Shadia S. Fahim - Doris Lessing - Sufi Equilibrium and The Form of The Novel-Palgrave Macmillan (1994)

Doris Lessing
Sufi Equilibrium and the Form of the Novel
Shadia S. Fahim
DORIS LESSING
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Doris Lessing
Sufi Equilibrium and the Form
of the Novel
Shadia S. Fahim
Lecturer in English Literature and Language
Ain-Shams University, Cairo
M
St. Martin's Press
© Shadia S. Fahim 1994
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First published in Great Britain 1994 by

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First published in the United States of America 1994 by

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ISBN 0-312-10293-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Fahim, Shadia S.
Doris Lessing : Sufi equilibrium and the form of the novel /
Shadia S. Fahim.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references (p.) and index.
ISBN 0-312-10293-3
1. Lessing, Doris May, 1919- —Criticism and interpretation.
2. Sufi literature—History and criticism. 3. Sufism in literature.
4. Fiction—Technique. 5. Literary form. I. Title.
PR6023.E833Z64 1994
823'.914—dc20 93-25162
CIP
To my husband and children, Amir and Engy
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Contents
Preface viii
Acknowledgements X
Introduction 1
1 The Grass is Singing 19
2 The Golden Notebook 51
3 The Memoirs of a Survivor 85
4 The Science Fiction Series 136
5 Conclusion 235
Notes 240
Select Bibliography 269
Index 277
Vll
Preface
Doris Lessing was acknowledged from the very beginning as a
novelist in the tradition of Classical Realism; hence the surprise of
critics at her development towards mysticism and forms of science
fiction which verge on myth and Oriental fables. The purpose of
this study is to examine the rationale of this development and to
consider the unifying motifs, which provide a coherent shape to her
artistic vision in her consistent search for equilibrium. This study
will follow Lessing's development from her early realistic writing
to her later science fiction series - a period of over thirty years which
encompass the most dramatic changes in her writing career.
The introductory section aims at examining the aesthetic theories
as well as the ideological and philosophical influences that have con-
tributed to Lessing's development, in order to establish a theoretical
framewrork for the study and to stipulate the key motifs studied
thereafter. The division into the four chapters marks the significant
phases of Lessing's development. The four novels selected represent
significant stages in Lessing's work, covering the period from 1950
to the year 1983, which marked the completion of her science fiction
series.
Chapter 1 focuses on The Grass is Singing, which represents the
author's early traditionally realistic writing, in order to evaluate the
achievement of that first novel which proves to be more complex
than is usually supposed. My analysis of this novel will show how
far the preoccupations of Lessing's later novels find expression
in this early work to establish a point of reference for her later
development.
Chapter 2 studies The Golden Notebook, which marks a turning-
point in formal structure in Lessing's canon and is selected as
evidence of her interest in Sufism at that early stage. Critics fre-
quently refer to The Tour-Gated Gity in 1969 as the starting point
of Lessing's interest in Sufi methods of thought. I contend that
such interest is evident since The Golden Notebook in 1962 and that
it is crucial in understanding the complexity of the inner action and
sheds light on the statement it makes through the form.
Chapter 3 concentrates on the study of The Memoirs of a Survivor,
which has elicited a comparatively limited amount of criticism
vm
Preface IX
but which proves to be a major achievement. The Memoirs of a

Survivor epitomizes the quest for equilibrium and raises the issue
of reconciling two apparently incompatible universes - the realistic
and the fantastic. This issue becomes problematic in the terms of
literary criticism but reveals further significance when brought into
line with Sufi methods of writing. Sources from Sufi theories of
literature will serve as points of reference in my analysis of that
domain to set a polemic against a widespread misunderstanding of
the novel.
Chapter 4 considers Lessing's science fiction series, 'Canopus in
Argos', with special reference to the first volume, Re: Colonized
Planet 5 Shikasta. In this chapter, the relevance of the science fiction
genre to the theme of equilibrium is studied in the light of the tale-
within-tale technique of the oriental fables, since the series derive
its title from Bidpai's fables The Lights of Canopus. Later on in the
chapter I concentrate on Shikasta, in order to illustrate how the theme
of equilibrium develops in relation to the narrative technique. This
involves the reader's activity in reading and signifies the author's
development towards more modern modes of writing.
This study charts and discusses Doris Lessing's development in
the context of Eastern as well as Western modes that have influenced
her work, since the interaction between the two is illuminating
in understanding her ceuvre and helps to explain many areas of
misunderstanding in her canon.
Acknowledgements
The author and publishers are grateful to the following for per-
mission to quote copyright material: Excerpts from The Grass is
Singing © Doris Lessing 1950,1978 are reprinted by kind permission
of HarperCollins Publishers. Excerpts from Re: Colonised Planet 5
Shikasta © Doris Lessing 1979 are reprinted by kind permission of
Jonathan Cape Ltd and Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Excerpts from The
Memoirs of a Survivor by Doris Lessing appear by kind permission
from The Octagon Press Ltd, London. Excerpts from The Sufis by
Idries Shah are reprinted by kind permission of The Octagon Press
Ltd, London. Excerpts from Sufi Expressions of the Mystic Quest by
Laleh Bakhtiar are reprinted by kind permission of Thames and
Hudson Ltd. Excerpts from The Golden Notebook © Doris Lessing
1962, and The Grass is Singing © Doris Lessing 1950 are repro-
duced by kind permission of Michael Joseph Ltd and Simon &
Schuster Ltd.
x
Introduction
Doris Lessing, born in 1919 in Kermansha, Persia, and brought
up in Southern Rhodesia from the age of six, moved to London
in 1949 where she has lived ever since. Her novels encompass a
wide range, from the political and social issues of colonialism and
Communism to psychological depths and mystical heights. The fact
that her narrative techniques correspondingly encompass realistic
modes as well as speculative and mythic techniques has caused
a division in the critical response to her canon. Those who had
approved of her allegiance in her early novels to the realism of
left-wing writing were unable to appreciate the spiritual dimension
in her later writing and overlooked its presence in her early novels. 1
This explains, for example, Michael Magie's reference to her early
novels as 'not only powerful, but true', and to her later novels as
'our best examples of decadent fiction'.2
On the other hand, critics who hand laurels to Lessing on grounds
of her prophetic mystical power 3 overlook the political issues and
the interaction between the individual and the collective which
are of central importance in the later as well as the early nov-
els.
Such one-dimensional critical approaches fail to perceive the
steady growth of her aesthetic vision and the line of connection
between her early and later novels. Rather than isolating her Marxist
phase, her psychological novels or her Sufi-influenced fiction, I con-
tend that at the core of these seemingly incompatible philosophies
there are motifs that complement each other and which Doris
Lessing endorses and develops in all her novels. While the focus
of a particular novel may appear to be political, social, psycho-
logical, feminist or mythic, the common denominator in Lessing's
fictional world is the question of finding 'the right path for moral
equilibrium' 4 within the individual - through motifs of descent and
ascent - and between the individual and society - through motifs
of return. These motifs cut across and bring together a spectrum of
entrances into Lessing's novels, and may be further traced in the
philosophies which have influenced her creative imagination. These
ideological and philosophical influences will serve as a theoretical
framework within which I shall explore the theme of equilibrium
1
2 Introduction
of my title and will help me establish points of reference for the key
motifs referred to here.
Since writing her early novels, Lessing has been consciously
concerned not with political solutions to social problems, but with
understanding the relationship between the public and private
conscience, for she believes that the hope for man lies in the
balance between his private and social selves. In A Small Personal
Voice', Lessing's earliest statement of her artistic intention, she
acknowledges this balance as her central concern:
It is a balance which must be continuously tested and

reaffirmed . . . The point of rest should be the writer's
recognition of man, the responsible individual, voluntarily
submitting his will to the collective, but never finally; and
insisting on making his own personal and private judgements
before every act of submission. 5
In 1957, she referred to this conflict between the individual and the
collective as the central issue of her early Children of Violence
series, 6 and in an interview in 1980 she reaffirmed that that concern
resonates in all her fiction, despite the critics' tendency to divide
it into phases. 7 The search for a means to fulfil the individual's
potential is thus at the core of Lessing's interest since the outset
of her career. It forms the dynamic impulse in her canon and serves
as the common denominator in her allegiance to the thought of
Marxism, the psychology of Jung and Laing as well as the modes
of thought of Sufi philosophy. With that in mind, it is possible to see
all the diverse threads coming together for a more comprehensive
understanding.
When Doris Lessing arrived in London from Southern Rhodesia,
four years after the end of the Second World War, she acknowledged
that awareness of the conflict between what is due to the individual
and what to the society is her legacy from a fund of political
and intellectual experience of colonialism and Marxism, which
encompassed 'the great debates of our time'. 8 However, from the
beginning the idiosyncratic nature of her commitment to Com-
munism emerges in her autobiographical statements, her critical
essays and interviews. In her autobiographical book, Going Home,
she explained that she was attracted to the Rhodesian Communists
not because of specific interest in their politics, but because they
confirmed her vision of faith in man and defied the colour-bar. 9 It
Introduction 3
is further significant that she consistently defines Communism in

terms of the individual's importance, seldom discussing it in terms
of class struggle or economic progress:
Communism . . . was a great, marvellous vision which was much

bigger than merely eliminating poverty and redistributing wealth
and that sort of thing. It was a vision of a society where
every individual was immensely important, where there was
no emphasis on colour, class or creed, there was no hurting
each other. Every person had a chance and the right to develop
himself. This was the dream, and it's why people are socialists,
why I was. 10
It is therefore clear that far from totally acquiring the Communist

position, Doris Lessing reworked and qualified its issues. Critics
have referred to her break with the Communist Party in 1957 and
her public criticism of 'smart set socialists' 11 in 1961 as evidence
of her shift away from political and social interests. However, it
is more productive to note that her version of Communism was
from the very start qualified by her interest in the individual
and his potential capacity for conscious development, and that
her concern with political and social problems has not receded
since her breaking with the Communist Party. It is also important
to note that 'the vision of good' in Lessing's novels is not bound
to a pre-settled political ideology as it is in socialist writings. 12 As
early as her first programmatic essay 'A Small Personal Voice', while
arguing for commitment in literature, Lessing defines and modifies
the term:
I was looking for the warmth, the compassion, the humanity, the
love of people which illuminates the literature of the nineteenth
century and which makes all these novels a statement of faith in
man himself . . . This is what I mean when I say that literature
should be committed. It is these qualities which I demand, and
which I believe spring from being committed . . . Not being a
propagandist for any political party, I never have thought so. 13
Lessing's repeated references to the fiction of the nineteenth-

century, the work of Stendhal, Balzac, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and
Chekhov - 'the work of the great realists' - as 'the highest point
of literature', 14 and her interest in furnishing her novels with a
4 Introduction
solid realistic background, gave rise to critical approaches referring

to her as a writer in the tradition approved by Lukacs, and labelling
her as 'the great realist writer of our time'. 15 Since this is likely
to give a misleading view of the nature of Lessing's work in
the later novels, it requires further study here. A close study of
her allegiance to Lukacs reveals affinities with some of Lukacs'
theoretical prepositions but also uncovers points of differences in
that early stage. She shares Lukacs' belief that the true novel should
strive to penetrate deep into 'the view of the world, the ideology or
Weltanschauung',16 for she insisted that her novels would strive 'to
give the ideological "feel" of our century'. 17 In each of her novels
from The Grass is Singing to her later novels including the science
fiction series, Lessing portrays the experience in her novels as a
social journey, reflecting social and political conflicts. Her characters
are individuals who nevertheless represent and embody the general
social laws and historical circumstances of their time. Yet they do
not correspond exclusively to Lukacs' theory that 'Man is zoon
politikon, a social animal', whose 'individual existence cannot be
distinguished from his social and historical environment.' 18 This
'realistic' acceptance of historical determinism is given an optimistic
twist by Lessing's belief in man's capability for psychological and
spiritual evolution, which explains her later interest in R. D. Laing,
Carl Jung and the Sufi teaching. She thus breaks with an idea of
realism that implies the passive observation of an already given
world and transcends Lukacs' problematic dichotomy of realism
representing life as it is and life as it should be.
Realism as defined by Lukacs is 'the understanding and rendering
of reality as it actually is, of the objective totality'. 19 Since the
resources of this convention cannot 'transcend' the experience of
dissolution it may represent, the gap between the ideal and the
practice in socialist realism has proved too great to be bridged. In
that context, the vision of a future formed by a 'potentiality' which
is 'richer than actual life' 20 is self-contradictory within a Marxist
philosophy which asserts that art must be anti-transcendent. But
Doris Lessing believes that the socially committed writer must
also, 'as an architect of the soul', assist us in the crucial 'effort of
imagination' which embraces all of human experience - the vision
and the reality - since 'the artists are the traditional interpreters
of our dreams and nightmares'. 21 She thus defines realism as 'art
which springs so vigorously and naturally from a strongly held,
though not necessarily intellectually defined, view of life that it
Introduction 5
absorbs symbolism'. 22 When asked whether the role of the novelist

'is to show us the world as it is, or the world as it should be, or the
world as it might be', she answers:
Why do you make it 'or, or, or?' It could be 'and, and, and'. You
don't have to have an either/or over this one . . . I don't think
reality is either/or. It is always a question of interaction, and
extremes often interact. 23
Therefore, while her early novels do not fall completely within the
confines of 'realism', her later novels are not a radical shift to fantasy
and speculative fiction. Critics who have depicted The Four- Gated
City and Briefing for a Descent into Hell as evidence of her shift to
the interest in the unconscious and the forms of breakdown over
emphasise her affinities with R. D. Laing and overlook the resonance
of these interests in her early novels. From the very beginning she
has believed that work on the self must not be neglected; neither
must it overwhelm the essential connection to the outer world. As
early as 1957, she affirmed:
We all know there is a terrible gap between the public and the pri-
vate conscience and that until we bridge it we will never be safe
from the murderous madman or the anonymous technician. 24
When critics like Ingrid Holmquist claim that 'Lessing's thinking

has passed into its opposite: from having been what she herself
calls progressive, rational and atheistic, it has become what could
be called regressive, irrational and religious', 25 they fail to connect
her idiosyncratic version of Marxism to her particular interest in
the psycho-politics of Laing, much less to her interest in Jungian
psychology. In view of this diversity, the question arises whether
such an oeuvre has artistic coherence or can be traced back to a
unified philosophy. A closer study reveals that at the root of all
these diverse trends is an interest in the individual and the means
of fulfilling his potential in relation to his community. While that
relationship between the individual and the collective is an element
of the political thought of the Left, in the Marxist tradition, it is also
the basis of Humanistic Psychology as expounded by R. D. Laing
and can be traced further back to the psychology of Carl Jung. 26
They all see the individual alienated from his potential which,
under the given conditions, is not realised. However, there are
6 Introduction
two directions in which these thinkers have looked for a solution.

Marx's approach has as its central issue the belief in the possibility
of a form of social organization in which the full development
of the individual potential can be fulfilled. Marx sees that the
individual's problems will be overcome when the conditions of
his life will allow the complete realisation of man as a social being.
As Marx put it, the solution resides in 'the . . . appropriation of the
human essence . . . as the return of man . . . to himself as a social
[i.e. human] being'. 27 Intrinsically connected with this belief is the
belief in rationality which is highly valued as a weapon in the
struggle for emancipation. The faith in the power of reason as a
means of human liberation has been the basis of humanistic thought
from the Enlightenment 28 to the various forms of Neo-Marxism.
Humanistic psychology, on the other hand, has sought a solution
in the potentiality of the unconscious, which according to it, is not
fulfilled and is the cause of the individual's alienation and sense
of predicament. It is here that we can see the connecting line
and deduce the rationale for Lessing's partial allegiance to these
ideologies. While both have as their driving impulse the search
to fulfil the potential of the individual in relation to society, the
solution offered by each does not suffice exclusively. Doris Lessing
has examined the Marxist argument in that domain and found its
exclusive dependence on collective organization un viable as a solu-
tion. She has therefore invested it with an interest in the individual's
inner realm of consciousness. It is here that the psychological studies
expounded by Jung and Laing are helpful in further understanding
Lessing's novels and shed light on the recurrence of the motif of
descent throughout her fiction.
Jungian concepts of the unconscious and the paradigm of the
one-dimensional Western man - the belief that Western man has
progressed in such a fashion that he has sacrificed his unconscious
domain in order to fulfil his social role 29 •- are central in under-
standing the motif of descent in Lessing's fiction. Lessing was
in direct contact with the ideas of Jung's psychology through a
Jungian analyst and found Jung's paradigm of the psyche more
appealing than that of Freud. Jung is far more optimistic than
Freud in envisioning the possibility that man might again become
an integrated whole. To him, the unconscious is not - as it is to Freud
- merely a domain of repressed desires, but a world that is just as
much a vital part of the individual as the conscious. Furthermore,
whereas for Freud, 'the unconscious is of an exclusively personal
Introduction 7
nature', 3 0 Jung develops the idea of the 'personal unconscious' and

the 'collective unconscious':
In addition to our immediate consciousness, which is of a thor-

oughly personal nature and which we believe to be the only
empirical psyche . . . There exists a second psychic system of
a collective, universal and impersonal nature, which is identical
in all individuals. This collective unconscious does not develop
individually but is inherited. It consists of pre-existent forms, the
archetypes, which can only become conscious secondarily and
which give definite form to certain psychic contents. 31
The reconciliation between the individual and the collective

unconscious is illuminating in understanding the crucial struggle of
Lessing's characters, and explains why she finds Jung's psychology
more appealing than that of Freud.
This process, referred to by Jung as the 'process of individuation',
sheds light on her characters' attempts to achieve balance within the
self and between the individual and the collective. It is the process
through which, in the course of an individual's life, the ego first
consolidates itself by its emancipation from the unconscious and
then reintegrates itself with the unconscious on a higher level to
form the self - 'the centre which should be understood as the
totality of the psyche'. 32 It is the regulating centre that brings about
a constant maturing of personality and can be grasped through the
investigation of one's own dreams. The process of individuation
depends on that balanced development in which the dialectical
mediations between the unconscious and the ego consciousness are
maintained throughout:
The activity of the unconscious [is] a balancing of the one-

sidedness of the general attitude produced by the function of
consciousness . . . the more one-sided the conscious attitude, the
more antagonistic are the contents arising [in dreams] from
the unconscious, so that we may speak of a real opposition
between the two . . . As a rule, the unconscious compensation
does not run counter to consciousness, but is rather a balancing
or supplementing of the conscious orientation. 33
Jung's paradigm of the psyche, the process of individuation,

and the concept of the collective unconscious find resonance in
8 Introduction
Lessing's novels as manifested in the motif of descent. By descent

I therefore mean the psychological descent into the unconscious
to come to terms with its dark dimensions - that part of the
potential unconscious that must be slowly admitted into awareness
if the personality is to achieve integration and balance. The aim
of descent is to face and acknowledge the inner schism in the
individual and collective unconscious as an initial step towards
a healthy and balanced relationship with the community. This
interest is present from the very outset of Lessing's fiction as her
various protagonists examine their realities, beginning with the
outside forces that impinge upon the individual's consciousness
and turning gradually inward in an attempt to understand and
transcend their cultural limitation. In that context, the descent
becomes an imperative for understanding rather than a withdrawal
from commitment and responsibility. Not all the characters achieve
it, but it is a genuine experience towards which they all strive and
its absence is poignantly felt by the characters who fail to attain it.
However, the recurrence of instances of madness and breakdown
in Lessing's novels has aroused misunderstandings regarding the
nature of that experience. Critics have cited recurrent instances of
madness in Lessing's later novels as evidences of a morbid and
unhealthy reaction to modern life, over-emphasizing her increasing
allegiance to the Laingian psychology of schizophrenia. 34 Since
disentangling such misunderstanding sheds further light on the
motif of descent it bears further study here.
Mental breakdown is a recurrent theme in Lessing's fiction.
A great number of her protagonists, as well as secondary and
minor characters, suffer breakdowns. However, this forms only
the negative aspect of the motif of descent we are studying here.
The motif of descent in Lessing's novels can take either a positive
or a negative course, for while some protagonists find their way to
an 'existential rebirth' through a controlled and sometimes guided
descent, others are endangered of losing their way in the maze of
inner chaos. In The Politics of Experience, Laing explains how mental
illness, primarily schizophrenia, may serve as a psychological break-
through since it could lead to a healing journey through '"inner"
space', 3 5 but he also warns of the dangers of the experience 36 and
the equally dangerous situation of those who are reluctant to take
it. Evidence of such negative mode of descent appears from the
very outset of Lessing's fiction. In her first novel, The Grass is
Singing, Mary Turner's psychic state resembles what Laing calls
Introduction 9
'engulfment' or implosion - different states of lack of equilibrium

or, in Laing's terms, 'ontological insecurity', when the characters
experience themselves constantly threatened and suppressed by the
external world. 37 Her attempt to escape from facing the inner self
- the descent into the unconscious - is equivalent to a complex
manoeuvre which has been described by Laing as 'elusion', a way
of getting round conflict without direct confrontation. 38 The effect
of the positive descent, on the other hand, is to gain psychic strength
and, in Laing's terms, greater 'ontological security'. 39 The characters
who achieve that descent, as will be seen later in the case of Anna
in The Golden Notebook, emerge with a more evenly balanced psyche;
they face and combat the inner chaos and are able to overcome
the contradictions that their own consciousness generates in its
perception of reality. This descent, therefore, becomes a cathartic
and therapeutic motif - a facing of a responsibility rather than
withdrawing from it.
Understood in that context, the recurrent states of psychic break-
down in the novels of Doris Lessing are forms of the descent
which she, like Laing, finds imperative in order to attain a state of
equilibrium rather than 'engulfment'. In an interview in 1980, when
this issue in her novels is described as 'painful', Lessing answered:
This is the sign of our time - to avoid pain, to accept that which
exists, to demand happiness - but we have forgotten that no one
owes us anything and that pain and sacrifice are necessary . . . to
find the right path, for moral equilibrium. 40
It is her persistent search for that path for 'equilibrium' that led
Lessing to explore Jungian and Laingian psychology and further
led her on the path of Sufism. Thus an exclusively Laingian inter-
pretation of her novels would also be restrictive. It is more useful to
look at Lessing's treatment of elements which Laingian psychology
has in common with other mentors acknowledged by her, such as
Jung and Idries Shah. In referring to Laing, Lessing acknowledges
her interest in him as part of a movement in the intellectual climate
of that time:
My view of Laing is that at an appropriate time in Britain, he chal-

lenged certain extreme rigidities in psychiatry with alternative
viewpoints, and made other attitudes than the official one poss-
ible . . . Laing was only part of a much wider movement. 41
10 Introduction
Laing's opinions coincided writh a general disenchantment with

scientific and technological progress and a realization of the limi-
tations of a society based predominantly on the intellect. What
united Lessing and Laing in the 1960s then, was that both were
attempting to engage questions which they found inadequately
resolved both by Marxism and by prevalent intellectual doctrines
about the individual and his milieu. Laing's belief that Western
man is alienated from society and divided in himself and can
only be saved through an inner journey complements concepts
of Jungian psychology and sheds light on the recurrence of the
motif of descent into the unconscious throughout Lessing's fiction.
My analysis of that motif will therefore derive from concepts of
the psyche expounded by Jung and Laing, both of whom are
acknowledged by Lessing as being illuminating in the domain of
psychology.
The psychological descent into the unconscious, however, is not
the end of the process. It is the crucial step which precedes ascent
to a realm of enlightenment. It is in exploring that realm that
Lessing finds Sufi philosophy illuminating. Although Jung refers
to the 'transcendental function' in a brief essay with that title,
Lessing came to find his investigation limited in comparison to
those of Eastern philosophers. Referring to Jung in that context,
she asserts:
I think Jung's views are good as far as they go, but he took them
from Eastern Philosophers who go much further. Ibn El Arabi
and El Ghazali in the [M]iddle [A]ges had more developed
ideas about the 'unconscious', collective or otherwise, than Jung
among others. He was a limited man. But useful as far as he
went. 42
The fact that psychiatry is restricted to the domain of science

limits the work of Laing and Jung in the realm of 'the higher
consciousness'. 43 It is that realm of 'higher consciousness' explored
by Sufi philosophy which I will consider as the motif of ascent. By
the term I therefore mean the ascent to higher levels of perception,
to a transcendental realm referred to by the Sufis as 'tajalli' - a state
'indicating a breakthrough of the limitations of time and space'. 44
While both descent and ascent are modes of inner consciousness,
there is a crucial difference between them. Robert E. Ornstein's
study of the intrinsic differences within that domain is useful here.
Introduction 11
The difference is that between Western psychology and the esoteric

traditions. According to Ornstein:
Both types of psychology begin from common ground and

develop in complementary directions. Both characterize nor-
mal consciousness as selective and restrictive, as a personal
construction. Modern psychology then proceeds to analyse
the accomplishment of this construction . . . The traditional
esoteric psychologists proceed in another direction, to practi-
cal techniques . . . for suspending the normal, analytic, linear
mode . . . then tune the intuitive mode by working in its own
tacit language. 45
The basic tenet of Western psychology, according to Ornstein, is

to revive and control repressed elements buried in the subcon-
scious. These elements, projected in dreams or brought out through
therapy, are generally negative and therefore have to be acknowl-
edged and accepted as part of the total personality in order to restore
the individual's balance. The esoteric traditions, on the other hand,
based on the assumption that man's essence is spiritual, further
believe that there are modes of consciousness essentially 'intuitive'
and that man can transcend the limitation of his understanding by
cultivating and developing these modes. 46 According to the Sufis
this evolution of consciousness can be achieved by activating 'the
latifa' - an 'incipient organ of spiritual perception' to achieve the
state called 'tajalli' in which the individual transcends the limitation
of normal perception. That process is achieved through stages of
contemplation, referred to as 'states and stations', in a conscious
attempt to actualize the perceptions achieved - the aim being to
obtain a vantage point outside the dominant structures of the mind.
Idries Shah 47 further reveals the different ends of psychiatry and
Sufism:
When Western psychologists use, say, Catharsis to explode emo-

tions, or release it, they may apparently fail. If they seem to
succeed, they cannot be said to have done more than make
the patient more socially acceptable. As far as anyone can tell,
he is less troublesome than he was before. This may suit the
present phase of society well enough. It is not enough for the
Sufi, who considers the human being as something which is
'going somewhere', not something which is being kept at, or
12 Introduction
restored to, some sort of a norm assessed by purely logical or

mainly expedient criteria. 48
Thus, whereas psychiatry considers descent into the unconscious

an end in itself, the Sufis consider it an initial step:
It is in this field more than any other that occultists and frag-
mented schools . . . go astray and in the end peter out or merely
become self-propagating systems for the self-struggle, without
the benefit of the experience, the tajalli, which tells them that they
are capable of the development which they seek.49
Thus wThereas psychology's basic tenet is to restore the balance of

the psyche, Sufism aims at balance and evolution. Shah reveals how
the state of 'tajalli' endows the Sufi with 'a dynamic forward move-
ment'. 5 0 It is precisely that aspect of Sufi philosophy - the faith in
the individual's potential for further evolution, 'to serve mankind' -
which particularly attracts Doris Lessing. Lessing comments on this
central premise in Sufism:
Man has the possibility of conscious self-development, becoming

able - with his own efforts and under a certain kind of expert
guidance - to transcend ordinary limitations: This is not for
'kicks' or for self-aggrandizement, but to serve mankind on its
path of planned evolution. 51
Critics have referred to Lessing's later mysticism as evidence of her

retreat from social and rational concerns, indicating her indulgence
in decadent attitudes. In her review of Lessing's later novels,
Hyam Maccoby postulates that 'by adopting a philosophy that
dwarfs the individual', Lessing's later prophetic novels indicate
'the death of the aims of the novel'. 52 I contend that this is not
so. Her mysticism is not a retreat into a mode which is 'regressive,
irrational and religious' 5 3 as In grid Holmquist asserts, but on the
contrary it indicates the seriousness of her commitment, because
it is a means of deepening her understanding of 'the nature of
the world we live in' and strengthening hope in the potential of
the individual 'to serve mankind'. Critics who refer to Lessing's
mysticism as 'the demise of a humanistic point of view', signifying
'the "death" of the individual' 5 4 overlook that basic tenet in Sufi
Introduction 13
philosophy. My analysis of that realm therefore rests centrally on

concepts derived from Sufi philosophy in the hope of clarifying a
wide-spread misunderstanding of her later attitude.
The basic tenet in Sufi philosophy is to achieve an equilibrium
between the rational and non-rational modes of consciousness -
to retrieve the balance of understanding by developing 'intuitive'
modes of consciousness to counterbalance the rational mode. The
Sufis refer to that process as using all organs of perception for a
more comprehensive understanding. In opposing modes of thought
based on intellect therefore, Sufis are not against intellect as such
but against the one-dimensional mode of thought. Shah points out
clearly that fundamental issue of Sufi philosophy:
The Sufis oppose the pure intellectuals and scholastic philoso-

phers partly because they believe that such training of the mind
is obsessive and one-track thinking is bad for that mind and for
all other minds as well. Equally those who think that all that
matters is intuition or asceticism are strongly combatted by Sufic
teaching. Rumi insists upon the balance of all the faculties. 55
It is that balance in perception which is the key to Sufi philoso-

phy. In that context, what is required is not to deny the role of
intellect but to find its proportional place among other faculties to
retrieve the balance of understanding. According to the Sufis, man's
understanding is limited when it is one-dimensional and confined
to intellectual modes of cognition exclusively. That one-dimensional
mode distorts the understanding of reality because it blocks other
modes of consciousness. Sufism offers methods of transcending that
one-dimensional mode of perception. Shah clearly puts this basic
tenet forward:
According to the Sufis, human beings are ordinarily cut off from
Objective Reality, which is the origin of everything. Human
faculties, although perceptive, are limited: like a radio set which
can receive only certain electro-magnetic waves and not other
parts of this band, . . .
The perceived world, again according to this assertion, is
therefore a distortion. The inability to transcend the barrier of
limited senses explains human subjectivity and secondary effects
are usually perceived as primary ones . . .
The Sufis further assert that they can penetrate beyond the
14 Introduction
apparent to the real in this sense, and Sufism is the method or,
rather, provides the methods, for this enterprise. 56
It is precisely that aspect of Sufi philosophy which is most fruit-

ful in analysing Lessing's concept of mysticism. Doris Lessing's
avowed interest in Sufism does not involve theological exegesis. The
basic premise underlying her interest rests in its significant attempt
at widening the perception of reality by endorsing different levels of
cognition to complement and enrich each other. For her the Sufi way
is a source of wisdom that can help people transcend their limited
cognitive capacity as a key to a fuller understanding of reality, hence
giving them the possibility of acting on it more competently. It is
that aspect of the Sufi philosophy which particularly attracts Doris
Lessing.
Lessing's interest in Sufism is evident from the number of articles
she has written on that cult. 57 She found that Sufism comprehends
all her interests and provides satisfying answers to the questions she
had learned to ask of life. Referring to her experience in reading Sufi
philosophy, she asserts:
[F]or people like myself, unable to admire organized religions

of any kind, this philosophy shows where to look for answers
to questions put by society and by experience - questions not
answered by the official surveyors of knowledge, secular or
sacred, 58
Doris Lessing has continued to study and admire Sufism for more
than twenty years now, but her avowed interest in that kind of
mysticism has not put an end to her interest in the individual and
his society, as some critics like Ingrid Holmquist have suggested.
Holmquist argues that:
through her mysticism, Doris Lessing embraces a new form

of collective thinking which would seem to replace socialism.
But in contrast to socialism, the collectivity of mysticism for
Doris Lessing is not combined with an interest in the single
individual. 59
Such an assertion shows a misunderstanding of the later novels

as well as the early ones. For, unlike other mystical philosophies,
Sufism does not hold the concept of the individual's merging into
Introduction 15
the Absolute. Rather, Sufism believes that 'the complete Man . . . is

both a real individuality and also a total part of the essential
unity'. 6 0 Shah describes the state of 'tajalli' as a state in which 'self-
mortification is not permitted'. 61 Reconciliation between the indi-
vidual and the transcendental reality will therefore not be achieved
by the individual's submission and self-denial, but through the full
development of his potential after reconciling his inner schisms:
When apparent opposites are reconciled, the individuality is

not only complete, it also transcends the bounds of ordinary
humanity as we understand them. The individual becomes, as
near as we can state it, immensely powerful. 62
Furthermore, the Sufis regard mystical illumination and the

ecstatic union with the divine as valuable only if they result in
a change in the individual which will make him a more useful
member of the community. Shah explains this as the crucial dif-
ference between Sufism and other mystical cults:
Sufi mysticism differs tremendously from other cults claiming

to be mystical . . . The mystics of other persuasions . . . do not
emphasize the fact that outer religion is only a prelude to special
experience . . . The Sufi uses religion and psychology to pass
beyond all this. Having done so, he 'returns to the world' to
guide others on the way. 63
Unlike other modes of mysticism which believe that reality is

basically spiritual and regard 'ascent' as the end of achievement,
Sufis believe that reality is the interaction between the spiritual and
the material world and, therefore, insist on a start from and a return
to ordinary reality. Shah describes the Sufi as:
an individual who believes that by practising alternate detach-

ment and identification with life, he becomes free. He is a mystic
because he believes that he can become attuned to the purpose
of all life. He is a practical man because he believes that this
process must take place within normal society. And he must
serve humanity because he is a part of it.64
The belief that Sufism encompasses both aspects of reality - the

spiritual and the material 65 - is of particular interest to Doris
16 Introduction
Lessing. In 'In the World, Not of It', she quotes and praises Shah on
that issue:
you cannot approach Sufism until you are able to think that a
person quite ordinary in appearance and in life can experience
higher states of mind. Sufism believes itself to be the substance
of that current which can develop man to a higher stage in his
evolution. It is not contemptuous of the world. 'Be in the world
and not of it' is the aim. 66
Sufi literature is integrated into the ordinary fabric of life. Doris

Lessing's comment on that issue links with her earlier appreciation
of Lukacs' dictum that art should be integrated into reality:
Sufi literature, as well as the practices used by its exponents,

must be regarded as locally valid extrapolations from a centre
of experience which underlies its outward form. 67
It then becomes possible to see Sufism within the dynamic of

Lessing's writings encompassing and complementing the motifs
that linked her to Marxism and to the psychological studies of
Jung and Laing, as well as negotiating the tension in her fiction
between outer and inner fields of action. For despite the incom-
patibility between Marxist concepts and the Sufi transcendental
experience, they are both interested in fulfilling the individual's
potential in relation to the world. Although the former is exclu-
sively earth-centred and political, whereas the latter believes in
the coexistence of spiritual and material realities, both insist on
placing the individual in a larger social context, which explains
the continuity of the motif of return to the outer world in Lessing's
novels. While Marx sets the pivot for the initial interaction, Jung
and Laing find the solution in the psychological domain, while
Sufism incorporates and complements them. Furthermore, both
Sufism and psychology emphasize the importance of the motif of
descent into the unconscious, but whereas it is considered the end
of the psychological journey, it is considered by Sufism an initial
step towards attaining mystical heights of ascent.
What all these parallels suggest is that, far from indicating a shift
from one philosophy to the other, ail these intellectual, psychologi-
cal and mystical influences should be regarded as complementary.
Reading Lessing's work from the one-sided perspective of any of
Introduction 17
these exclusively, seriously distorts her methods as well as her

meaning. It is in the interaction between them that the theme of
equilibrium which I intend to study here emerges. By the theme of
equilibrium I therefore mean the development of the inner levels of
perception to counterbalance the empirical modes of understanding.
To further clarify that concept it is useful to refer here to Ornstein's
study of the outer and inner modes of consiousness. 68 Ornstein
differentiates between two modes of reality - an external, socially
orientated landscape impinging upon the individual's perception,
and an internal landscape within the self. According to Ornstein,
'the outward oriented' mode operates on 'the verbal-intellectual
and sequential m o d e ' of understanding and the inner consciousness
reverberates between two complementary and frequently overlap-
ping modes of perception - psychological knowledge and intuitive
illumination . In The Psychology of Consciousness, Ornstein empha-
sizes the importance of cognition through the three modes of per-
ception. He praises the esoteric tradition for its 'mastery over the
"involuntary" physiology, as well as over the "unconscious'", and
explains how these two parts of the triad can complement and enrich
the intellectual culture. 69
It is that interaction between threefold modes which I will refer
to as the concept of equilibrium. In that context, maintaining the
equilibrium between three poles of consciousness - the rational,
psychological and intuitive - becomes a privileged way of looking
at life from a multi-levelled mode of perception. That interaction
between outer and inner modes of consciousness is the matrix for
the development in Doris Lessing's novels. Increasingly through-
out her fiction, she elaborates on the necessity of retrieving the
balance by developing an inward movement - a descent into the
unconscious and a complementary ascent to spiritual dimensions
of reality to achieve an equilibrium which can only be attained if
one has learnt to attend to all the faculties. What I believe to be at
the core of all her novels is the development of her attitude towards
that interaction as she expands the inner realm to counterbalance
the outer mode of consciousness, and constantly finds the forms
of fiction to represent this interaction. It is in relation to this
development that the changes of form in her novels which have
provoked her left-wing critics can be brought together and under-
stood. This is the guiding line of argument in the study to follow.
I shall therefore consider Lessing's development by analysing the
theme of equilibrium in connection with the form in which it is
18 Introduction
presented in four novels, each representing a significant stage of

development as the increasing exploration of the inner realm affects
the form, hoping thus to resolve many of the problems of obscurity
and ambiguity referred to by critics in the different stages of her
development.
1
The Grass is Singing
The Grass is Singing,1 was published in 1950, soon after Lessing's
arrival in England from South Africa. This first novel has been seen
by many critics as mainly about the issue of racial discrimination.
It has been widely welcomed as the most successful colonial novel
since The Story of an African Farm of 1883. However, the political
aspect is but one of the many issues of the novel. The Grass is Singing
records the decay and disintegration of both society and the individ-
ual owing to lack of balance on both levels. Since that early novel,
Lessing has been consciously concerned with understanding and
exploring the relationship between the individual and the collective,
revealing her belief that the hope for man lies in the balance between
his private and social selves. Her insistence on the importance of
descent - of developing the inner realm of consciousness as an initial
step in order to achieve a healthy relationship with the collective -
forms the pivot of this early novel, where Mary Turner's failure
to understand her inner self intersects with the oppressive social
pressure of her environment. That interaction is the cornerstone to
understanding the tragedy developed in The Grass is Singing.
The action of the novel develops through the dialectic between
the individual's idiosyncrasy and the pressure of the milieu. This
conflict finds its 'objective correlative' in the Southern African
society where Doris Lessing was brought up. In such a society,
where the colour prejudice is 'only one aspect of the atrophy of
the imagination that prevents us from seeing ourselves in every
creature that breathes under the sun', 2 there was no chance of
balanced human relationships. The book shows the appalling nature
of the South African society which imposes its dogma and suffocates
individual life, forcing people to succumb to the collective at the
expense of their individual fulfilment. The tone of the novel is
suggested by the epigraph from T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land from
which the title of the novel is taken. The passage describing the
'decayed hole among the mountains', where the grass is singing over
19
20 Doris Lessing and Sufi Equilibrium
the tumbled graves and the empty windowless chapel whose doors
are swayed by the wind, evokes the empty quality of the Turners'
life and forecasts their eventual ruin. While that first epigraph
suggests the sense of decay and barrenness of the Turners, the
second points to a larger issue - 'It is by the failures and misfits
of a civilization that one can best judge its weaknesses.' Thus the
two epigraphs at the beginning of the novel reveal the interaction
between individual and collective issues. The tragedy in The Grass
is Singing is propelled by the interaction between these two distinct
but inseparable currents. The two themes complement each other
and it is the dialectic between them which lays the foundation
for this early work as well as for many of Lessing's subsequent
novels. 3
The novel opens with the collective voice - 'or rather the silences'
- of the white settler community's response to the murder of the
individual Mary Turner. The mutual agreement among the white
settlers to close the case and not to probe into any personal motives
for the crime to save themselves from a scandal, defines for us the
nature of the community in which Mary lived and was 'driven
slowly off balance by heat and loneliness and poverty' (29). The
description of the sham inquiry into her murder - an inquiry which
'had been shut ever since they had reached the crisis of the scene'
(25) - reveals an implicit agreement to abide by collective modes:
The most interesting thing about the whole affair was this silent,
unconscious agreement. Everyone behaved like a flock of birds
who communicate - or so it seems - by means of a kind of
telepathy. (10)
The response of the district to the murder briefly shows orthodox

social attitudes in the white settler community. The white commu-
nity is based on total submission to the collective will of the 'law of
white South Africa' at the expense of individuality:
for to live with the colour bar in all its nuances and implications
means closing one's mind to many things, if one intends to
remain an accepted member of society. (27)
Within the strictures of this environment, the relationship between

whites and blacks is limited to the 'master-servant' relationship -
The Grass is Singing 21
'one never knew them in their own lives as human beings'. In such
a state of affairs, the only possible relation that can exist is one of
isolation and fear. Both races perform their dictated roles and avoid
any contact outside their fixed roles. The gap between the cultures
is thus preserved and any attempt to bridge it is unwelcome and
only brings disaster.
In that context, the main duty of the white settlers is to observe
'the necessity for preserving appearances' as a generally accepted
rule to maintain their superiority. This regulation, though it does
not appear in official statements, is, as we are told, 'implicit in the
spirit of the country' (26) Insinuated by that spirit, a successful
neighbouring farmer, Charlie Slatter, helps Dick Turner, whom he
neither likes nor respects, on the grounds that:
He was obeying the dictate of the first law of white South Africa,
which is: 'Thou shalt not let your fellow whites sink lower than
a certain point; because if you do, the nigger will see he is as
good as you are'. The strongest emotion of a strongly organized
society spoke in his voice, and it took the backbone out of Dick's
resistance. (190)
In that context, both Dick and Charlie are secondary as individ-

uals to the concerns of the collective issue. What in fact binds
the settlers, therefore, is a sort of communal neurosis rather than
a sense of fellowship. The community's imperative is grounded
in the defensive spirit of alliance against the fear of the loss of
the racial identity. This is clear in the pathological 'fear' and
defensive mechanisms implicit in the attitude of Charlie Slatter
and the Sergeant when Mary is murdered. The 'unmistakable'
'warning' and 'threats' expressed in the attitude of the Sergeant
and Charlie Slatter who, we are told, 'personified Society for the
Turners', is a vivid example of '"white civilization" fighting to
defend itself:
it was 'white civilization' fighting to defend itself that had

been implicit in the attitude of Charlie Slatter and Sergeant,
'white civilization' which will never, never admit that a
white person, and most particularly, a white woman, can
have a human relationship, . . . with a black person. For once
it admits that, it crashes, and nothing can save it. So, above all,
it cannot afford failures, such as the Turners' failure. (27)
As Lessing registers the rationalizing tone of the mentality of

white South African society, she uncovers the shallowness and
parochialism implicit in the nature of their rationalizing. It is there-
fore significant in that context that it is Mary's offence and not
Moses' which greatly intrigues the community, since she has vio-
lated the colour bar and they therefore see the death penalty
imposed on her as just - 'it served her right' - for, according to
them, 'the important thing was Mary Turner, who had let the side
down' (26).
This keen-edged analysis of the state of colonial society is further
developed by the introduction of Tony Marston, a white new comer
who observes the scene with great concern and incredulity. As
an outsider, his perception is clearer, but as an individual, he
cannot stand in the face of the powerful collective. The white
settlers' attempt to hush Marston's suggestions that there was a
more personal motive for the murder, sketches for us with an
undercurrent of indictment the isolation such a society breeds. In
such a society, there is no chance for understanding. Understanding,
the 'truth', is limited by the code of the collective. We are told by the
narrator that:
When old settlers say, 'One has to understand the country', what
they mean is, 'You have to get used to our ideas about the native.'
They are saying, in effect, 'Learn our ideas, or otherwise get out:
we don't want you.' (18)
On the narrative level, the authorial intrusion to emphasize the

dichotomy between the white settlers' postulations and the 'truth'
(23) creates a tension which is significantly recurrent through-
out the text. This insistence on the norm, on what is typical, is
central to the novel, since the individuals are both a product of
such cliche-ridden society and are victims of offending the norm.
The narration reverberates between objective 'news' - judgement
reflecting the standard offered by the community - and the breach
filled in by the narrator's tone. By using this device of intrusion,
the narrative voice serves to assist the reader in understanding
the difference between 'the surface meaning' (27) of the reported
event and what had actually occurred. This discrepancy between
the two levels results in layers of irony which serve to undercut
the basis underlying the white community's defence mechanisms
and to reveal the unconscious content implicit in their behaviour.
A vivid example of that discrepancy is the tension created between

the apparently indifferent 'Whom should it concern, if not the
white farmers, that a silly woman got herself murdered by
a native' and the narrator's, 'It was their livelihood, their
wives and families, their way of living, at stake' (11-12).
That discrepancy set in the early pages of the book is part of
the irony that informs the whole of The Grass is Singing.
In his insistence on knowing the truth, however, and understand-
ing the core behind the 'surface meaning of the scene' in which 'two
men are conspiring to ignore' the truth, Marston is at the centre
of this controversy. Marston's presence highlights the discrepancy
as he watches the others, 'in perfect understanding', contriving a
conspiracy of ignorance. As readers we primarily share the point of
view of Tony Marston. As he gradually comes to understand 'what
is customary in this country', he furnishes us with a contextual
account of the narrow and oppressive world that produced that
crisis. As the only outsider who wants to know the 'truth', Tony
starts to question the meaning underlying the scene of the murder.
He realizes that in order to understand the murder he has to trace
the root of the crisis in the past. Marston is convinced 'that the causes
of the murder must be looked for a long way back, and that it was
they which were important' (29). Having this conviction, he shares
the view of Lessing's later characters where the motif of descent
becomes the crucial test for understanding. 4 However, here Marston
does not continue as a focus of consciousness. He only initiates a
process that the reader, with the help of the omniscient narrator,
will pursue. In his resolution that an inquiry into the past is of key
importance to trace the root of the crisis, he sets a prospect for the
novel:
he wondered how all this had begun, where the tragedy had
started. For he clung obstinately to the belief, in spite of
Slatter and the Sergeant, that the causes of the murder
must be looked for a long way back, and that it was
they which were important. What sort of woman had Mary
Turner been, before she came to this farm and had been driven
slowly off balance by heat and loneliness and poverty? (29)
These questions and speculations that Marston sets forth in chapter

one set the pivot for the rest of the novel. Through him Lessing
prepares the reader for the long flash-back that is to follow. In the
reconstruction that is the novel, we follow the events of Mary's life

