Views from theReal World
Views from the Real WorldPage 3Glimpses of Truth written by one of Gurdjieff's circle in MoscowStrange events, incomprehensible from the ordinary point of view,have guided my life. I mean those events which influence a man'sinner life, radically changing its direction and aim and creatingnew epochs in it. I call them incomprehensible because theirconnection was clear only to me. It was as though some invisibleperson, in pursuit of a definite aim, had placed in the path of mylife circumstances which, at the very moment of my need, I foundthere as if by chance. Guided by such events, I becameaccustomed from my early years to look with great penetrationinto the circumstances surrounding me and to try to grasp theprinciple connecting them, and to find in their interrelations abroader, more complete explanation. I must say that in everyexterior result it was the hidden cause evoking it that interestedme most.One day in the course of my life, in this same apparently strangeway, I found myself face to face with occultism, and becameinterested in it as though in a deep and harmonious philosophicalsystem. But at the very moment when I had reached somethingmore than mere interest, I again lost, as suddenly as I had foundit, the possibility of proceeding with its systematic study. In otherwords, I was thrown entirely onmy own resources. This loss seemed a senseless failure, but Ilater recognized in it a necessary stage in the course of my lifeand one full of deep meaning. This recognition came only muchlater, however. I did not deviate but went forward on my ownresponsibility and at my own risk. Insuperable obstaclesconfronted me, forcing me to retreat. Vast horizons opened to myvision and as I hastened forward I often slipped or becameentangled. Losing, as it seemed, what I had discovered, Iremained wandering round on the same spot, as thoughfogbound. In searching I made many efforts and did apparentlyuseless work, rewarded inadequately by results. Today, I see thatno effort went unrewarded and that every mistake served to guideme toward the truth.Page 4.I plunged into the study of occult literature, and without exaggerationcan say that I not only read but mastered patiently andperseveringly the greater part of the available material, trying tograsp the sense and to understand what was hidden between thelines. All this only served to convince me that I would neversucceed in finding what I sought in books: though I glimpsed theoutlines of a majestic structure, I could not see it clearly anddistinctly.I searched for those who might have interests in common with me.Some seemed to have found something, but on closerexamination I saw that they, like myself, were groping in the dark.I still hoped in the end to find what I needed; I looked for a living
man, able to give me more than I could find in a book.Perseveringly and obstinately I sought and, after each failure,hope revived again and led me to a new search. With this in view Ivisited Egypt, India and other countries. Among thoseencountered were many which left no trace, but some were ofgreat importance.Several years passed; among my acquaintances I counted someto whom, by the community of our interests, I was bound moredurably. One in close touch with me was a certain A. The two ofus had spent not a few sleepless nights, racking our brains overseveral passages in a book we did not understandPage 5
Glimpses of Truth
and searching for appropriate explanations. In this way we hadcome to know each other intimately.But during the last six months I had begun to notice, first at rareintervals, and then more frequently, something odd about him. Itwas not that he had turned his back on me, but he had seemed togrow cooler toward the search, which had not ceased to be vital tome. At the same time I saw he had not forgotten it. He oftenexpressed thoughts and made comments which became fullycomprehensible only after long reflection. I remarked on it morethan once, but he always skillfully avoided conversations on thissubject.I must confess that this growing indifference of A., who had beenthe constant companion of my work, led to gloomy reflections.Once I spoke to him openly about it-I scarcely remember in whichway."Who told you," objected A., "that I am deserting you? Wait a littleand you will see clearly that you are mistaken."But for some reason neither these remarks, nor some otherswhich at the time seemed strange to me, caught my interest.Perhaps because I was occupied in reconciling myself to the ideaof my complete isolation.So it continued. It is only now that I see how, in spite of anapparent capacity for observation and analysis, I overlooked themain factor, continually before my eyes, in a way which wasunpardonable. But let the facts speak for themselves.One day about the middle of November, I spent the evening with afriend of mine. The conversation was on a subject of little interestto me. During a pause in the talk, my host said, "By the way,knowing your partiality for occultism I think an item in today'sGolos Moskvi The Voice of Moscow would interest you." And hepointed out an article headed "Round about the Theatre."It spoke, giving a brief summary, about the scenario of a medievalmystery, The Struggle of the Magicians: a ballet written by G. I.Gurdjieff, an orientalist who was well-known inPage 6Moscow. The mention of occultism, the title itself and the contents
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