner reading a book about how to improve their relationships. Does it mean they are not happy with this relationship? Or that they are wanting other relationships? Maybe you welcome this attention to the relationship, but shouldn’t they have told you they wanted to explore further before making a unilateral decision to buy this book?

And so on. Simply by reading this book you have added a new factor to your relationships with demons, and that in itself will undermine any rigid formulae I might have chosen to provide in this book.

The tough/tender distinction is still valid, and will prove its value in the longer term. But apply it only with awareness and understanding of the actual situation as an ongoing, developing whole.