to understand the cause and reason of her death.
Chapter two begins a retrospective account of Mary's life, told
from the perspective of an omniscient narrator. Unlike the later
novels where we learn of the protagonist's repressed memories as
the protagonist herself is able to recover them from her unconscious,
here Mary is unaware of the process. Mary refrains from facing the
crucial test which Doris Lessing sets in front all her heroines - the
necessity to retrieve and acknowledge the repressed memories, to
confront the inner self and reconcile its schisms in order to be able to
face the present and form the future. Mary's inability to understand
and to come to terms with her inner self leads to a deadlock rather
than salvation. Mary's total submission to the collective, as well as
her later isolation, lead her to an abominable situation in relation
to both black and white society, and eventually leads to her final
destruction. The Grass is Singing, therefore, portrays the negative
results of lack of equilibrium. The reason for Mary's disintegration
is her failure to achieve equilibrium due to her reluctance to descend
- much less to ascend - that is to explore those realms of the
unconscious which, according to Lessing, enable the individual to
transcend cultural limitations.
I shall study the process of isolation and disintegration of this
early protagonist to reveal how Mary's reluctance to explore the
inner realm of consciousness is central to the tragedy developed in
The Grass is Singing and to illustrate how the absence of the inner
realm 'that clamped the personality together' (145) is poignantly
felt throughout. In doing so I shall provide a foil against which
the courageous descent and ascent of the later heroines can be
measured. I shall then study how the narrative technique and form
contribute to the powerful effect of this first novel.
Mary's problem is the frustration experienced in her early child-
hood, the memory of which is buried in that part of the unconscious
that must be slowly admitted into awareness if the personality is
to achieve integration. Instead, Mary attempts to bury her past,
and the more she represses it the more control it gains over her,
destroying her capacity for facing or understanding the present.
Facts from Mary's childhood, on both the personal and cultural
levels, reveal the origin of her emotional frustration towards sex
and intimate relationships, as well her antipathy towards the blacks.
Her disgust at her father's drinking and sexuality and her dismay
at her mother's 'arid feminism' (36) come to define her adult life in
its impersonality and emotional dearth. We are introduced to Mary

after 'she had taken good care to forget [these memories] years ago'
(40), so that at the age of twenty she has already become emotionally
blocked, unable to achieve intimate relationships, preferring the
'impersonality' of the collective life. When she is apprenticed as a
typist in a nearby town, she therefore prefers to live in a girls' club to
seek shelter from the problems of identity. Within that community,
she creates for herself an 'impersonal' (38) world to protect her from
facing the inner self with all its repressed aspects:
she went on as companionable, as adaptable, as aloof and as heart-

whole as ever, working as hard enjoying herself as she ever did
in the office, and never for one moment alone, except when she
was asleep. (39)
In the communal life of the boarding house, she indulges in outer

activity at the expense of her inner self. Lacking an operational sense
of self, she leads a marginal existence coloured by a sense of outer
activity and inner passivity:
she led a full and active life. Yet it was a passive one . . . , for
it depended on other people entirely. She was not the kind of
woman who initiates parties, or who is the centre of a crowd.
She was still the girl who is 'taken out'. (38)
By surrendering responsibility to the collective, she negates her own

self as an origin of action. She seeks shelter from the problems of
identity by identifying with the collective, so that 'at the age of
thirty, she knew so little of herself (45). In contrast to Lessing's
later heroines whose overriding concern is to be able to develop
as individuals and to define themselves outside the traditional
roles imposed by the collective, Mary's instincts appear to be
to play a safe role in a group: 'She could have become a per-
son on her own account. But this was against her instinct' (38).
She 'liked things to happen safely one after another in a pattern,
and she liked, particularly, the friendly impersonality of if (36).
We are therefore introduced to Mary when she has already
become emotionally crippled: 'She was hollow inside, empty, and
into this emptiness would sweep from nowhere a vast panic' (45).
This state of emptiness and fear experienced by Mary is similar
to the state described by R. D.Laing 5 as 'implosion' - a form

of 'ontological insecurity' in which a person unable to reconcile
his inner schisms is unable to achieve a healthy or vital self in
dealing with the world. Because of his own emptiness, he feels
threatened by any intimate relationship. According to Laing, this
state of 'implosion' is characterized by:
the full terror of the experience of the world as liable at any

moment to crash in and obliterate all identity as a gas will
rush in and obliterate vacuum. The individual feels that, like
the vacuum, he is empty. But this emptiness is him. Although
in other ways he longs for the emptiness to be filled, he dreads
the possibility of this happening because he has to come to feel
that all he can be is the awful nothingness of just this very
vacuum. Any 'contact' with reality is then in itself experienced
as a dreadful threat. 6
This state, in which an individual escapes from facing the inner

self by seeking solutions through involvement with the collective,
is doomed to failure, since it is soon threatened by his sense of
'ontological insecurity'. Abiding by the collective at the expense of
the inner self, the individual is divorced from himself as a centre of
experience and identifies with the collective as an alternative. He
therefore relates with the community according to a 'false system'
- which is a fagade developed to take shelter from the inner self.
Laing refers to that 'false-self system' as the epitome of alienation
where authentic experience and free action are replaced by role-
playing and social rituals in compliance with the community's
demands. Since that becomes the only existence he cherishes, the
alienated individual attempts by all means to preserve that precari-
ous existence. The individual in such a state develops mechanisms
in response to demands from outside trying - largely unconsciously
- to become not what he really is but what his community wants
him to be. 7 That is precisely the case in this early novel where Mary,
'hollow inside', keeps 'adapting herself sensibly and quietly to any
occasion' (40). She maintains that superficially contended existence
for ten years in which she retains the outward appearance of the
'Mary of sixteen', a further indication of her psychological disloca-
tion. This pseudo-balanced existence, however, does not last, since
it is not solidly anchored by a knowledge of the self. It soon collapses
before the first blow.
When Mary overhears others discussing her age and her failure
to marry, she is shocked to find her social self, which is indeed the
only self she is aware of, disapproved of by the standards of the
group with which she has so far identified herself. Thus, Mary,
role-playing and doing all the stock things approved by her society,
is, she suddenly discovers, 'not playing her part, for she did not
get married' (39). As she is completely dependent on the social
existence, when it collapses her whole being collapses with it, and
the narrator significantly explains that:
Mary's idea of herself was destroyed and she was not fitted to
recreate herself. She could not exist without that impersonal,
casual friendship from other people. (45)
She therefore quickly attempts to find another means to amend her

image in the eyes of her society. Her compulsion to be considered
normal by society's standard drives her to plunge into marriage.
Instead of amending her inner resentments and frustrations, she
makes the mistake of marrying the first man 'she was offered' -
the undextrous, inefficient farmer Dick Turner.
This attempted escape proves as fragile and futile as the previ-
ous one. The marriage is a frigid relationship from the beginning
because it is based on self-delusion and total incompatibility of both
parties. Their incompatibility arises partly from ignorance of each
other and partly from ignorance of themselves and refusal to seek
their depths which is, according to Lessing, the crucial gauge for
a successful relationship. Lessing's description of their relationship
foreshadows many of her later novels in which 'two people, both
twisted and wrong in their depths, are well matched, making each
other miserable in the way they need' (58). This negative relation-
ship reappears throughout her fiction as the paradigm of male-
female relation which is not based on initial self-awareness and
personal balance. That is precisely the situation of both Mary and
Dick. Mary, whose 'impersonality' was what defined her character,
enters this personal relationship with Dick Turner who, equally
lacking self-knowledge, looks for a wife because 'it was essential for
him to love somebody' (50). Driven by loneliness, Dick conjures up
an image of a female that has little to do with the actual Mary. They
both have entered marriage as an escape from problems of identity
and have sought in the other partner the hope for saving him/her
from facing the inner self. Their marriage is therefore doomed
to failure and their total incompatibility soon surfaces. However,

because each has staked his/her existence on such marriage, neither
is willing to see the other clearly or to admit failure. It is on that
illusory basis that Mary pursues her life with Dick. Because her
need for such a rescue is so strong, she cannot afford to face the
reality about his failure, but distorts it according to this need. She
therefore relates not to the real man, but to the embodiment of
her fantasy, and chooses to ignore everything that does not fit in
with it:
She needed to think of Dick, the man to whom she was irrevoca-
bly married, as a person on his own account, a success from his
own efforts. When she saw him weak and goal-less, and pitiful,
she hated him, and the hate turned in on herself. She needed a
man stronger than herself, and she was trying to create one out
of Dick. (135)
The only way to pursue their life together therefore, is not to

acknowledge their conflicts - a matter which further increases their
alienation from themselves as well as from each other: 'Unresolved
and unacknowledged, the conflict was put behind them, and they
went on as if it had not happened. But it had changed them
both' (84). It is therefore inevitable that Mary experiences one
disappointment after the other. Suppressing her conflict, it surfaces
in short moments where she is tormented by the realization that she
and Dick are all wrong:
That short time, she looked at everything straight, without illu-

sions, seeing herself and Dick and their relationship to each other
and to the farm, and their future, without a shadow of false hope,
as honest and stark as the truth itself. And she knew she could
not bear this sad clear-sightedness for long; that, too, was part of
the truth. (145)
In such rare brief moments she realizes the true reason for Dick's
failure: 'he was all to pieces. He lacked that thing in the centre
that should hold him together' (146). However, unable to trace
the 'origins' of such weakness in the past, Mary does not find in
such moments any liberation but they rather increase her torment
and frustration. Thus, instead of fulfilment, their marriage hastens
their mutual disintegration and deepens the 'double solitude' (111)

in which they are submerged.
Since Mary constantly avoids confronting her early perversions,
she becomes increasingly their victim. There is no future for Mary,
since she cannot face the past. The past which she tries to repress,
returns and presses itself in on her present life. In marrying Dick she
certainly did not rid herself of the nightmare that she repressed. Dis-
appointed and depressed by the poverty and the primitive life qual-
ity of the farmhouse, Mary's dreary memories of childhood start to
press on her consciousness; she is 'possessed with the thought that
her father, from his grave, had sent out his will and forced her back
into the kind of life he had made her mother lead' (57). Dick 'was
associated in her mind with the greyness and misery of her child-
hood' (100) and although she married him because 'It had seemed to
her that she would be saved from herself by marrying him' (213), he
became 'a torturing reminder of what she had to forget . . . ' (203).
She tries to stave off the breakdown by involvement in all sorts of
outer activity. She tries to keep busy with housework, embroidery
and sewing, but 'there came an end to embroidery; again she
was left empty-handed. Again she looked about for something
to do' (65). She then gets involved in the farm work to help her
husband attain material success, but soon withdraws. Because she
puts her hope in material success - 'material success she would
have respected, and given herself to' (135) - material failure brings
her to despair and deepens her alienation from her husband. She
then 'felt she needed one child to save her from herself (143), but
this wish is not fulfilled. She vents her frustration on a succession
of houseboys and spends her time by creating mental space in
fantasies about her future when she will go back to her life in
town.
But even that hope collapses: 'she found herself back in her usual
routine, with now not even day-dreams to sustain her, . . . she
was exhausted' (108) and the narrator points out that this final
shock marks 'the beginning of an inner disintegration in her' (108).
Mary thus stumbles from one form of escape to another, all
proving destructive rather than constructive since they solidify the
'false self, hence deepening the psychic split. Mary's attempt to
escape from facing the inner self - the descent into the unconscious
- is similar to the complex manoeuvre which has been described
by Laing as 'elusion', in which an individual attempts to get round
conflict without direct confrontation. 8 It is useful to refer here to
Laing's discussion of such a situation where the character achieves

a superficially stable state with the outside world at the expense of
an increasingly severe inner disintegration:
The individual may appear relatively normal, but he is maintain-

ing his outward semblance of normality by progressively more
and more abnormal and desperate means. The self engages in
phantasy in the private 'world' of mental things, i.e. of its own
objects, and observes the false system, which alone is engaged
in living in the 'shared world'. Since direct communication with
others in this real shared world has been turned over to the
false system, it is only through this medium that the self can
communicate with the outside shared world. Hence what was
designed in the first instance as a guard or barrier, to prevent
disruptive impingement on the self, can become the walls of a
prison from which the self cannot escape. 9
Mary is thus imprisoned within the limits of the 'false-self sys-

tem', and having no alternative, since she still refuses to confront her
neurosis, the only possible release is madness and disintegration.
Mary Turner is the first victim in Lessing's fiction of reluctance
to descend. Her inability to recognize, much less analyse, the full
spectrum of forces that motivate her, paves the way for the later
disintegration of her sanity.
Jung describes the dark realms of the unconscious, the denied self,
as the 'self-hater', the 'shadow' which is '"Luciferian" in the most
proper unequivocal sense of the word', 10 but he also insists on the
necessity of facing the devil so that it will no longer be all-powerful
and the individual can once again perceive good as well as evil, for
'only when [the denied aspects of the personality] are rejoined again
to the adult consciousness can they lose their infantile aspect and be
corrected'. 11
Since Mary constantly avoids such confrontations, she becomes
consumed by a sense of overwhelming evil which she cannot
fathom:
evil was a thing she could feel: had she not lived with it for
many years? . . . Even that girl had known it. But what had she
done? . . . Nothing, of her own volition , . . Against what had
she sinned? The conflict between her judgement on herself, and
her feeling of innocence, of having been propelled by something
she did not understand, cracked the wholeness of her vision.

(207)
What augments the problem is her inability to understand or dis-

entangle the personal evil from the racialist hatred and fear which
she had inherited from the collective experience of the community.
She undergoes a state in which, as Jung explains:
the inner voice brings to the consciousness whatever the whole -

whether the nation to which we belong or the humanity of which
we are a part - suffers from. But it presents this evil in individual
form, so that at first we could suppose all this evil to be only a
trait of individual character. 12
That is precisely what augments the situation for Mary. She lacks
self-consciousness, both in terms of her own psyche and as a
member of her community. Mary is unable to retrieve her personal
memory, let alone relate her personal dilemma to the collective
unconscious. She sees her sufferings in isolation from the broader
themes of the collective unconscious. This confusion finds its clear
expression in her relationship with black servants and labourers
with whom she comes into contact when she moves to the farm.
Mary is overcome by hatred and antagonism towards blacks. This
expresses itself in her antipathy to the houseboys and her irrational
compulsiveness in her behaviour towards black labourers. This,
we are told, is not an individual case but is deeply rooted in the
collective experience. Her inability to deal with the black servants
is a legacy inherited from her mother and elders, based on a cultural
definition of the natives as 'dirty' and 'nasty'. Mary, brought up in
such a racist society, has a contempt for all black Africans:
the 'native problem' meant for her other women's complaints of

their servants at tea parties. She was afraid of them, of course.
Every woman in South Africa is brought up to be. . . . [S]he
had been told in the furtive, lowered, matter-of-fact voice she
associated with her mother, that they were nasty and might do
horrible things to her. (61)
Furthermore, the master-servant relationship designated by the

racial system is in compliance with her unconscious tendency to
abide safely by the roles set by her society. In terms of her alienation
from her inner self, she conforms to the collective will to enforce
the racial gap, since the ideology of racism provides fixed roles and
categories which save the alienated individual from the anxiety he
would experience if he were confronted with his lack of identity and
the emptiness inside. In that context, the ideology of racism serves
as a function within the defence-system of the alienated individual.
Seeking shelter in the conformity of the collective on that basis
perpetuates a sense of violence towards anyone who threatens
to violate that precarious existence. A society composed of such
individuals will therefore be pervaded by violence. Therefore, on
the collective level, 'anger, violence, death, seemed natural to this
vast, harsh country . . . ' (19). That further accounts for the element
of violence in Mary's behaviour towards the blacks. In that sense,
Mary is a child of violence. She is unwittingly engulfed in this
cycle of violence to retain the racial identity. A clear manifesta-
tion of that is the incident in the farm where Mary, feeling her
'authority' and role as 'boss' threatened by the native's behaviour,
'involuntarily . . . lifted her whip' (126). Her 'apathy and discontent
[which] had been pushed in the background' (123) emerge and come
to full display in that first encounter with the labourers. Forcing
them into submission, her words 'welled up from the part of her
brain that held her earliest memories' (121).
Thus her emotional antipathy towards the servants, like her
psychic stagnation with her husband, are based on her inability
to retrieve memories on the personal and collective level of the
unconscious. Jung explains that the recovery of one's past - on
the personal and collective levels of the unconscious - is a crucial
step necessary for the integration of the personality. In his study of
the process of individuation he asserts that:
Only when they are rejoined again to the adult consciousness

. can they lose their infantile aspect and be corrected. This 'per-
sonal unconscious' must always first be disposed of - that is to
say, made conscious; otherwise, the entrance to the collective
unconscious cannot be opened. 13
Mary's failure to assess her early memories as well as to disentangle

them from the collective unconscious is the cause of her confusion
and disintegration. Thus, when these memories emerge, she has
'no control over her actions' (154). Overcome by fear and horror
at the compulsiveness of her behaviour, she, after a while, retires
to the house. Having exhausted all her defence mechanisms, she

withdraws from her social surroundings and is overcome by an
'immense fatigue' (149). The black servant Moses enters her life at
this stage in Mary's unacknowledged self-contempt when she feels
'as if a touch would send her off balance into nothingness' (149).
It is a time, 'when any influence would have directed her into a
new path, when her whole being was poised, as it were, waiting
for something to propel her one way or the other . . . ' (149).
As Moses becomes her houseboy, her final confrontation with the
past is imposed on her when she is not ready to face it. Moses, with
the scar on his face, is a reminder of her past violence and racial
frustrations. He is also associated with further sickening memories
from her childhood:
He approached slowly, obscene and powerful, and it was not

only he, but her father who was threatening her. They advanced
together, one person, and she could smell, not the native smell,
but the unwashed smell of her father (175).
It is useful to refer here to Laing's description of the consequences

of denying aspects of the self:
It has always been recognized that if you split being down the
middle, if you cling to the good without the bad, denying the one
for the other, what happens is that the dissociated evil impulse,
now evil in a double sense returns to permeate and possess the
good and turn it into itself.14
That is precisely the significance of the double image Mary has in

her dream. Moses becomes, in psychological terms, 'the shadow'
which she had hitherto refused to acknowledge. Jung's study of
that issue is further illuminating. According to Jung:
The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not

made conscious, it happens outside, as fate. That is to say, when
the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious
of his inner opposite, the world must perforce act out the conflict
and be torn into opposing halves. 15
Moses stands for all that Mary has to confront on the personal
and collective level in order to achieve integration. It is here that
the cultural and racial theme complements the personal breakdown

and deepens the conflict. When Mary finds herself unconsciously
attracted to Moses, she is petrified at the thought that she cherishes
a feeling most violently condemned by her society. As a South Afri-
can, she 'could not understand any white person feeling anything
personal about a native'. Nevertheless, she ambivalently admires
Moses' strength and competence - qualities she cannot find in Dick.
Moses' strength and gentleness form an attraction she cannot resist,
but according to her upbringing such an attraction was taboo. It
is a 'dark attraction' which she 'would have died rather than
acknowledge' (164). Since in this society, the relationship between
Mary and Moses is dominated by the imperative of racialism, when
Moses comes to work in the house both know that they must abide
by the roles of mistress and servant, but Mary is unable to treat him
as she has treated his numerous predecessors:
he forced her now to treat him as a human being; it was impos-

sible for her to thrust him out of her mind like something unclean,
as she had done with all the others in the past. (165)
The bitter irony of their situation, howTever, is that once 'the formal
pattern of black-and-white, mistress and servant had been broken
by the personal relation', that relation can only manifest itself in
perverse fear and anger. It is here that we are reminded by the
narrator that this feeling is not merely personal. Mary is unwittingly
acting as impersonal forces dictate:
And she was beyond reflecting that her anger, her hysteria, was
over nothing, nothing that she could explain. What had happened
was that the formal pattern of black-and-white, mistress-and-
servant, had been broken by the personal relation; and when a
white man in Africa by accident looks into the eyes of a native
and sees the human being (which it is his chief preoccupation
to avoid), his sense of guilt, which he denies, fumes up in
resentment and he brings down the whip. (153)
That pattern of relationship is a lifeline code of behaviour to which

whites must cling. Once this is gone, the knowTn relied-upon roles
are reversed and Mary , 'out of her depth' (163), is in the power of
the servant Moses: 'There was now a new relation between them.
For she felt helplessly in his power' (164). Being stripped of the
roles, she has nothing to back her, while he, having more power
and stamina, gains ascendancy over her:
They were like two antagonists, silently sparring. Only he was

powerful and sure of himself, and she was undermined with fear,
by her terrible dream-filled nights, her obsession. (178)
From this point on, Mary is presented as the battlefield of forces she
is unaware of and which therefore increasingly take hold of her.
Unable to understand or disentangle her personal feelings from the
collective situation, she held herself:
like a taut-drawn thread, stretched between two immovable

weights: that was how she felt, as if she were poised, a battle-
ground for two contending forces. Yet what the forces were, and
how she contained them, she could not have said. (157)
Mary, whose 'impersonality' was what defined her character, can-

not face or acknowledge her personal feelings nor can she confront
or unravel the misunderstandings of her early upbringing. The
collective values clash with her individual feelings and she is
significantly helpless in that confrontation since she has never
been able to develop her inner self to stand any chance of bal-
ance in that challenge - 'she had no measuring rod to assess
herself with' (36) and 'she was fighting against something she
did not understand' (207). She is destroyed by her inability to
reconcile an individual emotion with her own deep commitment
to the rigid line her society maintains between whites and blacks
- 'she had lost her balance; she had no control over her actions'
(154). This therefore reveals the conflict between the public and
private selves in its most trenchant forms in this early novel.
This conflict drives Mary further on the path to total insanity.
The final part of the novel is heavy with Mary's distorted thoughts
and dreams. It is a period of profound illness, haunted by nightmares
which mark her final breakdown Her early day-dreams which were
filled with wishful imaginings, give way to nightmares which
increase in frequency and intensity as her psychosis grows. She
withdraws from her social surroundings and sleeps 'hours every
day so as to hasten time' and during her waking hours, 'her mind,
nine-tenths of the time, was a soft aching blank' (158). Gradually,
'her horizon had been narrowed to the house' (158) and 'a dim
mindlessness' (90) sets in. In her waking hours, she lapses into a
morbid silence and when she does speak to anybody, her words
usually turn into a monologue. She is completely cut-off from the
world and her life centres round her hysterical dependency on Moses
and her dream-world, which invades her reality. She mistakes her
obsessive dreams for reality and her past exerts an acute stress on
the present so that she 'struggled in her mind to separate dream from
reality'(175).
At this point the narrative shifts from the objective point of
view of the earlier part of the novel into a subjective point of
view describing events as if perceived by a consciousness highly
distorted by frantic anxiety. Although the narration is omniscient in
large areas of the book, here Lessing limits herself to Mary's point
of view. We enter with Mary 'a dark tunnel' of her claustrophobic
fears and nightmarish reality:
she felt as if she were in a dark tunnel, nearing something final,

something she could not visualize, but which waited for her
inexoribly, inescapably. (178)
In her paranoid delirium, she is haunted by pathological fear of

impending danger. Yet, what sort of danger, 'she could not have
said' (157). The danger, however, is defined clearly enough in her
dreams.
Her dreams signify her repressed memories on the individual and
collective levels. They are all obsessive nightmares which haunt her
with images of her sexual frustration, repressed childhood memo-
ries and her forced contact with the native - aspects which she
vehemently tries to exclude from her conscious awareness. Three
crucial dreams wake her up 'sweating in fear' (166) and 'filled with
terror' (173). The first dream haunts her with images of her contact
with the native 'forcing her into a position where she had to touch
him' (165) - symbolic of that realm of relationship which she forcibly
denies. In the second dream, the sickening childhood memories
recur as she dreams of her father's drunkenness and sexuality -
another area which she persistently blocks from her consciousness.
Finally, nightmare and reality become indistinguishable as she
dreams that Dick is dead and ambivalently feels both relief and guilt
- signifying another realm of failure in her personal relationship.
Thus, memories which she had blocked and which resulted in her
denied self and frustration in her relationships with others fill these
dreams. They all embody repressed areas of her consciousness on

the individual and collective levels.
The dreams in this early novel provide us with a dynamic inner
structure that gives us insight into Mary's repressed consciousness.
As she loses her sanity, the dreams dramaHze for the reader Mary's
imprisonment in her childhood, her failure to have sorted the limits
of her relationship with her parents, her sexual frustrations, and
her unacknowledged emotions towards the Native. These dreams,
however, do not suggest the dissolution of a memory block as
in later novels. The crucial point there is the integration of the
contents of the dream into the waking consciousness and retaining
their significance in the memory. Mary, however, remains unaware
of the significance of her dreams and pays less attention to their
meaning.
It is only at the end of the novel that Mary, in short distorted
moments, attempts to revive memories from her past to understand
the core of her ailment - 'her mind wandered incoherently, dwelling
on any scene from her past life that might push itself to the
surface' (167). Only when Mary starts to revive memories from
her past does she begin to understand her faults. As she wonders,
'searching through her past' (213) for the cause of her present state,
she realizes that she had hitherto depended on outside solutions for
her problems. She realizes that she had transferred responsibility to
others to save her from herself:
She wondered, searching through her past. Yes: long, long ago,
she had turned towards another young man, a young man from
a farm, when she was in trouble and had not known what to do.
It had seemed to her that she would be saved from herself by
marrying him. (213)
Throughout her life, Mary had turned for outside help to save
her from herself. Mary's alienation from her inner self finds its
clearest expression in her relationships with men. Instead of taking
responsibility for her own life, she expects them 'to save her from
herself. As early as her life at the club, 'she was entirely dependent
upon men' (39). She then turns to Dick because 'It had seemed to her
that she would be saved from herself through marrying him' (213).
Her relationship with Moses is also characterized by her complete
dependence on him. Finally, she seizes on the image of young Tony
Marston who she feels might be able to save her from her puzzled
situation with Moses. In other words Mary expects that such rela-
tionships will fill her inner void. Like Anna in The Golden Notebook,
she therefore experiences one disappointment after another, since
these relationships could only intensify her self-estrangement.
It is only when Mary vaguely retrieves memory from her past that
she is able to discover the location of her ailment: 'I have been ill
for years . . . Inside, somewhere. Inside. Not ill, you understand.
Everything wrong, somewhere' (214). Having located the illness,
she finally realizes in short moments before her death that the cure
should have started from within:
She would walk out her road alone, she thought. That was the
lesson she had to learn. If she had learned it, long ago, she would
not be standing here now, having been betrayed . . . by her weak
reliance on a human being who should not be expected to take
the responsibility for her. (213)
That is the crucial lesson which all Doris Lessing's later heroines
have to learn in order to become responsible individuals able to
understand and transcend their cultural limitation. Here lies the
pivot of the novel and the core of a potential solution and it is from
here that Lessing's later characters proceed to explore that realm.
That brief moment of descent into the past gives Mary a glimpse
of a solution, but Doris Lessing had from the beginning clearly
pinpointed the tragic weakness behind that early heroine's failure
to pursue the descent - 'she could not bear . . . sad clear-sightedness
for long'. She had taken the wrong course by indulging in outward
action at the expense of understanding her inner self, so that even
when she felt at times the call to reflect on her inner self, she quickly
brushed it away:
She certainly did feel, at times, a restlessness, a vague dis-

satisfaction that took the pleasure out of her activities for a
while . . . But then, . . . firmly convinced that thinking about
oneself was morbid, she would get into bed and turn out the
lights. (40-1)
Doris Lessing shows clearly in this first novel that it is Mary's

inability to face and accept her inner self which drives her to her
tragic end. The Grass is Singing therefore sets the crucial challenge
which all her later heroines face with varying degrees of success.
Mary, however, is unable to respond to the challenge, and therefore
remains imprisoned and determined by her upbringing; she cannot
transcend her limitations except in short distorted moments before
her death.
It is only in brief moments on the last day before her death
that Mary captures a glimpse of a higher level of awareness. The
final chapter opens with Mary as she undergoes an experience of
heightened sensitivity in which she attempts to create in her mind
an image which transcends her surroundings, so that she looks at
herself 'at last, from a height':
Lazily she created the room in imagination, placing each cup-

board and chair; then moved beyond the house, hollowing it out
of the night in her mind as if her hand cupped it. At last, from
a height, she looked down on the building set among the bush
- and was filled with a regretful, peaceable tenderness. (202)
This practice in which Mary extends her imagination to transcend

her surroundings is similar to a mental exercise that appears later
in The Golden Notebook in which Anna stretches her imagination to
reconstruct her surroundings, beginning with the immediate details
of the room and expanding outward to the house and beyond.
It involves a progressive movement outward from the core of
subjective self to a greater objectivity and detachment. This mental
exercise, which Anna calls 'the game', is developed by Anna to help
her transcend her limitation and is the beginning of developing
the motif of ascent. However, here Mary does not go beyond the
temporary ecstasy experienced by that brief moment in which she
is able to invoke 'that region of her mind' from where she can see
more clearly and look at herself 'from a forgiving distance' (203).
In these short moments where, 'for a brief space, her brain cleared'
and 'her mind cleared as the sky itself (204), 'she felt transparent,
clairvoyant, containing all things' (203). She experiences a 'marvel-
lous moment of peace and forgiveness' in which she sees her black
and white world as 'a miracle of colour' - an image of wholeness
which she shares as part of the universe (204-5). That sensation of
heightened connection with the phenomenal world recurs in Doris
Lessing's later novels as a result of a long process of meditation and
concentration. Mary, however, is unable to develop that activity any
further. The moments of transcendence she achieves are short-lived
and offer no liberation. As time and space interact, she grasps an

image of herself 'balanced in mid-air', but the insight she gains from
such brief moments intensifies her awareness of her conflict and
helps her to see clearly how she had been 'travelling unknowingly
to this end':
And time taking on the attributes of space, she stood balanced in

mid-air, and while she saw Mary Turner rocking in the corner of
the sofa, moaning, her fists in her eyes, she saw, too, Mary Turner
as she had been, that foolish girl travelling unknowingly to this
end. (207)
That process of training the imagination to transcend the present

crisis to attain detachment and understanding, is crucial for the
motif of ascent. In this early novel we therefore watch Mary attempt-
ing an activity which will be the salvation of later characters. Mary,
however, is unable to develop that activity any further. She does
not have the capacity to pursue the process to the full. The 'trans-
cendent' vision which is granted to Mary before her death differs
greatly from the process of ascent pursued by later protagonists.
Mary's 'granted' moment of peace is not earned by a process of
painstaking descent and complementary ascent to unravel higher
levels of consciousness. The insight she gains in these brief moments
is not part of a process earned by concentration and meditation. It
requires many such moments over a long period of time to have
such an effect. Instead of illumination and release, the transcendent
insight she attains in these brief moments brings to consciousness
the fear and torment that have coloured Mary's dreams, images and
partial memories:
The idea of herself, standing above the house, somewhere on an

invisible mountain peak, looking down like a judge on his court,
returned; but this time without a sense of release. It was a torment
to her, in that momentarily pitiless clarity, to see herself. (206-7)
What further intensifies her torment is that these moments of

ascent are not complemented by a descent into the unconscious.
Repeatedly Mary refrains from such a process. Thus Mary arrives
at the end of her journey, conscious of her conflict but further
tormented by her inability to understand its roots in the collective
unconscious:
I don't understand, she said . . . I understand nothing. The evil

is there, but of what it consists, I do not know . . . She groaned
because of the strain, lifted in puzzled judgement on herself,
who was at the same time the judged, knowing only that she
was suffering torment beyond description. (207)
The unresolved conflict and lack of understanding destroys her

vision:
The conflict between her judgement on herself, and her feeling

of innocence, of having been propelled by something she did not
understand, cracked the wholeness of her vision. (207)
Only when the candidate successfully pursues the motif to descend

to the core of evil in the individual and collective unconscious can he
regain a vision of positive wholeness. Her closing vision is therefore
negative rather than positive. She envisions the destruction of the
house by encroaching vegetation, beetles and rats effacing the house
and all human intrusion around it till the only remaining sign of
habitation is a stone step covered by grass:
The house, the store, . . . the hut - all gone, nothing left, the bush
grown over all! Her mind was filled with green, wet branches,
thick wet grass, and thrusting bushes. It snapped shut: the vision
was gone. (208-9)
Overcome by torment and anguish at her inability to understand,

Mary realizes 'there was no salvation' unless 'she would have to go
through with i f (213). As outer action disintegrates, she increasingly
desires to retire, to be alone so that 'she could concentrate on the one
thing left that mattered to her now' (206). It is then that she decides
to face the dark realm of the bush: she enters the bush 'propelled
by fear, but also by knowledge'. (216)
It is here that the novel starts to acquire significance beyond the
strictly physical level. The description of the landscape starts to
reflect psychological intensity as Mary experiences her environment
in terms which are associated with the inner realm of consciousness.
The description of the surroundings and outer landscape, though
strictly realistic, also acquire another level of signification as it
evokes an atmosphere associated with the motif of descent as it
is developed in the later novels. The description of Mary, trapped

in the house cracking around her, leaving her exposed to the heat
which presses in on her through the tin roof, evokes an atmosphere
of claustrophobia which is recurrently associated with the motif of
descent. As Mary experiences her surroundings closing in upon
her, the interaction between heat and darkness with the imagery
of claustrophobia resonating between outside atmospheric reality
and inner landscape reflects a mental state associated with the motif
of descent into the unconscious:
Now it seemed as if the night were closing in on her, and the little
house was bending over like a candle, melting in the heat. She
heard the crack, crack; the restless moving of the iron above, and
it seemed to her that a vast black body, like a human spider, was
crawling over the roof, trying to get inside. She was alone. She
was defenceless. She was shut in a small box, the walls closing
in on her, the roof pressing down. She was in a trap, cornered and
helpless. But she would have to go out and meet him. Propelled
by fear, but also by knowledge. (216)
This correlation between the outer landscape and inner mental state
charted here most vividly appears frequently in Lessing's fiction.
As the description of the outer landscape starts to acquire further
significance to correspond with the character's vision of the inner
landscape, references to the 'country', the 'bush' and Moses start
to take on a symbolism which has been latent throughout the
novel, but which becomes increasingly explicit towards the end.
Throughout the novel, Moses is associated with the dark realm
- the black hidden side of Mary's memories which she cannot
acknowledge consciously. Significantly, in her breakdown Mary
refers to him as 'the other' (203) which in Jungian terms signifies
the repressed and alien side of the personality - those aspects which
she fails to acknowledge. Moses is also associated with the bush and
is completely at home with his native land - the dark 'continent'
- which Mary had never tried to understand; 'she had never
penetrated into the trees'. As reference to '"the country"' becomes
to her 'more of a summons to consciousness [that] disturbed her like
a memory she did not want to revive' (210), she starts to realize that
she has never ventured into the bush. During her years on the farm,
Mary realizes that she has never attempted to explore the bush or
penetrate into its depth:
She realized, suddenly, standing there, that all those years she
had lived in that house, with the acres of bush all around her,
and she had never penetrated into the trees, had never gone off
the paths. (209)
It is the tree which finally avenges itself. As Moses emerges 'out

from the dark . . . towards her', her final thought is that 'the bush
avenged itself . . . The trees advanced in a rush, like beasts, and the
thunder was the noise of their coming'. Thus at the moment of her
death Moses is identified with the personified bush. Moses functions
as an extension of the bush in this powerful melodramatic climax
to the novel. The natural forces Mary has denied all her life have
taken their revenge. It is in this context that Moses' act of revenge
is symbolically valid. In that context also Mary's act in voluntarily
walking out of the bedroom into the verandah, 'propelled by fear
but also by knowledge' and facing the bush where she knew 'the
dark' figure of Moses lay in wait, derives its significance. In that
context, Mary's acceptance of her death is an expression of her
desire to come to terms with the dark realm of her conscious. That
sense is expressed in moments before her death when she starts
to feel sense of 'guilf towards Moses because she disowned him,
'at the bidding of the Englishman'. She realizes, though too late,
that she has disowned him and the scene closes with a desire for
atonement, her last impulse being an attempt to explain and seek
forgiveness:
at the sight of him, her emotions unexpectedly shifted, to create in

her an extraordinary feeling of guilt; but towards him, to whom
she had been disloyal, and at the bidding of the Englishman.
She felt she had only to move forward, to explain, to appeal,
and the terror would be dissolved. She opened her mouth to
speak; . . . and she knew it would be too late. All her past slid
away, and her mouth, opened in appeal . . . And then the bush
avenged itself: that was her last thought. (218)
With her death, she atones for past crimes and hastens the coming
of the new order, which she envisions in a heightened moment of
premonition before her death as she witnesses the dissolution of
the impersonal world that protected her. This interpretation of the
ending, however, becomes valid only if we extend the meaning
beyond the strictly realistic level, to incorporate another layer of
discourse that is largely symbolic, and in doing so we adopt Doris

Lessing's definition of realism as an art that 'absorbs symbolism'.
However, if we read the novel in exclusively realistic terms, this
ending becomes problematic. Moses' personality and motives for
the murder are obscure. His character is not developed to conform
to the category of 'the round character'. The leap between Moses as a
beneficient missionary boy to Moses as murderer is not satisfactory.
No development is attempted in the narrative to justify such an act.
Lessing keeps Moses' conscience mysterious. Early in the novel,
when Tony reflects on Moses' motives, he realizes that 'he could
not even begin to imagine the mind of a native' (29). Although
the narrative throughout is controlled by the omniscient narrator,
Moses' mind is the one crucial area where the narrator refrains from
omniscience. After describing Mary's final day, the narrator leaves
the reader to speculate on the motives of Moses. Though earlier the
omniscient narrator attempts a glimpse into his mind when we are
told 'this was his final moment of triumph, a moment so perfect and
complete that it took the urgency from thoughts of escape, leaving
him indifferent', the omniscient narrator then retreats with 'though
what thoughts of regret, or pity, or perhaps even wounded human
affection were compounded with the satisfaction of his completed
revenge, it is impossible to say' (219). In abstaining from developing
the character of Moses any further, the narrative creates a tension
which refuses to reduce the interpretation of the ending on any one
level and induces the reader to speculate on the symbolism implicit
in the role of Moses. Lessing's discretion in remaining outside
Moses' conscience therefore helps to maintain the balance between
two levels of interpretation. Aware of the controversy aroused by
her portrayal of Moses, Lessing refers to its crucial significance:
There was a a long time when I thought that it was a pity I ever
wrote Moses like that, because he was less of a person than a
symbol . . . But now I've changed my mind again. I think it
was the right way to write Moses, because if I'd made him too
individual it would've unbalanced the book. I think I was right
to make him a bit unknown. 16
This takes us to the study of the narrative technique and structure

in this powerful first novel. In it, Lessing tends to abide by the broad
lines of nineteenth-century realism and linear structure. The plot
is neat in its construction and the sequential chronicling of events
moves ahead steadily. The clear, detached narrative and the precise
observation of naturalistic description are striking characteristics
of this early work. However, the novel achieves significance on a
symbolic level as well. Lessing's novel already shows at this stage
a sensitive awareness of language and its power over perception.
There is a sense of intensity with language that penetrates surfaces
to unravel depths of meaning. This effect is achieved by the use
of various modes of linguistic repetition whose cumulative impact
helps to produce a symbolic layer of discourse. This is evident in
the description of the landscape and the use of recurrent words
which gradually acquire a level of lyrical intensity while retaining
their significance in the context of the naturalistic description. The
episode describing Mary's last few hours before her death provides
a particularly vivid example. In that context, 'dark', 'black' and
'shade' become keywords whose signification creates a symbolic
layer of discourse. The lexical and syntactic repetition of the words -
'Moses the black man' (212), 'the shade ' of the bush (209), 'the dark
edge' of the bed, 'the dark gulfs' of the floor (216) 'the darkness' of
the room which was 'locked and dark' - culminate in the figure
of Moses - the 'dark waiting shape' - emerging 'out from the
dark', and helps to establish an atmosphere highly charged with
emotion and anguish as it builds towards the powerful passage
that describes Mary's death. This interplay between Mary's sense
of darkness and Moses emerging from the dark and the larger
background of the bush accelerates the action, creating a sense of
inevitability and thus preparing us for the climax where 'the bush
avenged itself. Increasingly towards the end, the analogy between
Mary's darkness - that repressed part of herself - and the 'black'
Moses emerging from the dark, and the larger background of the
bush or the 'dark continent' causes the meaning to resonate on
a larger and symbolic level, no matter how specific or realistic
their initial signification in the discourse. Through this strategy the
implicit symbolism evoked by the syntactic repetition counterpoints
the realistic level of narration, and the interaction between them
creates a fine linguistic tension which refuses to be released till
the end. This insistence on refusing to reduce the meaning to
any one level increases the intensity of the book and challenges
the reader to speculate on a level of meaning that transcends the
strictly realistic.
Thus since that early novel, Lessing seems to explore the limits of
the realistic tradition and challenge its boundaries. She breaks with
traditional plot by describing states of mind brought into focus by

symbolic actions, and by attending in these contexts to unconscious
levels of feeling, especially as they reflect connections with the outer
world. Though the overall structure largely follows the outer mode
of action, yet increasingly towards the end there is more room for
the inner mode of consciousness. The novel progresses from the
exclusively externalised view of the opening chapters to chart the
increasing isolation of Mary's consciousness. In the final chapters,
the external action is drastically reduced and the idiosyncrasies of
Mary's mind slowly emerge, reflecting her gradual breakdown.
When things get really hard for Mary's consciousness, the narrative
reflects her distorted state of mind, so that her breakdown is not
just thematic but is inherent in the handling of language. The
obsessive and distorted quality of Mary's perceptions is expressed
as a function of her losing control of language. The syntax, with its
disconnected lapses and apathetic poses, reveals the intensity of her
breakdown. The inability to use words becomes an expression of her
isolation and silence becomes a symptom of intense social pathol-
ogy. The narrative alternates between reality and dream with the
thin line between them gradually receding as the country becomes
an alien nightmarish presence in her consciousness. Increasingly
towards the end there is an analogy between Mary's state of mind
and the narrative structure. This takes place only in a limited area, in
the section describing her final day, where we witness Mary trying
to understand her dilemma and work out its cause. Here the novel
starts to reveal crucial facts about her problem as Mary herself is
able to recover them from her memory. Thus there is an analogy
between the novel's structure and the psychoanalytic process. The
reader, like the analyst, is gradually confronted with the crucial
repressed content of the protagonist's memory as she retrieves facts
from her past life. This process recurs in more complex ways in
Lessing's later novels, reflecting the mechanisms and depth of the
psychology. However, here it is strictly confined to this limited area
of the novel. Lessing therefore from the very beginning attempts to
include techniques proper to the psychological novel and the realm
of inner consciousness.
Having portrayed Mary's inner consciousness, the narrative then
invites us to take a look at the Turners from the outside, thus estab-
lishing an interaction between inner and outer modes of perception.
The last two chapters juxtapose two very different perspectives; the
external, conventional reality and values of South Africa on the one
hand, and Mary's disintegrating inner reality on the other hand.

Therefore a dialectic between outer and inner actions is in operation
in this early novel. This interaction, peculiar to all her novels,
becomes more central and explicit in her subsequent fiction where
the inner and outer action play a more balanced role in propelling
the action. Here, however, the interaction takes place in a limited
section of the novel, thus signifying the imbalance between the two
modes of consciousness. The single plane of consciousness which
Mary Turner experiences as an unmarried woman and largely after
her marriage, covers most of the narrative leaving a limited space
to develop the inner action. The structure of the novel is a reflection
of that imbalance where the outer plane of consciousness presides
and the collective will is the predominant one. What heightens the
effect of that imbalance is the sense of determinism implicit in the
form of this early novel. The determinism implied in the life of
the Turners is expressed in the form where the doomed ending
is given at the beginning. Thus a sense of tragic inevitability is
built into the very structure of the novel. The opening of the novel
ensures that we expect a tragedy and we watch the characters act
it out.
What further intensifies the effect of this first novel is the sense
of detachment created by the narrative voice. Although the nar-
rator limits herself to Mary's point of view in large parts of the
novel, we are not limited to her understanding. The objective
omniscient narrator creates an undercurrent of judgement which
stimulates the reader to think. We do not identify with Mary,
but follow her tragic failure with pity at her disintegration and
indignation at the conditions that propelled it. Although Lessing
is precise about the nature and cause of Mary's division, the
gap between the narrator's awareness and that of the protagon-
ist creates a significant tension throughout the novel. The nar-
rator constantly comments on and interprets events, behaviour
and feelings that Mary herself does not understand. By using
this device of the narrative 'interruption', Lessing establishes a
relationship between the narrative and the reader. Her 'reliable
narrator' has a crucial role in connecting the world the Turners
live in wTith the world of the reader, further allowing the restric-
tions of that society to be judged by the reader's set of values.
Wayne Booth's discussion of the notion of the 'reliable narrator'
in a literary work sheds light on the process of narration in this
novel:
48 Don's Lessing and Sufi Equilibrium
any story will be unintelligible unless it includes, however subtly,

the amount of telling necessary not only to make us aware of the
value system which gives it its meaning but, more important, to
make us willing to accept that value system, at least temporarily.
It is true that the reader must suspend to some extent his own
disbeliefs; he must be receptive, open, ready to receive the clues.
But the work itself - any work not written by myself or by those
who share my beliefs - must fill with its rhetoric the gap made
by the suspension of my own beliefs. 17
Since understanding the code of behaviour in the society of The Grass

is Singing plays a crucial role in that novel, the narrative technique
referred to here is of vital importance. In that context, the narrator
serves as a balancing scale, weighing and relating the restrictions of
that society and assisting the reader in understanding the difference
between the mores of that society and the level of understanding
implemented by the characters. The characters move in that world
unaware of the knowledge shared by the author and reader. This
use of authorial comment, therefore, serves to set us at an ironic
distance from the characters. By using this device of the narrative
interruption, Lessing creates 'dramatic irony, [which] by definition,'
cannot exist unless 'the author and audience can somehow share the
knowledge which the characters do not hold'. 18 In this sense, the
reader, in complicity with the author, observes Mary's fate from
the position of the ironic observer. D. C. Muecke has referred to the
privileges of such a position:
The ironic observer's awareness . . . of the victim's unawareness

invites him to see the victim as bound and trapped where he
feels free . . . harassed, or miserable, where he is dispassionate,
serene . . . ; trustful, credulous, or naive, where he is critical,
sceptical . . . 19
Much of the power of The Grass is Singing derives from the sar-
donic authorial intrusions that set the prevailing tone of irony and
distance. This first novel leaves an impression of detachment and
understatement which increases the horror of the tragedy developed
by intensifying the gap between the character's awareness and the
reader's. One of its strengths is that it refuses to release the tension
created by that initial gap and it is in that tension that lies the
glimpse of hope in the reader rather than in the protagonist. There
is no tragic catharsis in the self-knowledge painfully achieved by

Mary before her death, but the reader experiences pity and fear
for her fate. The detachment which that narrative technique creates
gives insight into the characters' predicament - an insight which
the characters lack, and therefore the reader is in a position to
transcend the limitation and determinism implied in the characters.
This quality of detachment, differently mediated, seems to point
forward to Lessing's later fiction where detachment becomes a
crucial prerequisite for understanding.
The Grass is Singing thus anticipates many of Lessing's major
intersets and subsequent explorations. It foreshadows a great deal
of the strengths of the works that follow and most important, it
establishes her basic criterion for the relationship between the
individual and collective - namely the necessity of developing the
inner self and attaining the equilibrium within as a basic tenet for
a healthy relationship with the collective. Mary's failure to develop
her inner self is the core of the tragedy developed in this powerful
first novel. Thus from this early novel, reconciling inner schisms
is the touchstone for a balanced existence and Mary's failure to
achieve that is poignantly felt throughout.
What Lessing has made so vivid in this first novel is that Mary's
present crisis is as much determined by her past as by her inability
to retrieve that past and acknowledge it in her consciousness much
more her inability to trace the root of her frustration in the collective
unconscious. There is no future for Mary since she cannot face her
past. Her role as uncomprehending victim seals her fate, for she
has no chance for survival in Lessing's world where survival
depends on awareness of inner self and developing the inner realm
of experience - a realm which Mary persistently blocks.
Thus Mary's tragic end is as much her own responsibility as the
result of the oppressive collective. Her destruction is the result of
a psychological problem as much as the outcome of the neurosis
of racial Africa. In this novel Lessing seems to fuse Freudian
determinism focused on personal history with Marxist determin-
ism reflected in collective history, but then sets against both of
these the possibility of transcending this determinism in Mary's
short moments of awakening. When asked about the 'determinism'
implied in The Grass is Singing - that 'Mary's personality is very
much determined by her upbringing, the poverty of the family
situation, emotional and economic' - Lessing put that positive
tendency clearly:
about determinism, I think that the patterns of peoples' lives are

determined by their society and by their characters and their
upbringing, of course. But what I'm interested in in people is not
what makes them like everybody else, and what you can expect
because they had this and that upbringing, but something else
that can fight them out of it or make them different.20
Developing that inner realm which can combat society becomes the
task of later heroines. The Grass is Singing, therefore, sets the pivot
of the crucial test which all her later heroines have to face with
varying degrees of success in their relation with their community.
Mary never undertakes the arduous journey. She therefore reaps
the negative results of lack of equilibrium. That challenge of facing
the inner self becomes the task of the protagonist of The Golden
Notebook.
2
The Golden Notebook
Lessing published The Golden Notebook in 1962 writh the experience
of five novels and a number of short stories behind her. It is here
that her major theme appears in its full complexity. As the inner
dimensions of the self are shown to become more conscious and
integrated into the personality, beginning with the character of Anna
Wulf, the theme of equilibrium assumes a more central position. The
protagonist's perception oscillates between two modes of reality
- an external, socially orientated landscape impinging upon the
individual's perception, and an internal landscape within the self.
Ornstein's definition of the mode of consciousness operating in each
realm is helpful here. According to Ornstein, 'the outward oriented'
realm operates on 'the verbal-intellectual and sequential mode' of
understanding. Its essence is analytic and is bound within a linear
time-frame. In contrast, the inner mode of consciousness operates
on a mode of cognition which is 'holistic' rather than sequential and
is hard to capture verbally. 1
As the action of The Golden Notebook grows out of that dual
perspective, the latter mode of consciousness is dramatized with
further complexity. The inner action reverberates between two
complementary and frequently overlapping modes of perception -
psychological knowledge and intuitive illumination. While the basic
tenet for the former is to retrieve the balance of the psyche, the latter
based on the esoteric traditions' assumption that man's essence is
spiritual, further postulates that there are modes of consciousness
essentially 'intuitive' which could be cultivated and developed to
counterbalance the empirical modes of perception. It is through that
process that man can break 'through the blindness which makes the
ordinary man captive to life and being as it ordinarily seems to be'. 2
According to the Sufis, that level of understanding could only be
achieved through 'the balance of all the faculties'. 3
It is precisely that balance in perception which Anna Wulf of The
Golden Notebook relentlessly seeks to achieve. 4 Anna is tormented by
51
an inability to grasp 'reality' owing to her sojourn in a society which

rigorously believes in rationality as the exclusive mode of cognition.
Attempting to grasp 'reality' through t h a t ' kind of intelligence' - the
'analytic Anna', seriously distorts the truth she senses. Only after
her reconciliation with the realm of the 'unconscious' as well as her
recognition of a mode of 'knowing [as] an "illumination"' (609) that
she can perceive reality in its true complexity. To her, the meaning of
reality does not lie in any one of these poles, but in the equilibrium
between them. Valid action must also take these levels of perception
into account, and failure to do so results in a sense of fragmentation
and alienation.
The form of the novel is of paramount importance in mediating its
meaning. Anna's fragmentation is represented by her keeping four
notebooks; 'a black notebook, which is to do with Anna Wulf the
writer; a red notebook, concerned with politics; a yellow notebook,
in which I make stories out of my experience; and a blue notebook
which tries to be a diary' (461-2). Each of the first three notebooks
records her involvement in a different experience and in each Anna
is trapped in the deadlock which results from limiting herself to
one level of perception. Unaware of the reason for her impasse,
Anna closes one after the other of these notebooks with a 'double
black line' (510, 515, 525, 585). The Blue Notebook dramatizes her
reluctant acknowledgement of an inner reality which gradually
emerges to the foreground. Once she is able to acknowledge that
area of her consciousness she gives up writing in the four notebooks
and buys a 'Golden Notebook' which sets the counter thrust of the
action. She also writes a novel entitled 'Free Women' whose five
chapters intersect with the notebooks. The notebooks and the ' Free
Women' segments give The Golden Notebook its shape.
While this intricate form enabled Lessing to illustrate both fully
and economically the wide range of experience open to the pro-
tagonist, it also provoked a controversial response to the novel
ranging from the feeling that 'a novel about a novelist writing . . . is
a ponderous bore', 5 to its evaluation as 'the most absorbing and
exciting piece of new fiction . . . in a decade'. 6 In the domain of
feminist criticism, the mixed response of reviewers ranges from the
conclusion that Anna is 'one of "those" women - the ones who cry
"freedom" while hugging their chains', 7 to its evaluation as 'Doris
Lessing's most important work [which] has left its mark upon the
ideas and feelings of a whole generation of young women'. 8 Such
an attempt at reading the novel from any one entry in isolation
The Golden Notebook 53
distorts its meaning. While each notebook focuses on a different

realm of experience, none, on its own, offers the central meaning. It
is in bringing together the different threads of the narrative that the
meaning of equilibrium lies, providing unity for the overall work.
In an interview with Roy Newquist, Lessing reveals that 'the point
of that book was the relation of its parts to each other.' 9
Moreover, a closer study shows that however different the experi-
ences in each notebook may appear to be, the reason for Anna's
literary and emotional block is one - her one-sided perception of
reality. Anna's anxiety and dissatisfaction is intensified by her initial
inability to see that connection. We therefore find that although in
each notebook Anna is dealing with a different group of people in
a different milieu, the same search for equilibrium gives the action
its dynamic and is only fulfilled in the 'Golden Notebook' segment
which gives the novel its title.
The search for equilibrium is therefore a comprehensive theme
that runs through all the novel's parts and binds its different strata.
I shall first deal with that central theme and the different issues it
raises throughout the notebooks, and the 'Free Women' segments,
and then examine the significance of the structure.
The Black Notebook is ostensibly about Anna's novel 'Frontiers
of War'. She is an author wrho has published one highly successful
novel - a best seller - but now suffers from writer's block. In her
notebook she records her business dealings connected with the
novel and her experience in Africa - the material out of which
the novel was written. The intrinsic motif, however is her relentless
attempt to understand why both the novel and the substantial facts
she records in the notebook equally fail to capture 'the truth'.
She is exasperated at the fact that what seemed to have been
representation of truth at the time it was written, now appears to
be 'false' and dishonest. Her preoccupation was to represent reality
in her novel, but her understanding of reality at that point of her life
was limited to the 'outward oriented' world. She therefore succeeds
in portraying the factual events of racialism and war, but is appalled
at the emotion of nihilism and fatality which the novel initiated in its
readers. At first, she refers such a response to the misunderstanding
of the readers as well as the film-makers who wanted to make the
novel into a film called 'Forbidden Love'. But in the course of her
recollection, she becomes more and more aware that both readers
and film-makers have rightly recognized the novel's essence and
that its success in depicting and emphasizing the nihilistic spirit
of the age was 'precisely what made it successful as a novel' (82).

She reasons with herself:
I said nothing in it that wasn't true. But the emotion it came

out of was something frightening, the unhealthy, feverish, illicit
excitement of wartime . . . Nothing is more powerful than this
nihilism, an angry readiness to throw everything overboard, a
willingness, a longing to become part of dissolution. This emotion
is one of the strongest reasons why wars continue. And the people
who read Frontiers of War will have had fed in them this emotion,
even though they were not conscious of it. That is why I am
ashamed, and why I feel continually as if I had committed a
crime. (82)
The tone of this novel was sharply at odds with Anna's cherished
belief that a novel should make a statement of hope and of moral
commitment, 'strong enough to create order, to create a new way
of looking at life' (80). But she finds herself incapable of this kind
of writing because her personality is dominated by one level of
perception:
I know very well from what level in myself that novel, Frontiers
of War came from. I knew when I wrote it. I hated it then and I
hate it now. Because that area in myself had become so powerful
it threatened to swallow everything else. (81)
This realization does not make the situation any better for Anna
since she is not yet aware of an alternative to redress the balance
of her personality,
Anna's problem is a complex one. She is a daughter of her age,
and shares its reverence for intellect and rationality. Her education
within the circles of humanism and Marxism - 'the "liberal" or
"free" intellectuals' (548) - not only binds her to one level of
perception, but also intensifies her sense of nihilism and frustration.
She felt:
discouraged and depressed. Because in all of us brought up in

a Western democracy there is this built-in belief that freedom
and liberty will strengthen, will survive pressures, and the belief
seems to survive any evidence against it. This belief is probably
in itself a danger. (548)
Tormented by the discrepancy between these teachings and the

chaotic reality she perceives, Anna tries to transcend that limited
perception in order to understand that gap. However, a comple-
mentary source of perception is out of reach and her anxiety is
intensified: 'I suffer torments of dissatisfaction and incompletion
because of my inability to enter those areas of life my way of living,
education, sex, politics, class bar me from' (344).
In her attempt to redress the failure of Frontiers of War, Anna
proceeds to record accurately the material which fuelled it. Recalling
the group of friends with whom she spent her youth in Africa,
raiding the Mashopi Hotel in the weekends, she discovers with
surprise that Paul Blackenhursfs tendency towards violence and
his alleged cynicism was no more than an expression of his 'frus-
trated idealism' (108). What Anna fails to realize is that not only
Paul, but also she herself, Mary Rose, Jimmy, Ted and George
Hounslow were entangled in that trap - 'the gap between what I
believe in and what I do' (142). They all oscillated between the two
possibilities open to them; to abide by an ideal and become 'naive'
or to acknowledge that chaotic reality and eventually give way to
cynicism. 10 Diametrically opposed as these two attitudes may seem
to be, they are the symptoms of one malady. Limited to the rational
mode of thinking - the sequential chain of cause and effect - these
young intellectuals are unable to understand the complexity of life.
Abiding by their 'selective' intelligence, they are unable to 'fit
conflicting things together', and are therefore entrapped in a sense
of cynicism, which Anna refers to as the 'wrong tone':
I hate that tone, and yet we all lived inside it for months and
years, and it did us all, I'm sure, a great deal of damage. It was
self-punishing, a locking of feeling, an inability or a refusal to
fit conflicting things together to make a whole . . . The refusal
means one can neither change nor destroy; the refusal means
ultimately either death or impoverishment of the individual.
(83-4)
In his study of the psychology of the modern Western individual,

Jung points out how the one-dimensional attitude reduces the
autonomy of the individual and breeds violence: 'Modern man
does not understand how much his "rationalism" . . . has put him at
the mercy of the psychic "underworld"'. 11 Alienated from the inner
self as the centre of experience, the individual identifies exclusively
with the empirical reality, an attitude which breeds violence on the

individual and the collective levels: 'The whole world wants peace
and the whole world prepares for war, to give but one example.' 1 2
Modern man, therefore, according to Jung, becomes entangled in
further violence and his anxiety and cynicism are intensified by his
inability to revert its action.
In her memoirs, Anna recalls two separate incidents in which
this group of young people were entangled in perverse violence.
Reflecting on the incident in which they deliberately provoke Mrs
Boothbys, the landlady of the hotel, Anna is especially tormented by
that attitude:
what is so painful about that time is that nothing was disastrous.

It was all wrong, ugly, unhappy and coloured with cynicism, but
nothing was tragic, there were no moments that could change
anything or anybody. From time to time the emotional lightning
flashed and showed a landscape of private misery, and then - we
went on dancing. (146)
In the third segment of the Black Notebook, Anna records another

incident of violence where the group go pigeon-hunting. Paul
goes on shooting cooing pigeons in a sickening scene of blood
and violence. He further shares Jimmy's attempt to impose 'the
scientific approach' (409) on a group of mating grasshoppers. They
classify the big insects with each other and they all wait to watch
'the triumph of commonsense' (409). The insects die in the evenly
matched battle which had 'upset the balance of nature' (422).
It is ironical, of course, that Anna recalls these two incidents with-
out being able to connect them or to realize the cause underlying
their perverse actions. What worries her though, is that the latter
incident was completely buried in an area of herself with which
she was out of touch: 'I haven't thought of it for years, . . . I am
again exasperated because my brain contains so much that is locked
up and unreachable' (405). She's even unable, at first, to detect
the connection between this material and her novel. As she ends
the long memoir, she concludes, 'that was the material that made
Frontiers of War'. Of course the two 'stories' have nothing at all in
common.' (162) But when she reads over this new account, she finds
that, like the novel, it distorts the 'truth' by reflecting a tone of false
nostalgia.
As Anna probes into her memories, the reader realizes that her
difficulty lies in a basic imbalance in her perception; 'when I

think back to that time . . . I have to first switch something off
in me; now writing about it, I have to switch off . . . ' (82). It
becomes clear that the reason underlying Anna's literary block
lies in her inability to acknowledge that other realm as a source
of perception; 'trying to remember - it's like wrestling with an
obstinate other-self who insists on its own kind of privacy. Yet
it's all there in my brain if only I could get at i f (148). In that
context, the technique of memoir writing 13 employed by Doris
Lessing is a successful strategy which enables her 'to say things
about time, about memory . . . what we choose to remember -
about the human personality because a personality is very much
what is remembered'. 14
It is therefore significant that Anna finds difficulty in remember-
ing the events and connecting between them. In her attempt to recall
the material that she used in writing the 'Frontiers of War', Anna
is thereby forced to reckon with a dimension of herself with which
she was entirely out of touch, as the opening passage of the Black
Notebook implies:
black
dark, it is so dark
it is dark
there is a kind of darkness here . . .
Every time I sit down to write, and let my mind go easy, the
words, It is so dark, or something to do with darkness. Terror.
The terror of this city. (75)
Unable to retrieve that darkness, the notebook ends with Anna's

sense of 'total sterility' (510). As far as her psychoanalyst is con-
cerned, this fear of the dark areas of the self should be unravelled
and 'named' in order to outgrow that 'sick' phase. But apparently
Anna has something more in mind; 'that is, ultimately, what I
couldn't stand. Because it means one level of morality for life,
and another for the sick' (81). Her aim is not merely to 'name'
and resolve the fears, but to bring that realm of the unconscious
to light as a counter-source of perception.
The reason underlying Anna's literary block, therefore, was due
to the fundamental imbalance in her personality as is revealed in the
Black Notebook. The Red Notebook dramatizes how her involve-
ment in practical life - the 'outward oriented' political realm -
without the solidification of an inner mode of consciousness, further

hazards the integrity of her personality.
Limiting herself to the external reality, mistaking it for the whole,
Anna joins the Communist party in the hope of achieving harmony:
'Somewhere at the back of my mind when I joined the Party was a
need for wholeness, for an end to the split, divided, unsatisfactory
way we all live' (171). No simple-minded idealist, however, Anna's
keen perception of the actual practice of socialism, ranging from
the Prague executions and Stalinism to the McCarthy hearings,
intensifies her cynicism - 'that awful dilettantish spite' (170). Her
frustration is further intensified by her being out of reach of a deeper
level of understanding which could have enriched the linear mode
of thinking that refuses to accommodate contradictions. Therefore,
'joining the Party intensified the split' within Anna, and it is
not merely that disparity between its ideals and its practice, 'but
something much deeper than that. Or at any rate, more difficult to
understand. I tried to think about it, my brain kept swimming into
blankness, I got confused and exhausted' (171).
Towards the centre of the Red Notebook, Anna records a dream
in which she sees a web of red material made of 'the myths of
mankind' (297) and shaped like a map of the Soviet Union, which
spreads out to create a world harmoniously unified under Socialism.
That image of harmony suddenly collapses because 'somebody
pulled a thread of the fabric and it all dissolved' (298). This dream
symbolically expresses her situation, and harps on the sense of
pseudo-harmony under which she is trying to shelter. But at this
stage she cannot afford to understand its significance; 'the meaning
is going, catch it, quick, then I thought, but I don't know what
the meaning is' (298). Carried away by the wave of happiness it
evoked, she cannot grasp a moment of 'vision' in which she has a
more 'holistic' view of the world; where 'pain' is a 'counterpoint'
to the 'great soaring hymn of joy' (298). However, at this stage,
she chooses to block out such mode of perception, 'I was very
frightened . . . as if I were being invaded by some feeling I didn't
want to admit' (297).
Another disturbing effect of belonging to the Party, one that
results from the same surrender to the external world, is that the
individual operates writhin 'a false system' which involves him in
a superficial relationship with his community. Alienated from the
inner self as the centre of experience, the individual seeks shelter
by identifying with what his environment wants him to be. As
Laing explains, this protective stance which is 'designed in the first

instance as a guard or barrier to prevent disruptive impingement on
the self, can become the walls of a prison from which the self cannot
escape'. 15 It is within this pattern of playing and replaying roles that
Anna finds herself trapped. A description of her meeting with Joyce,
as recorded in the Red Notebook, reveals that pattern in epitome:
this evening had dinner with Joyce, New Statesman circles, and
she started to attack Soviet Union. Instantly I found myself doing
that automatic-defence-of-Soviet-Union act, which I can't stand
when other people do it. She went on; I went on. For her, she
was in the presence of a communist so she started on certain
cliches. I returned them. Twice tried to break the thing, start on
a different level, failed - the atmosphere prickling with hostility.
(166-7)
In the Red Notebook as well as in the Black, Anna records several

instances in which she is trapped in situations from which she
cannot break free, and, as in the Black Notebook she still records
but cannot connect. She is only aware of the deepening rift between
what she writes and what she does, but is still unable to act upon
that awareness; 'I see that everything I write is critical of the
Party. Yet I'm still in i f (168). The Red Notebook closes with
newspaper cuttings referring to events in Europe, the Soviet Union,
China and the United States and 'Like the cuttings on Africa in
the same period, they were about, for the most part, violence'
(510).
Anna's personal relationships, like her political life, operate within
the same 'false system'. The male-female relationship, the dynamics
of which form the central subject of the Yellow Notebook, operate on
that fundamental disequilibrium. We have seen how Anna sought
shelter by her desperate clinging to the Communist Party; in her
personal relationships she is urged by a similar need for men who
will rescue her from her sense of fragmentation - who will 'complete
her'. Such a relationship is doomed since according to Lessing, the
basic tenet for a healthy relationship is that each should first mature
as an individual in his or her own right. The reason why Anna's
relationships with men were a recurrent disappointment, was that
she as well as they, 'were all in fragments, not one of them a whole,
reflecting a whole life, a whole human being' (226) It is therefore
clear that the inherent premise here is not a quest for 'Women's
Liberation' but rather for the equilibrium within a personality be

it man or woman.
Jung explains how the desperate attempt by both men and women
to hold fast to sexual relationships in order to hide their incom-
pleteness leads to fragmentation in both. According to Jung's sex
configurations, 16 man's anima, being repressed in the unconscious,
is embodied mainly in the archetype of the 'mother-imago' 17 which
the man seeks in his relationship with every woman. However,
man's need to be reunited with that image is undermined by the fear
of losing himself in that relationship's overwhelming involvement.
This ambivalent attitude towards woman is expressed in his need to
betray as soon as the woman makes demands. In compliance with
that cycle, women have to suppress that animus to please men.
Their need to keep the relationship intact urges them to gratify
their lover's need to see them as the embodiment of the mother
image. Fear of losing that relationship under which they shelter,
however, makes them more jealous.
This 'sadistic-masochistic cycle' (584) is the paradigm underlying
Anna's ambivalent relationship with Michael, Nelson and De Silva.
Both Anna and the men with whom she comes into contact only
attempt to gratify the ego and therefore once the relationship is
broken, they feel ultimately devastated and shattered. In the Yellow
Notebook, Anna writes a fiction entitled 'The Shadow of the Third'
in an effort to understand the reason for the break-up of her affair
with Michael. This novel describes the relationship between Ella
and Paul Tanner - the fictional projections of Anna and Michael
- from their first meeting until he deserts her when she becomes
more demanding and jealous. Reading what she had written, Anna
realizes how far 'the experience of being rejected by Michael had
affected her' (327). As she reflects on her relationship with Michael,
she is bewildered at her unwitting entanglement in such a vicious
circle, and realizes how far she had chosen not 'to admit what was
wrong' in order to make it work out:
And so now, looking back at my relationship with Michael . . . I

see above all my naivety. Any intelligent person could have
foreseen the end of this affair from its beginning. And yet I,
Anna, like Ella with Paul, refused to see it . . . And when his
own [Paul's] distrust of himself destroyed this woman-in-love,
so that she began thinking, she would fight to return to naivety.
(216)
So in her relationship with men, as in her social and political

experience, she is forced to choose one of two alternatives; either
to 'collude' 1 8 in this repeated cycle of role-playing, or to be disil-
lusioned and give way to cynicism and a sense of being betrayed.
She sees these two alternatives 'not merely as denying Anna, but as
denying life itself (574), and she feels that this is a 'fearful trap for
women' (574).
We leave Anna, at the end of the Yellow Notebook, with an
emotional block:
I, Anna would never begin an affair with Paul. Or Michael. Or

rather, I would begin an affair, just that, knowing exactly what
would happen; I would begin a deliberately barren, limited
relationship. (216)
Apparently Anna cannot go any further at that point although she

closes the 'The Shadow of the Third' with a glimpse of the solution:
'A man and a woman - yes. Both at the end of their tether. Both
cracking up because of a deliberate attempt to transcend their own
limits. And out of the chaos, a new kind of strength' (454).
Lessing's distancing technique of a fiction within a fiction is of
particular interest here. Projecting the relationship of Anna and
Michael onto the fictional characters of Ella and Paul Tanner achieves
a dual perspective. While Anna is conscious of the usefulness of
this experience, the device is also valuable for the reader who can
see more clearly than Anna the significance of the discoveries she
makes. Putting the notebooks against each other as Lessing does,
the reader perceives obliquely the basic tenet underlying Anna's
frustration. Although Anna makes the bitter discovery that in her
relationship with Michael she was mediating with one level of the
self, not the 'whole' (226) of her personality, the reader - not the
fragmented Anna - perceives that fundamental disequilibrium as
the basis of her literary as well as her emotional block, distorting her
relationship with her community at large. However, Anna herself
is incapable of such perception. She sees each aspect of her life as
separate. Her fragmented perception - operating on the 'outward
oriented world' - resembles that expressed in a Sufi story quoted
by Lessing to reveal how such perception distorts reality. The story
refers to how a group of people try to figure the reality of an elephant
- an animal they have never seen before. In the dark, they approach
the animal through piece-by-piece investigation:
One finding its trunk, said it was a hosepipe. Another, that it

was a fan: he had touched its ear. A third said it was a kind
of pillar, while a fourth reported it must be a living throne.
Each was sure he was right; yet none had formed a complete
picture; and of the part he felt, could only talk in terms of things
he knew. 19
Throughout the notebooks, Anna had attempted to understand

reality through making fiction - the Yellow Notebook - or through
rewriting fiction - the Black Notebook. In the second segment of
the Blue Notebook, she attempts to portray reality by recording
bare facts, moment by moment as they happen. All attempts prove
equally inadequate - 'a failure' (360). The reason 'why all this is
untrue' (231) is, as she later discovers, that 'the material had been
ordered by me to fit what I knew' (597). They were all 'written in
terms of analysis' in which her restrictive and selective intelligence
is 'instinctively isolating and emphasising the factors'. At this point
Anna does not 'see any other way to write i f (231), but later in
the Blue Notebook she starts to realize that this sequential mode
of thinking is only one side of the coin:
This quality, this intellectual 'I wanted to see what was going to
happen,' 'I want to see what will happen next', is something loose
in the air, it is in so many people one meets, it is part of what we
all are. It is the other face of: It doesn't matter, it didn't matter to
me . . . (485)
The Blue Notebook opens with Anna's 'lack of feeling' (235), her
sense of 'being frigid' (236) and 'enclosed by the repetitive quality'
(236) but ends with her decision: 'I'll pack away the four notebooks.
I'll start a new notebook, all of myself in one book' (585). Surely
somewhere in between lies the decisive action which led to that
turning point in Anna's hitherto fragmented character - a counter
action which makes her experience regenerative and developmental
instead of being repetitive and cyclic.
In the Blue Notebook Anna acknowledges for the first time
that 'the raw unfinished quality in my life was precisely what
was valuable in it and I should hold fast to i f (239).20 She real-
izes that 'something has to be played out, some pattern has to
be worked through' (457). It is then that she finally decides to
leave the Communist Party because she sees for the first time
that the reality underlying the Marxian dialectic is cyclic rather

than developmental:
suddenly I see it differently. No, there's a group of hardened,

fossilised men opposed by fresh young revolutionaries as John
Butte once was . . . And then a group of fossilised hardened
men like John Butte, opposed by a group of fresh and lively-
minded and critical people. But the core of deadness, of dry
thought, could not exist without lively shoots of fresh life, to
be turned so fast in their turn, into dead sapless wood . . . And
as I think this, that there is no right, no wrong, simply a process,
a wheel turning, I become frightened, because everything in me
cries out against such a view of life . . . (339)21
Such a process which turns individuals into cyphers is intolerable

to Anna and she decides to leave the Party.
Her leaving the Communist Party coincides with Michael's
deserting her and Janet going to boarding school. Janet's leaving
frees Anna from another role under which she was sheltering: 'I have
depended a great deal on that personality - Janet's mother' (531),
and once Janet goes she feels that 'An Anna is coming to life that
died when Janet was born' (531). Janet's leaving also frees Anna from
the responsibility of having to cope with the external world, and lifts
the pressure of clock time for her. Furthermore, the arrival of Saul
Green, who has no sense of time, helps to release layers of her mind
previously unused. Her affair with Saul brings her self-division to
a crisis point; she obeys him while she is 'conscious of two other
Annas, separate from the obedient child' (525). The fourth segment
of the Blue Notebook is therefore continued 'without dates' and as
Anna's outer life loses shape, she realizes that she 'Must give it an
inner shape' (537).
The inner action in The Golden Notebook has been studied pre-
dominantly within the Jungian paradigm, and references to the
function of dreams as being 'similar to Jung' were recurrent. 22 A
closer study, however, reveals a dimension that transcends Jung's
therapeutic aim of 'naming' and resolving the conflicts. It is nec-
essary to delineate here two basic differences between two distinct
and overlapping motifs that operate in the inner realm - the motif
of descent as explicated by the Jungian paradigm and the motif of
ascent as developed by Sufi philosophy.
The Jungian paradigm is useful insofar as it explains how the
dynamics of the personality operate in a compensatory system

in which the unconscious or the 'dark' side of the personality
is experienced in dreams, or if 'insanity gives it a free hand'. 2 3
The main achievement, however, is to acknowledge 'forgotten or
repressed contents' 2 4 of the individual and collective unconscious,
which 'consists of pre-existent forms, the archetypes'. 25 Where this
achievement creates a balance within the individual between the
conscious and unconscious aspects it purports a cyclic action -
a return to the past. 'The one watchword' for the Sufi tradition,
on the other hand, is 'evolution'. 26 Shah points out this essential
difference between the two modes, giving substantial proof that
Sufi philosophy works towards not 'mere equilibrium' but also 'a
dynamic forward movement'; the determining parameters of that
philosophy being both 'balance and evolution'. 27
Another basic difference is the attitude of the two traditions
towards 'transcendence'. Von Franz explains that though 'active
imagination is among the most important of Jung's discoveries',
it is essentially different from the Eastern forms of perception 'in
that the meditator remains completely devoid of any conscious goal
or program'. 28 Moreover, whereas 'the psychological "transcend-
ent function" arises from the union of conscious and unconscious
contents', 29 the Sufis on the other hand consider it a spiritual
dimension, which may take place accidentally but which should
be further activated and developed steadily to counterbalance the
other faculties:
The illumination or activation of one or more of the centres may

take place partially or accidentally. When this happens, the indi-
vidual may gain for a time a deepening and intuitive knowledge
corresponding with the latifa involved. But if this is not a part
of comprehensive development, the mind will try, vainly to
equilibrate itself around this hypertrophy . . . The consequences
can be very dangerous, and include, like all one-sided mental
phenomena, exaggerated ideas of self-importance, the surfacing
of undesirable qualities, or a deterioration of consciousness fol-
lowing and access of ability. 30
These intrinsic differences are instructive in understanding the

complexity of the inner action in The Golden Notebook. Anna brings
out this distinction clearly when she tells her Jungian psychologist:
'I want to be able to separate in myself what is old and cyclic, the
recurring history, the myth, from what is new . . . '. She asserts
that the practice suggested by her psychoanalyst - to 'name' and
acknowledge the contents of the unconscious - is not enough and
insists on the validity of 'a vision' which is 'hard enough to come
b y ' and which is different from 'the old dream of the golden age'
(459).
Here, the motif of ascent does not rest with flashes of inspira-
tion, but is a process which involves hard work and concentration
to achieve heightened levels of perception to counterbalance the
depths of the unconscious. The dynamic of the inner action vibrates
between moments of vision and dreams; each descent into the past
either in dream or continued in waking life is preceded by a moment
of intuition after which Anna plunges willingly into further depths
of the unconscious. Here the moments of 'illumination' become the
initiative of the action so that 'the dreaming . . . had the quality
of words spoken after the event, or a summing-up, for emphasis'
sake, of something learned' (610). Moreover, the descent into the
unconscious had a significantly different goal, 'it was not making
past events harmless, by naming them, but making sure they were still
there' (594).
These complementary motifs drive the action in the last segment
of the Blue Notebook in an evolutionary process which culminates
in the Golden Notebook section. Not much change takes place
outside, but decisive development takes place in the inner realm
where Anna starts to perceive levels of existence shielded from
the rational mode of thinking. Anna enters this state of awareness
somewhat by accident and is gradually forced to acknowledge these
potentials as valid sources of perception to regulate the imbalances
in her conscious mind and to take their proportional place in her
understanding of the world:
. . . suddenly I moved forward into a new knowledge, a new

understanding; . . . not the intellectual balancing of probabilities,
possibilities . . . There was a kind of shifting of the balances
of my brain, of the way I had been thinking . . . I knew, but
of course the word, written, cannot convey the quality of this
knowing . . . in a way that would never leave me, would become
part of how I saw the world. (568)
During this visionary state which goes beyond thoughts and

words, Anna starts to see through the inadequate emphasis of
newspaper headlines on war and violence, to the balancing of

destructive and creative forces at the root of life. In the first three
notebooks Anna was appalled at what she called 'joy-in-spite' or
'joy-in-destruction' which coloured the actions of the group of
youths in her early life in Africa, and overshadowed her rela-
tionships with men as DeSilva. Her essentially humanistic beliefs
blocked her understanding of a central balance between the creative
and destructive potentials and were at the root of her refusal to
accept the fact of evil as part of herself and the world. It is only
through the interaction between these means of perception that
Anna starts to have a more comprehensive understanding of reality.
This visionary perception is counterbalanced by a further descent
into the unconscious: 'I felt a change in myself . . . and I knew
this change to be another step down into chaos' (57). Initially, this
principle of 'joy-in-destruction' appeared in her dreams as a vase,
then it evolved into a human form - a dwarf; it was then projected
on an actual person, DeSilva. It is only when she has this vision that
she stops projecting it on others: 'I slept and I dreamed the dream.
This time there was no disguise anywhere. I was the malicious
male-female dwarf figure, the principle of joy-in-destruction . . . '
(573). She wakes filled with peace because, in someway not yet clear
to her, she has 'dreamed the dream "positively"' (574).
At that point, her consciousness only envisions people involved in
violence and war in different parts of the world and she easily enters
the consciousness of the mad Mr. Themba whose life is coloured
with cynicism and hatred. She cannot yet enter the consciousness
of Mr. Mathlong, whose 'quality of detachment' 3 1 enables him to
transcend the frustrations of a limited perception of life and to act
for the cause of good while holding a tacit awareness of the defiling
power of evil. Mathlong's attitude represents a point of balance that
Anna tries to attain, still unsuccessfully at this stage:
I told myself I had failed because this figure, unlike all the
others, had a quality of detachment . . . It seemed to me that
this particular kind of detachment was something we needed
very badly in this time, but that very few people had it and it
was certainly a long way from me. (576)
In order to attain such a state Anna has to achieve further heights

and depths of perception. The difficulty of achieving further 'detach-
ment' is dramatized in the 'flying dream' in which she 'wills to
fly to the East' (579) but, once there, she cannot fly again because
she 'realized that Anna's brain was in her still, and I was thinking
mechanical thoughts which I classified as "progressive and liberal'".
Her 'fear of being trapped there' (580) wakes her up.
The last dream recorded in the Blue Notebook, however, marks a
step forward in her development. She dreams that various acquaint-
ances from her past in Africa try to fit themselves into her body
and she wakes 'a person who had been changed by the experience
of being other people' (580). She felt that she 'had been delivered
from disintegration because [she] could dream it' (579). She can now
go on to write in the 'Golden Notebook' where further depths and
heights will be explored.
In the Golden Notebook section, the constructs of time and space
further dissolve; time has no meaning to Saul or to Anna and 'the
walls were losing their density' (591).32 Here Anna achieves a rather
heightened level where she could see through Saul's consciousness;
'I knew that Saul would come downstairs and say something that
echoed what I was thinking; this knowledge was so clear that I sim-
ply sat and waited' (590). She experiences a heightened awareness
of her surroundings in another moment of 'illumination - one of
those things one has always known, but never really understood
before'. She cannot fully grasp its meaning until she experiences
the counter descent which sends her further 'down into a new
dimension, further away from sanity than I had ever been' (591).
These two motifs are embodied in epitome in the tiger dream
that follows. Anna dreams that she is trapped in a cage with a
tiger, which she identifies as Saul. She descends under the surface
of water, and deep beneath her are monsters and crocodiles 'so old
and tyrannous'. Then a voice warns her that she should not stay
there and urges her 'to fly'. Being entrapped, she finds it difficult
at first: 'It was so difficult that I almost fainted, the air was too thin,
it wouldn't hold m e ' (592). She then manages to fly out of the cage
and urges the tiger to run free.
That access to the claustrophobic regions of the past should
be counterbalanced by other heightened levels of perception, is
clear here. 33 It is only when these regions of the consciousness
are acknowledged as counter sources of cognition to enrich the
understanding of her past and present life that one after the other
of her blocks is disnmantled.
One of the persistent 'tones' in which Anna and the others were
locked wTas the tone of 'false nostalgia', the result of their one-sided
perception of life. In a controlled retrospective she sees how far their

understanding was blurred by refusing to accept the complexity
of life. She and the rest of the group watch the Mashopi Hotel,
concentrating on an image of beauty and are reluctant to accept the
danger they see, let alone take action to prevent the menace:
The hotel building seemed to have exploded in a dancing whirling

cloud of white petals or wings, millions of white butterflies had
chosen the building to alight on. It looked like a white flower
opening slowly, under the deep steamy blue sky. Then a feeling
of menace came into us, and we knew we had suffered a trick
of sight, had been deluded. We were looking at the explosion of
a hydrogen bomb, and a white flower unfolded under the blue
sky in such a perfection of puffs, folds, and eddying shapes that
we could not move, although we knew we were menaced by it.'
(594)
Once Anna is able to perceive the existence of destructive and

creative potentials, she becomes able to review scenes from her
past, but this time 'the terrible falsity of nostalgia had gone out of
i f (594).
Anna and her group were frustrated because they were only able
to recognize what they were taught to see. But Anna's acquisition
of a new mode of perception disrupts that habitual perspective and
enables cognition - not merely recognition - to take place. The
turning point for Anna comes as she interweaves different levels
of perception to understand and accept the existence of opposites
which do not necessarily bear the relationship of cause and effect.
Shah has stated:
The working together of opposite things is another significant

theme of Sufism. When apparent opposites are reconciled, the
individuality is not only complete, it also transcends the bounds
of ordinary humanity as we understand them. The individual
becomes, as near as we can state it, immensely powerful. 34
This concept is symbolically portrayed in a climactic episode in

Anna's continued dream where she sees Paul Tanner, the frustrated
idealist of the Yellow Notebook, merge with the figure of Michael,
her lover who was 'toughened' (167) by experience:
When these two figures finally merged, a new person was

created . . . This new person was larger in build, with the heroic
quality of a statue, but above all, I could feel his strength. (595)
Anna finally becomes aware that the failure of an idealist to achieve

his Utopian goals should not necessarily lead to frustration and
cynicism. In this dream, the 'new person' addresses Anna in a 'new
strong voice' (595), expressing Paul's idealism, but this time without
cynicism:
'But my dear Anna, we are not the failures we think we

are . . . we are here, the boulder pushers . . . All our lives,
you and I, we will use all our energies, all our talents, into
pushing that boulder another inch up the mountain. And they
rely on us and they are right; and that is why we are not useless
after a l l ' ( 5 9 5 - 6 )
This image stands in sharp contrast with that of the stunned and
frustrated people of the previous episode of the Mashopi Hotel. It is
with such new strength that an individual can break from the cycle
of nihilism and achieve his role towards his society with a thrust
forward no matter how slow.
Anna wakes from that dream in a dark room 'illuminated in three
places by glowing fire' (597). Anna had come nearer to the equi-
librium towards which the whole novel has been building. In the
last section of the inner Golden Notebook, she fully acknowledges
the dimensions of the inner modes of cognition and emphasizes the
importance of the perpetual negotiation between them:
knowing was an 'illumination'. During the last weeks of craziness

and timelessness I've had these moments of 'knowing' one after
the other, yet there is no way of putting this sort of knowledge
into words. Yet these moments have been so powerful, . . . that
what I have learned will be part of how I experience life until I
die. (609)
More important, she realizes that while she has to reconcile with
these long unacknowledged realms, she also has to maintain the
balance with the 'patterns' of the intellect:
and it's not a question of fighting it, . . . but simply knowing it

is there, always. It's a question of bowing to it, so to speak with
a kind of courtesy, as to an ancient enemy: All right, I know you

are there, but we have to preserve the forms, don't we? (610)35
Once Anna achieves that state of equilibrium, in which the

intellect continues its operations while simultaneously listening
to that inner voice which was previously feared as an enemy, the
resolution of the novel's constant negotiation is attained. Thus, to
say that Doris Lessing is interested in new areas of 'reality' does
not mean that she dismisses the rational mode. Her objection to that
mode, however, is that it is taken as the only reality.
'Reality' is therefore a keyword in this novel. Anna finally discov-
ers the vital importance of redefining 'reality', of widening its scale,
so that it may incorporate dimensions other than those restricted
to the 'linearity and polish of the intellect'. It is only when she
is projected to her past that she starts to understand areas of her
life she has not acknowledged before. As the film projectionist aids
her in that descent into the past, she recognizes events referred to
several times before, but this time she reviews them from a new
perspective:
I was embarrassed, because I was afraid I'd see the same set of
films I had seen before - glossy and unreal. But this time, while
they were the same films, they had another quality, which in the
dream I named 'realistic'; they had a rough, crude, rather jerky
quality . . . details I had not had time to notice in life. (610)
As the dream projection runs further scenes from her past, specifi-
cally the events that formed the material of her novel 'Frontiers of
War', she now knows, beyond doubt that they are full of 'untruth'
because they portray only one side of reality:
. . . I knew that what I had invented was all false. It was a whirl,
an orderless dance, like the dance of the white butterflies in a
shimmer of heat over the damp sandy vlei. The projectionist was (
still waiting, sardonic. What he was thinking got into my mind.
He was thinking that the material had been ordered by me to fit
what I knew, and that was why it was all false. (597) 36
The projectionist makes this knowledge explicit when he asks her

in a mocking voice if 'the emphasis is correct' (596). It is here that
Anna is made to come to terms with her writer's block for the first
time.
At first Anna had thought that art should be dedicated to por-
traying the practical outer reality exclusively and should pertain
to the patterns and order of intellect. This underlying assumption,
which stems from the realistic tradition, has eluded her in writing
'Frontiers of War' as a documentary recording of the ordinary
details of living and "The Shadow of the Third' as an 'analysis after
the event'. However, she was appalled when another dimension
loomed out of her writing:
I came across an entry [in Saul's diary] which frightened me,

because I had already written it, out of some other kind of
knowledge, in my Yellow Notebook. It frightens me that when
I'm writing, I seem to have some awful second sight, or some-
thing like it, an intuition of some kind . . . is at work that is much
too painful to use in ordinary life. (553)
Anna's inability to reconcile both activities in her artistic production

is at the core of her block. She is neither able to surrender to the
external reality as the only 'truth', nor is she able to acknowledge
the new channels of communication with the unconscious which
unwittingly find expression in her art: 'And so this is the paradox: I,
Anna, reject my own "unhealthy art"; but reject "healthy" art when
I see i f (344).
The crucial tenet here is not to abide by one rather than the other
but to hold a balance between both modes. By acknowledging the
important role of imagination without losing sight of the essen-
tial boundaries of ordinary reality, Anna transcends the awkward
dichotomy that lies at the basis of her previous conviction that art
should be anti-transcendent. She reflects on the possibility of that
equilibrium in her creation of the character of Ella:
After a while I realized I was doing what I had done before,

creating 'the third' - the woman altogether better than I was.
For I could positively mark the point where Ella left reality,
left how she wrould, in fact, behave because of her nature;
and move into a large generosity of personality impossible to
her. But I didn't dislike this new person I was creating; I was
thinking that quite possibly these marvellous, generous things
we walk side by side with in our imaginations could come into
existence, simply because we need them, because we imagine

them. (613)
A game which Anna used to play as a child reveals how her

consciousness operates in a manner that strives to maintain a
precarious balance between a reality that immediately impinges
on her consciousness while positing it against a wider scope; the
crucial test being to hold them side-by-side, not one cancelling the
other:
I used at night to sit up in bed and play what I called the 'game'.
First I created the room I sat in, object by object, 'naming' every-
thing, bed, chair, curtains, till it was whole in my mind, then
move out of the room, creating the house . . . then slowly, slowly,
I would create the world, continent by continent, ocean by ocean
(but the point of 'the game' was to create this vastness while
holding the bedroom, the house, the street, in their littleness in
my mind at the same time) until the point was reached where I
moved out into space, and watched the world, a sunlit ball in the
sky, . . . Then, having reached that point, . . . I'd try to imagine
it the same time, a drop of water, swarming with life, or a green
leaf. Sometimes I could reach what I wanted, a simultaneous
knowledge of vastness and of smallness. (531)
When Anna begins to play this 'game' as an adult it is with the

purpose of overcoming the limits of referential knowledge in order
to redress the balance of her artistic consciousness. Significantly, she
finds it very difficult at first, but gradually as she learns to redefine
reality and to 'expand one's limits beyond what has been possible'
(596), her block is resolved. Once she is able to redress the balance in
her consciousness, she cannot stop the flow of creativity: 'my mind
slipped into a gear foreign to me, and I began writing a story about
June Boothby. I was unable to stop the flow of words . . . ' (597).
However, another problem faces her after this release, that of the
inadequacy of the medium: 'I was in tears of frustration as I wrote
in the style of the most insipid coy woman's magazine' (597). Anna
finds that words articulate only the linear mode of thinking and are
therefore inadequate to describe 'the real experience' (609).37 As
Anna attains further heights and depths of consciousness the gap
between 'the density of [her] experience' and 'the thinning of lan-
guage' increases. This discrepancy is described by Ernest Cassirer
in his study of the relationship between language and the reality it

describes, particularly when it encorporates the phenomenology of
mythical thinking:
It seems that the true inner connection between the language

world on the one hand and the world of perception and intuition
on the other can only be apprehended clearly when, because of
special conditions the bond between the two begins to slack-
en . . . only then does it become evident how much the world
of perception, which one tends at first sight to interpret as a
datum of the scenes, owes to the spiritual medium of language,
and how every impediment of the process of spiritual communi-
cation effected in language also affects the immediate nature and
character of perception. 38
Anna's dissatisfaction with words is therefore more accurately seen

as dissatisfaction with the one-sided reality language expresses. In
order to stretch language to express a more comprehensive experi-
ence, Anna realizes that words can be redeemed by being used in
symbolic associations: 'Words words. I play with words, hoping
that some combination . . . will say what I want . . . a symbol of
some kind, a circle perhaps, or a square' (609).39
The achievement of equilibrium not only marks the resolution
of Anna's literary block, but also functions as the resolution of
the novel's constant negotiation between outer and inner action. As
Anna achieves equilibrium in the inner realm, the question remains
whether the novel does resolve the tensions in the outer action as
well as between the two.
Anna's affair with Saul Green gives an outer shape to her life
as she simultaneously attempts to give it an 'inner shape'. The
achievement of equilibrium within Anna's consciousness becomes
the determining parameter of the resolution of the conflicts in the
outer action. More important, it marks the development of the action
from the frustrating cycle of repetition to a positive and progressive
thrust forward.
Two contrasting versions of Anna's affair with Saul are given in
the Blue and Golden Notebook sections. At first, Anna's relationship
with Saul is locked within the same sick and destructive cycle that
colours the male-female relationships throughout the novel. They
are caught in 'this cycle of bullying and tenderness' (561) where
he becomes fussy and quarrelsome, and she becomes increasingly
jealous and demanding. He then confronts her, looking for the

'all-mother figure' to which she readily responds since no other
mode of life is open to her:
For with my intelligence I knew that this man was repeating

a pattern over and over again: courting a woman with his
intelligence and sympathy, claiming her emotionally; then, when
she began to claim in return, running away . . . I knew this with
my intelligence, and yet I sat there in my dark room, . . . longing
with my whole being for that mythical woman, longing to be her,
but for Saul's sake. (567)
However, they don't break out of that vicious circle except after
they both venture into the inner realm. Anna, who has achieved a
deeper insight before Saul at this point, tries to shake him out of
that repetitive pattern; '"Can't you see that this is a cycle, we go
around and around?"' (598). But it is not until Saul attempts to break
out of the imprisoning moulds of society, that he understands his
predicament.
Like the tiger in Anna's dream, he tries to break out of his
imprisoning roles to redress the balance of his personality; 'As I
crack up out of that 100 per cent revolutionary' (600). We follow
Saul's descent into the inner realm partly through Anna's conscious-
ness and partly through his own monologue as he breaks into 'I I
I, the naked ego' (606). Anna watches Saul's cracking up from the
standpoint of one who had been through it:
I could see behind his face, the black power; it was coming back
into his eyes. He was fighting with himself. I recognised that fight
as the fight I had had while sleeping . . . (599)
As she does to the tiger in her dream, she leads Saul on, and assures
him that he is on the right path, 'heading straight for' becoming 'one
of those tough, square, solid . . . men' (603).
It is only then that their relationship becomes creative and
regenerative. In the final episode of the inner Golden Notebook
their relationship enters a new phase. They outgrow their jealousy
and battering to a point where they tell each other, 'all that was
finished' (608), 'We can't either of us ever go lower than that' (616).
It is then that Anna gives him the Golden Notebook which he had
originally demanded. She does so not as a sign of resignation, but
as a token of their maturity and mutual creativity. By achieving her

own independent individuality, Anna rids herself from the previous
'note of being betrayed' which coloured her discussion of men with
her women friends. When Saul, therefore, comes to leave, she no
more feels the devastating anxiety she had felt when Michael left
her. Instead of the previous frigidity and emotional block, she
becomes as near as possible to the compassionate female figure she
had envisioned in her imagination in 'The Shadow of the Third':
'a serene, calm, unjealous, unenvious, undemanding woman, full
of resources of happiness inside herself, self-sufficient, yet always
ready to give happiness when it is asked for' (212).
Anna's final relationship with Saul holds in embryo the nucleus of
a mature, compassionate and fruitful relationship not only between
men and women, but also between the individual and the collective.
The inherent quest here comprehends and transcends the issue of
sexual politics since the equilibrium within the idividual becomes
the cornerstone in the relationship with the milieu.
The need to resolve the dichotomy between the individual and
his role in the society was part of the attraction of Communism for
Anna. But such a view collapsed with the ultimate succumbing to
the collective will she found in practice. To give in to external reality
is to strip the individual of his autonomy and to turn him or her
into a passive puppet easily swayed by society rather than a person
capable of effecting change. Modern psychologists, as well as Sufi
philosophers, insist that only a self-developed individuality can
contribute anything valuable to the collective. In Jung's study of the
relationship between the individual and the collective, he explains
that 'the change in the collective does not begin with propaganda
and mass meeting or with violence. It begins with a change in
individuals. ' 4 0 While Shah agrees that 'the gradual building up of
inner consciousness' 41 is the basis of the relationship between the
individual and the collective, he adds that the role of the Sufi does
not stop at this point:
According to the dervish, the conditions which have to be treated

are due to an unharmonious state of the mind, groping for
balance and evolution. It is impossible, from this point of view, to
attempt to restore a mere equilibrium without a dynamic forward
movement. The psychologist tries to make a warped wheel turn
smoothly. The dervish is trying to make the wheel turn in order
that it may propel a carriage. 42
It is with such strength and courage that Anna and Saul pursue
their role in society. In an early argument with Saul, Anna regrets
the fact that, 'Very few people have guts, the kind of guts on which
a real democracy has to depend. Without people with that sort of
guts, a free society dies or cannot be born' (548). Once Anna and
Saul have redressed the balance of their personalities so that each
is no longer limited to the 'ego', they develop an inner will to fight
and not to give in. They therefore become some of the few people
around whom the hope for change centres, as Saul tells Anna:
There are a few of us around in the world, we rely on each other

even though we don't know each other's names. But we rely on
each other all the time. We're a team, we're the ones who haven't
given in, who'll go on fighting. (617)
Anna has earlier quoted and significantly altered the myth of

Sisyphus:
There's a great black mountain. It's human stupidity. There are

a group of people who push a boulder up the mountain. When
they've got a few feet up, there's a war, or the wrong sort of
revolution, and the boulder rolls down - not to the bottom, it
always manages to end a few inches higher than when it started.
So the group of people put their shoulders to the boulder and
start pushing again. (604)
The concept that the rock does not roll back to the bottom is a
significant alteration of the myth of Sisyphus. Critics who see
Anna in line with the tradition of Camus' heroism of the absurd
overlook that crucial change. 43 Anna does not settle within the
cycle of absurd repetition and say 'all is well', but insists that the
thrust forward is in progress. She does not assert her humanity and
freedom by participating in a hopeless rebellion against an absurd
reality, nor does she 'accept alienation and live with it ', 44 but rather
finds meaning in an equilibrium which eventually purges her of
her previous cynicism and frustration, and endows her with a new
courage:
not the sort of courage I have ever understood. It's a small painful
sort of courage which is at the root of every life, because injustice
and cruelty is at the root of life. And the reason why I have only
given my attention to the heroic or the beautiful or the intelligent
is because I won't accept injustice and the cruelty, and so won't
accept the small endurance that is bigger than anything. (611)
Betsy Draine, in her study of The Golden Notebook, argues that Anna
is tempted to 'embrace nihilism' and like Nietzsche's Dionysian
wisdom, accepts to neutralize pain. 45 This is a serious distortion of
Anna's position. If Anna, like Nietzsche, finds 'a means of enduring
life', she does so on a different basis; Anna does not neutralize pain,
but finally understands that reality is a union of opposing forces
which sustain each other, and that her struggle to acknowledge
either of these forces, is only one impulse in a balance of polarities.
She therefore acknowledges the existence of 'pain' without losing
faith in her ideals - 'the beautiful . . . blueprints' (614). She has
achieved the point of balance she so much longed for when reflecting
on Mathlong's element of 'detachment'. Anna's temporary detach-
ment from society does not settle her for 'sainthood' but helps her
to undertake her role towards society as a 'boulder pusher'. Her
experience is not based on Nietzsche's 'fixation on chaos', but on a
philosophy that finds the potential of liberation in the crucial balance
between involvement and detachment; 'an individual who believes
that by practices alternate detachment and identification with life,
he becomes free.' 46
The relationship between the individual and the collective in The
Golden Notebook, therefore, takes a developmental form. It is no more
the vicious circle of the 'group of hardened, fossilised men', who
stifle the 'group of fresh and lively minded and critical people'
but a positive and regenerative experience where the will of the
individual is compared to a 'blade of grass' 4 7 which will push its
way up through steel, a thousand years after bombs have destroyed
the world: 'Because the force of will in the blade of grass is the same
as the small painful endurance' (612).
The Golden Notebook section closes with a sober note of fraternity
and solidarity, as Saul and Anna find enough resources within
themselves 'in order to propel a carriage'. They both resolve their
frustrated emotions towards society and towards their writer's
block. Saul, who is also a writer, gives Anna the first sentence of
a new novel and she does the same for him.
The opening sentence of the 'Free Women' sections - 'The two
women were alone in the London flat' - is the sentence Saul gives
Anna at the end of the Golden Notebook section. We assume,

therefore, that the 'Free Women' chapters form the novel Anna
herself wrote after resolving her block. The fact that Doris Lessing
does not disclose that the 'Free Women' sections constitute the novel
Anna subsequently wrote, causes a dramatic effect on the reading of
the novel. We have to go back and reread the segments in this new
light before proceeding to the fifth section of 'Free Women'. This
process is similar in effect to Shklovsky's idea of 'defamiliarization'.
The ultimate end of such technique is to slow down the process
of reading, 'to make forms difficult, to increase the difficulty and
length of perception' 48 so that familiar attitudes and habitual actions
cease to be perceived automatically and are thus 'defamiliarized'.
However, while the 'Formalists' as critics, were mainly interested
in the nature of the mechanism which produced the effect of
'defamiliarization' rather than in the perceptions themselves, Doris
Lessing, pays equal attention to both concerns so that meaning and
structure reinforce each other and their interaction becomes the clue
to the understanding of the novel.
Lessing's use of the 'intersective' technique in which four seg-
ments of the four notebooks are interspersed and juxtaposed against
five chapters of ' Free Women', challenges the linear reading of the
novel. The four notebooks portraying the disorderly mass of Anna's
unconventional experience from the subjective point of view of the
first-person narrator are set against the chronological order of the
objective third-person narration of the 'Free Women' segments
to challenge the reader's tendency to abide by the latter - the
neatly organized sequential narrative - as the only valid source
of information. By attributing the authorship of 'Free Women' to
Anna, the reader realizes that the apparently omniscient narrator of
'Free Women' is the Anna of the notebooks. The reader is therefore
forced to reconsider his assumptions and reorganize his mental set,
to balance both modes in his consciousness in order to accept the
impact of the work as a whole. Reading across the excerpts from
the four notebooks which are carefully juxtaposed with the 'Free
Women' sections, we follow Anna's attempt to 'fit things together'
so that the mind would 'become an area of differing balances' (623).
This seems to be what Doris Lessing meant when she described
her work as 'an attempt to break a form, to break certain forms
of consciousness and go beyond them'. 49 Moreover, the aim here
is not to dismiss the sequential mode as such, but to free the
reader from this limited mode of constructing reality, so that a
new and more comprehensive mode of cognition should become

possible.
The linear reading of the novel is further interrupted by the
complexity of the time scheme. Though the notebooks are supposed
to be written over the same period of time - the period between
1950-57 - the chronology of the events is deliberately upset through
Lessing's technique of juxtaposing segments of each of the four
notebooks which do not necessarily cover the sequential order of
events. Her experience with Communism in her past African days
in the first segment of the Black Notebook is followed by a record of
her joining the Party in 1950 in the intersecting segment of the Red
Notebook. On the other hand, when Anna breaks off her entries in
the Blue Notebook for a few years we are not aware of this time
lapse since we can follow it in the other notebooks. This confusion
of time is more intricately employed within each notebook as
well. The events recorded in the Black Notebook are deliberately
disconnected, while the time sequence is reversed further to the
past as Anna revives hidden areas of her consciousness. In the
Red Notebook there is a time-lapse of eighteen months between
the first two entries and the subsequent ones so that the experience
of joining the Party is recorded within a couple of entries from her
decision to leave it. We are aware of this time-lapse only when we
try to fit these two conflicting events which are skilfully put against
each other. This time scheme disrupts the linear reading of the novel
so that as we take each step forward, we are also asked to explore the
depths of Anna's consciousness. As the time perspective changes,
the reader finds himself forced to reconstruct Anna's experience and
transcend her fragmentation by connecting parts to parts, as well as
parts to whole.
Furthermore, through a series of stages in time within this frame-
work, some incidents are reviewed a number of times from a
variety of perspectives. This layering of the same experience takes
a spiral direction, with the result that our sense of their signifi-
cance changes and deepens. The Mashopi Hotel incidents and the
episodes of the 'boulder pusher' are among the most significant
expressions of this process. It imposes on the reader the necessity
of matching the different levels in order to discover the subtlety
of Anna's deepening perception. More important, it highlights the
complexity of Anna's experience by presenting different stages of
her development while juxtaposing them against her past limited
perception.
80 Don's Lessing and Sufi Equilibrium
This layering of experience is further intensified by the novel-

within-the-novel technique. As Marjorie Lightfoot puts it:
In The Golden Notebook we see the novelist writing a novel (Doris

Lessing on Anna Wulf) about a novelist writing two novels (Anna
on Ella and 'Free Women'). These two novels respectively are
about a novelist writing a novel and about a novelist not writing
a novel. 50
By providing her protagonist, Anna Wulf, with a vocation as a

wTriter, Doris Lessing skilfully distances herself from her work.
She does not appear at all through the authorial comment that is
so marked a feature of her earlier work. Instead of narrating and
commenting upon her protagonist's experience, Lessing allows her
character, Anna, to reveal herself both in the first-person journal
and in the third-person novel Anna constructs from her experience.
The existence of discrepancies in events between the notebooks and
the 'Free Women' novel, however, added to the complexity of the
overall structure. John L. Carey, in his essay, 'Art and Reality in
The Golden Notebook', points out several discrepancies in chronology
and facts between both, concluding that 'By making Anna her
author, Lessing blurs almost totally the distinction between truth
and fiction.' 51
While, of course, all sections are fictional anyway, this confusing
relationship, which is intensifed by the novel-within-a-novel tech-
nique, goes beyond that truth/fiction issue, and focuses on the
very essence of the balancing of different levels of perception
which is the basic theme of The Golden Notebook. Often, Anna's
journals and fiction draw on the same material, so that we see
the same experience - her affair with Michael to quote but one
example, recorded from the limited, subjective point of view of
the diary account, and projected with the more revealing distance
of a fictional account, and given symbolic dimensions in a dream,
and discussed analytically with the psychotherapist. This method of
projecting the same experience from different perspectives; fictional
as well as factual, intellectual as well as intuitive, discursive as
well as symbolic, serves to deepen the understanding of 'truth' to
transcend the intellectual categories on which Anna had initially
relied. The reader is invited to experience a similiar deepening of
understanding by incorporating the different levels to form a new
perception which cannot be obtained through sequential, rational
modes exclusively. The experience of reading the novel, therefore,

resembles the esoteric disciplines of utilizing the texts to deepen
the significance of the written word. Atula Qarmani explains that
the esoteric texts were meant to be studied, 'By constant reading so
that the different levels of meaning should be absorbed gradually.
They were not read to be "understood" as you understand the term,
but to be absorbed into the very texture of your conscious being and
your inner self.'52
As a result, the entire novel becomes the deepening of Anna's
self revelation, an exploration of the truth, 'that comes out of
a part of the human consciousness which is always trying to
understand itself, to come to light'. 53 It becomes irrelevant within
this context to draw a line between 'fact and fiction' 54 since both
are designed to enrich each other in this multi-layered structure.
Tommy, in the 'Free Women' sections, for example, shoots and
blinds himself, but within the world of the notebooks, this event
never takes place. His blindness becomes a significant rendering
of the 'fact' that he chose to be a 'conscientious objector' which,
according to Anna, means a blocking out of a whole area of his
perception.
'Free Women' is therefore not a mimesis of factual events. It
transcends the mere recording and reflecting of everyday reality
and consequently marks a development in Anna's achievement.
Comparing it with her previous artistic achievements, we perceive a
widening of consciousness compared to the blurred, representative,
one-dimensional reality - 'highly coloured misf - of her first novel.
It is neither an 'analysis' of real events, nor is it informed by the
'false tone' that pervades her earlier writings. What saves it from
that frustrating tone is that it encompasses the knowledge that
reality has dimensions other than those accessible to the rational
ego and the novel dramatizes how Anna - the central character
of 'Free Women' - wrestles to come to terms with that wider
perspective:
She was trying to fit things together . . . It seemed as if her mind

had become an area of differing balances . . . It was not a ques-
tion of a sequence of events, with their probable consequences.
It was as if she, Anna, were a central point of awareness, being
attacked by a million unco-ordinated facts, and the central point
would disappear if she proved unable to weigh and balance the
facts . . . (623)
We are back to the Anna of the journals' consciousness, but while

'both Annas' are engaged in the same search for equilibrium, the
conventional form of 'Free Women' restricts the development of the
inner action. While, in the journals, we are introduced to the depths
and heights of Anna's consciousness as well as to her as a participant
in external action, the 'Free Women' novel gives more scope to the
latter at the expense of the former.
The relationship between the 'Free Women' novel and Anna's
journals therefore becomes more intricate, as the juxtaposition
between them unravels further significance. Comparing them we
are immediately struck by the thinness of the experience in the
'novel' in comparison to the density of the experience recorded
in the notebooks. The effect of this contrast is further heightened
when Doris Lessing (as the 'editor' of The Golden Notebook) sets the
Golden Notebook section alongside the fifth and final segment of
'Free Women'. By matching the richness of the experience shared
by Anna and Saul in the former, with her affair with Milt in the
latter, the reader subsequently discovers the limiting restrictions
of the conventional novel. The final effect of that intricate scheme
then becomes a highly effective one to emphasize Lessing's point
through form and content, so that 'the juxtaposition of the styles
would provide the criticism'. 55
To judge The Golden Notebook by the ending of 'Free Women',
therefore, is to miss the subtlety and significance of that intri-
cate relationship between them. The title of 'Free Women' in this
context becomes ironical since Molly and Anna are 'as unfree as
ever' (612). They are unable to develop the inner dimension as
a counter-potential to solidify their personalities and are conse-
quently resigned to their involvement in social work and limited
relationship with men. Furthermore, Anna of the 'Free Women'
significantly remains a blocked writer. This stands in sharp contrast
with Anna's achievement at the end of the inner Golden Notebook,
where she has been able not only to overcome her writer's block and
write 'Free Women', but also to achieve a 'detachment' that enables
her to present it ironically. She is now able to create patterns, but
with the awareness of one who knows the difficulty of putting the
inner experience into expression. Her mastery of her literary art
reveals itself in a novel whose skilful but nonetheless inadequate
form implies its own criticism. Furthermore, proceeding with her
role in society as a 'boulder pusher', her novel imparts a message
of warning to those who have 'chosen to block off at this stage or
that' (456). In 'Free Women', Richard, Marion, Molly and Tommy

are examples of those people who have failed to attain equilibrium;
they have flinched from facing the inner self, and have consequently
diminished their lives and reduced themselves as individuals.
However, the setting of the 'Free Women' segments as a frame-
work of the whole novel is too conspicuous a strategy to be dis-
missed without further study. Laying the five chapters as an enve-
lope for the notebooks provides a framework of fictional realism
to the overall structure. While the juxtaposition of the smooth,
polished 'Free Women' sections with the seemingly raw material
of the notebooks speaks eloquently of the inadequacy of the formal
novel to convey the true complexities of 'reality' as Lessing sees it, it
also implies the necessity of holding a balance between both modes,
the necessity of 'preserving] the forms' (610).
This strategy is in line with the novel's attempt to reflect meaning
through the narrative structure itself. From the beginning Doris
Lessing employs a significant structure which symbolically portrays
the action of the novel. The strategy of portraying Anna's conscious-
ness through the four notebooks provides an eloquent comment
on Anna's fragmentation. Putting the four notebooks against each
other suggests that the basic task is to bring the different threads
together in a unifying quaternity. Having achieved that, Lessing
sets the fifth notebook, the Golden one which breaks through the
limitations of the square. Positing the five segments of the 'Free
Women' to intersect with the notebooks finally gives the effect of
a circle which intersects with the square to achieve an effect of
wholeness. 56
In her fictional construction, Lessing is trying to create a dynamic
balance between the world of temporal experience and the timeless
world of inner experience which, interpenetrating, should provide
wholeness. 'Truth' does not lie in any one realm but in the healthy
tension between them. Doris Lessing forces that issue on the reader
through the form as well as the content.
The juxtaposition of the notebooks with the 'Free Women'
novel accomplishes several purposes for Lessing. Comparing
'Free Women' with Anna's earlier artistic achievement the
reader recognizes a significant development. Juxtaposing it against
the notebooks on the other hand, reveals the inadequacy of
the formal novel to convey the complexity of the experience.
Further still, the intersection of both achieves the required
balance.
Like many modern novelists, Doris Lessing felt that the tra-
ditional novel did not adequately convey the complexity of the
experience that lies behind the fictional representation. But her
allegiance to the realistic tradition stands between her and the
reflexive novel. Insisting on having it both ways; conveying the
density of the experiences without risking the solidarity of the
realsitic framework, she successfully found a shape that would
contain them both. She writes the short formal novel and also puts
in the experience that it came out of. Incorporating both skilfully
enriches her theme:
If I had used the conventional style, the old fashioned novel,

which I don't think is dead by any means, . . . I wouldn't have
been able to do this kind of playing with time, memory and the
balancing of people. 57
To sum up, Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook operates on two

principle modes, the outer and inner action. Towards the end of
the Golden Notebook section that 'false' dichotomy is resolved as
Anna participates in practical life by negotiating with an inner voice.
The novel consequently requires both linear and non-linear reading.
The reader must employ his or her analytic faculties in comparing
and elucidating different parts. The reader should also suspend the
rational mode in order to perceive the underlying balance with the
emerging mystical dimension which does not pertain to the laws of
time and space. The ultimate effect does not aim at an experience
of absolute aesthetic freedom from tangible reality. Rather, its aim
is the transcendence of the one-dimensional mode of experiencing
reality so that a new equilibrium may become possible. The great
power of the book comes from the way it interweaves all its levels
and combines all its parts into a balanced whole. Its structure builds
a comprehensive and compelling picture, which fulfils its meaning
through both form and content.
3
The Memoirs of a Survivor
The study of The Grass is Singing and The Golden Notebook has so far
revealed that the basic dynamic of the action was the search for an
equilibrium between rational, psychological and spiritual modes
of consciousness in perceiving reality. In the early novel, Lessing
focused on the ways in which the individual's perception of reality
is determined by the intellectual, social and material conditions of
the time. Increasingly since The Golden Notebook she has elaborated
on the necessity for retrieving the balance by developing an inward
movement - a descent into the unconscious and a complementary
ascent to spiritual dimensions of reality which can only be attained
if one has learned to attend to all the faculties.
As a writer influenced by Sufism, Lessing sees that it is only
in the fullest development and balancing of all available faculties
that human beings can free themselves from mere predetermined
repetition and so evade catastrophe. She envisions the future of
the human race as catastrophic if we do not restore that balance
of our faculties. 1 For her, the Sufi evolutionary methods provide
the means that could help people transcend their limited cognitive
capacity as a key to a fuller understanding of 'reality'. Lessing thus
shares Shah's view that hope lies in such an evolution 2 and that 'our
future depends on it '. 3
The clearest expression of that central theme is to be found in
The Memoirs of a Survivor* where the catastrophe is in its later
stages, and the need for equilibrium therefore gains a further note
of urgency. Published twelve years after The Golden Notebook, The
Memoirs picks up on the crisis that ends the Martha Quest series
and takes on the theme of equilibrium where the earlier work left
off. The capacities which Anna and Martha have discovered towards
the end of The Golden Notebook and The Children of Violence series
respectively are in the main line of survival of the protagonist of
Memoirs. Almost from the beginning of the novel, the middle-aged
narrator penetrates the 'walls' which took Anna and Martha most
85
of The Golden Notebook and The Children of Violence series to break

through.
The challenging task of the protagonist of Memoirs, then, is not
the initial search for another mode of consciousness, but the even
more 'difficult' effort of seeking connections between the rational
and non-rational modes and retaining the hardly earned balance in
her 'memory':
And this is my difficulty in describing that time: looking back

now it is as if two ways of life, two lives, two worlds, lay side by
side and closely connected. But then, one life excluded the other,
and I did not expect the two worlds ever to link up. (25)
The difficulty lies in the fact that the two worlds belong to different
time scales which seem to be mutually exclusive: 'the ordinary
logical time-dominated world of everyday' (125), and the realm
'behind the wall' - 'a world where time did not exist' (157). The
human mind, however, is able to adjust to several time-scales
- although only with great difficulty - through the 'balancing'
(109) process of memory. Memory becomes the crucial point where
different time levels co-exist and interpenetrate. The linear mode of
thinking, on the other hand, finds it difficult to assimilate different
time scales. In The Golden Notebook it is 'the selective' memory
which hinders Anna's understanding of reality and creates the
'lie'. Equally, Watkin's failure of memory in Briefing for a Descent
into Hell is related to the difficulties which the mind experiences in
incorporating different time scales and his amnesia occurs because
of his inability to incorporate more than one perspective. In contrast
to Briefing where illumination once gained is later lost when Charles
crosses back to the ordinary world, the protagonist of Memoirs
'survives', as the title indicates, by the agency of memory. The
movement of the female protagonist between the two realms is
suggestive of an individual who is in the process of establishing
creative links between different levels of perception and who has
thereby discovered a privileged mode of survival. Memoirs may also
be seen as enlarging upon Kate's attempt to grasp flashes from the
seal-dream in The Summer Before the Dark. Kate's inner enlighten-
ment is confined to her sleep, but in Memoirs, the narrator learns
how to integrate the perception of the inner realm by 'realising' (10)
it in her waking consciousness.
Thus although the theme of equilibrium had been recurrent in The
The Memoirs of a Survivor 87
Golden Notebook, Briefing for a Descent into Hell and The Summer Before
the Dark, The Memoirs of a Survivor takes it a step further. Coming
to the forefront of the novel, the inner action is given more scope
and span, offering Lessing 'more rooms' (15) to delineate its dual
action. The 'personal' and 'impersonal' rooms in the realm behind
the wall coincide with the motifs of descent and ascent respectively,
unravelling further affinities with the Sufi philosophy which has by
now become a major influence on Lessing and is therefore basic in
understanding the underlying complexity of the inner realm. 5
Moreover, whereas The Golden Notebook and The Summer Before
the Dark chart personal equilibrium, and Briefing examines the
reductive results of personal disequilibrium, Memoirs takes a new
step by placing the personal growth within a social context. Memoirs
is the first novel in which Lessing tests the theme of equilibrium
on the individual and collective levels, examining its effect on both
the older and younger generations. The main character's fulfilment
is for others as well. Memoirs thus negotiates between 'conscious
evolution', which is central to Sufism, and 'return from exile',
which is another basic tenet to that philosophy. 'Be in the world
and not of if, which Lessing quotes from Shah, 6 is the narrator's
point of wisdom in Memoirs as she alternates between 'detachment
and involvement' in the social scene.
The threefold levels of equilibrium are therefore integrated in
Memoirs. The rational, psychological and the spiritual modes of
consciousness exist and interpenetrate to become a privileged way
of looking at the world crisis - ' I f - with full potentials. This
equilibrium, which brings the different strata of the novel together,
is also the driving force behind the plot.
Memoirs' most immediately striking formal feature is the sus-
tained balance between two apparently mutually exclusive per-
spectives which divides its plot into an 'inner' and an outer action,
focusing the reader's attention on the crucial task of holding both
realms in balance and exploring the new vision of reality in which
what she calls the 'bizarre' and the 'ordinary' co-exist.
This strategy, though further intensifying the effect of equilib-
rium, has aroused a debate among critics regarding its efficacy
since it involves elements from two traditions. The outer action
complies with the familiar techniques of the nineteenth-century
realistic novel, and the inner action employs elements of myth
and fable. This makes Memoirs a complex piece of writing, one
which stubbornly refuses to be neatly categorized. It does not fit
easily in with either her early realistic fiction, nor with her later
science fiction and therefore requires a caesura within Lessing's
canon.
Since the publication of Memoirs, critics have been engaged in a
heated debate as to whether to interpret it in terms of the outer
realistic action or as a romantic fantasy of the inner realm. 7 While
critics are engaged in deciding which dimension is of primary
importance however, to Lessing it is not a question of priority but
of an interaction between the two, without which the meaning of
the novel is reduced.
An article by Betsy Draine attempts to study that interaction in
Memoirs. However, basing her argument on the theory that the
two worlds can co-exist so long as they do not interpenetrate, 8 the
critic goes in the opposite direction from the novel's raison d'etre.
Concentrating on defining and separating the two realms, the critic
attempts to build 'thick walls' where the novel's basic tenet is to
make 'the walls dissolve'. When we try to apply this argument to
the reading of Memoirs, we find that by overlooking the interaction
between the two realms, we miss the point of the novel and the
overall development of the plot.
The interaction between empirical and visionary realms, between
realistic and romantic modes of narration, is an important factor
in The Golden Notebook, The Summer Before the Dark and Briefing
for a Descent into Hell. In Memoirs, it is not only important but
decisive, governing both the shape of the novel and its theme. This
interaction must underpin any reading of Memoirs. The co-existence
of motifs from the two genres is illuminating in studying Lessing's
development towards modern narrative techniques as well as the
Sufi method of 'scatter', which aims at creating a shift in perspective
from the dominant linear mode of thought to a multilevelled one.
In order to elucidate this new handling of the theme of equilib-
rium, it is necessary to study how the outer action, divorced from
the inner realm, develops towards 'the crisis', and then analyse
the significance of the interaction between the two components of
action as they culminate in the ending. In my technical analysis, I
shall also study the form of the novel within the parameters of the
two literary genres involved and then point out the mechanisms
of their interaction to examine how far Doris Lessing succeeds in
negotiating between them.
The outer action in Memoirs has not, as some critics have argued,
retreated in favour of reductive allegory. Her depiction of the
diverse communities and institutions that participate in the outer

action proves that Doris Lessing's skills in documentary chronicling
and detailed description have by no means been reduced. The outer
action poses a definite series of social problems where individual
and collective concerns are still of central interest.
When the book opens, the central characters are faced by a 'crisis'
which leaves the community on the verge of anarchy. From the
windows of her flat, the narrator - a survivor of the 'catastrophe',
renders her account of the 'crisis' in terms of her 'own personal
experience' (8) while simultaneously testing how far it was typical,
'was common, was shared' by others (8). Her 'memoirs' does not
concern itself with the direct cause of the 'crisis', yet in her depiction
of the communities that took part in it, the cause of the catastrophe
gradually emerges. All the communities depicted in her 'memoirs'
both partake in as well as promote the catastrophe, because of their
one-dimensional mode of existence. The 'ordinary world', as it is
portrayed in Memoirs, is operating on one level - 'the biological'
(81), 'hand-to-mouth' (90, 140) level, where the inner experience is
sacrificed for the outer; it is 'survival at all costs' (171).
The modern psychologist Robert Ornstein refers to such one-
dimensional mode of survival as follows:
(It is) outward oriented, involving action for the most part. It
seems to have been evolved for the primary purpose of ensuring
individual biological survival, for which active manipulation of
discrete objects, . . . separation of oneself from others, are very
useful. 9
According to R. D. Laing, this mode of existence is characterized by

the sense of 'a consistent identity, a me-here over against a you-there
within a framework of certain ground structures of space and
time'. 1 0 Identifying exclusively with empirical reality on that basis
perpetuates a sense of violence towards anyone who threatens to
violate that precarious existence. Taking shelter in the outer reality,
mistaking it for the whole, the alienated man, according to Laing,
attempts to suppress or destroy others who threaten the 'social
phantasy system' on which his whole existence is anchored. 11
This fundamental disequilibrium is the common denominator
underlying both individual and collective relationships in the com-
munities that figure in the outer action of Memoirs.
At the top of that society is the 'bureaucracy . . . the ruling class'
(91) who, despite the crisis, still exists as an alienated self-preserving

government mainly interested in maintaining 'for as long as it
can . . . , an illusion of security, permanence, order' (91). However,
that precariously balanced existence was doomed and eventually
led to violence. Their insistence on destroying experiences and
behaviour which would challenge the dominant 'social phantasy'
called 'normality' (21), entices them to launch police raids to 'wipe
out' any gathering, thus acknowledging chaos only if it threatens
their existence.
The middle class, to which the narrator belongs, survived on
the same fundamental disequilibrium. Like the ruling institutions,
they 'lived on pretending nothing was really happening' (106), and
continued to adapt to the new modes of survival in order to preserve
the social phantasy system of "'ordinary life"':
While everything, all forms of social organisation, broke up,

we lived on, adjusting our lives, as if nothing fundamental was
happening. It was amazing how determined, how stubborn, how
self-renewing, were the attempts to lead an ordinary life. (19)
The narrator belongs to that group of society and thus, like the
rest, she fails to take any action to prevent the coming anarchy. At
that stage of her life - before she has 'realized' the inner levels of
perception and integrated it in her consciousness - she actually takes
part in preserving the 'social phantasy' of 'normality': 'I played the
game of complicity like everyone else' (92). This 'conspiracy that
nothing much was happening', in which 'everybody played a part'
(92) is equivalent to the complex manoeuvre described by R. D.
Laing as 'collusion':
Collusion has resonance of playing at and of deception. It is a

'game' played by two or more people whereby they deceive
themselves. The game is the game of mutual self-deception. 12
This is the pattern of relationship underlying the communities'

behaviour as presented in Memoirs:
our pretences, everyone's pretences . . . were necessary, like the

games of children who can make playacting a wTay of keeping
reality a long way from their weaknesses . . . (20-1)
At the other end of that society are the Ryans, who, unlike
the middle class, never adapted to the norms of the society. No
wonder then that 'it was these people who took most easily to the
hand-to-mouth life in the wandering tribes: nothing very much had
changed for them' (106). However, diametrically opposed as this
group may seem to be, at root it is suffering from the same sense
of alienation at an even deeper level. 'The Way of the Ryans' (105)
is a clear manifestation of the damaging results when the ego - the
mode of consciousness which adapts to outer reality - collapses in
the absence of an inner source of experience as a counter-balancing
force. They have no memory, they own nothing and care for nothing
- a significant collapse of the ego as well as the inner self. They
therefore take shelter in the collective; their life is 'communal and
hugger-mugger' (106) and they have no sense of the worth of the
individual. June, the offspring of that community, displays that
quality when she leaves Emily without even saying good-bye. She
'was a person who had not been brought up to believe she had
rights' (89), she 'did not value herself (144). Since she has no sense
of self, she assumes that her absence will be of no importance: 'She
desired nothing, was owed nothing, could not really be loved and
therefore could not be missed. So she had gone' (144).
Although the Ryans are initially portrayed as an opposing force in
that society - 'The Ryans Against the World' (104) - they finally prove
to be as alienated as their apparent polar opposites (108). Thus the
two extremes of the old population, the respectable middle class and
the impoverished Ryans, prove to be two sides of one coin; they both
operate on the outer level only and therefore both contribute to the
catastrophe; one by promoting the anarchy and the other by evading
it and taking no measures to face or reform it.
The younger generation is, as well, trapped within the same
one-dimensional level of existence. Emily, whose development from
childhood to adolescence forms the bulk of the novel's outer action,
provides the epitome of that 'biological summit' (81). She was, at
the age of twelve, already trained to conform to the outer reality
at the expense of the inner self. Her interest in 'the business of
survival' was limited to the outer reality - 'its resources and tricks
and little contrivances' (47). As a result of developing the ego at the
expense of the inner self, she experiences the state of 'ontological
insecurity', already familiar to Mary Turner in The Grass is Singing,
where the individual experiences himself constantly threatened and
suppressed by the external world. 13 The narrator observes that
defensive mechanism in Emily who experiences everyone outside

her as a threat:
The point was that there wasn't anybody who came near her, into
her line of sight, who was not experienced by her as a threat.
This was how her experience, whatever that had been, had 'set'
her. (29)
She therefore seeks one shelter after the other to protect her from
facing her inner self. At first she passes through a phase in which she
indulges in eating, limiting herself to the physical level only; 'her
mouth was always in movement . . . absorbed in itself, so that she
was all mouth, and everything else in her was subordinated to that'
(48). She then takes refuge in fantasy. However, her imagination
does not transcend the ego level of survival but rather reverts to
the same repeated patterns of female roles throughout the ages;
' [she] had found the materials for her dreams in the rubbish heaps
of our old civilisation' (52). She then moves from the 'shelter [of]
childhood, from the freedom of fantasy' (55) to take refuge in the
collective, which seemed to the narrator, at this point, a sudden
'reverse' (48), but which was actually another form of escape. She
indulges in her role as 'leader's waif in Gerald's group to sustain
her apparently balanced existence. But 'such intensity could not
last' (85). Still removed from the self, the ego gradually ceases to be
vitalized by connection with collective patterns; it was an 'escalator
carrying her from the dark into the dark' (81). When she 'next fell
in love', it was another form of shelter from facing the inner self.
Instead of going 'inwards' (52) to develop her inner self, she turns
to Gerald 'where she felt her centre to b e ' (86). Based on betraying
her individuality, her experience was therefore an unhealthy one:
She knew love like a fever, to be suffered, to be lived through:

'falling in love' was an illness to be endured, a trap which might
lead her to betray her own nature, her good sense, and her real
purposes. (169)
Her personal relationship with Gerald is therefore trapped in

the same 'masochistic' cycle of male-female relationships already
familiar to us from The Golden Notebook. Like the men in The Golden
Notebook, Gerald is torn between need and betrayal, longing and
terror of involvement. He is a 'very young man, overburdened
and . . . unsure, asking for support, even tenderness' (93). He 'now

needed and wanted her, having worked through the cycle of his
needs' (169), but once she succumbs, he betrays her with other
girls of the community for fear of further emotional involvement
which might threaten his role. Since they do not relate to each
other as individuals in their own right, their relationship initiates
not fulfilment, but rather violence and frustration. Emily was 'being
filled over and over again with a violence of need that exploded
in her, dazzling her eyes and shaking her body so that she was
astonished . . . ' (75). However, she has to stifle her inner rage in
order to keep tact their relationship on which she anchored her
whole existence. Therefore, when he betrays and neglects her, she
loses her desire to live. The collapse of the ego, hitherto being
the source of experience, might lead to the collapse of the whole
individual if he or she does not develop the inner self as a counter
source of experience.
Like Emily, Gerald's experience is limited to what Ornstein calls
the 'outward oriented [realm], involving action for the most part'.
However, although he is more active than the older generation
in facing the 'crisis', he, like them, focuses on externals only. He
takes responsibility for the physical level of survival - 'the-hand-to-
mouth' mode of the younger generation; 'it was he who maintained
them, got food and supplies - h e who took responsibility' (149). Like
Emily, he surrenders his inner self to the experience of the collective,
and it is on that ideology that he creates his new community.
The group of children forming themselves under the leadership of
Gerald could not operate as individuals on their own accord: 'they
could not stand being alone for long; the mass was their home,
their place of self-recognition' (33). Such an attitude, as previously
mentioned, takes away the burden of individual responsibility and
promotes violence and perversity. As A. Jaffe puts it:
an animal, to speak metaphorically, is never so wild and dan-

gerous as when it is wounded . . . suppressed and wounded
instincts are the dangers threatening civilized man. 14
The instincts being stifled and conditioned by society to conform

to certain patterns become perverted when they are no longer under
control of the ego, once social structures are weakened. This is pre-
cisely what happens to the children of the new community. They are
certainly 'children of violence'. They have reached the lowest degree
of alienation and are evidence of the violence perpetrated by man

on himself when he destroys his original and potential wholeness.
The children are reduced to the most basic level of existence - their
cognition of survival is limited to the biological level, so that 'when
there was not enough food to fill their aroused expectations, they
ran shrieking and jeering through the house, destroying everything'
(157). Towards the end there is no specific reason for their violence,
they kill 'because of a whim, a fancy, an impulse' (175). They
are 'worse than animals, worse than men' (152). Gerald, who has
staked his whole existence and identity on his role as leader of the
community, cannot face the degree of perversity of the children.
Like the old generation, after all, 'he could not bear what those
children had become' (179). He finds his only sense of worth
through his role as leader of the new community and is convinced
that 'to give them up was to abandon - so he felt - the best part of
himself (179). He therefore carries on creating one gang after the
other because 'he decided it was better to have the children than to
have nothing' (170). According to Laing, if a person is so immersed
in the collective, operating on the ego level only, his judgements
and evaluations are replaced by those of the group. He attempts to
adapt to their needs by all means, to quote Laing, '(by sympathy,
blackmail, indebtedness, guilt, gratitude or naked violence)'. 15 As
Laing puts it, a person in this stage of self-estrangement becomes
caught in a vicious circle; he
has lost a starting point of his own from which to throw or thrust
himself, that is, to project himself, forward . . . He does not
know where he is or where he is going. He cannot get anywhere
however hard he tries. 16
Gerald is a manifestation of such a mechanism - 'he had his gang,

his tribe . . . but at the cost of doing what they wanted, serving
them' (168). He might even 'kill with them, fight with them' (168).
Gerald who had set out to become a leader ends up by being a victim
consumed by the collective.
This brings to the foreground a major issue that is central to
Lessing's early work and is the subject of 'The Small Personal
Voice' in which she makes it clear that it is the responsibility
of the individual to develop his inner self as a prerequisite for
participation in the collective, so that he is able to make 'personal
and private judgements before every act of submission'. It is the
individual's responsibility to find and maintain that precarious

balance: 'a resting point, a place of decision, hard to reach and
precariously balanced. It is a balance which must be continuously
tested and reaffirmed.' 17 Gerald is incapable of achieving that
balance. He is consumed by the collective and it is precisely 'that
quality which could not be included in the little balance sheets of
survival' (81).
There is a hint of hope, however, for Gerald and his group.
Although the children are hopeless in their mass behaviour, there
is hope of saving them as individuals as the narrator later realizes:
'perhaps that gang was only lethal as a unit, but the individuals
were savable' (163). There is also hope for Gerald, but it lies not
in politically naive idealism, but rather in the alliance of empirical
action and inner growth. Early in the novel we are introduced to
Gerald as 'a thoughtful young man, . . . an observer by tempera-
ment, perhaps, but pushed into action by the time' (73). So long as
he operates on one level only of his personality, his experiences are
negative. No matter how active he is in combatting the 'crisis', his
efforts end in perpetuating it. He cannot become a successful leader
- 'a boulder pusher' - so long as he lacks the crucial balance without
which there can be no 'thrust forward'.
Indeed, the portion of the novel that deals with the social scene
with its wide span of communities that seem at cross-purposes
- the bureaucratic class versus the middle class and the latter
versus the younger generation - all operate on one mode of sur-
vival and therefore reap the effects of that basic disequilibrium.
In each case Lessing demonstrates that social structures, no matter
how involving, cannot compensate for lack of inner growth. Such
communities could last 'only weeks or months or perhaps with luck
even a year or so' (92) but would soon collapse as the narrator later
perceives:
I use the phrase Gerald's house as people had once said the Ryans,
meaning a way of life. Temporary ways of life, both: all of
our ways of living, our compromises, our little adaptations -
transitory, all of them, none could last. (107)
What makes the ordeal of the outer orgy more tantalizing is that
no sooner does one form collapse, than another arises, but is doomed
to repeat 'the old patterns'. Thus despite the break of all social
structures, 'the old patterns kept repeating themselves, re-forming
themselves even when events seemed to license any experiment or

deviation or mutation' (115-16).
To crown all, that social structure which operates on 'the most
powerful of mechanisms . . . the maintaining of a society, and then
its undermining, its rotting, its collapse' (92), which keeps repeating
itself in the outer action, operates in reverse of the evolutionary
direction. While Doris Lessing portrays her characters in a world
which according to Marxist assumptions, is bound in a chain of
cause and effect, this chain inevitably produces the 'crisis' - the
'Inconsequence' (175) with which Gerald was faced. Providing the
children with the necessary material provisions for survival, he
expects that the ultimate consequence will bring about prosperity
and ordered community. Rather, he is faced by the 'Inconsequence'
of their behaviour; they are unable to assume responsibility for the
common good and break into violence, reacting towards Gerald
and Emily as 'Authority' figures who must be rebelled against
and finally overthrown (112). What aggravates the situation is that
Gerald can offer them no more than:
the old arguments that life is more comfortable for a community

if the members keep the place clean, share work, respect each
other's individuality. And the children had survived without
such thoughts ever having come near them. (151)
Without directly addressing political issues, therefore, Lessing

continues in her depiction of the 'catastrophe' to operate within
the context of Marxian ideology, while she simultaneously calls
the structure of that world into question. Given the imperatives
of that society with its implications of empirical determinism, the
characters cannot transcend the limits of the world that had formed
them. The solution then, as the narrator realizes, necessitates putting
an end to that 'merry-go-round escalator' carrying them 'from the
dark into the dark' (81) and reconstructing by accepting and
integrating other levels of perception which serve as a Vcintage
point outside that deterministic limitation. That act of retrieving
the power to combat determinism and transcend the cultural
limitation which was Anna's triumph at the end of The Golden
Notebook is also the responsibility of the narrator of Memoirs as
she mediates between the outer world and the world behind the
wall till she finally leads the younger generation 'out of this
collapsed little world into another order of world altogether' (182).
I have so far studied the outer action in Memoirs and the effects
of that one-dimensional mode in intensifying the crisis. Since a
thematic analysis which follows the division of action into outer
and inner realms must necessarily distort a novel which is designed
to undermine this analytic mode, I shall therefore attempt to study
the motifs of the inner action in the light of their interaction with
the outer realm as the narrator mediates between them in her
'memoirs', in an attempt to 'understand' the crisis and transcend
its limitations.
The inner realm is embodied in the world behind the wall which
in its turn is divided into 'personal' and 'impersonal' experiences,
neither of which seems at first to bear much relevance to what
is going on outside. However, gradually, as the narrator moves
between inner and outer realms, the relationship between them
takes new significance so that the inner is not only seen to be
connected to the outer but becomes intrinsic to understanding
it. Only by the integration of the perception she achieves in the
'personal' rooms can she understand the roots of the 'crisis'. The
understanding of ' I f which signals the crisis and which we are
told is 'the main theme', can only be achieved after that integra-
tion. Further evolution of the levels of perception attained in the
'impersonal' rooms gives the narrator a vantage point outside the
crisis and helps her to transcend its limitation. The integration of
these levels of perception in her consciousness and retaining the
balance between them in her memory figures as the major task
facing the narrator as she writes her 'memoirs', and its fulfilment
forms the climax of the novel.
The opening pages of Memoirs sketch the basic problems which
the protagonist faces in integrating two realms which seem mutu-
ally exclusive. Although she is aware from the beginning of the
existence of another dimension in her life; one which is 'different
in quality from what in fact went on around me', this awareness is
not yet integrated 'into the category of understanding we describe
in the word realise with its connotation of a gradual opening into
comprehension' (10). What aggravates the situation is that although
these two worlds 'lay side by side and [are] closely connected', yet
'one life excluded the other' and she finds it difficult to perceive
the link between them: 'I did not expect the two worlds ever to
link up . . . and I would have said this was not possible' (25). At
this early stage, she attempts to reshuffle the balance of her concern
between the two realms:
I was feeling as if the centre of gravity of my life had moved,

balances had shifted somewhere, and I was beginning to believe
- uncomfortably, still - that what went on behind the wrall might
be every bit as important as my ordinary life in that neat and
comfortable, if shabby, flat. (13)
However, she faces a third difficulty when she finds that she
cannot retain the memory of the perceptions achieved in the realm
behind the wall: 'I forgot this occurrence. I went on with the little
routines of my life, conscious of the life behind the wall, but not
remembering my visit there' (15).
According to Sufis, 'to forget is the way of men' and the difficult
task is to be able to retain the illumination perceived. 'Remember-
ing', according to Shah, is an important aspect of development. 18
In Memoirs, the role of memory becomes, as it were, crucial in
retrieving the balance between the two modes and retaining it in
the narrator's consciousness. The novel opens with the narrator
commenting on how memory operates:
on the way we - everyone - will look back over a period in life,

over a sequence of events, and find much more there than they
did at the time . . . the past, looked back on in this frame of mind,
seems steeped in a substance that had seemed foreign to it, was
extraneous to the experiencing of it. (7)
In the process of her 'memoir' writing the narrator attempts to

overcome her difficulties. The gradual reintegration of the two
realms becomes the narrator's basic challenge as she mediates
between the scenes of the 'crisis' outside and the realm of the inner
rooms. Only in the achievement of that perennial balance does she
take valid action and the action becomes developmental.
Unlike Martha and Anna who suspend their social responsibility,
for the time being in order to indulge in the inner realm, the
narrator manages to find a positive balance between her 'inner
preoccupation' and her outer responsibilities. Emily, who figures
as the epitome of the narrator's responsibility in the outer wrorld
becomes the impetus to further exploration of the inner rooms.
Her presence highlights and triggers the narrator's need for further
understanding: 'it was not until Emily heightened it all for me that
I realised what a prison we were all in' (30). This gives the narrator
the first incentive to connect between the two realms:
It was about then I understood that the events on the pavements

and what went on between me and Emily might have a connec-
tion with what I saw on my visits behind the wall. (37)
It is only then that the narrator encounters 'the first of the "personal"
experiences' as clearly distinct from the 'impersonal scenes.'
The 'personal' and 'impersonal' rooms forming the complex laby-
rinth of the inner realm may be seen to correspond to the comple-
mentary motifs of descent and ascent studied earlier in The Golden
Notebook. However, in Memoirs, the distinction between the two
realms is more clearly defined, suggesting the difference between
the psychological and spiritual spheres:
between these [the 'impersonal'] and the 'personal' scenes a

world lay; the two kinds, 'personal' (though not necessarily
to me) and the other, existed in spheres quite different and
separated. One, the 'personal' was instantly to be recognised by
the air that was its prison, by the emotions that were its creatures.
The impersonal scenes might bring discouragement or problems
that had to be solved, like the rehabilitation of walls or furniture
cleaning, . . . but in that realm there was a lightness, a freedom,
a feeling of possibility. (38-9)
The 'personal experience' coincides with the motif of descent

into the unconscious. Jung states that the individual is usually
reluctant to undergo that process which has to be achieved to
rid the unconscious of its old patterns in order to break out of
its confining prison. That is precisely what the narrator is trying
to achieve through her experience in the 'personal rooms'. It is
therefore significant that at first '"the personal" was instantly to
be recognized by the air that was its prison, by the emotions
that were its creatures' (39). She approaches those rooms with a
'dismay, a not wanting' (59), and is nauseated by its 'Claustropho-
bia' (40) as she watches patterns of the past which kept repeating
themselves:
To enter the 'personal' was to enter a prison, where nothing could

happen but what one saw happening, where the air was tight and
limited, and above all where time was a strict, unalterable law
and long . . . it went on, and on and on, . . . (39)
By reliving the memories of the immediate individual and collective

past, she gradually starts to understand the patterns that deter-
mined her life and that of the community at large. This is a necessary
step before she can break out of its confining limitations. Jungian
concepts cover both the individual and the collective development
and therefore correspond to Doris Lessing's approach in Memoirs.
My analysis of that realm will derive mainly from Jungian concepts
of the unconscious.
The 'impersonal' experience, on the other hand, takes place in
rooms of another dimension - rooms which she enters accidentally
or by further concentration on the pattern of the wall paper in her
living room. 19 Her experience in that realm coincides with the motif
of ascent and reveals further affinities with the Sufi philosophy.
According to the Sufis, the first step in the 'Arc of ascent' is 'to
cleanse the heart of the disciple', 20 before he can be linked with
the 'sacred centre'. That is precisely what the narrator embarks on
doing as she enters that realm. She undertakes the task of 'cleaning'
the rooms in her attempt to establish creative links with the 'One',
the 'She' whose 'presence' dominates that realm. The 'Feminine
Principle' according to the Sufis is of particular significance, not as a
separate deity but as the chief mediating function between the levels
of perception, for 'it is the soul, the feminine principle . . . which
undertakes the Quest' 2 1 of integrating different levels of perception
and retaining them in the 'memory' so that 'a balance is always
preserved':
The psychic aspect of the feminine principle consists of the

five internal senses . . . The function of these internal senses
are described according to the form (hayula) and meaning
(ma'na) . . . When one has perceived both form and meaning,
both these psychic structures are operative. One who sees only
form without meaning or meaning without form, needs to
develop the complement. Intelligence is the ability to preserve
forms and memory is the ability to preserve meanings. These
two functions play a very important role in contemplation. The
fifth psychic structure is known by many names: it is the intui-
tive ability to govern both sensible phenomena and intelligible
noumena so that a balance is always preserved. 22
That particular concept of the Feminine Principle is instructive in

understanding the movement of the narrator of Memoirs as she
seeks to establish links with the 'She' - the 'Presence' of the

impersonal rooms - not as a separate deity, but as the crucial
mediator of different levels of perception which is the focus of
the novel. The Sufi philosophy identifies that process as one of
acquiring the appropriate organs of perception for a full under-
standing of 'reality'. That process is achieved through stages of
contemplation referred to as 'states and stations' 2 3 in a conscious
attempt to actualize and stabilize the perceptions achieved in order
to obtain a vantage point outside the dominant structures of the
mind. The narrator of Memoirs undergoes a similar process and
therefore she experiences in that realm 'a lightness, a freedom,
a feeling of possibility . . . the space and the knowledge of the
possibility of alternative action' (39). She integrates higher levels
of understanding, by concentrating on 'mandala symbols' which
find resonance in the Sufi philosophy. The significance of these
mandalas in the reconciliation of opposites and the balancing of
levels of perception is intrinsic to understanding the three climactic
episodes of the 'impersonal' experience in Memoirs. The carpet
episode, the multilayered garden and the final egg episode all
evocate mandala symbols which have particular significance in
Sufi philosophy. My analysis of that realm, therefore, rests centrally
on concepts derived from Sufi philosophy in the hope of clearing
up a widespread misunderstanding of the ending of that realm,
which - with the Sufi sources as points of reference - expresses
the final equilibrium and integration of all levels of perception in
the narrator's consciousness as well as the initiation of the younger
generation in that realm, rather than an escape from the empirical
world, as some critics have suggested.
Before she can achieve that privileged stage, however, the nar-
rator must first descend into the unconscious to understand and
resolve the patterns underlying the 'crisis', and to assess levels of
her personality with which she has not yet come to terms. Descent is
a necessary step before she can achieve higher levels of perception.
It is significant that in Memoirs, the descent into the unconscious is
not specifically confined to the narrator's own memories. Although
in the 'personal' she visits scenes from the past memory, she makes
it clear that it is '(not necessarily to me)' (38). While this strategy
adds to the complexity of that inner motif, it is significantly useful
in dramatizing the interaction between the inner and outer realms
while simultaneously delineating the narrator's development as she
relates them. As the narrator watches Emily in the outer world and
tries to perceive her memories in the inner realm, the reader watches
the narrator growing in that process.
In these 'personal' rooms, the narrator watches Emily through all
the scenes of her childhood which had formed her as a social being.
An enormous, rejecting mother dominates these scenes, dictating
certain patterns of behaviour so that Emily's spontaneity is rebuffed
and stifled at an early age. The narrator, sees Emily at the age of four
with 'already defensive . . . eyes' (39), full of passion and hatred
and tormented by a sense of guilt: 'From this child emanated strong
waves of painful emotions. It was guilt. She was condemned' (62).
Her neurotic need to 'please' is intensified by her attempt to comply
with the codes imprinted on her by her parents as they label her:
'"You're a good little girl" . . . "You're a bad little girl."'
Such education is destined to produce repressed individuals who
grow up to take shelter in convention and to abide by prevalent
roles to conceal their inner emptiness. These are the precise roots
underlying Emily's behaviour in the outer world. However, before
detecting that connection, the narrator is particularly repulsed and
exasperated by the display of such attitudes on the part of Emily:
'"Oh, she would simply love to, please" . . . I was in a frenzy of
irritation, because of my inability ever, even for a moment, to get
behind the guard she had set u p ' (26-7).
This defines their early relationship and accounts for her initial
'helplessness' with Emily, Only when she starts to perceive the con-
nection between the perception she attains in those personal scenes
and those in the outer wTorld does the narrator start to assimilate the
two levels in her understanding of Emily's behaviour:
There she was enclosed in her age, but in a continuum with

those scenes behind the wall, a hinterland which had formed
her . . . From that shadowy region behind her came the dictate:
You are this, and this and this - this is what you have to be, and not
that . . . ( 8 1 )
As the narrator becomes more aware of Emily's entrapment, the

'personal scenes' take on a new dimension. This reaim which, at
the beginning, seemed to be concerned with Emily only starts to
acquire more general relevance bearing affinity with the narrator's
own past, Emily's mother and further back for 'it went on and
on and on' (39). It soon becomes clear that not only Emily had
been educated in that way, but also her mother. The mother's
lovelessness and aggression appear to be a necessary outcome of

the same upbringing which stifles individuality so that the rejected
mother has produced a bereft and rejected daughter.
The reason underlying that repetition is the inability to perceive
the roots of that determinism in the collective unconscious. Enclosed
within 'the strict laws of this small personal world' (129), Emily
and her mother are victims of its limitation: 'smallness, extreme
smallness, weakness . . . [in] this little hot place where the puppets
jerk to their invisible strings' (129). That is precisely what intensifies
their frustration and confines them within a pattern of repetition.
However, unlike Emily and her mother, the narrator enters that
realm with a perspective that transcends its limitation. The narra-
tor's achievement is her ability to stretch her consciousness in order
to grasp 'the personal' not as an isolated experience but to relate it to
others outside her as well, so as to see it in its proper proportion:
Being invited into this scene was to be absorbed into child-space;

I saw it as a small child might - that is, enormous and implacable;
but at the same time I kept with me my knowledge that it was
tiny and implacable - because petty, unimportant. (40)
By tracing the roots of Emily's unconscious, she manages to relate

that 'personal' experience to the collective unconscious: 'I knew
I was seeing an incident that was repeated again and again in
Emily's? her mother's? - early life. It was a continuing thing, had
gone on, day after day, month after month' (129). This process
coincides with Jungian concepts that comprehend both the indi-
vidual and collective unconscious. As in the Jungian model of the
psyche, the personal element of the underlying motif is contained
and surrounded by the collective, and the process of mediating
them brings about a more comprehensive cognition and a constant
maturing of the personality. 24
It is through this process that the narrator of Memoirs starts to
understand the roots of the crisis on both individual and collective
levels. Watching Emily's devastation at the failure of their plans to
create an ideal community, she says, 'I understand now what I had
half noticed before' (112). She explains to the distraught Emily:
'It starts when you are born,' I said. 'She's a good girl. She's a
bad girl . . . you're a good little girl, you're a bad little girl. "Do
as I tell you and I'll tell you you are good." Its a trap and we are
all in it . . . you don't get a democracy by passing resolutions

or thinking democracy is an attractive idea. And that's what we
have always done. On the one hand "you're a good little girl, a
bad little girl", and institutions and hierarchies and a place in
the pecking order, and on the other passing resolutions about
democracy, or saying how democratic we are . . .'. (112-13)
These perceptions achieved in the 'personal' rooms fulfil a central

function in understanding the roots of the crisis in the outer world.
However, the narrator does not make such connection until she
finally manages to fulfil the challenge of integrating the two realms
and retaining the perception in her conscious life:
I've said, I think, that when I was in one world - the region
behind the flowery wall of my living-room - the ordinary logical
time-dominated world of everyday did not exist; that when in my
'ordinary' life I forgot, and sometimes for days at a time, that the
wall could open, had opened, would open again, . . . But now
began a period when something of the flavour of the place behind
the wall did continuously invade my real life. (125)
Only after acknowledging and integrating the knowledge that 'there

was a different ingredient in our lives' (130), did she finally under-
stands the reasons underlying the crisis. The two levels of inner
and outer interpenetrate and unite to give the full dimensions of
the 'crisis' denoting that ' I f was not in the material outer collapse
exclusively, but had its roots in the realm behind the wall. It is only
after that development that she finally gives a full definition of ' I f
which has signalled the crisis:
' I f was, finally, what you experienced . . . and was in the space
behind the wall, moved the players behind the wall, just as much
there as in our ordinary world where one hour followed another
and life obeyed the unities, like a certain kind of play. (133-4)
It is significant that Emily or June are not able at that stage to con-
nect or see the different levels. Emily sees 'if in terms of her futile
efforts to look after the children and 'if June were asked to say what
"it" was like for her, she would very likely answer: "Well, I dunno
reely, I feel bad inside and everywhere"' (133). The limitations of
cognition implied in such a fragmented concept are clear; Emily
and June, whose perception is structured on a one-dimensional axis,

will not be able to connect. Split in themselves, they will construct
reality as split too. The consequences will be disastrous since they
can neither define the dimensions of the crisis nor in that respect
find a solution. '"It", in short, is the word for helpless ignorance,
or of helpless awareness. It is a word for man's inadequacy?'
(130). Whereas Emily and June's young and 'helpless ignorance'
accounts for their inadequate handling of the 'crisis', the narrator's
initial 'helpless awareness' is finally integrated in her consciousness
through the process of her memoir writing. It is through this process
of memory that the inner dimension emerges and is integrated into
the consciousness:
Perhaps, indeed, 'if is the secret theme of all literature and

history, like writing in invisible ink between the lines, which
springs up, sharply black, dimming the old print we knew so
well, as life, personal or public, unfolds unexpectedly and we
see something where we never thought we could - we see 'if
as the ground-swell of events, experience . . . (130)
Having fully understood the dimensions of the 'crisis' through

that retrospective feedback, the narrator can then proceed to break
out of its limitations and incorporate basic layers of the personality.
The final episode of descent is a movement through fire, suggesting
the burning out of the old patterns and their accompanying perver-
sity. She enters the last of the 'personal' episodes through 'firelight',
and witnesses a scene whose key images are the ego patterns of
feminine roles. In that episode, the narrator finds Emily in her room
standing before a great baroque mirror - a schoolgirl, 'presented
and parcelled up as a young woman' (157). She had on a scarlet
dress of 'blatant vulgarity' (158) which made of her a grotesque
sexual object, and the narrator sees this dress as a 'conventional
garment worn by hundreds of thousands of women within my
lifetime . . . used by women to clothe their masochistic fantasies'
(158). In the outer world she had watched Emily seeking shelter in
such conventional costumes and was appalled by such behaviour.
Now she pierces the core of these ego patterns as she watches
Emily mocking the very attitudes which she is demonstrating. In
this scene the narrator watches Emily turn into a doll and shrink
before her mother, thus wrapping up a stage of being manipulated
by imprinted patterns of behaviour: 'The little doll twisted and
postured, and then vanished in a flash of red smoke, like a morality

tale of the flesh and the devil' (159). In that last scene the narrator
encounters the strenuous work of dealing with the demonic energies
which had entrapped her (and Emily) and determined the life of the
old and the new generations. It is significant that she watches that
scene projected in a 'capacious mirror' capable of reflecting a series
of multi-images. It was 'the sort of mirror one associated with a
film set . . . because the atmosphere and emotional necessities of
the scene needed more than the sober small square looking-glass'
(157).25
After recognizing the limitations of the ego and collective roles
through Emily, the protagonist must then come to terms with the
most basic elements of existence - the instinctual levels of the
psyche which we 'shared with the animals' (71) and which she
had so far denied. Earlier in the novel, she had wondered about
the 'right (Hugo) had to be in my life', and though she makes the
connection that 'Our emotional life is shared with the animals',
she, like everyone else does not incorporate that level of the human
psyche:
I think that all this time, human beings have been watched by
creatures whose perceptions and understanding have been so
far in advance of anything we have been able to accept, because
of our vanity, . . . the shock to our amour propre would be too
much . . . it is exactly the same process that can make someone
go on and on committing a crime, or a cruelty, knowing it: the
stopping and having to see what has been done would be too
painful, one cannot face it. (71-2)
She therefore goes on treating Hugo in a repulsive manner, seeing

him as 'an ugly yellow dog'. According to Jung, egoic man, by
asserting his freedom and disowning the animal in himself, has in
fact become threatened with being enslaved by it. The solution then,
is to face and incorporate that level of the psyche.
It is significant that in the last episode of descent, Hugo accom-
panies the protagonist, and his presence features as an important
element in the scene: 'Hugo was not just my accompaniment, an
aide, as a dog is. He was a being, a person in his own right,
and necessary to the events I was seeing' (157). As Emily's ego
patterns shrink, Hugo's presence features importantly. The destruc-
tive mother figure assumes, once again, her characteristic role of
domination, but this time she projects her perversity onto the
animal crying, '"Go away, you dirty filthy animal'" (159). The
unfairness of the mother's attack on the animal in the final scene
of the personal rooms, highlights the perversity which the narrator
has to outgrow. Witnessing that confrontation, the narrator burns
out the power of the emotions of these rooms, and undergoes a
'regressive identification with the human and animal ancestors' -
a process which, according to Jung, leads to the 'integration of the
unconscious'. 26
Hugo's presence in the last episode of the descent into the 'per-
sonal rooms' expresses the fact that the narrator has now confronted
her formerly disowned 'animal nature'. Having passed through the
purifying flame that consumes passion, the protagonist and Hugo
feel a sense of relief in being delivered from this scene. Now
that the narrator has confronted and accepted all the repressed
material of the unconscious, she is ready for further development.
The protagonist has been through all the stages that had formed
her and Emily as social and cultural beings. In the course of her
descent into the individual and collective unconscious she manages
to trace the roots of the 'crisis' and to integrate the perception she
achieves in her consciousness. Having done that, she understands
the entrapment in the one-dimensional, time-dominated world and
its ego patterns, and is ready to transcend its limitations and break
out of the cycle of its repetitions. Having achieved this psychological
balance she therefore proceeds 'beyond the "personal"' (124).
The experience in the 'impersonal rooms' complements and goes
beyond the development achieved in the 'personal' ones. The task of
'cleaning' which takes place in the 'impersonal rooms' is synergetic
with the process achieved in the 'personal' realm in which the
narrator confronts and resolves the instinctual and psychic levels
of her personality. This is a necessary step before she can move into
the higher realms to be linked with the 'Presence'. According to the
Sufis, the human soul 'consists of a threefold hierarchical structure:
sensory, psychic, and spiritual', and 'the way of Sufism is to become
aware of the possibilities which exist within the human form,
to conceive them and then, through spiritual practices actualize
them'. 27 That process takes place through a conscious technique
of contemplation and meditation to achieve communication with
'the Presence - the Hadraf 2 8 and the 'Feminine Principle' figures
as the chief mediating function between the different levels.
That technique of meditation is called in the Eastern esoteric
traditions 'entering the mandala'. 29 In the Sufi philosophy, the

concentration on mandala symbols activates the process of con-
templation by inducing certain mental states which encourage the
achievement of equilibrium between the levels of perception. In
visual terms, the mandala corresponds to geometric forms whose
important features is the concentric element expressing the tran-
scendence of opposition between different levels. 30 According to
the Sufis, these geometrical symbols are part of a dynamic process
whose aim is to attain balance and retain the perceptions achieved:
The polarization which is expressed in geometry through static

and dynamic forms corresponds exactly to the inseparable pairs
of complementary spiritual stations between which the seeker
constantly moves . . . Now as the passive and active aspects
unite in geometric form to create a third form and from there
generate new forms, so too the mystic through spiritual practices
acquires a stability, a symmetry of form which then generates
new stations. But just as the geometric form never loses its
successive generations (its connectedness moving with it), so
the mystic, on achieving each new spiritual station, carries the
knowledge of the previous stations with him. 31
Such an evolutionary process culminates in finding the 'Philoso-

phers' Stone', which is the goal of the Sufi quest and signifies
the final transformation. According to the Sufis, the search for
the 'Philosophers' Stone' is an encoding for the Sufi quest for
integration of inner and outer levels of perception expressed in
alchemical terms. 32 The activation of the levels of perception is
symbolized by the transmutation of base metals into silver and gold
through the Philosophers' Stone. Shah summarizes that significance
of the Philosophers' Stone in the process of the Sufi quest:
His quest is the purification of the dross and the activation of

the gold. The means of achieving this is found within man - it
is the Philosophers' Stone . . . which is so powerful that it can
transform whatever comes to contact with it. 33
The rooms of the 'impersonal' in Memoirs centre progressively

upon three climactic episodes employing mandala symbols with the
Philosophers' Stone at the threshold of transformation and the 'She',
the 'Feminine Principle' presiding over the work of equilibrium.

The carpet episode, the 'four-walled' garden and the 'iron' egg
scene evoke mandala symbols which culminate in the final episode
with its associations with the Philosophers' Stone. More important,
these three episodes are concentrically arranged to interpenetrate
the outer action, driving the action of the whole novel on its
multilevelled axis towards its culmination. Each mandala vision
is counterbalanced by a development in the narrator's perceptions
of the outer action. Moreover, the final episode is the culmination of
both inner and outer action as all the characters are reconciled with
the 'She', the 'Feminine Principle', the axiom of equilibrium.
The narrator enters the 'inner rooms' through concentration on a
pattern of flowers on the wall paper of her living room. She then
finds rooms which are significantly 'higher' than hers. These rooms
'had been quietly waiting . . . all this time' (15), readily there for
those who can see it. On her first visit, she views a 'large, light, airy,
delightful flat or house' with many windows and doors. But that
magnificent dwelling, 'once a beautiful' place, is now in a forlorn
condition because of neglect. It was 'disused, had been for some
time. Years, perhaps' (15). Although inviting, these rooms are not
yet ready for her occupancy or for inhabitation by the Feminine
'Presence'.
On her second visit, the narrator realizes that these rooms would
require a great deal of work to make them habitable: 'to make them
habitable, what work needed to be done! Yes, I could see that it
could take weeks, months . . . ' (16). It is only when she starts to
realize the work which has to be done that she has the first glimpse
of the 'presence' whom she recognizes as the 'rightful' but 'exiled
inhabitant' of these rooms. Her efforts at cleaning and sweeping
these rooms coincide with the process of cleaning in the 'personal'
rooms and indicate the nature of a work analogous to the first step
in the 'arc of ascent' in the Sufi Quest. Like the Sufis, the narrator
sees this task as a starting point: 'Now I kept looking for the empty
room . . . if I could see this, it would mean a start had been m a d e '
(25).
However, each time the narrator cleans up a room it is ravaged the
next time she enters it. The rooms are soiled and wrecked as if by a
malicious 'poltergeist' (59); an 'unknown destroyer'. That 'invisible
destroyer', which figures as a kind of universal malice, appears, in
Lessing's novels, as a foil which has to be acknowledged in order to
be dealt with. Once the narrator realizes that this destructive force
is connected with the fouling and wrecking on the pavements in

her 'real' life she can come to terms with that 'invisible destructive
creature' as well as the 'beneficent presence'. It is then that she, like
Anna of The Golden Notebook, is redeemed of her frustration so that
despite her discouragement at the task of cleaning, which may seem
disrupting, she finds it still makes sense to try again:
While I was in that room, the task made sense; there was a
continuity to what I did, a future, and I was in a continuing
relation to the invisible destructive creature, or force, just as I
was with the other beneficent presence. (59)
It is significant that it is only after that reconciliation of oppo-

sites she experiences in her relation to the forces that dominate
the 'impersonal rooms' that she finds her efforts rewarded by
encountering the first of the mandala episodes.
In that episode she has a vision of others contributing their efforts
in the central task of taking pieces of material from piles of saved
fabrics, trying to fit them into the pattern of 'Eastern embroideries'
in a carpet spread on the floor of a 'six-sided' room. That activity
illuminated the otherwise dulled tapestry so that it 'glowed up,
fulfilled, perfect . . . ' (70). She sees this as a 'central activity',
'serious, important not only to the people actually engaged in this
work, but to everyone' (70). She then does her part by finding and
fitting a piece herself. Though this room vanishes as the others have
done, the narrator leaves it with the conviction that 'the work in it
continued, must continue, would go on always' (70).
Mandala symbolism dominates the description of that episode.
The carpet spread upon the floor of a six-sided room provides
a scene like a classic mandala of a square within a circle. The
six-sided room, however, gives further significance. In addition to
its providing the point of circumference of a circle, Cirlot points out
that the number six is symbolic of 'equilibrium, six comprises the
union of the two triangles (of fire and water) and hence signifies
the human soul'. 34 According to Sufi illustrations of the mandala
in geometrical forms the two intersecting triangles are referred to
as 'an active form', and with the hexagonal form of the walls
become 'a complete form'. 35 Laleh, in her study of Sufi symbols
in numbers and geometric forms, further illustrates the significance
of the triangle in the interaction between the 'Intellect' and the
'Feminine' element to create a perennial unity:
The triangle is the first form to enclose space in the generation

of points or lines from 1. It symbolizes the action of the Intellect
(2) on the Soul (3) and thereby brings about the descending,
horizontal or ascending motion of the Intellect . . . Because the
Intellect (as the active, masculine element) and the Soul (as the
receptive, feminine element) represent a duality of manifestation
from the One, their union and product, the matter, forms the
stability of the universe. 36
It is further significant that the narrator encounters this scene on a

night with a moon instead of in daylight as for all the other epi-
sodes. In Sufi philosophy, the moon is associated with the feminine
principle and the intermingling of two levels of perception so that
'the soul, the feminine principle of the reflective moon within, is
united with the spirit or Intellect, the masculine principle of the
sun'. 3 7
Significantly, after that mandala episode, the narrator realizes
that the intellect should be given its proportional place within the
hierarchy of consciousness, for although it marks the superiority
of human beings over other creatures, its exclusive dominance has
culminated in the 'crisis'. Back in her flat after the first mandala
episode she reflects:
As for our thoughts, our intellectual apparatus, our rationalisms

and our logics and our deductions and so on, it can be said with
absolute certainty that dogs and cats and monkeys cannot make
a rocket fly to the moon or weave artificial dress materials out of
the by-products of petroleum, but as we sit in the ruins of this
variety of intelligence, it is hard to give it much value: I suppose
we are under-valuing it now as we over-valued it then. It will
have to find its place: I believe a pretty low place, at that. (71)
Critics have repeatedly concluded in reference to that issue in

Memoirs that Doris Lessing has abandoned rationalism in favour
of irrational modes of consciousness. Although she cherishes the
belief that the flaw in Western culture is the inflation of the intel-
lect at the expense of intuitive 'knowledge', Doris Lessing does
not see that the solution is to annul the role of intellect, but to
establish an equilibrium between the intellct and the inner faculties
so that instead of cancelling each other, they interact and enrich one
another. In doing so, she shares the Sufi philosophy's belief that
intellect 'must fall into its right perspective, find its own level, when
the present lack of balance of the personality is restored'. 38 She does
not overlook the value of intellect, since her main theme here is the
importance of consciousness, of integrating the inner faculties 'into
the category of understanding we describe in the word realise, with
its connotation of a gradual opening into comprehension' (10). To
assert that Doris Lessing has abandoned rationalism, therefore, is to
miss the point that Lessing is trying to make, for the basic argument
in Memoirs is that in order to overcome the 'crisis', humanity must
first 'understand' (88). What is needed, then, is not to cancel the
role of intellect but to find its proportional place in the balance of
cognition. Lessing shares that attitude with the Sufis rather than
other mystic philosophies. Shah illustrates that crucial difference
between the Sufis and other mystics:
The Sufi attitude is undoubtedly that of 'being', but unlike the

familiar type of mystic, he will use 'knowing' as well. He
distinguishes between the ordinary knowing of fact and the
inner knowing of reality. His activity connects and balances all
these factors - understanding, being, knowing. 39
It is 'developing the balancing factor' 40 which is the main focus

here. Thus once the narrator of Memoirs starts to incorporate the
inner modes of consciousness, her understanding takes a higher and
more differential level. Instead of the parochialism and frustration
of the one-dimensional mode of consciousness, she experiences a
degree of conscious reciprocity which helps her understand 'more
clearly' what goes on in the outer world:
Because of this feeling, born of the experiences behind that wall, I

was changing. A restlessness, a hunger that had been with me all
my life, that had always been accompanied by a rage of protest,
(but against what?) was being assuaged. I found that I was more
often, simply, waiting. I watched to see what would happen next.
I observed. I looked at every new event quietly, to see if I could
understand it. (88)
As the narrator starts to reorganize the balances of her perception,

the many levels of the novel begin to interpenetrate. Rather than the
sequential mode of thinking only, she starts to have a multilevelled
perception. She describes the difference between the two attitudes

as she enters 'the impersonal rooms'. At first she is bound to the
sequence of rooms, entering one after the other:
I was within a sense of opportunities and possibilities, but limited

always to the next turn of the corridor, the opening of the next
door - the sense of plenty, of space always opening out and away
kept within a framework of order within which I was placed, as
part of it . . . (134)
Then a new development takes place:
now it seemed as if a perspective had shifted and I was seeing

the sets of rooms from above, or as if I were able to move through
them so fast I could visit them all at once and exhaust them.
(134)
Such a spatial perspective, which is 'not consecutive', opens new

vistas and initiates 'the growth of one style into another', yet one
difficulty remains. Despite its richness, it seemed destructive:
it seemed to me . . . as if a vast house had been taken over and

decorated to display a hundred different manners, modes, epochs
- . . . not consecutively and in order to give the sense of the
growth of one style into another. Set up, perfected - and then
knocked flat. (134)
According to the Sufis, the process of reshuffling the balance

between the levels of perception appears to be destructive since
people must throw off the constricting bonds of conditioning with
its faulty one-dimensional perception. In an analogy of Jalaludin
Rumi, a thirteenth-century Sufi philosopher and poet from whose
work Shah quotes extensively, a person has to pull down his house
to find the priceless treasure within:
Rumi refers to this factor when he talks about pulling down a

house in order to find a treasure. A man does not want his house
pulled down, even though the treasure is of greater use to him
than the building . . . The treasure, as Rumi says, 'is the reward
of the pulling down of the house'. 4 1
After the first mandala episode, the narrator undergoes a similar

process - a process which, as Shah further quotes in that context,
'appears to be destructive, but is "essentially reconstructive"': 42
Inside it was all chaos . . . the feeling one is taken over by at the
times in one's life when everything is in change, movement,
destruction - or reconstruction, but that is not always evident
at the time . . . (70-1)
Thus, despite that sense of chaos and destructiveness, the narrator

carries on her task and finds her efforts rewarded by 'a visit . . . '
(135).
It is then that the narrator can experience the second mandala
episode whose key image is the multilayered garden. In that episode
she moves beyond the rooms altogether and finds herself in a
'garden between four walls' (135) with a 'fresh delightful sky'
which she knows is a sky of another world.
The 'four walled garden', with running waters, open to the sky,
bears relevance to mandala symbols in the Sufi tradition. 43 The
description of the gardens in this episode where the narrator sees
'gardens beneath gardens, gardens above gardens', evokes further
association with the 'Gardens of Paradise' 4 4 with their particular
significance in the Sufi philosophy as stages in the 'arc of ascent'.
Laleh Bakhtiar's study of that aspect is useful here. According
to Laleh, entering the gardens initiates the incorporation of the
intuitive faculties through the mediating function of the feminine
principle:
As the mystic begins the ascent through the Gardens of Paradise,

the point of encounter is the Garden of the Soul. This is the
feminine principle within, structured by gateways of sense. In
order to enter, the mystic must gather together the inner senses
of faculties of intuition. 45
The culmination of that ascent is the union between the masculine

and feminine principles to achieve unity of multiple levels of
perception:
Finally, the mystic enters the Garden of Essence. Its form consists
of the masculine and feminine principles . . . being reborn in
the illuminated knowledge of the Unity of Being . . . the fruit
of this Garden is the pomegranate, the symbol of integration

of multiplicity in unity, in the station of Union, conscious of
Essence. Consumed in the light, . . . the mystic has reached the
goal of the Quest, the Truth of Certainty. 46
It is significant that the garden episode in Memoirs takes place in the

'sun', where the masculine presence - the gardener - attends to 'his
duties of controlling the flow of water, of seeing that it ran equably
among the beds' (136) and where the feminine presence 'was so
strong in this place, as pervasive as the rose-scenf (136). The single
rose mentioned in this scene - 'an exquisite old rose growing on
one wall' (136) - is further significant of the completion of the
task. According to Cirlot, 'the single rose is, in essence, a symbol
of completion or consummate achievement and perfection'. 47
The Sufis consider such process as the necessary task of achieving
a balance between the inner and outer levels of perception creating
a new relationship between the two worlds so that the one nourishes
the other. It is through that new relationship that the seeker can use
his faculties to their full potential:
The waters give full flavour to the fruits grown from trees
(thoughts) of meditation. Particular objects of perception are
no longer outward-directed . . . the mystic makes use of the
thinking function in its highest form. 48
Leaving the multilayered garden, the narrator sees a new rela-

tionship between her two worlds. Back in her flat, she watches the
entrapment of the younger generation in the one-dimensional mode
of survival, and contemplates:
I sat quiet . . . and thought of the gardens that lay one above
another so close to us, . . . I thought of what riches there were
in store for these creatures and all the others like them . . . (137)
Having established the connection between the two realms, the

crucial challenge then is to be able to retain that equilibrium in her
memory. Shah explains that while the achievement of the balance
between the 'physical' world and the inner levels of perception
'is essential' the difficulty lies in retaining it since '[t]his balance
is connected with the fact that ordinary humanity is not able,
except for very short periods, to concentrate at all'. 49 The process

of retaining that balance in the memory takes place in stages
referred to by the Sufis as 'states and stations'. Laleh, in her
study of that process, illustrates the distinction between them:
'Spiritual stations are degrees of ascent, reached through certain
rites and certain difficulties. They are permanent acquisitions, as
opposed to states . . . ' 5 0 which, on the other hand, 'may occur as a
flash, or . . . may remain longer, but . . . [are] never permanent'. 5 1
It is only 'in strengthening (tamkin), expressed as stability and sym-
metry, that one finds spiritual stations as distinct from states'. 52
The narrator of Memoirs undergoes such a process in integrating
the outer and inner levels of perception. Early in the novel, she
has flashes of illumination from her visits behind the wall, but
she cannot often retain it in her ordinary consciousness:
The knowledge of it, being there, in whatever shape it was using

for the moment, came to me in flashes during my ordinary life,
more and more often. But I would forget it, too, for days. (25)
But after the second mandala episode, a new development takes

place:
I did hold it. I kept it in my mind. I was able to do this.

Yes, towards the end it was so; intimations of that life, or
lives, became more powerful and frequent in 'ordinary' life,
as if that place were feeding and sustaining us, and wished
us to know it. A wind blew from one place to the other; . . . I
was standing foursquare in what everybody would concur was
normality. (137)
That achievement marks a new development in the narrator's

outer world. Only when she integrates the perception she achieves
in that realm with her ordinary consciousness and 'holds' it in her
memory, does she take action for the first time. Instead of taking
part in the mechanisms which led to the crisis, she becomes a leader
and attempts to initiate Emily's transformation by shattering her
pseudo-balanced existence:
I now did what I had once been careful to avoid, for fear of
upsetting Emily, of disturbing some balance.
It is illuminating to study the relationship between the narrator

and Emily in view of the relationship between a Sufi teacher and
a learner, so that the development in the narrator's role can be
perceived.
According to Shah, the relationship between a Sufi teacher and
a candidate transcends the conventional relationship between a
teacher and a learner, since 'a part of the teaching stands outside
time and space, . . . this relationship, therefore, far transcends in
ultimate meaning the usual scope of teaching and learning. The Sufi
teacher is more than one who is passing on formal knowledge'. 5 3
Two basic concepts are of particular interest here. First, that the
relationship is a two-way cooperation without which the teaching
is futile. Second, that the means of communication between them
transcends the formal methods of teaching. Shah refers to the
complex of activities between a Sufi teacher and a candidate:
The 'guide, philosopher and friend' who is the Sufi teach-

er . . . performs what may be considered to be many functions.
As a guide, he shows the way - but the aspirant must himself do
the walking. As a philosopher, he loves wisdom, in the original
meaning of the term. But love to him implies action, not merely
enjoyment or even the despair of one-sided love. As a friend he
is a companion and advisor, provides reassurance, and a point of
view which is influenced by his perception of other's need. 54
Shah further clarifies the crucial role of a teacher:
Man must develop by his own effort toward growth of an

evolutionary nature, stabilizing his consciousness. He has within
him an essence, initially tiny, shining, precious. Development
depends upon man, but must start through a teacher. 55
Therefore, although the narrator attempts to bridge the gap

between her and Emily, a successful relationship cannot be fulfilled
without a counterbalancing effort on the part of Emily. So long as
Emily is out of touch with her 'memories' - a hypothesis which the
narrator doubts more and more as the action of the novel develops
- she remains locked within the ego patterns of the relationship
between old and young. Watching her in the outer world while
perceiving the memories that had formed her in the inner world,
the narrator makes the point that if Emily 'could not see them or
know about them, . . . it would be of no use my telling her: if I did
she would hear words, no more' (81).
This raises the second basic issue in the relationship between the
Sufi teacher and the learner, namely the methods of communication.
According to the Sufis, teaching through words is of limited effect
for two reasons. First, that they operate on one level - that of the
rational consciousness - and, therefore, are inapt in communicating
the multilevelled experience. Second because the process of learning
depends on the degree of reciprocity of the candidate, through his
experience with the teacher and not on an argumentative basis. Shah
quotes Rumi on that issue: 'You can't teach by disagreement'. 56
According to Shah, 'Science is learned by words, art by practice,
detachment by companionship'. 57 The teacher's presence initiates a
heightened means of communication which is based on the recipi-
ent's level of development. According to Shah, 'All Sufi teachings
are being disposed toward multiple meaning depending upon how
much or on what level the individual can grasp them.' 5 8 Shah
describes that means of communication as 'the secret language',
'the hidden tongue': 59
It is a form of communication among the enlightened ones.

It has the advantage of connecting mundane with the greater
dimensions; the 'other world' from which the ordinary humanity
is cut off.60
Towards the end, the narrator starts to have a heightened com-

munication with Emily. Emerging from the inner rooms, she feels
the air outside 'slow and dim and heavy', and Emily shares her
thoughts though she has not yet fully grasped its multiple levels -
she 'only partly grasped [what] had been pointing towards an obvi-
ous conclusion' (161).61 Emily cannot yet grasp the multilevelled
perception unless she first breaks out from the patterns which had
confined her.
It is only when the walls of the ego are shaken that the inner could
be visited. The narrator's role as 'teacher' is useful here since she
helps initiating Emily's disillusionment by shaking her balance in
the appropriate time. 62 The narrator's presence intensifies Emily's
sense of disenchantment as one after another of the roles in which
she was sheltering is shattered. The narrator watches Emily as
she goes through that process and her mere presence enhances it.
Finally Emily tries to shake Gerald out of his illusions, initiating his
journey into the inner realm: 'He was searching his memory for
behaviour which at the time he had committed it he had felt as
delinquent, and which he could see now - if he really tried and
he was prepared to try - as faulty . . . ' (146). We later know that
'some hard battle had been fought'. We therefore leave Emily and
Gerald, the protagonists of the outer action, on the verge of being
initiated into the inner realm. They reach the final episode after
having shed their delusions and are, therefore, ready for further
development. That process of gradual development, which is the
individual's responsibility, is described by Rumi in an analogy that
is illuminating for understanding the final episode of Memoirs:
It is not a matter of being compelled to break eggs before an

omelet can be made, but of the eggs doing their own breaking
in order to be able to aspire to omelethood. 63
The egg symbolism which culminates in the final episode of Mem-

oirs has been a sustained metaphor throughout the novel bringing
the different threads together. All of the action of the novel moves
towards the gradual breaking of the egg. Watching Emily in the
outer action, the narrator is conscious of the inner world 'like
holding an egg to one's ear that is due to hatch' (14) - 'I was putting
my ear to the wall, as one would to a fertile egg, listening, waiting'
(14). It is significant that just before the final climactic episode of
the egg, the narrator enters the last scene of descent through fire
and heat, suggesting that the work of transformation is proceeding
vigorously. 64 Shortly after this scene, the narrator approaches the
final episode with the 'feeling that this was what we have been
waiting for' (181).
The 'giant black egg of pock-marked iron, but polished and
glassy' (181) around which the narrator and the other characters
gather is of particular significance in denoting the process of trans-
mutation which is the work of the Philosophers' Stone. Reference to
iron, which is 'polished', suggests the alchemical process in which
the Philosophers' Stone 'would transmute base metals into precious
ones'. 6 5 This, according to the Sufis, is the consummation of the
quest for the proper cultivation of the mind so that it is 'transmuted'
to a sublime plane. Reference to the egg's 'glassy' surface on which
is 'reflected' all forms of existence in this episode also evokes the
'Reflective Mirror', which is a crucial concept of Sufi philosophy
signifying the fulfilment of 'multiplicity-in-unity', 66 which is the

goal of the Sufi. The episode is given additional significance by
referring to the egg as black. According to the Sufis the colour black
denotes wisdom and leadership. Shah points out that connotation,
differentiating between Eastern and Western associations of the
word:
The idiomatic use of the word 'black' in Europe to denote some-

thing unpleasant has obscured its special, technical usage during
the middle ages. Reference may be made to the use of the idea of
'dark,' occult, for something hidden may form a bridge toward
reestablishing the sense of this concept in its connection with
hidden wisdom - and also, by extension, with leadership. 67
It is therefore significant that as the 'walls dissolve' at the end of the

novel, the ' She' - the mediator of equilibrium - finally comes to the
forefront and figures as a leader: 'the one person I had been looking
for all this time was there: there she was' (182). As the narrator is
reconciled to the 'She', the younger generation accept her leadership
and the novel closes with her leading the way 'ahead' as Emily,
Hugo, Gerald and finally the children 'walked quickly behind the
One who went ahead showing them the way out of this collapsed
little world into another order of world altogether' (182).
This ending has shocked many readers and critics and led to
sweeping judgements. Memoirs' denouement has been described as
a 'cop-ouf , 68 a too easy rescue by a twentieth-century She, a 'fairy
godmother'. 6 9 Ingrid Holmquist adopts the view that Memoirs'
ending is 'an escape from both social and human life' 70 and Alvin
Sullivan concludes that 'what happens in the physical world is
unimportant, the passage beyond the physical is the ending Lessing
chooses to offer . . . ' 7 1
A closer study of that episode shows that the basic tenet here
is not that the characters of the outer world are led into another
world, but into 'another order of world altogether' - signalling
the initiation of the process of reshuffling of balances for the new
generation. What collapses is the old one-dimensional order of the
world which initially led to the crisis. It is in that context that the
'She' - the 'presence' who signifies the achievement of the balance
between the levels of perception - gains significance as she leads the
way into a new 'order' of world. That is the fulfilment of the Sufi
quest - the initiation of a new 'order' of world and the attainment
of the Philosophers' Stone. That explains why Emily is 'transmuted'

and in 'another key' (182).
The dissatisfaction with the ending of Memoirs is due to an inabil-
ity to perceive the interweaving layers within this last episode. In
fact, the final episode is an integration of all the levels, an ending
that will naturally frustrate any reader attempting to read the novel
on any one level exclusively. That this climactic episode of the
inner action provides the conclusion of the whole novel poses a
problem for any reader who cannot perceive that multilayering
and this is clearly intended to shock the reader into a new mode
of perception.
It is only by unravelling these multilayers that the meaning
of the final episode emerges more clearly. The walls 'falling' at
the beginning of the episode connect with the same experience
undergone by the narrator earlier in the 'impersonal rooms' evoking
the image of the house destruction that signalled her initiation
into a multilevelled perspective (134). The egg hatching marks
the culmination of the quest - 'what we had been waiting for'
- and further unravels other layers of meaning. That the carpet
scene emerges from the egg is of particular significance since the
carpet episode marks the first mandala symbol encountered by the
narrator as she is initiated in the 'impersonal rooms'. That this
episode is encountered by the younger generation signifies that the
final episode is but the initial step towards equilibrium on the part
of the younger generation. It denotes that the work of equilibrium is
in process as they are initiated into the first 'station' of ascent. The
presence of Hugo who 'fitted her new self (182) further signifies
that the reconciliation with the psychological level has also been
achieved since Hugo is associated with the narrator's fulfilment of
descent in the last episode of the 'personal rooms'. This initiation
of the younger generation into a new realm further signifies the
fulfilment of the narrator's mission towards the younger genera-
tion. It is also significant that the children came on their own
responsibility. With the final implication that the narrator returns
to deliver her memoir, which is the whole novel, it is significant that
she remains on our side of the wall committing herself to delivering
her message. Weaving the different levels of meaning thus, the final
episode unravels whole areas of deeper meaning resonating in the
outer and inner actions. The interpenetrating layers of that episode
are so arranged as to form a whole that is greater than the sum of
its parts.
Therefore the ending is not 'a cop-ouf. The final resolution is

gradually worked out through the novel. The final score which
forms the climax of the inner action is also the incarnation of the
transformation of the younger generation, which is the theme of the
entire outer action. The structure of Memoirs balances the two polar
realities and does not endorse either of them without qualifications;
the fact that the two movements merge in the last episode indicates
that the novel is above all concerned with the integration of the two
realms. This is the basic tenet underlying the narrative structure.
Memoirs of a Survivor is of particular interest among Lessing's nov-
els in that it attempts to invoke in the reader a new and multilevelled
attitude of mind by employing a form which, from the beginning,
challenges the reader's habitual mode of constructing reality. The
interaction between the inner and outer action is primarily directed
upon shifting the reader's perspective from a linear mode of thought
to a more balanced one which incorporates both levels of the nar-
rative. This effect is largely achieved through the interaction and
combination of elements from two narrative traditions, the realistic
and romantic modes of literature.
From the beginning, the novel exists on a problematic level where
two modes of narrative co-exist. The outer action deals with reality
as it appears to ordinary consciousness and complies with the
conventions of the realistic novel. The action is developed along
the linear dimension of space and time, and the characters are faced
by a definite social crisis in the context of historical and material
conditions, fulfilling the requirements of 'mimesis and verisimili-
tude'. 7 2 This outer mode of action is written in a documentary
manner, using tersely factual language. Concurrently, the novel
draws extensively on the Romantic tradition in the exploration of
the inner action which is set in a different dimension of time and
space and deals with those planes of consciousness that are not part
of our shared socially acknowledged experience. In describing this
inner realm Lessing makes use of the symbolic and richly allusive
language of dreams. The motifs of descent and ascent of the inner
action also correspond to elements in Northrop Frye's definition
of the quest romance. Frye has pointed out that the motifs of
descent and ascent are patterns in the romantic tradition wherein
the question 'begins an upward journey toward man's recovery of
what he projects as sacred myth. At the bottom is a memory which
can only be returned . . . at the top is the recreation of memory'. 7 3
Correspondingly, the novel incorporates two levels of narrative:
the discursive sequential level, and the symbolic narrative in which

the images have greater resonance. In the Poetics of Prose, Todorov
distinguishes between two kinds of narrative proper to fictional
form: 'narrative logic', dominant in the traditional novel, which
propels the reader forward in a series of events in which curiosity
and suspense are key words; and 'ritual logic' which, in contrast,
demands that the reader's interest focuses on the unfolding of
the whole action as it generates meaning through connections and
associations. 74 The Memoirs of a Survivor incorporates the two levels
of narrative, requiring response on both.
The interaction between the two levels of narration is an impor-
tant feature in Memoirs and is crucial to understanding its meaning.
Although the narrative levels appear at first to represent mutually
exclusive realms, they interpenetrate in significant ways and to an
increasing degree as the novel develops. For example, the suspense
built in the outer action around the definition of the crisis - ' I f -
finds its full meaning only after incorporating levels of the inner
action. In the first part of the novel, the narrator starts her account
'at a time before we were talking about "if". However, the narrator
chooses to hold back further information regarding that main issue
of the outer action. Technically, this serves to build up a degree of
suspense to draw the reader into the ordinary perspective of the
outer action. The narrator later does attempt to define 'If, but she
does so in a way which challenges the reader's habitual cognition,
since its meaning resonates in both the outer and inner realms. The
reader is led to follow the meaning which is achieved not only in
the outer source of information but by an amalgamation of the two
realms.
Thus, the reader's interest, which might more naturally be
directed towards the outer action, because it operates on familiar
grounds, is drawn by various means towards the necessity of
incorporating the unfamiliar realms of the inner action. The
narrative plays ironically on the traditional function of devices
in the novel so that the reader is induced to undergo a double
movement of deconstruction and reconstruction - deconstruction
of the one-dimensional and reconstruction of a balancing process
which incorporates the two levels. The inner action compels the
reader's interest with its vivid activity between the levels of the
unconscious, its skilful variation of intensity, and above all its con-
tinuous reference to an association with the outer action so that the
reader is induced to reconsider the priority of the outer action as the
only source of information and is involved in a balancing operation

between the two realms. The handling of Emily's character is a clear
example of that process. Figuring as the crux of the outer action,
Emily's character cannot be fully grasped without the incorporation
of the experience in the inner action, so that we are induced to
reconsider the habit of abiding by the outer as the only source of
information.
The time scheme in Memoirs further serves to subvert the reader's
habitual mode of structuring experience. The recurrent references to
the passage of time, 'a day or two', 'months', 'days' (160) and 'sea-
sons ', invite the reader to think in terms of temporal sequence, while
attempts to follow a linear time-scheme are constantly thwarted
by the need to revert to the other dimension of time in order to
understand the development of the action. The linear action is
slowed down by the fixed 'past' of the personal rooms and the
timeless world of the visionary realm of the 'impersonal', so that
the reader has to observe the sequence of the development in the
outer action and at the same time examine the overlapping temporal
layers of the inner world. The cumulative effect of this time scheme
is that the reader finds himself forced to reconstruct experience so
that as he takes each step forward he is also asked to explore the
depths of the inner action which thus becomes a point of reference
- a Todestone' - to which the reader has to revert throughout the
process of reading.
That effect is further heightened by the technique of 'memoir
writing'. Seeing the action of the novel through a pentimento of
memories juxtaposed with current incidents, induces the reader
to balance between two contrasting standpoints separated by an
interval of time which is the narrator's life span. This process in
which, according to Lorna Martin in The Diary Novel, the memoirist
has 'to bridge a gap between his writing self and his "subject" - his
younger, temporarily distant, different self, 75 frustrates the linear
development of the action. In order to examine this process one
needs to hold several levels together simultaneously, to compare
and juxtapose so that the experience of reading operates on a nexus
of several different layers. Above all, it requires breaking with the
conception of a fixed point of view and the need to balance more
than one perspective.
Perhaps the most disorienting effect of Memoirs is produced by
the presence of Hugo. The episode of Hugo functions on two levels.
While figuring 'realistically' as a problem in its own right in the
outer realm, it is also one of the most powerful symbols which

negotiate between the outer and the inner action. In the context of
the outer action, Hugo figures as a pet which demands love and
care in its own right. In the context of the inner action, he stands
for that level of the unconscious which is disowned by man's ego.
In the course of the narrator's psychological development, Hugo's
existence in the last episode of the personal scenes expresses the
fact that the narrator now confronts her formerly disowned 'animal
nature'. What makes the episode of Hugo particularly interesting
is that it introduces an element of fable in the objective record.
As a fable, the cat-dog episode illustrates ideas and characteristics
through animals and their behaviour and serves as the genre of fable
does traditionally in the Sufi school of literature - to 'bridge the gap
between mundane life and a transmutation of consciousness'. 76 The
most important feature of Hugo is the union of opposites suggestive
of a reconciliation towards which the action of the novel is building.
Significantly, Hugo is neglected and deserted at the opening of the
novel and regarded as a foreign and ugly creature whose existence
is threatened. In terms of that analysis it is telling that towards
the end Hugo acquires a more prominent position as the narrator
comes to terms with his existence. He approaches the final scene
with a significant sense of a long-awaited fulfilment: 'Hugo was
not surprised, . . . he stood, all alert and vivified beside the wall,
looking into it as if at last what he wanted and needed and knew
would happen was here, and he was ready for if (191). Technically,
the presence of Hugo in the normal course of events assaults the
reader's secure footing in the rational mode of consciousness. The
infiltration of elements of romance in the objective record breaks up
the logic of identity on which the rational mind's grip on reality is
based and further challenges the reader's cognition as much as it
does to the narrator who finds herself challenged to come to terms
with that foreign element.
What Doris Lessing establishes as the point of the novel then,
is not the question of which reality is of primary importance, but
whether or not we can stretch our cognitive capacity to incorpo-
rate both. It becomes irrelevant within that context to draw a
line between the two realms since each is designed to enrich the
other. The question then remains whether Lessing has successfully
combined the techniques and reaped the benefits of two different
kinds of fiction to lead the reader to accept the co-existence, indeed
the interrelationship, of these two worlds.
Apart from the structural scheme already discussed, Doris Lessing

employs further strategies to encourage the reader to stretch his or
her perception through the dialectical relationship between text and
reader. From the beginning, she creates a compelling narrator - 'a
witness character' 7 7 - who serves as a guide to bridge the gap not
only between the two realms, but also between the reader and the
text. Secondly, the use of the first-person plural with which the novel
opens, further invites the reader to collaborate with the 'witness
character'. Lessing opens with 'We all remember that time. It was
no different for me than for others', thus establishing a common
ground between the narrator and the reader. A third strategy which
helps the reader in overcoming initial scepticism is the hesitation the
narrator experiences in acknowledging the inner realm. According
to Todorov, this strategy is a useful device to convey the fantastic
elements to a reader who knows only natural laws:
The hesitation that the reader is invited to experience with regard

to the natural or supernatural explanation of the events depicted.
To be more precise, the world described is certainly ours, with its
natural laws (we are not dealing with the marvellous) but at the
heart of the universe events occur for which it is difficult to find
a natural explanation . . . 78
The narrator of Memoirs experiences such hesitation in acknowl-

edging the rooms behind the wall. She tells us that what she 'was
hearing was impossible' because, structurally speaking a corridor is
on the other side of that wall, not another world. Her initial reluc-
tance to take in what was happening behind the wall encourages
the reader's identification with the witness character. The reader
feels affinity with the narrator when he realizes that she shares the
experience of uncertainty when it comes to giving an explanation
for the 'unnatural' events that are taking place. This is not to say
that Lessing attempts to encourage the reader to suspend rationality
and embark on fantasy. Rather, she attempts to introduce the reader
not to another world, but to this world with a new dimension which
might previously have been overlooked. The identification 79 with
the witness character then is not a simplistic strategy which forms
an end in itself, but rather an initial step employed in order to
serve critical and cognitive ends and to retain a balance between
involvement and detachment.
This marks the difference between Doris Lessing's Memoirs and
the genre of 'fantasy' with which it has often been associated.

For whereas 'fantasy' facilitates the reader's acceptance of the
marvellous, offering a fixed and as it were definitive counter-
reality, 80 Memoirs on the other hand creates levels of difficulty
which complicates the reading process and invites the reader to
move between involvement and detachment rather than settle in
a self-contained alternative world. This counterbalancing effect of
detachment is achieved by several strategies in which the reader is
deliberately stopped from identification so that he can reconsider
from the outside.
Referring to the novel on the dust jacket as 'an autobiography', the
narrative voice teases us by first giving an intentionalist reading of
the Memoirs as a document. 81 The title of 'Memoirs' further implies
more general background 8 2 as the narrator confirms in the text itself
that 'this is a history' (94). That point of departure then becomes
problematic in view of two other considerations. First that the
documents incorporate two planes of consciousness, which poses
a problem for anyone seeking identification with a single level of
factual action, and secondly that it is situated in the future rather
than the past. That temporal dislocation creates a split between the
implied reader within the text and the actual reader of the novel. The
latter is increasingly aware of the Memoirs as a memoir of a future
time. This creates a level of difficulty which causes a distancing
effect.
The use of future history is of particular interest here. Because of
its peculiarly dialectical nature, it is particularly useful in engaging
the reader's cognitive and imaginative faculties. Darko Suvin in
his study of future fiction refers to that issue in the telling phrase
'cognitive estrangement' by which he means that the extrapolation
from a known reality (the cognitive quality) helps make the familiar
more visible by first making it strange (its quality of estrange-
ment). 83 According to Suvin, it is this combination of 'cognition' and
'estrangement' which differentiates future history from the genre
of fantasy. 84 Michel Butor's comment on that issue may also be
helpful here. According to Butor, 'By a projection into the future
we open up the complexity of the present'. 85 He goes on to consider
the necessary interaction between cognition and imagination in the
genre of future history:
If the author of a narrative has taken the trouble to introduce such

a device, it is because he chooses to depart from reality only to a
certain degree, he wants to prolong or extend reality, but not to be

separated from it. He wants to give us an impression of realism,
he wants to insert the imaginary into the real. 86
Extrapolating from the present to the future, Doris Lessing pro-

ceeds in The Memoirs to demonstrate to the reader the grave impli-
cations of his present reality. It therefore becomes crucial that the
reader detects similarities between the novel's future world and the
present. While the description of the city is extreme in its depiction
of the crisis, the reader is also aware of some similarity which could
be seen as logical extensions of trends already in evidence in West-
ern culture - governmental organization of bureaucracy, adolescent
behaviour, the gap in communication between old and young and
the growth of violence. 87 More disturbing is the process by which
the reader realizes that the future which the novel describes proves
to be a 'reverting to the primitive' (90), to 'the past of the human
race' (95), as if 'the technological revolution had never occurred at
all' (90) - further playing on the reader's expectations. If the reader
is shocked and repulsed by the narrator's vision of apocalypse,
the required effect is achieved. Frank Kermode, in his study of
apocalyptic fiction in Western literature, points out the significance
of such strategies which he refers to as the 'peripeteia' in playing on
the reader's expectation:
The more daring the peripeteia, the more we may feel that the
work respects our sense of reality . . . by upsetting the ordinary
balance of our naive expectations in finding something out for us,
something real . . . it is a way of finding something out that we
should in our more conventional way to the end have closed our
eyes to . . . 88
Reading the novel in that context further increases the message

of urgency, using what Gerard Genette has called 'metalepsis' -
'inducing in the reader that the fiction reflects real world conditions
for which the reader should take active responsibility after putting
aside the book'. 89
With the implication in the final episode that the narrator of
Memoirs remains on our side of the wall, committing herself to
deliver her 'memoirs' - which constitutes the whole novel - the
reader is forced to re-evaluate drastically his or her relationship
with the text. Now the message can be transmitted to the actual
reader who, in turn, becomes one with the implied reader, who
has taken part in the whole experience through reading the novel.
Once again, the reader is thrown back to the world with a new
cognition which arises from his standing place in time between
the present and the future. The problematic nature of the novel's
temporal scheme arouses in the reader the initiative to investigate
further the nature and significance of the 'reality' of the novel, and
serves to reduce the blindness caused by the plausibility of the
present. Kermode points out the significance of that strategy: 'it is
by our imagery of past, and present and future, rather than from
our confidence in the uniqueness of our crisis, that the character
of our apocalypse must be known'. 90
The extrapolation from the present is therefore a successful strat-
egy which enables Lessing to combine realistic and imaginative
modes that invite both the reader's cognition and estrangement,
involving the reader in a dialectic of involvement and detachment.
Just as the title implies a double movement of crisis and survival,
so the narrative discourse does not so much shift from one level
to another as articulate tensions through assimilation of various
levels. The Memoirs of a Survivor, therefore, like The Golden Notebook,
employs structural strategies to indicate, through the form, the
meaning of the novel. But whereas The Golden Notebook offers no
easy solution to the language problem, Lessing attempts in Memoirs
to do what she shows Anna Wulf incapable of doing. While Anna
in The Golden Notebook addresses the question of realism of how
to assimilate levels of reality while 'telling it like it is', Doris
Lessing shows in Memoirs that language can indeed transcend
its limitations. She does not, however, offer a new vocabulary,
but rather gives new images, new combinations, whose effect is
to invite new associations and connections that serve to extend our
view of reality. Memoirs, therefore, goes beyond the earlier work in
that its meaning is expressed not only in the structure but also on
the textual level.
In her discussion of 'if Lessing lays bare one of the most problem-
atic issues in the verbal domain, calling into question the perception
of language as a relationship between signifier and signified 91 and
challenging its limitation. Her initial reference to the signifier 'if in
the opening of the novel creates a sense of ambiguity because its
significance is not rigidly defined. However, she does not leave
us without clues till the end. Towards the middle of the text she
does define 'if, but she does so in a manner which challenges the
one-to-one relationship between the signifier and the signified. The

'signifier' of 'if attains a higher level of multi-valency which frus-
trates any reader seeking a single certain statement. ' I f is defined
as follows:
Perhaps, after all, one has to end by characterising 'it' as a sort

of cloud or emanation, but invisible, like the water vapour you
know is present in the air of the room you sit in, makes part of the
air you know is there when you look out of a window . . . ' I f
was everywhere, in everything, moved in our blood, our minds.
' I f was nothing that could be described once and for all, or
pinned down, or kept stationary; 'if was an illness, a tiredness,
boils; ' i f was the pain of watching Emily, a fourteen-year-old
girl, locked inside her necessity to - sweep away dead leaves;
'if was the price of unreliability of the electricity supply; the
way telephones didn't work; the migrating tribes of cannibals;
was 'them' and their antics . . . (133)
The habitual one-to-one equivalence of the signifying and the

signified is undermined and the reader is made to consider the
possibility that the meaning may find resonance through the asso-
ciation between several levels.
This technique, in which the one stands for the many, is comple-
mented by another technique in which the many represent the one.
Two episodes towards the second half of the novel, where the dif-
ferent levels start to interpenetrate, are evidence of that technique.
The two episodes stand for the same experience - namely Emily's
difficult task in Gerald's house - but are expressed in two diametri-
cally opposed styles. One is depicted in terse factual language, and
the other is 'expressed in images' (131). In the first episode, Emily is
portrayed in her strenuous effort of trying to train the children and
teaching them a logical attitude (114-15) which is hardly conceived
by them. In the second she is envisioned symbolically in the futile
task of trying to empty a house of dead leaves as the wind blows
in more leaves into the unroofed rooms (116-17). This technique, in
which the two opposing styles are used as variations of one another,
provokes the activity of negotiating between them and challenges
the initial 'gulf (9) between them.
Having thus attempted to bridge the gap between the two modes,
Lessing then proceeds to employ more positive efforts to transcend
the limitation of language. Because symbols partake of both worlds
- that of rational verbal consciousness operating on the equation

between the signifying and the signified, and the world of the
unconscious which is beyond the grasp of verbal rationality 92 -
they are the means with which Lessing transcends the problem of
language. Since the reality she envisions in Memoirs incorporates
both the rational and non-rational levels of consciousness, she
finds such methods as the answer to the difficulties of expression.
However, if the extensive use of the symbolic mode implies a
transcendence of the rational mode, the specific way in which it is
used in Memoirs serves to engage both the rational and the holistic
effect of association. Her symbols function in both the inner and the
outer action, operating in a network that runs throughout the novel
demanding from the reader intense critical attention to balance and
connect, thus invoking response on the rational level as well. In
this way the reader is forced to follow the sequence of linear
development and at the same time seek connections within a web
of association. The architectural symbolism and the egg symbolism
which infiltrate throughout the novel will serve as an illustration of
that technique.
The architectural description with its meticulous structural details
of houses, rooms, corridors, ceilings and above all its reference to
walls, paper and paints in the outer action has symbolical connota-
tion through its association with the motifs of descent and ascent of
the inner action. The 'ordinary' (14) walls of her flat also stand (on
the psychological level) for the walls of the ego which the narrator
comes to penetrate. Significantly, while the narrator was looking for
an outlet to penetrate the walls, Emily, on the other hand, seeks
shelter in the four walls of her room: 'She knew that her shelter,
her four walls, her den, the little space that was hers and which
she could creep into was here somewhere' (18). Conversely, the
walls that serve as shelter from facing the inner self, as a barrier
to communication with the inner, could also be a bridge which
leads into the inner rooms. This is the achievement towards which
the whole action of the novel is building as the 'thick' walls between
the outer and inner realms gradually 'thinned' (86) and finally 'the
last walls dissolved' (182).
Interrelated with that wTeb of association is the egg symbol which
also appears throughout the novel as an introduction to the narra-
tor's negotiation between the two realms. At the beginning, looking
at the wall from the outside 'was like holding an egg to one's ear
that is due to hatch' (14). The narrator puts her ear to the wall 'as
one would to a fertile egg, listening, waiting' (14). Cleaning and

retaining the walls of the inner rooms was 'like standing inside
a cleaned-out eggshell' (58). Following the wall of the 'personal'
rooms to its end, 'it led beyond the personal' where the egg symbol
is elevated from the casual encounter to central focus. As the levels
of the novel interpenetrate towards the end, the 'walls dissolve' and
the 'egg hatches' in a scene which combines and conflates all the
strands of the novel. The hatching of the egg forms the climax of the
inner action which also coincides with Emily's transformation and
maturity in the outer action. In that final episode, which also figures
as the climax of the novel as a whole, 'a giant black egg' breaks open
by the pressure of the heat produced by the characters of the outer
action rotating round it, uncovering a scene which unravels further
association with other levels of the novel:
broken by the force of their being there, it fell apart, and out of it
came . . . a scene, perhaps, of people in a quiet room bending to
lay matching pieces of patterned materials on a carpet that had
no life in it until that moment when vitality was fed into it by
these exactly-answering patches . . . (182)
These two symbols, which operate in a sort of developmental

evolution, are connected with a widely ramifying chain of associa-
tions, which further link the different levels of the novel. Episodes
in the outer action parallel and converge with ones from the inner
realm. These correspondences and interrelationships accelerate the
action of the novel and provoke in the reader a constructive attempt
to detect connections - the walls dissolving link with the egg
hatching and the task of cleaning in the inner room is paralleled
by a similar activity in the outer rooms as well as in the streets
which towards the end 'seemed much cleaner' (160). Gerald's house
as well was 'clean' (160) at the end. Furthermore the animal episode
in the outer action is associated with the 'personal' experience in
the inner and the garden imagery of the inner action links with
the 'vegetable garden' in the outer which in its turn is linked
with the activity of cultivation on the part of Emily. This web
of connections, based on the multifunctionality of the symbols,
challenges the one-dimensional perception of reality with its basis
in the logic of identity. Thus, like the intricate patterns of Eastern
works of art used for meditation, the language in Memoirs functions
both as a model of kaleidoscopic vision and a strategy designed to
prepare the mind for the perception of that multilevelled vision.

This is evident more prominently towards the end, where the words
start to resonate on more than one level, as their meaning partakes
from both realms. The 'air' (160, 161) which blew in one realm
infiltrated in the other and 'under the thick light' of the personal
room 'seemed now to shimmer another light which came from
there' (159) - the 'impersonal rooms'. Both were infused in the
outer level. This activity of negotiating between the two levels
of meaning remains compelling till the end where these words
gain more cosmic relevance. The reference to 'air, water, food,
warmth' evokes association with the four elements - air, water,
earth (food) and fire (warmth) - which are necessary to achieve
cosmic equilibrium.
This textual strategy in which the signifier resonates on more than
one level of meaning is similar to the Sufi teaching story method.
According to Shah,' [a]ll Sufi teaching [is] disposed toward multiple
meaning depending upon how much or on what level the individual
can grasp them'. 93 Ghazalli, the founder of that strategy, 'enunciated
the doctrine that it is necessary to realize the multiple functions,
at different levels, of what appears to be the same thing'. 94 Shah
describes how 'this theory that "one may work on different layers
of the same material"', operates:
The 'inner dimension' of teaching stories, however, are held to

make them capable of revealing, according to the stage of devel-
opment of the student, more and more planes of significance.95
This is typical of the textual method in Memoirs. The use of words

and symbols that operate on more than one level can only be fully
grasped if the reader has managed to incorporate the inner and outer
levels of meaning. The reader therefore undergoes a deepening of
understanding similar to that experienced by Emily in the process
of her relationship with the narrator. Like the Sufi teaching story
therefore, Doris Lessing attempts to incorporate multiple levels to
invoke in the reader a new and original attitude of mind to the
activity of reading, a strategy which she specially admires in Shah,
whom she describes as:
a master of the difficult task of deliberate provocation, slight

dislocation of an expected sense, use of the apparently banal -
to make one read a thing again and more carefully.96
The final episode is such a 'provocation'. The shock which some

readers find by this denouement is due to failure to detect the
intricate web of connections and its development throughout the
novel. Arriving at that final scene without matching such associa-
tions might strike the reader as sudden and a challenge to reread
to detect the connections it builds throughout the novel. In that
context, the ending of Memoirs operates like the Sufi teaching stories
which are intended to shock the reader out of complacency and
initiate a new way of perception. Like the Sufi teaching story, it
does not offer fulfilment of expectations but rather shakes the reader
and stimulates thinking. The multiple levels it incorporates provoke
the reader to abandon the one-dimensional mode of linear thought
and reread so as to match the deepening levels of meaning in the
text. It thus draws on the Sufi method of 'scatter', to create a shift
in perspective from the dominant linear mode of thought to a more
balanced one. As Shah puts it:
The net effect of experiencing a tale at several different levels

at once is to awaken the innate capacity for understanding on
a comprehensive, more objective manner than is possible to the
ordinary, painstaking and ineffectual way of thinking. 97
Having said that, it is necessary to recognize that there is a

difference between Doris Lessing's notion of multiple levels (wTiich
she shares with the Sufis), and that of the modern novel. It is a subtle
but crucial difference. Barthes' concept of 'the plural text' may serve
as a point of reference here. Although in both, the novel operates
on multiple levels, to Barthes the novel is 'polyphonic' whereas to
Lessing, as to the Sufis, the novel is 'monologic', where the truth is
perceived on deeper levels. According to Barthes, 'the triumphant
plural of the rich text' is achieved through 'the death of the author',
so that the voices are set free to speak. 98 However, the disappearance
of the narrator indicates, as Wayne Booth points out, the loss of a
'creative balance' 9 9 between the different perspectives. In Lessing's
novel, on the other hand, the role of the narrator, as stated earlier,
is of vital importance in acting as a link between the reader and
the text.
The skill with which the narrative juxtaposes and negotiates
between the two realms is crucial to the novel's effect. The great
power of the book comes from the way it interweaves all its
levels and combines all its voices into a balanced whole. It not
only combines vision with empiricism, but maintains the balance

between them so that the reader cannot dismiss either kind of truth,
but attempts to grasp their unity. This balancing activity remains
compelling to the end.
Structurally, and thematically, therefore, the theme of equilibrium
constitutes the basic dynamic of the novel. It is the major challenge
facing the narrator from the outset of the novel and its fulfilment
forms the resolution of the outer and inner action. The novel's form
which balances, and subtly but persistently interrelates the two
perspectives, challenges the mode of consciousness on which the
rational domination is founded and is itself a symbol of equilibrium.
Like the intricate patterns of Eastern works of art designed for
meditation, the novel functions both as a model for meditation,
and a strategy designed to prepare the one-dimensional mind for
such activity. Reading The Memoirs of a Survivor, one is aware of
another instance in which Doris Lessing attempts to 'shape a book
which would make its own comment, . . . a wordless statement: to
talk through the way it was shaped'. 100
4
The Science Fiction Series
Doris Lessing's science fiction series constitutes her most mature
vision of the theme of equilibrium. While The Grass is Singing and
The Golden Notebook dramatize the need for personal equilibrium
and The Memoirs of a Survivor enlarges on the theme of personal and
collective equilibrium, Canopus in Argos: Archives, comprehends and
complements the earlier works. In it Lessing goes one step further in
her continuing exploration of self and cosmos by positing a cosmic
'"Order"' that if properly observed leads to individual, cultural and
ultimately cosmic growth. Here the balance between the levels of
perception becomes the '"Necessity"' that has to be observed to
'understand' and maintain the '"Order"' 1 of the universe. In that
context, the new 'order of world' referred to in the last pages of The
Memoirs of a Survivor - an 'order' which essentially incorporates the
inner realm of reality - becomes the basis for Lessing's cosmology
in The Canopus in Argos: Archives.
A close look at the cosmology which Lessing creates provides a
clear manifestation of that unifying theme that runs throughout
the series. The equilibrium between the 'physical' and the 'higher
levels' of perception is precisely the aim of the 'Lock' between
Canopus and Rohanda. In Re: Colonised Planet 5 Shikasta,2 the first
volume which sets the cosmology of the series, we are told that the
'Purpose' of the Lock between the mother planet Canopus and the
developing Rohanda is the creation of a 'symbiosis' between the
'practical intelligence' (32) of the 'Natives' and the 'higher levels'
(31) of the 'Giants' so that 'there was no division . . . between the
physical and the mental' (48). The aim of such 'symbiosis' is to
achieve a 'mental flow' (51), an 'exchange of emanations' (52) as
a part of furthering evolution - 'the creation of ever-evolving Sons
and Daughters of the Purpose' (52). The 'prime object and aim of
the galaxy', then, is based on 'balance' and evolution; the 'Purpose',
therefore, is in compliance with the theme of equilibrium we have
been studying.
136
The Science Fiction Series 137
That conjecture becomes even more plausible if we further exam-

ine the two opposing forces that loom over the planets. Canopus,
which lends the series its title, is the patron of equilibrium. It is the
force that fosters the balancing required to retain the 'Order'. Its
agents are 'continually at work trying to restore balances and to heal
[the] woeful defects of imaginative understanding' (429). Shammat,
on the other hand, is the propagator of 'disequilibrium' (37) and
is therefore projected as the evil force in the series. Shammat,
of the Planet Puttoria, figures as a kind of malicious poltergeist
reminiscent of the 'principle of joy-in-destruction' or the 'invisible
destroyer' referred to in The Golden Notebook and The Memoirs of a
Survivor respectively, but here, for the first time, the evil force that
threatens to destroy the universe is identified with 'disequilibrium';
Shammat, w h o ' lacks any wholesale balancing powers and currents'
(422), 'can succeed only where there is disequilibrium, harm, dis-
m a y ' (37). It is significant therefore that whereas 'salvation lay with
[Canopus]' (426), Shammat is projected as a life-destroying force,
'sucking and draining sources of nourishment' (36).
While the search for equilibrium is the dynamic of the whole
series, it is also the drive of the action in each single novel. An
overall view of the series reveals that despite the variety in the
defective states and 'crises' that the individual novels describe,
there are crucial basic similarities, and focusing on these will begin
to reveal the major features of Lessing's project in the series.
The description of the 'dis-aster' (37) in Re: Colonised Planet 5
Shikasta reveals that the infiltration of spies from the evil planet
Puttoria led to the disruption of the 'precarious balance' (15)
of Rohanda. 3 It is then that the Giants start to lose their 'clear-
minded' understanding (64), and show the first symptoms of the
'Degenerative Disease' which further spreads and becomes epi-
demic because 'Shikastan compartmentalism of mind reigned
supreme . . . ' (429). It is in that time of 'crisis' (37) that Johor, a
Canopean agent, is sent on the urgent mission to 'restore balances'
and to revitalize the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda. The novel
is his descent into 'memories' (14) to face Shammat and understand
the reasons for the failure of the Lock.
In The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four and Five,4 the cause
of the 'infertility and stagnation' is the isolation and parochialism
of its zones. The zones, metaphors for 'states of consciousness', 5
are divorced from each other because of a ban by the monarch
of Zone Four to 'look u p ' (59) towards the other zones, and an
'insular', 'self-sufficing' (6) Zone Three which simply 'forgot' (13)

the existence of the other zones. 6 The solution, according to the
'"Order"', is a 'marriage' between the zones - a 'fusing of the
imagination of two realms' so that the depths of Zone Four 'must
balance in some way those far blue heights of Zone Two' (80). In
that context, Al. Ith becomes the 'Feminine Principle', the 'She'
mediating between the levels of perception.
The cause of Ambien IPs predicament and '"existential problem"'
(84) in The Sirian Experiments7 is that she 'succumbed to a mental
disequilibrium due to an overprolonged immersion in the affairs of
the Planet Rohanda' (330). Her difficulty lies in the fact that she is
predominantly occupied by a one-dimensional mode of perception
which is 'physical . . . , merely physical' (80). The whole novel is
her descent into past 'history' on individual and collective levels
in an attempt at 'restoring . . . inner balances' (242). Her aim is
not to 'trade one set of thought for another' (124), but to widen
her perception to be able to grasp and incorporate the Canopean
wisdom - 'its ways, its functions' (302) - in order to understand and
overcome her limitation.
The cause of the atrophy of the situation in Planet 8 where
the fourth volume 8 of the series takes place, is the inhabitants'
exclusive concentration on the outer mode of survival and their
complacent belief in outside rescue. Since the ease of their 'old
sensuous life' (81) has not required from them 'a certain kind of
self-awareness', they need 'too many adjustments' (27) in their
minds to face the crisis. It is only when they realize that what
they need is to 'change inwardly' (11), to 'change the way we all
looked at ourselves' (124), that they start to amend their defects.
They soon realize that the wall - 'a barrier wall' that is initially
meant to protect them - has become the source of their confinement.
So long as they 'shelter' complacently behind the wall, the danger
increases. The role of the Representatives is to 'awaken' and 'force
these people . . . to look back - look u p ' (31). It is only when they
first cross the 'boundaries' (79) of the 'barrier wall' that their
'minds seemed filled with newness . . . were stretched . . . were
much larger than we had been . . . ' (42). As they ascend to higher
levels towards the end of the novel, they are initiated into a
new way of perception that incorporates more than one level:
they adopt 'new ways of seeing so that every moment it seemed
that we inhabited a different world, or zone, or reality' (157),
and their 'eyes kept changing their capacity' to grasp 'glittering
crystals, all different, each a marvel of subtlety and balance, . . . '

(156).9
The cause underlying the 'fall' of the Volyen Empire from the
Canopean 'Order' is that it succumbed to the one-dimensional
mode of development of the Sirian Empire - the 'material devel-
opment (5).10 Consequently, 'Sirian influences upset the balances of
Volyen . . . ' (5) and allow the infiltration of Shammat's spies propa-
gating disequilibrium. The inhabitants of Volyen therefore become
'a lethargic lot. With much compartmented minds' (106). Incent, a
Canopean agent sent to restore balances, finds difficulty in retaining
the 'memory' and hence fails to deliver the message of cosmic
Order. He is infected by a 'Rhetoric Disease' spread by Shammat,
and the prescribed 'Cure' is 'Total Immersion' (5) - a descent into
past 'historical episodes' in an attempt to revive his memory. In the
meantime, Klorathy, another Canopean agent 'attempts to evolve
these mono-minded' people (106), to 'build them up inwardly to
restore to them what has been stolen' (68) by bringing to them
the realization 'that inherent in Volyen nature is the need to trans-
cend . . . ever to step onwards and upwards . . . [to] achieve yet
higher steps on the ladder of evolution' (155).
Reading Canopus in Argos, then, we enter a myriad of not only dif-
ferent 'communities', but also various planets, zones, galaxies and
species, only to find that we are faced with the same cause of crisis.
Like Anna of The Golden Notebook, we enter each different realm
of experience, whether in Shikasta, Sirius, Planet 8 or the Volyen
Empire, only to discover that the cause of the 'crisis' or 'dis-aster'
is 'compartmentalism of mind', 'insularity', or 'confinement' within
one level or zone. In short it is the one-dimensional mode of thought
which weakens the 'Lock' between Canopus and the other planets
and makes them give in to Shammat's disequilibrium. The key to a
solution in each case is the striving to regain equilibrium by descent
into past history to 'understand what went wrong' (Shikasta, 35) and
a complementary ascent to higher levels of perception to transcend
their limitation and re-establish the relationship with Canopus. It
is evident, then, that the theme of equilibrium is the major axis on
which the whole series operates.
Although the theme of equilibrium is a recurrent one in Doris
Lessing's canon, it is invested with a new turn at each stage
of her development. Her science fiction series starts where the
previous work stops. While the retainment of a balance between
the levels of perception is the epitome of achievement in The
Memoirs of a Survivor, it is the starting point in the process that

takes place throughout the series, as the theme of equilibrium
gains further complexity. The concept of balance might imply a
static condition in which the participant is no longer engaged in the
challenging process of establishing connections between the levels
of perception. And since it is this very process that gives rise to the
balancing action, it is therefore necessary for the dynamism of the
operation to continually activate the interplay between the levels
of perception. The balancing is therefore not a smooth or static
operation but one that requires a renewable effort. It is, as Doris
Lessing has acknowledged, 'a balance which must be continually
tested and reaffirmed'. It is therefore significant that while The
Memoirs of a Survivor ends with the fulfilment of equilibrium,
Shikasta, the first volume of the series, opens with a fall-away
from balance - 'the balances of Canopus and her System were
suddenly not right . . . the Lock was weakening' (37). One of the
causes that led to the weakening of the Lock and its eventual
failure is, as Johor gradually realizes, the lack of any dialectic
interchange in the Giant's society. The Giants have 'never ever
thought in terms of opposition . . . ' (60-1) - a state which virtually
creates 'stagnation' (26). Thus while compartmentalization presents
a danger in Lessing's fiction, complacency presents an even greater
threat. While the 'symbiosis' proves to be 'easy' and is therefore
'speeded up', the crucial task proves to be 'the maintaining' of it
- a task which needs continuous effort and adjustment, since, as
Johor puts it, 'nothing could be considered as accomplished and to
be taken for granted' (51). It is 'an arduous and demanding task',
one which requires 'constantly to feed and adjust' (51), and it is only
by that constant effort that 'what was lost would be found!' (71). It
is therefore not a quietistic or static equation, for according to Shah,
'that which is static becomes useless in the organic sense'. 11
The one watchword in the Sufi concept of 'balance' is 'evolution'.
In the science fiction series, Doris Lessing employs the 'laws of
motion' at the basis of the Marxian dialectic, thus producing a
dynamic rather than a static equilibrium. The Taws of motion'
whose main features are, as Engels puts it, that 'all rigidity was
dissolved, all fixity dissipated . . . the whole nature was shown as
moving in eternal flux', 12 is also the process at work in the science
fiction series where 'motion, 'flux' and 'change' are keywords. To
quote but few examples, it is significant that while Shikasta opens
with 'a period of stagnation' which was 'uniform and stable' (26),
it ends with a note of 'continual movement' (409) since Canopean

agents should always be 'in the process of evolution' and 'change'
(35). Further still, while The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four and
Five opens with a note of 'stagnation', it closes with reference to 'a
continuous movement . . . from Zone Fiv° to Zone Four. And from
Zone Four to Zone Three . . . ' (298). Moreover, while The Making of
the Representative for Planet 8 opens with a nostalgic reference to their
'easy' past with its complacent 'solidity, mobility, permanence' (26),
it closes with a note of dynamic 'change' and 'movement', with
the Representatives 'moving in and out and around', and seeing
'perpetual shifting and changing' (159). Finally, Incent in the final
volume of the series chants praise to a dynamic which will make life
ever more vibrant.
In order to achieve that dynamic, Doris Lessing incorporates two
diametrically opposed modes of thought, the Sufi and the scientific,
a strategy which invests her theme of equilibrium with a dialectic
that endows it with further depth and complexity - a propelling
thrust forward. The series draws on both Sufi and scientific theo-
ries 13 and thus postulates a synthesis as massive in its struggle as
science and religion. Though the intellectual compatibility between
science and religion may not be immediately apparent, Robert Reilly
in his study of that issue argues that both science and religion aim
at understanding the 'source of order in the universe', but while sci-
ence employs rational and experimental methods, religion employs
transcendental means of contemplation. 14 In that context, Lessing
evokes a synthesis which offers a persuasive argument for her theme
of equilibrium. Since the theme of equilibrium is the development of
the inner levels of perception to counterbalance the empirical modes
of understanding, it is therefore pertinent that Lessing consolidates
her theme with a Sufi as well as a scientific line of argument. How-
ever, instead of negating each other, they co-exist and interact and
the dialectic between them propels the argument for equilibrium
in a process that is predominantly progressive. The interaction
between them achieves what Engels refers to as 'development
through contradiction . . . - [a] spiral form of development'. 15 It is
therefore significant that so long as Sirius, the planet responsible for
technological 'experiments' of evolution, looks to Canopus as 'her
enemy' (423), and keeps '"secret"' its 'crafts' (425), its development
is limited. It is precisely that 'uneasy' relationship and the lack of
interaction between them that aggravates the situation and allows
the infiltration of Shammat's spies propagating disequilibrium and
the 'Degenerative Disease'. It is only in '[t]heir happy balances in

the structure of forces' (424) that Shikasta can regain its 'health'
(424) and progress as a 'harmoniously interacting whole' (421).
Through her science fiction, therefore, Lessing evokes the possibility
for a 'world mind', a 'world ethic', something which had initially
attracted her to Marxism as she declared in 1972 when she looked
back on her early involvement: 'Marxism looks at things as a whole
and in relation to each other - or tries to'. 16 Thus the quality which
initially attracted her to Marxism is still at the core of her interest.
She dispenses with its political dogma but retains the critical meth-
odology underlying its philosophy. Her attraction to the progressive
element in Marxist thinking expressed itself in her retainment of the
dialectic at its basis.
The theme of equilibrium, therefore, gains further depth and com-
plexity by the incorporation and interaction of all the philosophies
that have so far influenced Lessing's vision. In her science fiction
we find Marxism, Sufism, psychology, as well as scientific theories
existing side-by-side in a continuous interplay. More important, the
combination between the two modes, the territory of logic and
that of the mystic, serves to challenge the reader's complacency
in abiding by a one-dimensional mode of cognition.
The science fiction genre plays a crucial role in achieving that
effect. It is through the determining parameters of the genre that
Lessing challenges most radically the ethos of cognition. Conse-
quently, I shall explore in the following pages the theme of equi-
librium in that new context, clarifying the special relevance of the
science fiction genre to the fulfilment of equilibrium. Taking as a
point of departure Professor Darko Suvin's definition of science
fiction, I shall study the narrative techniques characteristic of the
genre with a closer analysis of Lessing's idiosyncratic practice in the
series.
According to Darko Suvin's highly admired study, The Meta-
morphosis of Science Fiction, the purpose of the genre is to achieve
'cognition and estrangement'; 17 in other words, to expand the
reader's consciousness so that he or she can grasp events from
an alien perspective by the distancing device of transcending time
and space. Since according to the Sufis it is necessary to activate
the levels of consciousness by a. process which Shah calls 'the tran-
scendence of time and space', 18 we can see surfacing here Lessing's
consistent preoccupation - the attempt to transcend the limits placed
on consciousness by culturally limited thought conventions. Since
seeing in a new way is crucial to Lessing's theme of equilibrium, the

science fiction genre, whose end is the expansion of consciousness
to incorporate alien perspectives, is a highly suitable medium to
further explore her theme. That effect is made possible because the
genre allows for an 'estranged' perspective with the self expansion
involved in the effort at comprehension. In order to explain the
universe, 'Sf. works to "estrange" the reader by showing him or
her a world transformed by some new element. At the same time,
this world is made familiar and thus comprehensible.' 19 According
to Patrick Parrinder, another acclaimed theorist of the genre, the
'essentially dialectic nature' 2 0 of the relation between cognition
and estrangement leads to a delicately rendered balance between
the strange and the familiar, a process that is both unsettling and
rewarding for the reader since it involves his referential cognition
as well as his imaginative faculties. Having engaged our cognitive
and imaginative thought processes in this dialectic exchange, the
text then refers us back to the empirical reality but with a new
cognition that transcends the initial limited standpoint. In short,
Lessing uses the conventions of science fiction to help us transcend
the limitations of known reality.
However, Doris Lessing's practice in the genre poses a problem
since when we bring her Canopus in Argos series in line with specific
definitions of the genre, it does not rest comfortably within its
conventions. The problem arises from the practice of incorporating
mystical and transcendental elements that go beyond the scien-
tifically possible in a territory which, as its title implies, should
abide by the scientifically logical. Betsy Draine, in her study of
Doris Lessing's science fiction, refers to that practice as 'a cardinal
sin against the integrity of science fiction'.21 This attitude has its
roots in the early critical study of the genre. Early science fiction
usually took an uncritical and enthusiastic attitude towards science,
tending to regard the universe as purely material and to see science
as capable of providing rational explanations for almost anything in
the universe. In line with that argument, Darko Suvin rules out the
element of 'transcendentalism' in his definition of the genre. In The
Metamorphosis of Science Fiction, he postulates that 'It is intrinsically
or by definition impossible for Sf. to acknowledge any metaphysical
agency, in the literal sense of any agency beyond "phsis"'. 2 2 In
his definition, Suvin limits cognition to the rational mode - the
'strictly scientific'.23 He excludes from the realm of science fiction
the mystic, the supernatural and any unhistorical attitude. He also
absolutely excludes 'fantasy, fairy tale and myth' as examples rather

of 'non-cognitive' estrangement. 24 But since Lessing suggests that
for our survival the mystical is just as essential as the scientific,25 her
science fiction does not rest comfortably within Suvin's definition of
the genre. It does not abide by the scientific as an exclusive mode
of understanding but rather insists on the interaction between the
rational and the transcendental.
Interestingly, it is precisely that interaction between the rational
and non-rational modes that heightens the effect of equilibrium that
Lessing wants to bring into practice. As studied earlier, the first step
towards achieving equilibrium is the deconstruction of the habitual
mode of understanding - the rational one-dimensional mode of
cognition. The interjection of transcendental elements within the
scientific genre is precisely what Robert Galbreath finds to be a
useful device in achieving that effect. In a critical debate on the
issue, Galbreath argues that the transcendental experience is not
only legitimate but also crucial in investing the genre with new
cognition. In his essay on the issue he asserts that 'Transcendence
is basic to science fiction' since the interaction between supernatural
and natural elements helps 'challenge the reader's conceptions of
reality'. 26 That is precisely what Doris Lessing achieves through
the combination between the two modes in her series. By retelling
the history of humanity in terms that resonate with Christian
eschatology, Sufi parables and Darwinian theories, Lessing's series
oblige us to view our existence in the universe from a multiplicity
of perspectives. That interaction has a significant effect on the
reader, who feels continually disturbed by the incursion of mystical
elements into essentially secular ground, the territory of science
fiction. The resulting effect is a challenge to the reader's expectation,
which is significantly positive because it involves the reader in a
constant effort of deconstructing the limited one-dimensional mode
and reconstructing a mode that balances more than one level. In
short, Lessing uses the rhetoric of science fiction not so much to
create a foreign world but to challenge our complacency about
the habitual one and to help us modify our definition of reality
itself. The solution her novels offer is not, as it frequently is in
science fiction, the intelligent use of technology and science, but
the intelligent use of all human faculties.
This particular use of science fiction has been pointed out as 'the
best [which] new science fiction' could achieve. In The Shattered Ring,
Lois and Steven Rose advance the analogy that:
The best newr science fiction functions as a sort of literary 'con-

sciousness machine'. It is peculiarly adapted to help us break
through our reality-oriented, 'rational' world view by its combi-
nation of 'science' and 'fantasy' . . . 27
Doris Lessing declares in 'A Small Personal Voice' the necessity of

artists to be a positive 'instrument of change'. 28 Convinced that 'we
are on the edge of a move into a different way of looking at things', 29
she continues to explore through her science fiction the potentialities
that such an altered perspective may initiate.
In that context, Doris Lessing takes up the science fiction genre
as a means to establish a critical relation with and thus be in part
a solution to the limitation of the realistic genre of writing. It thus
becomes possible to see the science fiction within the canon of
Lessing's writing as an attempt to negotiate the early split in her
fiction between the historic and the mythic. Scholes, in his study
of 'future fiction', reveals how that genre provides a resolution to
the conflict between the realistic and non-realistic traditions. He
explains that a novel projected to the future
involves the resolution of the solipsistic problem that has proved

so crucial for modern fiction. Projected into the future, the prob-
lems of realism and fantasy both vanish . . . freed from the prob-
lem of correspondence with some present actuality or some
previously experienced past . . . the imagination can function
without self-deception as to its means and ends. 30
Patrick Parrinder further asserts that science fiction may exemplify

the creative fusion of romance, fable, epic and parody without being
reduced to any one of them:
In this complex construction that is the SF story we may find

bound together - as steel, concrete, wood, and glass may be bound
together - the elements of romance, fable, epic and parody. 31
Indeed, as Lorna Sage puts it, Doris Lessing is finally 'writing within
a genre', but it is 'a genre that can stomach nearly anything . . . a
containing fiction in which her anomalous points of view, divergent
time-scales and characters from animals to angels can coexist with-
out continuous tension.' 32 In doing so, Lessing has chosen a mode
of fiction whose purpose is to transcend the gap between two modes

of writing and to initiate us into a mode of understanding that
incorporates more than one level.
That Lessing employs a genre of 'outer space' to express 'inner
space' is also significant. Her choice of space fiction as a medium
to further investigate the theme of equilibrium within the individual
and between the individual and his or her universe is most suitable
because of the relationship she makes between inner and outer
space. The author recognizes that life is a space voyage and that
space is within as well as outside, and through her space fiction
she seeks to bring her readers to the same recognition. According
to Doris Lessing, as to the Sufis,33 the laws of the self and of
the universe are one and the same. In an interview with Lesley
Hazelton, Doris Lessing clearly expressed that view:
I see inner space and outer space as reflections of each other.

I don't see them as in opposition. Just as we are investigating
subatomic particles and the outer limits of, planetary system -
the large and small simultaneously - so the inner and the outer
are connected. 34
Interestingly, 'the exploration of inner space' has been identified as

one of the major achievements of science fiction. In The Shattered
Ring, the suggestion is made that:
Science fiction will be rendering its best service when it seeks to

renew the realm of art, that is, when it helps us to order and
comprehend our 'inner space' and explore the vocabulary and
visions of mythological dimensions 35
Marie Ahearn brings out the connection between inner and outer
space clearly in her discussion of 'Space Fiction in the Mainstream
Novel':
the voyage into outer space and the voyage into inner space
are one and the same, for the laws of the universe are not
only outside us but inside the mind of man; the inner and
outer voyages are both one in space and time. The ultimate
illumination may reveal the subjective mind of each individual
as participant in a seamless whole of life - participant in the mind
of the universe. 36
The Science Fiction Series U7
Extrapolating from that line of argument Marie Ahearn points out

the aptness of space fiction to investigate the mythical quest 'of the
journey inward'. 37 Doris Lessing's assertion 'I see inner space and
outer space as reflections of each other' reveals a similar direction
and offers an insight into her project in the series. The overall title,
Canopus in Argos, is a clear manifestation of that intent. It is no coin-
cidence that the title incorporates names which are valid in terms of
outer space and also have significance as quest motifs. Canopus is
a white supergiant star. It is the brightest star in the constellation
Carina and the second brightest star in the sky. It is located in the
southern sky midway between Sirius and the south celestial pole.
But that Canopus is placed in Argos as the title signifies brings out
an interesting association with the Quest motif. The Argonauts of
the Greek legend are questing heroes who achieved their quest and
learnt difficult lessons. 38 Lessing's interest in the interconnections
which the title evokes is evident in her lengthy quoting of its various
origins in both astrology and mythology as she makes it clear in her
introduction to Ramsay Wood's Kalila and Dimna:
Canopus the star is much embedded in the mythology of ancient

times and when you trace it to this country or that it melds and
merges into other names, places, personages . . . while I was
speculating about Canopus and what it could mean . . . there
came my way Astronomical Curiosities, published in 1909, and
one of its main sources of information was one al-Sufi, an arabian
astronomer of the tenth century. Much is said by al-Sufi about
Canopus of the constellation Argo. Argo was associated with
Noah's Ark. It represents, too, the first ship ever built . . . to
go on the expedition of the Golden Fleece . . . Canopus was the
ancient name of Aboukir in Egypt and is said to have derived
its name from the pilot . . . Kanobus . . . The star is supposed
to have been named after him, in some traditions, and it was
worshipped by the ancient Egyptians . . . but Canopus is also
the god Osiris, and is in the most remarkable and ever-changing
relationship with Isis, who was the star Sirius . . . and thus is one
enticed into all kinds of byways, from which it is hard to extricate
oneself, and harder still to resist quoting . . . 39
Lessing's refusal to limit the title to any one level and her particular
admiration of its interconnections in both astrological and mythical
origins is significant. Putting the quest motif side-by-side with the
scientific genre she presents a persuasive argument for her theme of

equilibrium. The trip to outer space is therefore a space 'Odyssey ', 40
an attempt to render the mind's inner faculties as a discoverable area
as well as a means of finding out further connections between the
individual and his universe. She postulates in that connection:
We speculate about the mind, what faculties it could have, what

faculties it does have , and we don't acknowledge. It seems to be
a new frontier. 41
We are therefore back to the theme of equilibrium, investigating

the dimensions of the mind. However, here it is not only the
equilibrium within the individual consciousness but the realiza-
tion of the individual's relatedness to the cosmic order of the
universe.
This is not to suggest that she has parted from the concern of
the individual and collective; on the contrary, she has merely
taken it one step further in her continuing exploration of self
in relation to society and the cosmos. The scope of the series
gives ample space to explore the journey within the individual's
consciousness as well as to investigate the individual's place within
the cosmic order of the universe. The novels move from deep inside
the individual's consciousness, out to society, the solar system
and the cosmos. Such is the scale of Lessing's space fiction, and
that is precisely what the Sufis define as the necessary 'work':
'start with yourself, end with all'. According to the Sufis that is
attained by 'the joining of the power of contemplation'. 42 Doris
Lessing, then, is employing a strategy whose intent is to extend
our imaginative potentiality to grasp the universe and our place
in it from a wider rather than a limited, earth-bound perspective.
In other words, through her space fiction she offers the reader
a practical experience to stretch his faculties and transcend his
limitations. Lessing is therefore taking us on a mental journey,
a strategy experienced earlier by Anna in The Golden Notebook
as she starts to extend her imagination to reach wider propor-
tions:
slowly, slowly, I would create the world, continent by conti-

nent, . . . until the point was reached where I moved out into
space, and watched the world, a sunlit ball in the sky, turning
and rolling beneath me. (531)
The point of that exercise, which Anna calls the 'game', is 'to create
this vastness while holding . . . in my mind at the same time . . . a
simultaneous knowledge of vastness and smallness'.
That strategy of stretching the imagination to understand and
incorporate different perspectives is also Lessing's intent in writing
the series, since to her the only hope for a solution is if peo-
ple learn to extend their understanding to incorporate the other's
point of view. In an article published in 1971, she writes; 'the
fact that human beings, given half a chance, start seeing each
other's points of view seems to me the only ray there is for
humanity . . . '. 43 She attributes the recurrence of wars, crises and
atrocities against humanity to the lack of that practice. In referring
to her earlier works, Doris Lessing has repeatedly said that they
were 'not about the colour problem, but about the atrophy of the
imagination', 44 or 'the lack of feeling for all the creatures that live
under the sun'. 45 In that context her science fiction could be seen as
a strategy to strengthen our 'substance-of-we-feeling'. In referring
to the central issue in her series Lessing brings out that connection
clearly:
We have double vision, if not many different visions. One of them

is the old one about the immense importance of the individual,
which should continue; and another eye, which shall focus on
that and seeing everything in perspective, and which shall be a
very valuable one, because it might enable us to be less lethal to
each other. 46
By stretching our imagination in order to look back on humanity

from a wider and more understanding perspective, to realize that
the individual is part of a continuous chain, not a separate marginal
T , is to her the beginning of an answer to 'existential' alienation. In
a visit to California in 1984 Doris Lessing is quoted as having said:
'We must become more conscious of ourselves as one race if we
are to survive.' 4 7 It is a method for curing 'compartmentalization',
which according to Lessing leads to crises. In an interview in 1980
she asserted, 'this tendency to fragmentalize, so typical of our
society, drives people to crisis, to despair . . . '. 48 Through the
strategy of her science fiction she is therefore prescribing a cure
to the 'Degenerative Disease' - the 'existential' disease that spreads
throughout the cosmology of the series because of a failure to see
the individual as part of a whole. The lesson which Ambien II
understands at the end of The Sirian Experiments sums up that

issue:
It is that each person everywhere sees itself, thinks of itself, as a

unique and extraordinary individual, and never suspects to what
an extent it is a tiny unit that can exist only as part of a whole.
(313)
Lessing's interest in the individual and the collective has by no

means declined in her later science fiction. She has merely taken
it one step further to the cosmic level.
In the context of space fiction, then, the theme of equilibrium
acquires more ample scope. By using the form of science fiction,
Lessing can expand her vision to include as much time and space as
is required - a strategy which according to Northrop Frye gives an
ample scope for memory. 49 By enlarging her time scale to span many
generations of an evolving species, Canopus in Argos series provides
her with the millenial kaleidoscopic view of the cosmic archivist.
Arranging the series as an Archive, the comprehensive narrative
frame reinforces the Canopean imperative to 'Remember'. One can
single out the concept of memory as a unifying motif throughout the
series - they are all archives compiled by 'historians', 'Chroniclers'
or 'Memory Makers'. 50
Memory, therefore, is still the crucial task, but here it is the
function not only of any one character within the text, but of
the reader who has a crucial role as an active participant in the
motifs of descent and ascent. Reference to what Northrop Frye
postulates regarding a reader of Finnegans Wake might be use-
ful in understanding the role of the reader of Lessing's science
fiction:
Such a reader of Finnegans Wake clearly would need some heroic

qualities, but even with less difficult works it is still that there
is a perspective from which the reader, the mental traveller, is
the hero of literature, or at least of what he has read . . . the
story is about you; and it is the reader who is responsible for
the way literature functions . . . One's reading thus becomes an
essential part of a process of self-creation and self-identity that
passes beyond the attached identifications, . . . Such a reader,
contemplating the cycle of descent . . . and of ascent . . . is a
Moses who can see the promised land, in contrast to the Joshua
who merely conquers Canaan, and so begins another cycle of

descent. 51
The motifs of descent and ascent take, in Lessing's science fiction

series, a new and rather more ambitious dimension. The task of
descent and ascent is not only the preoccupation of any one char-
acter, but of the reader as well, as he is projected to the past history
of the earth. Johor, the narrator of the first volume, is exposing the
reader to scenes from past history, like the film projector in The
Golden Notebook aiding Anna in her journey of descent. However, the
range of memory projected here is not the 'selective memory' which
led to the 'cultural lie' in The Golden Notebook, but a memory that
embraces and incorporates all the dimensions of his culture both
sacred and secular. The trip to outer space then is really a means of
facing and understanding more clearly life on earth - a descent into
both individual and collective consciousness. With the tradition of
science fiction Lessing thus gives us a distancing strategy that is
also a magnifying mirror of our life.52 The mirror which figures
as an important element in the motif of descent becomes a part of
the project of Shikasta.53 By that strategy of confrontation, the first
volume of the series provokes the reader to face his or her past
and question preconceived ideas, which is the first step to achieve
equilibrium and to transcend cultural limitation. It is significant
then that Shikasta ends with mandala symbols which, according to
the Sufis, can be attained only after that first step.
Emerging from Shikasta, which primarily involves our referen-
tial cognition, the reader is asked to embark on a journey whose
fabulous aura engages the imaginative levels of cognition. Because
the Zones are located outside time, free from the exigencies of
immediate politics and history, the reader embarks on a journey
extending his imagination, to capture an image of wholeness and
equilibrium. Indeed, The Marriages confronts us squarely with an
image of equilibrium. In that context, Al. Ith figures as the ' Feminine
Principle' whose chief function is mediating between the levels of
perception - but here she is mediating between 'Zones' rather than
'rooms'. Al. Ith and Ben Ata become the 'objective correlatives'
reconciling the levels of consciousness, and the reader learns with
them the dangers of being isolated in one level and the 'Necessity'
of expanding one's horizons to balance and incorporate all the poles
of experiences.
From The Marriages' omniscient point of view and fabulous aura,
we are then invited to embark on a descent to the individual

level. By employing first-person narration in The Sirian Experiments,
Lessing gives a personal dimension to the saga of spiritual initiation.
Entering The Sirian Experiments, however, the reader realizes the
limitations of that perspective, just as the narrator of Memoirs real-
izes the limitations in her descent to Emily's 'personal' rooms. That
strategy initiates the reader to transcend that limited perspective.
In The Making of the Representative for Planet 8 we perceive the rec-
onciliation between the individual and the collective consciousness
- the 'many and one' (161) - which signifies the fulfilment of descent
and the first step towards ascent. This involves the deconstruction
of the 'walls' under which the inhabitants are sheltering, a process
previously undergone by the narrator of Memoirs in her attempt to
ascend to higher levels.
In The Sentimental Agents, we are back in the world to face the
difficulties involved in the return, the challenging task of retaining
the memory and delivering the message - a difficulty previously
experienced by Watkins in Briefing for a Descent. In this sense,
the series operates in a dynamic process. The reader as 'men-
tal traveller' embarks on a journey employing different levels of
cognition. Structuring the entire work as a collection of teaching
stories, Lessing draws on many different literary traditions to forge
her synergetic vision of equilibrium. Each volume is structured to
explore a different aspect of the evolution of levels of perception,
which is Lessing's main concern to retrieve equilibrium.
Through her science fiction, therefore, Lessing at last gives a
practical experience to the theory of equilibrium which she has
been developing since her earliest work. The method in itself is a
mind-stretcher that requires the balancing between various levels of
cognition. In addition to the complexity aroused by the multigeneric
approach, which eventually demands from the reader continual
readjustment to different faculties of cognition, the narrative struc-
ture of the series is further complicated by the tale-within-tale
technique which further challenges the one-dimensional sequential
mode of thought. Lessing's reference to how The Lights of Canopus
fables 'unfold within the characteristic way of the genre, stories
within stories . . . ', is illuminating in the study of how her science
fiction series operates. It is a method where 'there may be even
more than one 'frame' story, so that we are led gently into realm
after realm, doors opening as if one were to push a mirror and
find it a door.' 5 4 This strategy of tales-wTithin-tales, the Chinese box
technique, is characteristic of her Canopus series. Lessing arranges

the series in a non-linear mode, taking its coherence not from a
single story line but from the interaction of several stories within.
In doing so she challenges the sequential multiple novel popular in
the nineteenth century. The Canopus in Argos series frustrates the
expectations of the rational sequential frame of mind. The logic is
not one of linear or steady progression but one of groping slowly
towards the truth at the centre. 55 There are several story lines
in the series, but all are related to the Canopean truth at the
centre. However different the narrators are, whatever differences
between their narratives, the messages they convey are all mutually
supportive, a method whose intent is to create a cumulative effect
which is essentially positive since it involves the reader in a process
of reconstructing truth from more than one perspective. The effect of
the repetition assumes the force of truth, yet retaining the interaction
between the multiple levels in reaching that truth serves to preserve
a healthy dialectic so that the overall work operates as 'a functioning
whole' (Shikasta, 41).
In short, Lessing's series opens the doors of perception to a
multi-dimensional perspective in viewing the universe. It involves
the reader in a 'centrifugal motion' 56 which, according to the Sufis,
is necessary to deconstruct the one-dimensional mode and which
initiates awakening and expansion of consciousness. The reader
exercises more than one faculty in following the series and is asked
all the time to balance the different faculties and readjust to the
different levels. As that is the project of the series as a whole, it is
also the project of Shikasta. Having established the rationale behind
the series and its relevance to the theme of equilibrium, I shall then
focus on one of the novels to avoid the cursory manner that might
be involved in trying to cover the whole series. I shall focus on
Shikasta, which according to the writer 'was started in the belief
that it would be a single self-contained book'. 57 Indeed Shikasta
weaves the threads which constitute the texture of the series. More
important, it establishes the relationship between text and reader
by involving the reader as a practical participant in the motifs of
descent and ascent, a strategy that sets the whole saga in progress
and propels the call for equilibrium.
The call to balance between the different levels is precisely the
message with which Shikasta opens. In the section entitled 'Notes
on Planet Shikasta for Guidance of Colonial Servants', Emissaries
from Canopus are briefed for their entry into Shikasta:
Adjust yourself to the various levels of being . . . It is sug-

gested that you take time to acquaint yourself with the different
focuses available for viewing the creatures of Shikasta . . . too
long a submission of one's being to any of these [vibrations]
may pervert and suborn judgment. (16-17)
In this briefing at the opening of the first volume of the series,

Lessing seems to sum up her own artistic intentions in writing these
novels as she is determined to overcome the compartmentalization
of thought that perverts understanding. Indeed, no compartment-
alization of thought is allowed as the reader 'moves' on through
Shikasta. The novel's form acts on the reader's mind and 'briefs'
him in his fight against compartmentalization.
Shikasta is formed mainly of documents set as Archives 'selected
to offer a very general picture of Shikasta for the use of first-year
students of Canopean Colonial Rule'. The book's comprehensive
narrative frame contains documents, letters and memoirs on indi-
vidual and collective levels. Lessing here employs a plural archival
structure through which we laboriously pick our way - a technique
which places stringent demands on the reader, requiring him or her
to connect and balance between different levels in order to follow
the narrative thread in the maze of Shikasta. Faced by the network
of 'Individuals', 'Envoys', diaries, letters and memoirs the reader
is not allowed to have a short memory and is continually required
to refer and cross-refer and go back to revive memory. This weaving
movement of advance and retreat constitutes and sustains the
meaning of the text. Moreover, the multi-generic approach within
the novel - the interaction between the fabulous and the referential
- requires the continuous balancing between different faculties of
understanding. The reader is involved in a dialectic relationship in
which he or she employs referential cognition as well as imaginative
faculties; the analytical as well as the analogical - a process that
is both unsettling and rewarding since it deconstructs the linear
one-dimensional habit of thought, and reconstructs a mode which
operates on the interaction between more than one level of cogni-
tion. As the reader begins to piece together the threads and connect
the levels, the overall meaning emerges. Shikasta, in other words, is
an intricate arabesque that involves the reader in art activity which
resembles the Sufi methods of contemplation.
The narrative structure of the novel is therefore instrumental
in bringing the idea of equilibrium into the reader's experience
through the process of reading itself. It is not a simplistic strategy,

but one that involves the participatory techniques of serious modern
fiction as well as the Sufi methods of writing. The difficulty of
unravelling the narrative threads in the maze of Shikasta raises the
question of the reader, and reveals an increasing effort on the part of
the author to force readers to take a more active part in the activity
of reading. In order to elucidate that new handling of the theme
of equilibrium, I shall first consider how Shikasta fulfils that effect
through the participatory techniques of modern fiction and the Sufi
methods of writing so that the reader is projected to the motifs of
descent and ascent in the process of reading.
The first step towards achieving equilibrium is to deconstruct
habitual modes of thinking, that is, the linear one-dimensional
mode. This initial step, as mentioned earlier, appears to be destruc-
tive for, as Jalalludin Rumi put it, 'a person has to pull down the
house to find the priceless treasure within'. 58 That is precisely how
Shikasta operates on the reader, for here the device of deconstruction
and reconstruction is built into the narrative structure of the work.
The fact that the novel is a 'compilation of documents' from dif-
ferent sources gives the reader an early signal that the reading of
this text will involve shifts of perspective. It allows the reader at
no point to take a single, one-dimensional line of action. Although
the documents all relate to the visits of the emissary Johor to
Rohanda/Shikasta, Johor's narrative is often interrupted: first by
the reports of the extraterrestrial Canopean archivists and envoys,
and then by the journals, letters and recollections of various 'indi-
viduals ' living on Shikasta. The reader is therefore confronted with
disparate points of view that incorporate a variety of extraterrestrial
and human perspectives. The narrative method is thus discontinu-
ous, forcing the reader to 'adjust' his mode of apprehension and
reshuffle the levels of understanding all the time. Throughout that
process, the reader is never allowed to settle on any one level.
Whenever the reader is induced to settle on one level of narration,
the narrative invokes him or her to connect, cross-refer and negotiate
between different levels. The reader, as a product of the novel's
instrumental form, is thus drawn into a process of disintegration
of the one-dimensional mode and is forced to reconstruct new and
more complex structures that accommodate more than one level. It
is this continuous process of deconstruction and reconstruction - a
constant challenge on the routine functioning of the readers's mind
- which is the novel's ultimate achievement.

That strategy, based on multiple narrative levels, puts it basi-
cally in line with the tale-within-tale technique whose aim is to
, deconstruct habitual modes of cognition - 'to "teach" a shift in
perspective from a more linear mode of thought process to a
holistic one'. 5 9 In her study of the Sufi teaching stories Nancy
Harding explains that function clearly:
Since the average person tends to think in conditioned patterns

and finds it difficult to adapt to a different point of view,
the value of the Sufi tale is to be found in the unexpected
juxtaposition of ideas designed to jar the reader or listener from
a more comfortable and often rigid thought pattern. 60
The aim of Sufi tales, therefore, is not merely to entertain, but more
crucial to its purpose is 'to jar' and challenge the reader's rigid
thought patterns and to change the form of the thinking process
itself. Lessing's reference to how The Lights of Canopus fables 'unfold
within the characteristic way of the genre, stories within stories' is
instructive in the study of how Shikasta operates:
The tale unfolds in the characteristic way of the genre one leading
to another . . . When the 'frame' story stops, temporarily, and a
cluster of related tales are told, what is happening is that many
facets of a situation are being illuminated before the movement
of the main story goes on. 61
Such a strategy is of particular interest to Lessing because it poses a

certain difficulty to the reader - 'So strange is it that the mind keeps
seizing up and you have to stop and start again'. 62
This strategy of tales-within-tales, the 'Chinese box technique',
which is crucial to the Sufi method of writing, is also characteristic
of Shikasta. As we hear the voice of Canopean Chroniclers, Johor's
reports and others, we must subtly and continually connect and
cross-refer. In the process, we come to understand something about
the nature of the mental activity itself - the continuous need for
adjusting and balancing between levels of cognition. Moreover, the
multi-generic approach characteristic of the genre is crucial here.
Lessing's reference to that strategy in The Lights of Canopus - 'a
book whose nature it is to accomodate tale within tales and to
blur the margins between historical fact and fiction' 63 - further
illuminates her project in Shikasta. The interaction between the

fable of the Giants and Natives with the historical in Shikasta
deconstructs the tendency to abide by the empirical only, and leads
the reader to negotiate and see connections in order to understand
the overall meaning. The aim of that technique, therefore, is not
only the deconstruction of habitual modes of thinking, but also
the reconstruction of a more balanced mode that incorporates more
than one level. This shift of perspective takes place in phases, and in
each phase the reader becomes more aware of the inadequacy of the
one-dimensional mode of cognition. As the reader is involved in the
continual process of deconstruction and reconstruction, the novel
further works on a level deeper than our original impressions, and
administers a violent shattering of the ego's rigid structures which
is one of the main achievements of descent.
As we saw earlier, the motif of descent is the process of reliving
the memories of the immediate individual and collective past his-
tory in order to understand and resolve the patterns that determine
the protagonist's life and that of the community as a necessary step
before transcending its limitations. That is precisely what Shikasta
does on the 'Personal, Psychological' and 'Historical' levels as the
full title implies. But here, for the first time, the motif of descent
is built into the narrative structure of the novel so that the reader
is projected to the activity of descent. This process is steered by the
two structural components within the text.
Shikasta is divided into two parts separated by two black horizon-
tal lines. The first part is narrated mainly by Johor just before his
incarnation and consists of reports he made during previous visits to
Shikasta and of memories he has heretofore been able to suppress. In
his reluctant descent to 'revive memories' Johor projects the history
of our planet - Earth. Johor's reports of 'Individuals' as well as
the impersonal historical documents from the Canopean Archives
sum up the cultural influences that have formed Western readers as
cultural beings. With the 'Old Testament' as the starting point, Johor
and the impersonal historical documents project us to the religious
and scientific, as well as political and social history in 'Individual'
as well as communal cases. In terms of my previous analysis, this
corresponds to the motif of descent on the individual and collective
levels. We are confronted by our immediate past and then descend
further back to the history that formed us in order to understand
'the general collapse of the world order' (108). The second section,
entitled 'Documents Relating to George Sherban (Johor)' consists of
accounts of Johor's activities after his incarnation, but from a limited

'personal' point of view. These accounts primarily take the form of
a 'memoir' kept by George's sister, Rachel Sherban, who does not
survive, and a number of letters and reports written by an overlord
of the Chinese government, an administrator called Chen Liu, as
well as letters and diary entries by Sherban's surviving friends and
relatives. These journals and letters provide a more limited and
'emotionally' charged account from the point of view of those who,
lacking Canopean perspective, cannot grasp the events surrounding
them. This section, therefore, gives us a more limited perspective
which, when juxtaposed with the previous one, signifies the limita-
tion of the 'personal' point of view. Juxtaposing the two perspectives
in this way is of great significance. The reader arrives at the second
half of the novel with knowledge that transcends the limitation of
that limited perspective. While Rachel, Chen Liu and his agents are
imprisoned in the 'personal' and therefore unable to understand, the
reader of Shikasta, like the narrator of Memoirs, is more privileged as
he or she has access to both individual and collective levels. Unlike
Emily and her mother, therefore, the reader of Shikasta transcends
the limitation of the personal and is induced to mediate between the
individual and collective levels of consciousness, a process which
according to Jung brings about a more comprehensive cognition and
a constant maturing of the personality.
The novel also operates on another, more subtle level - a level
that transcends the historical. As that level invokes images which
are key symbols in the motif of ascent, I shall further interpret
it in terms of Sufi philosophy. Two Sufi concepts are of crucial
importance here: the concept of the Reflective Mirror and that of
the Philosopher's Stone. The former is instructive in understanding
how the motif of ascent is built into the structural components of the
novel, and the latter is illuminating in understanding Johor's role for
the reader.
I have referred earlier to the mirror as an important element in the
motif of descent. It is also useful to refer here to the significance of
the 'Reflective Mirror' as a means of understanding the universe
and its cosmic unity which is the goal of ascent. According to
the Sufis, the mirror is a necessary technique for 'learning'. 6 4
Laleh explains clearly how the concept of the 'Reflective Mirror'
is crucial to the Sufis as the means of perceiving the connection
between 'the phenomenal world' and the 'spiritual world' and thus
understanding the 'multiplicity in unity':
A . . . concept of creation important to Sufi expression is that of

the mirror. Before the creation of human beings, the universe
had been brought into being, but it was unpolished, unreflective,
unconscious of the Divine Presence. The macrocosmic universe
came into being so that the manifestation of Self in the form of a
Divine Name has a particular form so that there arose a multiplic-
ity of particulars. There was no place for all the particular forms
to gather into a unity, so mankind served to polish the mirror.
This polishing by mankind occurs through unified consciousness
of the Divine Presence as It manifests itself within all forms.
All other beings reflect only single Qualities of the Absolute.
Together they form a unity, but without consciousness the unity
is not perfect and complete. 65
According to Laleh, the Sufi 'aspires to become this reflective

mirror' - his role being 'polishing the mirror' 6 6 to help others in
understanding the dimensions of the cosmos and perceiving 'the
multiplicity in unity'. 6 7 In a diagram of the 'Reflective Mirror',
Laleh portrays man as the mirror mediating between the spiritual
and the phenomenal world, with light emanating from the former
reflected on the mirror to relieve the darkness of the latter. Accord-
ing to the Sufis, this process is referred to as the 'preparedness of
the place' - to activate the candidate's 'ability to receive [and] con-
ceive . . . '. 68 It is further significant that that stage is described in 'a
variety of colours' with shades of light and darkness, to 'determine
the ability to actualize spiritual intuition'. 69
Shikasta operates as that 'preparedness' for indeed, as the opening
pages point out, 'Shikasta in colour is an assault you will not sur-
vive without preparation' (17). The concept of the 'Reflective Mir-
ror' is built into the components of the first section of the novel. The
interaction between the fable 'with spiritual connections' (40) and
the passages describing the phenomenal world challenges the reader
to connect and find links between both levels. That juxtaposition in
the first part is designed to invoke the reader 'to lift momentarily the
veil' between the phenomenal world and a world of another dimen-
sion. This can then be taken to express in Sufi terms the change from
a limited partial cognition to a 'reflective' cognition that transcends
the phenomenal and incorporates more than one level. Only then,
according to the Sufis, can the individual perceive cosmic unity and
understand the principle of 'multiplicity-in-unity' as its basis. It is
significant that this part evokes symbols of 'multiplicity in unity' 7 0
and culminates in an episode in which a 'leaf reflects the whole

cosmic 'Order', echoing Johor's resonating message that 'we are
all part of a dance from which we by no means and not ever may
consider ourselves separate' (58). By this culminating episode at
the end of the first part, the reader arrives at the full truth - the
Canopean truth at the centre; a state the Sufis call "'A\ia" I Haqu'
in which the individual's perception of the universe transcends the
limited one dimensional phenomenal level and incorporates the
spiritual level in order to understand the 'multiplicity-in-unity'.
According to the Sufis, the 'preparedness' for this multilevelled
perception takes place through the guidance of the Sufi teacher,
whose role is often compared to the 'Philosophers' Stone' -
'polishing' and activating the levels of perception to bring about
transformation. Shah's description of the Philosophers' Stone as an
encoding for the Sufi Quest in alchemical terms is useful here:
The stone, according to the Sufis, is the dhat, the essence, which
is so powerful that it can transform whatever comes into contact
with it. It is the essence of man, which partakes of what people
call the divine. It is . . . capable of uplifting humanity to a next
stage. 71
Johor operates as the 'Philosophers' Stone' activating the reader's

levels of perception. That conjecture becomes even more plausible
if we take into consideration that Johor means in Arabic 'essence'
which also evokes 'crystal' - two terms which are closely associated
with the definition of the Philosophers' Stone according to the
Sufis. This sheds light on Johor's role in initiating the reader's
'awakening' to higher levels. Indeed, as Johor projects the reader
to the individual and collective unconscious, he also projects him to
a level of another dimension - a level that transcends the historical.
It is a level 'far higher than most creatures could dream o f (51), and
offers 'a promise' (38) - 'possibilities' (256). As these are keywords
in the motif of ascent, it is further illuminating to interpret the 'exer-
cises' required to achieve that ascent in the light of Sufi methods
of contemplation. Two methods are of crucial importance here -
'the centrifugal motion' and the process of 'detachment'. These are
integrated in the narrative technique of Shikasta, through the tale-
within-tale technique and the genre of science fiction respectively,
thus inviting the reader to take part in the activity of 'concentration'
to achieve ascent through the process of reading. In other wrords, it
invites the reader to exercise 'the skilled use of concentrations of the

mind' (89) - a 'skill' plundered by Shammat.
Laleh, in her study of the 'Arc of Ascent', postulates that 'Concen-
tration is a very difficult act . . . One's urges are stronger towards
outwardness, and thus all the methods of Sufism seek the centre'. 72
First it is necessary that 'awakenings begin with expansion, for that
is the centrifugal motion away from the contracted ego', then 'once
awakened and conscious, one must learn a new form of contraction'
- a centripetal motion towards the centre. This is achieved with the
guidance of a Sufi teacher who operates as the Philosophers' Stone,
facilitating awakening and transformation:
The first step is to seek a Shaykh . . . The purpose of the Shaykh

is to cleanse the heart of the disciple so that the disciple may
then come to reflect the rays of the beauty of Divine Unity. The
awakenings begins with expansion, for that is the centrifugal
motion away from the contracted ego. 73
The centrifugal and centripetal actions are reflected in the structure

of Shikasta. The structure of six zones each lying concentric to the
earth's surface is established in the first pages of the novel. We enter
Shikasta through Zone Six and we follow Johor's journey to 'the
Round City at the centre', As the reader follows Johor in his descent
and ascent, he is also projected to a host of other characters - Taufiq,
Sais and David, Rachel and Chen Liu as well as several anonymous
individuals - who undergo the same process as in a tale-within-tale
technique. As the reader follows this myriad of characters involved
in the activity of descent and ascent he is led in a centripetal action
in search for the truth at the centre. The structure of the overall work
as tales-within-tales each rippling from outward towards the centre
like the concentric circles of the cosmic Order, activates the reader's
initiation into layers of meaning; each layer providing a new lens
as we probe towards the centre. When the shift of perspective is
completed, the reader has arrived at the full truth - the Canopean
truth at the centre. Such methods of concentration then take a spiral
direction that aspires to incorporate an understanding of the whole
cosmos.
Another crucial method for the motif of ascent is 'detachment'.
According to Shah, 'The full dynamic of the Organ of Evolution
becomes operative only when something akin to detachment has
been attained'. 74 This is achieved through several strategies. Among
them, according to Shah, is 'the exercise of the freezing of move-

ment, temporarily stopping ordinary associative processes . . . the
use of the Pause of Time, and the Pause of Space'. 75 That is precisely
what Shikasta does as the reader zooms over unknown worlds and
zones, and then is suddenly frozen into space to focus on events in
a time capsule so that the reader is witnessing himself from outer
space. 76 It is here that the science fiction genre is particularly useful.
The function of detachment is particularly relevant to the purposes
of science fiction. Through the distancing of time and space the
science fiction genre achieves its function of 'cognition and estrange-
ment' which are, according to Darko Suvin, the key functions of the
genre. In that context, the motif of ascent is put into practice through
the instrumental genre of science fiction. However, Shikasta does
not stop at this point but involves the reader in an interchange of
involvement and detachment by involving our referential cognition
of familiar events then suspending that mode through transcending
to an estranged world. That is precisely the flux of interchange
necessary to the Sufi quest for evolution. According to Shah, 'detach-
ment' is not an end in itself, but a means to an end, it is 'a part of
a dynamic interchange'. In The Sufis, Shah emphasizes the necessity
of that interaction between involvement and detachment:
Detachment, for the Sufi, is a part, only a portion,* of a dynamic

interchange. Sufism works by alternation. Detachment of intellect
is useful only if it enables the practitioner to do something as a
result. It cannot be an end in itself in any system which is dealing
with humanity's self-realization. 77
That interchange is also crucial in the genre of science fiction. Darko

Suvin, points out that 'cognition' depends on the oscillation of
the reader between involvement and detachment which ultimately
creates the 'semantic novum' required:
its specific modality of existence is a feedback oscillation that

moves now from the author's and implied reader's norm of real-
ity to the narratively actualized novum in order to understand the
plot-events, and now back from these novelties to the author's
reality in order to see it afresh from the new perspective gained.
This oscillation, called estrangement by Shklovsky and Brecht, is
no doubt a consequence of every poetic, dramatic, scientific, in
brief, semantic novum. 7 8
As that interaction between involvement and detachment is use-

ful in projecting the motifs of descent and ascent, it is also instru-
mental in stimulating the reader's participation in the action and
enhancing his or her awareness of their limitation - an awareness
which is crucial as a first step to descent. Before we examine
the motifs of descent and ascent in further detail therefore, it is
necessary to study here the strategies with which Lessing makes
us self-conscious readers so that we become active participants in
the motifs. Doris Lessing employs several strategies to ensure the
fulfilment of that effect.
The interaction between self and other which is attained through
the genre of science fiction is one of the main strategies. While
the genre of science fiction is primarily intended to project an
alien world which we could refer to as 'the other', the process in
Shikasta is further complicated by projecting the reader to the self
as well. The fable with which the novel opens enables the reader
to detach himself as he witnesses the other. The reader does not
really think of himself as part of the fable. To this extent he or
she can safely entertain ideas in theory and even more that he
would reject if they were presented with his own culture patterns.
However, half way in the first part, the narrative zooms in on the
present-day problems of Shikasta so that the reader realizes that
what it is distancing is not the other, but our own representation.
Here lies the bulk of the novel's cognition. By relocating the reader
back into history, the narrative places the reader in a position of
contradiction. He is caught in a position where he is both viewer
and viewed. This embodies a power structure which is ultimately
positive as it involves the reader's participation in a simultaneous
act of self-distancing and self-understanding. Through that process
of representation, Lessing manages to project the reader to the self
and to stimulate his participation in an attempt at self-assessment,
to startle her readers into a fresh recognition of human weakness,
as they evaluate human attitudes and tendencies from an alien per-
spective while at the same time they recognize them as their own.
The effect is further heightened by the fact that Johor is simul-
taneously addressing two audiences. In the process of describing
to his Canopean audience why Shikasta 'is worth so much of our
time and trouble' (15), Johor is implicitly addressing us. As he
proceeds to explain to his implied readers the state of affairs on this
threatened planet of Shikasta, he most effectively delivers a message
of warning to the actual readers of the narrative. Like The Memoirs of
a Survivor, therefore, the narrative has an implied and actual reader,

but while the narrator of Memoirs is describing to a human audience
an estranged world, Shikasta reverses the process by describing
human beings to an alien audience. Mankind thus becomes the
object of contemplation, a strategy which cannot help but draw
the reader in the act of contemplation. The passages in which
Johor is describing the Shikastan limited vision and their perceptual
narrowness has the crucial effect of defamiliarizing aspects of the
self of which he had been unconscious. In considering the horror
of that 'self-destructive species', the realization strikes home with
a sense of urgency. More disturbing is the process by which the
reader is projected to his future. As the reader gradually identifies
with a past he recognizes he is then led to a future which the novel
describes as the 'Age of Destruction'. When it dawns on the reader
that the 'Century of Destruction' is the the 'twentieth century' -
our present - the degree of urgency strikes home. Here lies one of
the novel's most interesting achievements. Now the message can
be transmitted to the actual reader, who in turn becomes one with
the implied reader. In taking this position Lessing is establishing a
dialogue between text and reader through which she hopes to make
us conscious of the consequences of our habitual paradigms.
That technique becomes more challenging when we realize the
discrepancy between the levels of cognition of Johor's addressee -
the Canopeans, and that of his subject - the Shikastans. This brings
us to another important issue in the reading of the novel. The fact
that 'it is difficult for Canopean's higher levels to grasp lower mental
sets' as much as it is difficult for Shikastans to understand their own
situation, poses a challenge to the reader to combat this limitation
on either side. Because of his standing place between the Canopeans
and the Shikastans the reader is caught in a situation in which he
is challenged to weigh and balance and incorporate both levels to
get clearer understanding. By that discrepancy, therefore, Lessing
creates a space for the reader to project his consciousness from his
standing-point between the Shikastans and the Canopeans. Since the
reader is audience as Canopeans and participant as Shikastans, he
is drawn in a position in which he becomes 'a ground, a necessary
mesh, net, or grid . . . ' (52) as he mediates between both levels.
In the process, the reader is forced to reshuffle levels and readjust
his relationship to the text so that both levels are reconciled within
the reader. In that activity the reader undergoes a process of trans-
formation in which he transcends Shikastan earthbound limitation
by incorporating the Canopean perspective as he gradually adopts

Johor's point of view. When Lessing initially posits Johor as polar
opposite to the Shikastans as well as to enhance the Canopean
perspective therefore, she is using him in other words to activate
the reader's levels of perception. In that context Johor functions as a
'Philosophers' Stone' activating the reader's levels of perception.
Thus, although the discrepancy between the levels of cognition
makes the reader's task a hard one, Lessing uses it as an occasion
for constructive recognition. Despite the plural text employed, the
narrative provides in Johor a point of reference against which
to measure. His standing place between the Canopeans and the
Shikastans makes him most suited for his role as mediator between
the former and the latter and in its turn between text and reader.
In his combination of Canopean and Shikastan qualities, he has
transcended the 'danger' of focusing too narrowly on events, a
'danger' that is described in the opening of the novel in its 'guid-
ance' for the implied readers within the text. He is a manifestation
of transcending the limited, earthbound, one-dimensional mode of
thought and therefore if we adopt his point of view the narrative
succeeds in delivering its message of equilibrium. By positing Johor
in this position, Lessing is creating a guide leader to establish a
relationship between text and reader.
Since Johor has such a key role, the first thread to unravel, there-
fore, is his descent and ascent in the journey to the Round city at the
centre. Before studying that enterprise at the opening of the novel it
is necessary to refer here to the context within which Johor operates.
Johor functions as characters do in teaching stories where characters
are mainly the bearers of propositions or moral arguments. The
focus of attention is given primarily to their assignment which the
reader follows as in a tale-within-tale-technique. Shah's reference
to how characters in Sufi teaching stories operate on the reader
is crucial in understanding Johor's role in Shikasta. According to
Shah, A Sufi story reflects a certain state of mind and becomes the
mirror in which one sees oneself.' In that respect, 'its symbols are the
characters in the story. The way in which they move, conveys to the
mind the way in which the human mind can work.' 7 9 That concept
is instructive in understanding Johor's journey which figures as the
opening mission of the novel. In its rhythm of descent and ascent
as well as in its central symbols, Johor's journey corresponds to the
motifs we have been studying in the search for equilibrium. I shall
first study how the reader follows Johor's descent and ascent as in a
tale-within-tale technique and then illustrate how the reader is later

projected to the same activity of descent and ascent.
Johor's journey can be divided into four parts. The first section
describes Zone Six, a realm which Johor has to pass through in order
to be able to descend to Shikasta. The second stage is concerned with
the actual descent into his past memories in order to understand
the crisis at hand. In that stage, Johor understands the causes at
the root of the 'dis-aster and acknowledges the faults involved
as an initial step to be able to transcend its limitation. In the third
stage Johor ascends to higher levels reviving mandala symbols and
evoking visions of 'possibilities', that 'strengthen' him in his quest
and further help him transcend the limitation of his previous limited
understanding of the situation. Having incorporated the two levels
of understanding in his mind, Johor then reaches 'the final phase' of
his journey - where he manages to face evil and reconcile himself to
the animal level Only then can he fulfil his 'task' and deliver his
message of cosmic unity. Johor makes it clear that in the process
of that descent and ascent, he is in an evolutionary progress, as
he sees things in a new light: 'We have to look at things now
rather differently . , . it must be remembered that we servants of
Canopus are also in the process of evolution, and our understanding
of situations change as we do' (35).
The aim of descent into the past is to understand more clearly
the roots of present crises and acknowledge the forces of 'evil' as
an initial step to transcend its limitations. That task figures as the
opening episode of the novel. We embark with Johor on a journey
into the past in order to understand 'the main cause of the disaster'
(35). As the narrative opens, Shikasta, which is the name given earth
after the breach of the Lock with Canopus, 80 is being devitalized
by the malevolent forces of Shammat and by a falling away from
the Canopean values of spiritual and cosmic unity. Johor, one of
the more experienced of the Canopean Empire's envoys, has been
assigned to return to Shikasta to try to counter the forces of evil
and to help it overcome the effects of the 'Degenerative Disease'
- a disease introduced by Shammat, the empire of evil, corruption
and above all, the patron of 'disequilibrium'. The aim of this descent
into the past is 'knowing what went wrong so as to avoid it' (35).
It is necessary to note here the difference between the above-
mentioned descent on the one hand, and the indulgence in 'Nos-
talgia' on the other hand. Although both have the same temporal
direction, they have different ends. While the former has a positive
end, the latter figures as a dangerous trap in the process of reviving

past memories. Nostalgia is a failed descent into the past. Because
'nostalgia' is that sentiment derived from looking back to a past
time as ideal, a Golden Age after which present experience seems
degenerate, it leads to frustration rather than fulfilment. Lessing,
as early as her Children of Violence series protests what she called
'the dishonesty of nostalgia'. The dishonesty lies in the fact that it is
a distorted version of the past, blurred by the sentiment of longing
to a past perfection. In The Golden Notebook, Anna's 'false nostalgia'
blurs her clear understanding of her present 'reality.' Only when she
faces her past with its complexity of good and evil can she outgrow
her frustration. In the opening pages of Memoirs, the narrator makes
the distinction clear when she discards from the process of recalling
the past the sentiment of 'Nostalgia . . . the craving, the regret -
. . . that poisoned itch' (7) which is due to 'the importance each
one of us tries to add to our not very significant pasts' and therefore
blurs clear understanding. Another point which accounts for the
dehydrating effect of that sentiment is that since nostalgia is the
longing for what in the nature of time itself is impossible, it has a
frustrating effect. Such a longing is a denial of a lived reality. It is
that 'false nostalgia' wTiich blurs Anna's vision as she attempts to
revive her memories of the past in the Black Notebook and it is in
that realm that lies the test to overcome the naive idealism which
entraps her and her friends and prevents them from facing reality.
Zone Six is that realm of '"nostalgia"'. We enter Shikasta through
the 'mists' and 'dusty plains of Zone Six' (19) which literally blurs
the vision. That realm is clearly described in the initial notes for
'Guidance of Colonial Servants':
This is a hard place, full of dangers . . . Zone Six can present

to the unprepared every sort of check, delay, and exhaustion.
This is because the nature of this place is a strong emotion -
'nostalgia' is their word for it - which means a longing for
what has never been, or at least not in the form and shape
imagined. (16)
According to Johor, 'it is a place that weakens, undermines, fills

one's mind with dreams, softness, hungers that one had hoped
- one always does hope! - had been left behind forever' (18).
Realizing the 'hazards and dangers and temptations' (18) of that
Zone, Johor approaches it with 'an inward sigh' (19). In that Zone,
Johor encounters a 'company of wraiths . . . sick with pride of a

falsely remembered past' (24). Like Anna and her friends who,
entrapped by their naive idealism are unable to face reality, the
inhabitants of that Zone are unable to face 'the realities of Shikasta'.
In their blindness, they are 'hungering for "Them" . . . who would
lift them out and away from this terrible place . . . to safety. The
idea of rescue, of succour, was evidenced here always' (20).81
Although the idea of rescue is recurrent throughout the series, it
is significant that since that early assignment, Johor makes it clear
to the 'lost souls' of that realm that it is only through their own
efforts that they could be saved and that the more they put it off
the more 'it gets, worse and harder' (21). Perspective emissaries are
therefore advised to study in detail' Zone Six as the test to be able to
understand clearly the cause of the catastrophe. Although the mists
of that realm temporarily stands between Johor and his task, he is
finally able to pursue his journey - 'to part the mists that divided
me from the realities of Shikasta' (26). Johor manages to break out
from the dangerous trap of that realm and to deliver the message
to its inhabitants urging them 'to remember'.
As the 'Giants' struggle to revive their memories - 'searching
[Johor's] face for clues to memories' (25), we accompany Johor
to the further past - 'down my recovered memories of my visit
to Shikasta, then Rohanda, in the First Time, when this race was a
glory and a hope of Canopus' (26). We descend into further past
to learn more about the crisis and the cause of the catastrophe. This
brings us to the fundamental purpose of Johor's journey. The aim
of that descent into the past is, as Johor puts it, 'knowing what went
wrong, so as to avoid it on other planets'. Addressing his Canopean
peers he expresses that objective clearly:
We have to look at things now rather differently. In short, it is a

question, if not of apportioning blame - never a very helpful pro-
cess, tending always to draw the attention away from essentials,
rather than focusing it - then of knowing what went wrong, so
as to avoid it on other planets. (35)
Through that descent into the past Johor starts to understand the
basic causes that led to the disaster.
The initial reason behind the catastrophe is, as Johor gradually
realizes, Canopus's reluctance to acknowledge, and hence face, the
evil forces of Shammat - 'we were not thinking of Shammat at
all' (35). Instead of acknowledging and facing the evil forces they
'ignored them until it was too late' (36). It is precisely that inability
to face evil that is the tragic flaw that led to the downfall of the
Giants. Johor realizes that their inability to even understand the
word '"enemies'", is 'a flaw, and a serious one' (53). That inability
to face or acknowledge evil strikes him as a weakness and a mistake
which is also Canopus's fault:
They did not respond to 'enemies'. The word fled by them,

unmarked, it did not strike home in them anywhere, and here
was a weakness that was, that must be, our fault. (53)
The matter is further complicated when Johor moves quickly to

warn the Giants and Natives of impending danger. His mission
becomes more difficult because of the fact that they are incapable
of understanding the concept of enemy, let alone react to it. He
attributes this blindness to the fact that they are constitutionally
'not able to credit the reality of types of mind keyed to theft and
destruction'. In other words, they, like Anna and her friends, are
unable to grasp the complexity of life. That is why they are an easy
prey to the first threat of danger, for as Johor puts it to them, 'in
order to plan and to do, then we must know everything there was
to be known about the nature of our enemy' (62).
Another cause which is closely connected with that issue then
emerges. In the process of his descent, Johor starts to realize that:
Perhaps it is the fault of the species who thrive in peace, mutual

help, aspirations for more of the same - to forget that outside
these borders dwell very different types of mind, feeding on
different fuel. (36)
Complacency and absence of dialectic exchange lead to weakness

and stagnation. Elated with 'very long periods of stasis, epochs
of almost unchanging harmonious balance' (15) where 'there was
peace, . . . and no one challenged u s ' (36), they eventually lost
the fundamental principle underlying their success. Arguing with
thern, Johor realizes that he is 'among people who have never,
ever, thought in terms of opposition, . . . ' (60-1). None of them
remembers 'this particular quality of variation' (61). The absence
of dialectic and interaction leads to stagnation; it pulls down the
basis of the very process that gives rise to the balancing operation.
This gives ample chance for the forces of disequilibrium to take

over.
This in its turn brings us to the third cause underlying the failure
of the Lock - the lack of positive interaction and exchange between
Canopus and its 'rival' Sirius. As the two competing forces - Cano-
pus the spiritual benevolent force, and Sirius the force interested
mainly in technological experiments - hold a truce between them,
their main concern is to avoid overlapping:
Since the Great War between Sirius and Canopus that had ended
all war between us, there had been regular conferences to avoid
overlapping, or interfering with each other's experiments. (27)
Instead of opening means of communication, these conferences

create barriers between them as each is mainly concerned in
'pursuing their private interests' (296). Rather than competing
and complementing each other, they divided their efforts 'each
in a different sphere' - Sirius the technological took over the
Southern hemisphere, and Canopus concentrated on the Northern
hemisphere. 82 What aggravates the situation is that Sirius operates
on a lower level and thus fails to grasp the Canopean's level of
wisdom and 'it is this lower level of the Sirian Empire which
is the key to this and other problems of Rohanda/Shikasta
(35). Thus instead of learning from the Canopeans and attempting
to complement their efforts, the Sirian Empire exhausts its energy
in contriving and foiling Canopus' achievements. 83 This uneasy
relationship between the two forces was mainly responsible for the
infiltration of '"spies'" from the evil and corrupt force of Shammat.
It was also responsible for the spread of the 'Degenerative Disease'.
Although the Giants were 'doing everything to create mental sets
that will keep our bargain with Sirius', the symptoms of the
Degenerative Disease spread proving 'the presence of Shammat'
(34). The growing gap between the two forces, therefore, gave ample
space for Shammat's forces of disequilibrium to grow and prosper:
Shammat was going from strength to strength. Shammat was

taking advantage of the new weakness of Rohanda, who was
unshielded, unguarded, open to her. Which meant that Shammat
had been lying in wait on Rohanda. (38)
Having reached such depths of understanding from his descent

into the past, Johor then ascends to higher levels to achieve further
cognition. In order to further understand the crisis at hand, he

summons visions of Rohanda on his first visit. It is on a higher and
more differential level, an image of the original harmony which was
disrupted by the breach of the Lock between Rohanda and Canopus.
It is significant that while Johor experiences reluctance 84 to descend
at the opening of his journey, 'it is "with pleasure"' (38) that he
approaches this scene. The description of Rohanda in that initial
stage evokes symbols whose key images are associated with the
motif of ascent.
The description of the cities of Rohanda - 'a Round City, or a
Triangle', or 'the hexagonal, or the spirit of Four, or Five' (41) -
evoke mandala symbols and uncover further affinities with the Sufi
methods of contemplation:
Each was a mathematical symbol and shape, and mathematics

were taught to the young ones by travel. A tutor would take
a group of pupils to sojourn in, for instance, the Square City,
where they would absorb by osmosis everything there is to be
known about squareness. Or the Rhomboid, or the Triangle, and
so on. (40)
That the cities of Rohanda are designed according to geometrical

and mathematical patterns which in their turn are means of learning
is further significant. According to the Sufis, mathematics is a crucial
method of learning in the process of achieving an understanding of
the cosmos. 85 These methods of learning are closely associated with
the concept of the Reflective Mirror referred to earlier. According
to Laleh, it is such geometrical and 'architectural artforms' which
'serve to orient the mystic' 86 in the spiritual stations whose final
destination is to be aware of the Cosmic Order. It is worthwhile
noting here that the shape of the cities of Rohanda, where 'each
city . . . was a perfect artefact' (41), reflect cosmic equilibrium:
'being in balance with the natural forces of the galaxy'. Reference
to the four elements - 'the earth', 'the flow of water', 'the placing of
fire' and 'steam' (41) - brings out that concept clearly. That 'patterns
of stone . . . were the basis and foundation of the transmitting sys-
tems of the Lock between Canopus and Rohanda . . . ' (39) is further
significant of activities associated with the motif of ascent. These
'patterns of stones' evoke the Philosophers' Stone which, as studied
earlier, signifies the means of activating the levels of perception to
establish links with the higher levels. In Rohanda, that activity was
undertaken initially by the Giants, but then the Natives took part
in that 'task which they knew was - as they put it in their songs
and tales and legends - their link with the Gods, with Divinity'
(39). Most important, these 'transmitting processes' were meant to
maintain contact with the Feminine Principle - 'their Mother' in a
process whose keynote is relentless activity and movement:
What the Natives were being taught was the science of maintain-
ing contact at all times with Canopus; of keeping contact with
their Mother, their Maintainer, their Friend, and what they called
God, the Divine. If they kept the stones aligned and moving as the
forces moved and waxed and waned, and if the cities were kept
up according to the laws of Necessity, then they might expect -
these little inhabitants of Rohanda who had been no more than
scurrying monkeys . . . could expect to become men, would take
charge of themselves and their world when the Giants left them,
the work of the symbiosis complete. (40)
It is only through that mediating task that 'the symbiosis is com-

plete ' and only then can the Natives evolve as mature individuals
capable of responsibility. It is further significant that that mediating
function - 'the continuous, devotional task of keeping proper lev-
els of transmission between the planet and Canopus' (42) - is
undertaken by both male and 'female Giants': the Masculine and
Feminine Principles.
As Johor revives that vision in his consciousness, he makes it clear
to 'his readers' that the aim of that ascent is to foster and strengthen
the belief that 'good can develop again' (38). As in The Memoirs of a
Survivor that realm offers a sense of 'promise' that helps to alleviate
the effects of frustration caused by the crises at hand.
However, that image which is delineated so vividly by Johor, is
'soon to be lost to the memory of Shikasta' (40). Johor himself finds
it difficult to revive that vision in his consciousness. In his attempt
to invoke his early visits to Rohanda, Johor at first attempts to bar
that vision of harmony and equilibrium. He later realizes that that
was a grave mistake:
I said when I began this report that I have not remembered my

first visit from that time to this . When it came near my mind and
tried to enter I barred it out. This was the worst thing I have had
to do in my long service as Envoy. (58)
It is only when he manages to invoke that vision and incorporate

it in his consciousness that he is able to pursue his journey and to
specify his direction. That he chooses the 'Round City' at the centre
as his destination is significant. According to Laleh, 'all the methods
of Sufism seek the centre'. 87 Johor's ascent to the Round City marks
the third stage of his journey.
He chooses the Round City because of its height and 'central'
position (44). However, he realizes that the ascent to that city is
a hard task that needs a lot of time and effort. At the beginning
of his ascent Johor receives help from two horses, the second of
which is female. Then he realizes that, 'Now it was time to use my
own feet, and to approach more slowly' (45). According to the Sufi
cosmological symbols, 'mountain climbing corresponds to the inner
aspects of life . . . One needs a guide to climb'. 88 In The Sufis, Shah
explains that concept clearly:
Man must develop by his own effort, toward growth of an evol-

utionary nature, stabilizing his consciousness . . . Development
depends upon man, but must start through a teacher. When the
mind is cultivated correctly and suitably, the consciousness is
translated to a sublime plane. 89
As in the previous episode, Johor experiences a 'pleasant' atmos-

phere (45). His journey takes place in 'moonlight' and 'sun'. 90
Arriving at the centre, he finds 'a small lake circling a fountain'
and two Giants concentrating on 'a task':
They were measuring, by means of a device . . . of wood and

a reddish metal, the vibrations of a column of polished black
stone that stood where two avenues intersected. The black stone,
among so much of the soft honey-coloured stone everywhere,
was startling, but not sombre, for its gleam mirrored the blue of
the Giants' clothes, and their strong black faces as they moved
beside it. (49)
The description of that task is a clear manifestation of the Phi-

losophers' Stone. Reference to the 'music of the Stones' is further
significant. According to the Sufis, the Philosophers' Stone is asso-
ciated with 'the threefold figure' of 'Thrice Great Hermes' who
invented the lyre and through its music aroused in the hearers an
altered state. In his essay on 'The Philosophers' Stone', Shah brings
out the connection clearly:
He invented the lyre and caused . . . an altered state in the

hearers by means of music. He cast a giant into a sleep with
his flute, which action was taken as an indication of the hypnotic
character of the personification of Hermes as a Sufi type. 91
According to Shah, Hermes' music as a means of 'transmission' and

'intermediation between human and divine' has become closely
associated with the Philosophers' Stone. 92 It is precisely the 'music
of the Stones' which is evoked by the Giant's activity of transmis-
sion with Canopus.
However, Johor 'could sense, under the deep harmonies of
Rohanda, the discords of the coming time' (45). The reason for
that discord is that this city was round, 'a perfect circle and could
not expand: its bounds were what had to b e ' (47). According to the
Sufis' geometrical symbols, each separate form is passive and it is
only the interaction between them that achieves complete forms.
According to Laleh, it is through that interaction that the dynamic
of spiral direction is attained in the Sufi 'stages and stations', so
that 'as the passive and active aspects unite in geometric form to
create a third form and from there generate new forms, so too the
mystic through spiritual practices acquires a stability, a symmetry
of form which then generates new stations'. 93 Thus, although the
city 'was full of the strong quiet purpose . . . of the Necessity', yet,
'it was there, just audible, the faintest of discords, the beginnings
of the end' (49). Unlike the image of Rohanda on Johor's first visit,
these cities do not interact 'as a functioning whole' (41).
Incorporating that level in his consciousness, another cause for
the crisis emerges - it is the attempt at speeding up the process
of evolution. In his ascent, Johor faces 'the problem of time' (42).
He realizes that 'time had always to be given to the process of
acclimatization' (43). This figures as the fourth cause which accounts
for the failure of the Lock. The aim of the symbiosis was to initiate
'a mental flow', 'an exchange of emanations' through which evol-
ution could be achieved - 'the creation of ever-evolving Sons and
Daughters of the Purpose'. But that did not take its due course of
time and training and was speeded up through a 'Forced-Growth
Phase', and this is one of the reasons why it did not hold long.
Speeding the process, as Johor later realizes, 'led to the opposite
of what was intended' (134). It is interesting to refer here to the
Sufis' concept of that aspect. According to the Sufis, timing is of
supreme importance because knowledge or enlightenment comes
only when the recipient is prepared for it. Timing is therefore of

crucial importance: 'A complete Sufi may be called a Master of Time,
meaning master of starting and stopping, of modifying cognition.' 94
'Impatience', according to Shah, 'tend[s] to cause people to convert
the true Jam' situation until it becomes something else '. 95 According
to Shah, 'Illumination cannot be sustained by someone who is not
ready for it. At the best it will throw him into an ecstatic state in
which he is paralyzed, as it were, and unable to consummate the
contact.' 96 That is precisely what happens when Canopus decides to
speed the evolutionary process in Rohanda, as Johor later realizes:
During this phase, which was so much shorter than had been
expected, there had been little mental flow back and forth,
Canopus to Rohanda, but there had been occasional flickerings,
moments of communication: nothing that could be relied upon,
or taken up and developed. (51)
Having realized that, Johor avoids the mistake in future attempts at

equilibrium:
We now believe it is a disadvantage to allow too much prosperity,

ease of development - and on none of our other colonies have we
again been satisfied with an easy triumphant growth. We have
always inbuilt a certain amount of stress, of danger. (36-7)
Thus though the 'symbiosis' proved 'easy' and was therefore

speeded up, maintaining it and promoting evolution proved to be
a task which requires time and continuous effort:
The maintenance of the Lock depended on continuous care. First

of all, the placing and watching and monitoring of the Stones,
which had to be constantly realigned - slightly, of course, but
with so many that was an arduous and demanding task. And
then the building of the cities; and with each new mathematical
entity created and maintained, the Lock was strengthened and
each city had to be watched, adapted, and all this with the aid
of the Natives, who were being taught everything, the moment
they could take it in. And above all, what was being transmitted
was how to watch their own development, and constantly to feed
and adjust it, so that what they did would always be in harmony,
in phase, with Canopus, the 'vibrations' of Canopus. (51)
Since the 'maintenance of the Lock depended on continuous care'

(51) the candidates involved cannot rest in a quietistic status. The
basic tenet for that equilibrium, therefore, is not a static relationship
but rather an evolutionary one based on a continuous flux of vari-
ation and interaction:
But these interchanges of substance were infinitely varied and

variable. The 'mind' shared between Rohanda and Canopus did
not mean that every thought in every head instantly became the
property of everyone at once. What was shared was a disposition,
a ground, a necessary mesh, net, or grid, a pattern which was
common property, and was not itself static, since it would grow
and change with the strengthenings and fallings off of emana-
tions. (52)
Having achieved such an understanding, Johor can then perceive

the beginning of the solution. At first, the 'early thought' which
Canopus reviews was to try to save Rohanda from the outside -
'we had to look outwTards . . . in the balances of the stars who
were holding u s ' (37), But later they realize that the basic point
is that 'It was not so much a question of jettisoning her, as of her
jettisoning herself (37). After his descent and ascent, Johor realizes
that the basic tenet which could regain the lost equilibrium is the
continuous activity of 'searching' 9 7 for it:
searching, searching, . . . that was the point of all their activ-

ity. If enough people rushed around, hurrying, from place to
place, . . . if enough of them met each other, ran around each
other, and then gazed hungrily into each other's faces - if enough
of these activities were accomplished - then what was lost would
be found! (71)
It is then that he can diagnose the core of the Degenerative Disease

and realize the danger it portends. As its name implies, the disease
denotes a direction opposite to the evolutionary process. The pat-
terns of Stones which were previously a means of communication
between them had a jarring note. 98 It is then that the previous
understanding between the peers of the Giants turned to 'faction-
fighting, argument and raised voices'. The Giants started to lose
their 'sharp minded', 'clear minded' understanding: 'They broke in
with the arguments, the logics, of the debased modes' (65). Looking
at them Johor 'looked to find noble faces, and comprehending eyes

that were so no longer, for on to the faces had come peevishness
and self-assertion, and into the eyes, vagueness' (65). Their mental
powers are reduced to one level which led to the distortion of
everything they hear: 'the more detailed and factual the information,
the more I could count on its being distorted. The essence of the
situation was that these were minds which very shortly would
have to deform what I said . . . ' (68). According to the Sufis, this
form of failed memory leads to 'self-importance', 'intoxication'
and 'self-pride' which hinder the process of evolution. 99 These
are precisely the symptoms of the 'Degenerative Disease', It is
that self-assertion that is a sign of being out of phase with cosmic
Order: ' To identify with ourselves as individuals - this is the very
essence of the Degenerative Disease' (55). This in its turn is linked
with the alienation from the inner self: 'to feel awred and alienated,
to know itself a nothing, a little frightened creature who must obey,
and watch for Authority'. Therefore the Giants have 'become less
than shadows of their former selves' (68) and are no more fitted to
'"lead and guide"'(55).
Having identified the symptoms of the Disease, Johor can then
prescribe a cure. He realizes the urgent need 'to introduce Shammat'
(59) to the Giants, but first he himself has to face and acknowledge
evil - a task which marks the 'final phase' of his journey.
The aim of this stage of his journey, coincides with the motif of
descent whose final course is to face evil and acknowledge it in order
to be able to combat its powers. That is precisely Johor's intent as he
descends to the Hexagonal City. He embarks on a journey the aim
of which is to 'confront the power of Shammat' (86). In the first part
of his journey he is accompanied by David and his daughter Sais,
who, like the Giants, were uninitiated into the concept of evil. As
they descend, Johor starts to sense the first stirrings of evil:
. . . even from where we were high in that marvellous tonic air, I

could feel an evil message coming from it to me . . . We went on
down, down . . . I saw what I expected. We were looking down
into the queerest kind of settlement. It had not been put together
for shelter or for warmth or for any of the familiar purposes, but
was an act of impaired memory. (79)
It is here that Johor starts to identify the nature of evil. Seeing

Shammat's transmitting system, he realizes that it is no more
than 'an act of impaired memory'. In an attempt to recreate their

'old intuitions', the lost Giants build transmitting systems which
are no more than a distorted version of the original one. Under
Jarsum's 1 0 0 leadership the lost Giants 'were enjoying the sensation'
of taking part in distorted celebrations of the 'stone patterns' and
worse still they were feeding on 'the disharmonies, which they were
using like alcohol to fuel this revelry' (82). The danger of Shammat's
disequilibrium therefore lies not only in taking 'shelter' in outer
modes of activities, but it also threatens the distortion of memory
itself.
Having identified the nature of evil, johor then decides to carry
on the journey on his own/to confront the power of Shammat' (86).
As the narrator of Memoirs, he is accompanied in that scene by
an animal companion: and he realizes that 'communing with the
animals was for a purpose' (86). They arrive at a scene of 'killing'
and destruction similar to that of the orgy of women in Briefing or
the episodes of the 'destroyer' in Memoirs:
Rocks had been flung about, for no reason, trees had been cut and
left lying . . . and all this killing and smashing had been for the
sake of it. Oh, yes, this was Shammat all right! (87-8)
As Johor approaches the centre of the valley, he feels the 'danger':

'I cried silently, this is the most terrible danger I am in, danger far
too strong for m e ' (88).
In the midst of his descent he struggles to invoke a vision which
might help him to consummate his task. From the depths of the val-
ley, his thoughts soar to the realm of Canopus. By invoking a vision
of the initial equilibrium on Rohanda on his early visit, he gains
much strength and understanding. Incorporating the perception
attained in that vision, Johor manages to juxtapose both versions in
his consciousness and to realize the difference. He then recognizes
the 'metal column' for what it is - a fake, distorted version whose
source is Shammat. Significantly, this marks a step 'forward' in his
journey: 'I summoned every kind of strength I could and walked
forward . . . ' (88). It is then that he touches upon the crux of
'Shammat's secret'. He realizes that 'What Shammat, or Puttoria,
had had to steal from us was not a thing, but a skill' - 'the skilled
use of concentration of the mind'. By recalling that early vision
in his consciousness, therefore, Johor manages to recapture that
'substance' of concentration and to combat the power of Shammat.
After achieving that image of good through his ascent to the

Canopean realm, Johor must then accept and recognize the forces
of evil and to incorporate in his consciousness the recognition of
the co-existence of opposites. As he carries on his journey, Johor
undergoes a trance, in which he comes into closer contact with the
forces of evil:
I realized that I had slipped to my knees, and was swaying there

a few paces from the horrible thing - which of course could
be health-giving and good-making, in other places and times
- but my mind kept going dark, it kept filling with swaying
grey waves, a painful shrilling attacked the inside of my brain
and I could feel blood running down my neck from my afflicted
ears. (89)
While he is in that trance, he has 'a dream or vision' which

incorporates an image of good as well as evil. Instead of seeing
Rohanda as one-sided force of good, he sees Rohanda as a force
of balance - 'I saw the old Rohanda . . . rather as one does in the
Planets-to-Scale Room' (90). It is only then that he comes to terms
with the complex of forces at work in the cosmos - a recognition
which had enabled Anna of The Golden Notebook and the narrator of
Memoirs to overcome their frustration. After that trance he is finally
able to identify Shammat's transmitting system 'which drew off the
goodness and the strength' and connect it with the one-dimensional
physical level of existence:
Hands like mouths went out to grasp and grab . . . The hands
tore out pieces of the planet, and crammed the mouth which
sucked and gobbled and never had enough. Then this eating
thing faded into the half-visible jet of the transmitter, which
drew off the goodness and the strength . . . I leaned forward
in my dream, frantic to learn what it all meant, could mean . . . I
saw that the inhabitants of Shikasta had changed, had become of
the same nature as the hungry jetting column: Shammat had fixed
itself into the nature of the Shikastan breed, and it was they who
were now the transmitter, feeding Shammat. (90)
After acknowledging the power of evil, he must then come to

terms with the most basic elements of existence - the animal level. In
a scene reminiscent of the last episode of descent in Memoirs where
the narrator is accompanied by Hugo, Johor. accompanied by his

'new friend' the furred animal, comes to understand the perversity
involved in disowning the animal level:
I understood by now a good deal of what he knew and was

trying to tell me. Trembling and fearful, he told me that . . . hor-
rible creatures had come . . . and killed everything and broken
everything. They had lit fires and let them go out of control
to rage over the mountain slopes, destroying and killing. They
had slaughtered for pleasure. They had caught and tortured
animals . . . (91)
It is worthwhile noting here that whereas in Memoirs the reader has

no privy to Hugo's consciousness, in Shikasta the reader is projected
to the animal level. As the animal companion uncovers to Johor
the 'scars' inflicted by the forces that attacked their territory, the
reader is projected to the animal's consciousness. According to
Jung, man, by disowning the animal level in himself, becomes
subject to the compulsions of his own violated unconscious and
by 'remembering' the perversity and injustice of the attack on the
animal level, man can, in Jungian terms, burn out the perversity
involved in that attack. Significantly that episode takes place in
a cave with a fire whose 'flames' b u m in their faces and gives
them further strength: 'and soon we were warmed and strong'. By
incorporating all the levels of existence in his consciousness, Johor
is now ready 'to go on'.
It is only then that he can deliver his message and 'lead' others
on the path. Earlier Johor tried to tutor Sais, but his 'own link with
Canopus was quite lost' (72). After his descent and ascent, however,
he strengthens his links and is ready to carry on his 'task'. He urges
David and Sais, who significantly, are 'story tellers', to 'remember'
the 'Orders' and help him spread the word of Canopus throughout
Shikasta. However, David and Sais cannot undertake the 'task'
successfully unless they, in their turn, undergo a concurrent process
of descent and ascent to grasp the message. David and Sais' descent
and ascent form a tale-within-tale. As the reader follows Johor in
his descent and ascent, he is also projected to David and Sais as
they undergo the same process under Johor's guidance. Johor, in
his turn, leads them according to 'Necessity' - according to the
requirements of the stage of their development, which is the crucial
tenet for a Sufi teacher. 101 In short, Johor operates as a Philosophers'
Stone activating the levels of consciousness and bringing about

transformation.
Having achieved that level in his 'audience' Johor can then deliver
his message of the Canopean 'Orders'. He explains to them that
in order to 'preserve' themselves, they must follow the Orders of
Canopus:
They must not spoil themselves by taking too much of the

substance of Shikasta. They must not use others. They must
not let themselves become animals who lived only to eat and
to sleep and to eat again - no, a part of their lives must be set
aside for the remembrance of Canopus, memory of the substance-
of-we-feeling, which was all they had. (97)
It therefore becomes clear that the 'Orders' are no more than a call
for a new order of existence where they should not live on one level
only - the physical level - but should redress the imbalance of such
existence by reviving the 'memory' - rememberance of Canopus -
the spiritual. This could not be attained, however, unless they face
evil and combat it. Johor therefore introduces to them the concept
of evil, warning them t h a t ' On Shikasta there were enemies, wicked
people, enemies of Canopus, who were stealing the SOWF' (97).
That warning, however, is counterbalanced by the 'promise' that
if they follow the 'Orders' the 'substance-of-we-feeling' that can
preserve them from 'falling back into the animal level' (97) will
flow in abundance so that all levels would be in a constant flux
to ensure development in a spiral direction.
Johor delivers his message through the 'word' and a visual sign -
' The Signature' - a device that subconsciously recalls to their minds
the existence of Canopus. It is useful to consider here the concept of
the Signature in terms of Sufi philosophy. According to the Sufis, a
seeker should have a sign to lead him on his way. Quoting Shibli in
that respect, Shah postulates that 'the Sign', whether taking the form
of music or other cosmological symbols, initiates ' (awakening of the
Organ of Evolution)'. 102 The recurrent activity of 'holding out the
Signature' to induce people 'to remember' concurs with the concept
of 'The Guarded Tablet'. According to the Sufis, 'the Guarded
Tablet' is a cosmological symbol which signifies the reconciliation
of the masculine and feminine principles and is therefore a symbol
of universal order and a reminiscence of Divine Presence. In her
study of Sufi cosmological symbols, Laleh explains that:
The Pen and the Guarded Tablet are . . . cosmological symbols.

From the ink of Divine Knowledge God wrote the essential
existence of all things through the Pen, the masculine principle
operative in creation; existent things are words inscribed upon
the Guarded Tablet, the Universal Soul or feminine principle
operative in the universe . . . the Pen produces the point; the
point is the centre; the centre is the Divine Source. 103
It is further illuminating to study the significance of the 'word'

which Johor uses to deliver his message. The 'word' - 'SOWF' -
operates on several levels thus breaking the logic of identity and
evoking in the reader or listener the tendency to fuse different
strands to obtain the overall meaning, This practice is crucial to
the Sufis and finds expression in their art of 'calligraphy' and the
'Science of Letters'. The basic axiom of 'The Science of Letters'
is the interaction between letters and their 'relation to numerical
proportion' which initiates in the reader the activity of constant
association:
The concept that the nature and secret of a letter is alive when it
is compounded to form words, while words are correspondingly
alive within created things, is the basic principle of the science of
letters. All created things move in different stages because of the
constant renewal of creation; and the secret of all created things
lies in the word. 104
The combination of the letters 'SOWF' is a clear manifestation of

that practice. It is a clear example of how Lessing employs the
Sufi methods of writing to initiate in the reader a multilevelled
mode of understanding. Her choice of the combination letters of
SOWF in which each letter initiates a word on its own while the
interaction between the letters evokes the word 'Sufi' in Arabic
is significant. It is no coincidence that the combination 'SOWF"
evokes the sounds that constitute the word Sufi in Arabic. 'Sowf
forms in Arabic the name of the school of Sufism. Apart from that
significance of the letters in combination,, each forms a word whose
combination creates a phrase implying the concept of multiplicity
in unity. The plural pronoun 'we in the phrase the 'substance-
of-we-feeling' evokes the concept of multiplicity-in-unity which
to the Sufi, is the goal of awakening. This is also linked with the
concept of cosmic equilibrium. It is significant that each of the four
letters that constitute Sowf initiates one of the four elements - soil,
oxygen, water and fire respectively. This practice is among the most
important ones in the Sufi science of Letters. According to Laleh,
'Some Sufis considered the secret was in the inherent temperament
of a letter. They divided the letters into four groups, symbolizing
the four elements . . . ' 1 0 5 That Johor 'had of course spent time and
effort on working out an easily memorable syllable' to deliver his
message is therefore significant.
Apart from the combination and interaction of the letters, the
meaning of the term also operates on more than one level, mediating
between the physical and the spiritual. This is another important
practice by Sufis in their methods of communication. The Sufis
believe that the 'word' can be an important realm of mediating
between the two worlds. Because it operates on several levels,
it is referred to as 'The Secret Language', since understanding
depends on the degree of the candidate's enlightenment. Referring
to the cryptography of the Sufis, Shah postulates: 'It is a form of
communication among the enlightened ones. It has the advantage
of connecting mundane thinking with the greater dimensions, the
"other world" from which ordinary humanity is cut off.'106 That
practice in which a word operates on more than one level is widely
used in their literature 'to throw the ordinary literary reader off
the scent'. 107 That practice finds clear expression in the term used
by Johor to spread his message. While the term 'substance' is
associated with the scientific level and brings to the mind the realm
of particle physics, describing it as a 'breath' flowing from Canopus
to Shikasta evokes other levels of meaning associated with Eastern
mysticism. The term 'breath' has special significance to Sufis. In
his study of Sufi practices in using terms on more than one level,
Shah particularly refers to the term 'breath' because it resonates on
both the physical and spiritual levels and also signifies progressive
motion which is the basic axiom of the Sufi quest for evolution:
It stands for the physical exercises connected with breathing, and

also for the illustration of the fact that Sufi development is a
succession, like the pulsation of breath, not a static condition or
irregular motion. 108
According to Laleh, 'The Breath of the Compassionate' is a means

of expressing the Sufi message: 'The Divine Breath pervades the
universe. Just as breath is exhaled and so forms syllables and wTords,
the Breath of the Compassionate, in exhaling Words (intelligible

forms), brings the sensible form into being' 1 0 9 and it depends on
the 'preparedness of the recipient' to receive the message. In that
context, Johor's message of 'SOWF' resonates on several levels and
activates in the reader or listener the capacity to incorporate more
than one level. He is finally able to find the word to deliver his
message and enlighten his 'audience'.
So far, the reader is projected to an alien world of Giants and
foreign forces - a world bearing an elusive affiliation to his world.
However, the reader does not yet connect. Towards the middle
of Johor's reports, the text administers a shock on the reader's
perspective. The section referring us to the 'History of Shikasta' has
a most disorienting effect on the reader. It is significantly an account
of our present age - "The Twentieth Century' - and our immediate
past - a time when 'World War II was just over' (100). When the
reader realizes that Shikasta is our earth, he experiences a shock
of cognition. Further reference to historical events with meticulous
details of time and place are disturbingly accurate: 'World War
I . . . began as a quarrel between the Northwest fringers over
colonial spoils' and lasted 'for nearly five years' (110) and 'the
time gap between the end of World War I and the beginning of
world War II was twenty years' (112). This is supplemented by the
details of what led to the wars as well as the later break-up of the
colonial empires, the Cold War of the fifties, and the political and
ecological events which have decisively formed recent history on
earth. Such referential detail, though considered obtrusive by some,
is there to be accounted for. By referring to events which could be
recalled by even the shortest memory, the text draws the reader into
the activity of descent into his own past.
That referential process is therefore crucial to the purpose of the
novel. It then becomes clear that 'entering Shikasta', as Johor puts it,
is 'entering [our] memories' (136) and that Johor's return to his 'visit
in the Last Days', when the danger becomes more urgent, is a return
to the past of human history. Thus, after we follow Johor's descent
into his past to understand 'what went wrong, so as to avoid it', in
the first half of Part I, the reader is projected to the same process
through the reading of the second half of that part. I shall study here
the descent on the collective and individual level, further referring
to the strategies employed to involve the reader in the activity of
descent.
By forcing the reader to employ referential cognition, the text
then leads the reader to explore memory for aspects of historical

knowledge ~ aspects which might have been forgotten or which
might otherwise be repressed. That process coincides with the motif
of descent into the unconscious, the process in which, according to
Jung, the unconscious or dark side of the personality is brought
to light by acknowledging 'forgotten or repressed contents' of
the individual and collective unconscious. 110 In Jung's account,
the individual is usually reluctant to undergo that process and
is therefore involved in a struggle simultaneously to remember
and to repress. By projecting the reader to events closest to his
or her referential cognition, therefore, the text forces the reader
to remember - it operates on the reader, as Johor does for Taufiq,
'to administer a reminder' (102). Like the 'film projector' aiding
Anna in her descent in The Golden Notebook, Johor zooms in on our
history, stopping to focus on our present and immediate past, then
descending further 'down', in the 'dark' (135) depths to understand
the core of the present imbroglio facing him in his 'Last Visit'. That
process is an initial step for descent.
Another strategy which is of crucial importance in projecting and
confronting the repressed material of the unconscious is that of the
mirror projections. As mentioned earlier, the mirror is an important
element in the motif of descent. In his 'Archetypes of the Collective
Unconscious', Jung refers to the challenging task of descent into
the unconscious as projection 'to the dark mirror that reposes at
its bottom'. However, as the individual 'descends into his depths',
he portrays 'fear' for, as Jung puts it, 'the meeting with ourselves
belongs to the more unpleasant things and may be avoided as long
as we possess living symbol-figures in which all that is inner and
unknown is projected'. 111 However, 'this confrontation is the first
test of courage on the inner way'. Jung postulates in that respect:
The man who looks into the mirror of the waters does, indeed,
see his own face first of all. Whoever goes to himself risks a
confrontation with himself. The mirror does not falter, it faithfully
shows whatever looks into it, namely, the face we never show to
the world because we cover it with the persona, the mask of the
actor. But the mirror lies behind the mask and shows the true
face. 112
That is precisely what Shikasta does through its textual mirrors.

Indeed as we enter Shikasta we enter a hall of mirrors that projects
the reader to the self. However, as it holds a mirror to man, the

images it reflects are not very flattering. As the reader identifies
with some scenes he or she is loathe to identify with others. The
resulting effect creates a dialectic relationship between text and
reader. The reader is involved in a love/hate relationship with
the text. At one instant the reader enjoys cognition with a familiar
area of consciousness revived, but at another is reluctant to face
the difficulties they represent - unpleasant events of the past as
uncomely behaviour of Shikastans, wars and memories the reader
prefers to remain repressed. Like the narrator of Memoirs, therefore,
we feel a sense of relief at being delivered from such scenes of mirror
projection, but we emerge with a new cognition. By that projection
the reader is induced to start to rethink reality. The presence of data
that refer to the reader's imperative reality is therefore crucial to the
motif of descent. It is their very presence that draws us into the text,
compelling us to conduct a creative examination not only of the text
but also of ourselves as historical beings.
The passage entitled 'History of Shikasta' is a clear manifestation
of that achievement of descent. It opens with descriptions which
though extensively defamiliarized are still hauntingly familiar.
After focusing on the World Wars and their aftermath in 'The
Twentieth Century', we are led further back to see the causes at
the root of that 'Age of Destruction'. Although 'the general collapse
of the world order was apparent to everybody by then' (105), the
Shikastans were unable to perceive the cause - 'cause and effect
were not connected, in the minds of Shikastans' (117). Through
projection to the collective unconscious, and through entering the
'personal rooms' of Taufiq and the other 'Individuals', the reader,
unlike the Shikastans, starts to perceive the causes underlying the
crisis. Here lies the greater part of the novel's cognition. As Johor
descends into his past to see the roots of the crisis so does the
reader, as the narrative displays the reader's past putting together
in a spectrum of connections the religious, political and scientific
ideologies that have formed the Western reader as a cultural being.
Through reviewing these major components of history, a key cause
emerges - namely that they all operate on the one-dimensional
mode - the outer-oriented one - and are consequently unable to
incorporate other levels of perception. That basic disequilibrium
lies at the core of all the ideologies that have so far influenced '"the
civilized world"' of the Northwest fringers.
In describing the politics of that period, the text concentrates
on the privileged inhabitants of the few developed countries who

populate 'the narrow fringes on the north-west of the main
landmass' (109). As the text pays homage to the Northwest fringers'
'technical superiority over the rest of the globe' (109), it simulta-
neously questions the value of its achievement by referring to the
consequent wars and their aftermath of 'savagery' (110), 'brutality'
(111) and barbarism. In highlighting that aspect of the civilization in
question, Lessing is not discrediting the value of technology, but is
rather advancing a more important point about the overwhelming
faith in that aspect exclusively as 'the key to all good'. According
to Lessing's retelling, this outer-oriented mode of survival became
the dominant predilection in the culture of the 'Northwest fringers',
so that despite their national differences, they all operated on one
level:
For regardless of the ideological label attaching to each national

area, they all had in common that technology was the key to
all good, and that good was always material increase, gain,
comfort, pleasure. (118)
Further still, instead of interacting with the cultures of their colonies,

they imposed on them their technology, thus stifling aspects which
could have invested their culture with further dimensions. That
inability to interact, to incorporate the 'other's' point of view, lies at
the core of '"politics", "political parties", "political programmes'":
Nearly all political people were incapable of thinking in terms of

interaction, of cross-influences, of the various sects and 'parties'
forming together a whole, wholes - let alone of groups of nations
making up a whole. (101)
Such attitudes promote 'factions' 113 and divisions instead of inter-

action and growth. Each contestant in the political arena tries to
advance only individual welfare. Assuming its superiority to all
other groups, each group defines its interests in total separation
from and disregard for anyone else so that 'when one of these
sects or "parties" got power, they nearly always behaved as if
their viewpoint could be the only right one. The only good one . . . '
(101). Since politics arouse factions and divisions between people,
it therefore cannot promote cosmic growth and unity. It is at this
point that we can begin to see the rationale for Lessing's critique of
politics. Her attitude is not against politics as such but against the
limited one-dimensional level on which it operates:
. . . entering the state of mind where 'politics' was ruler, it was

always to enter a crippling partiality, a condition of being blinded
by the 'correctness' of a certain viewpoint. (101)
Gradually it becomes clear that this lack of interaction at the basis

of politics is also the criterion at work in all the other ideologies that
dominate the culture:
The local religions continued, infinitely divided and subdi-

vided, each entrenched in their ideologies.
Science was the most recent i d e o l o g y . . . Its ways of
thought, in its beginnings flexible and open, had hard-
ened, as everything must on Shikasta, and scientists, as
a whole, . . . were as impervious to real experience as the
religionists had ever been. (115)
By setting science, religion and politics on equal footing in that

respect, the text forces the reader to see the limitation of the
ideologies that have so far influenced him as a cultural being.
Like Anna of The Golden Notebook, the reader is forced to review
all the ideologies that have so far influenced his patterns of thought
and to perceive obliquely the basic tenet underlying their limitation.
By putting them side-by-side as the novel does, the reader starts to
see that they are all one-dimensional - realizing that at one time or
the other he or she was'in the toils of . . . ideologies which were the
same in performance, but so different in self-description' (113). It
therefore becomes clear that the major cause of 'discontent' which
eventually leads to further war is due to 'their way of life' which
propagates survival on the outer physical level exclusively at the
expense of the inner self:
Inside each national area everywhere, north and south, east

and west, discontent grew . . . because their way of life, where
augmenting consumption was the only criterion, increasingly
saddened and depressed their real selves, their hidden selves,
which were unfed, were ignored, were starved . . . (119-20)
No wonder then that violence and war are the recurring domi-
nant themes of that 'Century of Destruction': 'War. Civil War.
Murder. Torture. Exploitation. Oppression and suppression' were
the dominant features of the time (120). In his study of similar
mechanisms in modern psychology, Jung points out that stifling
the inner self breeds violence on the individual and collective levels.
To quote Jung in that context:
The gigantic catastrophes that threaten us are not elemental hap-

penings . . . but are psychic events. We are threatened in a fearful
way by wars and revolutions that are nothing else than psychic
epidemic . . . man is exposed today to the elemental forces of his
own psyche. 114
That is precisely the status of the Shikastans whose suppressed

knowledge 'is always, always threatening to well up from their
depths and overwhelm' (249). As a result of their one-dimensional
mode of survival, violence became the norm: 'Bribery, looting,
theft, from the top of the pyramids of power to the bottom,
were the norm' (117). Furthermore, the potential and 'wealth of
every nation [was] used almost entirely for war, for preparations
for war, propaganda for war, research for war . . . ' (112).
Another consequence of alienation from the inner self is the
submersion in what Laing calls a 'false-self system'. Alienated
from his inner self, an individual tries - largely unconsciously
- to cling to ideologies and beliefs that serve as protection
against a reality that is too threatening to be faced. According to
Laing, identifying exclusively with empirical reality on that basis
perpetuates a sense of violence towards anyone who threatens to
violate the 'false' basis on which the individual has anchored
existence. In short, a society based on such a system succeeds
by propagating further falsehood and lies to shelter an otherwise
threatened existence. That is precisely the system in which the
Shikastans are submerged. Alienated from their inner selves -
'their real selves, their hidden selves, which were unfed, were
ignored, were starved/ (119-20) - they develop a 'social fallacy'
where '"falsety"', "Ties'" and '"self destruction"' are common
practice (114). Unable to face the 'dissolution' surrounding them,
they cling to the belief that '"on the whole" all was well' (112).
It is precisely that attitude which aggravates the situation and
propagates further violence and fury - 'the very fury, is a
means of stilling self-doubt, numbing the terrors of isolation'

(249).
At the core of that society are the governments that maintain their
existence by further propagating 'lies': 'Under the Dictatorships,
lies and propaganda were government. The maintenance of the
dominance of the colonized parts was by lies and propaganda . . . '
(114). The crucial point here is that such practices have a most
damaging effect on the 'minds' of Shikastans. Submerged in that
system, the Shikastans' 'mental processes . . . were being rapidly
perverted by their own usages of them'. As the Archives put it,
'one cannot spend years sunk inside false and lying propaganda
without one's mental faculties becoming impaired' (111).
Such processes accelerate 'degeneration' 115 rather than regenera-
tion: 'the degeneration of the already degenerate was accelerated'
(114). As a result, the 'northern hemisphere' became locked in a
vicious circle of violence, and instead of putting an end to such
'savagery' they laid the bases for the next war which leads to
eventual annihilation.
'Looking from outside at this planet', as the reader does, it
seems 'as if [it is] a totally crazed species' (118). However, the
Shikastans themselves cannot 'connect' the outbreak of violence
as a consequence of the one-dimensional mode of survival that
dominated their culture. The reason for that is their 'broken minds'
(104) and tendency to '"forget"':
People were taught to live for their own advancement and the
acquisition of goods . . . food, drink . . . And yet these repul-
sive symptoms of decay were not seen as direct consequences of
the wars that ruled their lives. (117)
The reader is relieved to leave these scenes of mirror projections.

However, unlike the Shikastans, the reader starts to perceive the
causes underlying the 'Age of Destruction'. Such cognition admin-
isters a violent shattering to the ego's rigid structures, which is one
of the main achievements of descent.
Emerging from the descent on the collective level, the reader
then enters the 'personal rooms' of a number of 'Individual' cases
only to find that the 'repulsive symptoms of decay' and violence
have become epidemic. As is the case on the collective level, the
Individuals are unaware of their predicament. The reader, however,
like the narrator of Memoirs, has a more privileged position, as he
or she zooms into the various rooms juxtaposed in this episode and
transcends their limitation.
That effect is largely achieved through the narrative strategy of
the episode. It is useful to study that effect in the light of Sharon
Spencer's terms: 'closed' and 'open' structures. In Space, Time and
Structure, Spencer refers to the 'closed' and 'open' structures as
alternate modes that help the reader to see more clearly. The
term 'closed', she observes, 'suggests containment, a single strong
emotion, an insistence upon its own mood and point of view',
while the term 'open' characterizes a structure that has the ability
'to project itself into space'. The interaction between the two modes
creates what she calls the 'architectonic novel' which operates on
'the principle of juxtaposition so as to include a comprehensive view
of the book's subject. [The] 'truth' of the total vision of such a novel
is a composite truth obtained from the reader's apprehension of a
great many relationships among fragments that make up the book's
totality'. 116 That is precisely the effect on the reader of that segment
of Shikasta as he moves from one individual case to the other. While
each 'Individual' is confined within his or her boundaries, the
reader is exposed to the 'totality' of their experience - a strategy
which helps him transcend their confinement.
Entering the enclosed case of each Individual, the reader is
confronted with an atmosphere of confinement and imprisonment.
While Individual One is 'afflicted by an enormous claustropho-
bia' (148), Individual Two is imprisoned within 'standardization
of intellectual and emotional patterns' (151). Like Individual Six,
'everyone had been forced by experiences of emotional or physical
deprivation' (173). They are all confined by sorts of 'emotionalism'
(196). Entering these rooms, therefore, the reader, like the narrator
of Memoirs, enters 'the personal' level, which 'was instantly to be
recognized by the air that was its prison, by the emotions that
were its creatures' (Memoirs, 40). However, while the individuals
are enclosed within this claustrophobic atmosphere, the reader has
a wider overview as he connects and compares the network of
individuals to find that, despite the variety in their experiences,
there are a number of crucial similarities, and focusing on these will
begin to reveal the major features of their predicament. Juxtaposing
the various examples as the novel forces the reader to do, it becomes
clear that they all suppress the inner at the expense of the outer
mode - they are 'all victims of indoctrination' (153) who have
succumbed to 'patterns' and abide by the collective as a shelter
from the inner self. Like Gerald of the Memoirs of a Survivor,

Individual Seven 'could exist only in a group' (180). Identifying
with the collective at the expense of the inner self, they are unable
to face 'the breakdown of the culture into barbarism' (178), and
they take shelter in the prevalent ideology: they 'seek in political
ideology . . . solutions to their situations' (178).
This fundamental disequilibrium is the common denominator
underlying the behaviour and attitude of the Individuals that con-
stitute this segment of the novel. Succumbing to the outer mode at
expense of the inner self, they are all involved in acts of violence
towards their selves and others - they are victims of tormenting
conflict, madness, suicide and are involved in acts of violence and
terrorism. In short they become 'children of violence' - they end u p
as 'young criminals' (152).
That involvement in the outer at the expense of the inner leads
to a cycle of violence and repetition of mistakes from which the
individual cannot break out. They are therefore trapped in what
Laing calls a 'false untenable position' in which a person '"keeps
himself alive" by his acts'. 1 1 7 According to Laing , a person who
indulges in such a state, and evades descent and facing the inner
self, becomes caught in a 'whirl':
[If] one fills oneself with others (introjective identification) or

lives vicariously by living through the lives of others (projective
identification) one's 'own' life comes to a stop. One goes round in
a circle, in a whirl, going everywhere and getting nowhere. 118
A person in that state, according to Laing, is at a standstill - ' N o

matter how hard he runs, he is never moving from the same
spot.' 11 ?
It is therefore significant that the climax of that segment in Shikasta
is a scene whose key image is a 'whirlpool' which induces 'no
movement' - 'halting movement' (187). The characters involved in
that scene are in a standstill position in the face of the 'widespread
danger' of the whirlpool which threatens to engulf them (185). It
is only when Johor 'descended from the ridge' behind which he
was sheltering, that he moves to action, warning the others of the
'danger' and 'pushing them into movement' - 'first backwards',
then 'forward' (199).120
Emerging from these 'mirror' projections on individual level,
the reader acquires further knowledge towards self-understanding.
Here lies another interesting achievement of the episode. Juxta-

posing the symptoms of the Individual cases, the reader can then
diagnose the disease and prescribe a cure. This is achieved through
another narrative strategy similar to the 'method of scatter' used in
Sufi teaching stories in which the solution is set as a challenge for
the reader or listener to work out, thus involving the candidate in
an act of 'self-work'. In his study of that technique, Shah explains
this strategy as:
the method of approaching [the] subject from a number of dif-

ferent angles and then breaking away, leaving the reader to
complete the process. 121
That method is typical of Johor's reports in that episode in which he

gives an account of the various problems undergone by a number
of Individuals 'who, if Taufiq had not been captured, would have
been in very different situations'. Rather than imposing the solution
each time, Johor leaves the reader 'to complete the process'. This is
evident in his initial statement to his 'readers':
I shall not always amplify, or sometimes even mention, the exact

role that John Brent-Oxford might have played. (148)
The solution that Johor suggests and 'the audience' is expected to

fill in is to descend and face the inner self. The overall outcome
of the suggested solution 'scattered' among the individual cases
emphasizes one direction - the necessity of 'focusing inner quests'
(158) - the necessity 'to struggle inwardly . . . to gaze steadily into
what frightened [them] most' (150). This solution reverberates in
the reader's mind throughout the activity of reading. The reader
is therefore induced to carry out a great deal of 'self work' by
comparing the predicament of different individuals and finally
working out the solution.
Thus, although this episode is populated by characters who are
perhaps static and repetitive, yet our perspective of them is not so.
The repetition of the same mistakes in each enclosed individual case
opens the reader's mind to the 'dangers' of confinement within 'the
personal'. More important, the reader of Shikasta, like the narrator
of Memoirs, is urged to stretch his or her consciousness in order to
grasp 'the personal' not as an isolated experience, but to relate it to
its roots in the collective unconscious, a process which, according to
Jung, brings about a more comprehensive cognition and a constant
maturing of the understanding. 122 It is significant that towards the

second half of that episode Johor's reports on the Individuals start
to acquire more general reference, by referring the reader to the
'Psychology of the Masses, "Self Protective Mechanisms'" as well
as 'The Age of Ideology, "Pathology of Political Groups'" (171,177),
thus relating the reader to the collective situation. It is through that
interaction between individual and collective consciousness that
further causes at the root of the crisis emerge more clearly.
Relating the 'Individual' case to the collective 'History of
Shikasta', it becomes clear that the reason why their rela-
tions are negative - why they do not accept one another,
arousing violence and war on individual and collective levels
- lies in the 'area they categorize as "psychological"' (222).
They stifle the 'inner drive' mainly because that realm might
cause 'pain' rather than '"comfort" or "happiness"'. However,
it is the only way 'for self-knowledge' and understanding for:
the hidden power, or force, that drives Shikasta along its

difficult and painful roads, and which is felt by some of them
as a 'guide' or 'inner monitor' is not one that may consider
'happiness' or 'comfort' when it is operating to bring some
individual nearer to self-knowledge, understanding. (222)
The second issue which emerges here is the lack of interaction

between the prevalent ideologies that dominate the culture. Refer-
ring the reader to the 'Age of Ideology' towards the middle of this
episode, it becomes clear that the major feature of that culture
is lack of interaction - it is a society in which 'different sets of
ideas exist side by side without their affecting each other' (179).
Each aspect of life is divorced from the other, so that instead of
a dynamic interaction between the realms of knowledge available
- an interaction which could have invested the realm of politics
with psychological insight and the realm of religion with a 'cool
rational eye' and which could have, if applied, put an end to the
mechanisms in which each division is trapped - the descent into
history shows that each realm is separated from the other, arousing
further divisions and subdivisions:
While studies by psychologists, researchers of all kinds, the

examiners of the mechanics of society, became every day
more intelligent, comprehensive, accurate, these conclusions
were never applied to political groups - any more than it

had ever been possible to apply a rational eye to religious
behaviour . . . The slightest examination of history showed
that every group without exception was bound to divide and
subdivide like amoeba . . . (178)
The reason why the different realms are not easily combined and
are preferably kept separate by the Shikastans is that interaction and
'transgressions' make them uncomfortable:
Transgressions cause discomfort, and have to be compensated

for, in sometimes unfortunate and nonproductive ways. (125)
It is here that Shammat's influence is at work distorting understand-

ing by attempting to induce people to live on one level exclusively,
taking advantage of the discomfort people feel about transgressions,
for 'the psychological malaise caused by "transgressions" provides
fruitful grounds for Shammat's needs' (125).
Another feature which facilitates Shammat's operation on Shikasta
and is indeed responsible for further intensifying the gap is the
complacency and self-righteousness which characterize the attitude
of the members of each ideology as well as the Northwest fringers
in general - for, 'a dominant feature of the Shikastan scene was
that a particularly arrogant and self-satisfied breed, . . . domi-
nated most of Shikasta' (109). The offspring of that society, the
younger generation, lived 'inside a cocoon of righteousness' (178)
- they 'are convinced because of the arrogance of their educa-
tion that they are the intellectual heirs to all understanding and
knowledge' (219). That self righteousness, bigotry and pride are
at the core of all the ideologies that dominated the culture. The
religion of the Northwest fringers is described as 'the most self-
righteous, the most inflexible, the least capable of self-examination'
(202). The self righteousness which feeds religion is also the same
'"emotion"' at the core of politics for 'it was possible for mem-
bers of a political sect to believe that it was pristine and noble
and best . . . ' (248). Science is equally 'bigoted and inflexible',
because its 'arrogance' makes it exclude all other realms of knowl-
edge. Surveying the attitude of the members of each ideology,
it becomes clear that the common denominator at the core of
such behaviour is 'pride'. It is that pride and complacency which
was among the first signs of the Giants' weakened condition.
As the reader probes to the core of the 'malaise' in the Age of

Destruction, therefore, he realizes that complacency, lack of inter-
action and reluctance to descend and face evil which caused the
downfall of the Giants are also the causes which led to the 'degen-
eration' and violence underlying the present crisis of Shikasta. In
that context, the perceptions achieved in the fable of the Natives
and the Giants fulfil a central function in understanding the roots
of the crisis of the 'Last Days'. As the narrator of Memoirs, the
reader is put in a situation in which he or she has to mediate
between two separate realms in order to understand. As the reader
gradually connects the two realms, the experiences which had
seemed separate start to cross-refer. We are forced to reconsider
data we at first held to be perfectly separated. In the process the
opportunity is given to the reader to bring into play the faculty of
establishing connections and to incorporate more than one level
of perception in order to understand. The interaction between the
background of the fable and historic brings to light aspects which
had gone unnoticed as a web of disturbing connections emerges.
Perhaps the most disorienting effect on the reader is when he starts
to discover Shammat at the root of all the ideologies that have so
far ruled the patterns of thought in his society. That brings us to
the final stage of descent in which the individual has to locate and
acknowledge the forces of evil in order to confront and overcome its
power.
As the reader probes to the core of the ideologies projected by the
text, he finds Shammat at the root of each, attempting to propagate
disequilibrium and to distort memory. Religious militants who
advocate 'monolithic' sets of mind (145) 'have often been willing
agents of Shammat' (144). Individuals who take shelter in politics as
a solution for their predicament are also ready agents for Shammat
(168). Others who succumb to the tendency to live on the outer
level only where consumption is of paramount importance, are
also induced by Shammat - 'they were all open mouths and hands
held out for gifts - Shammat! All grab and grasp - Shammat!
Shammat!' (146). Surveying 'this particular epoch' (146) we find
that Shammat's agents are 'energetically at work' propagating
the one-dimensional mode of survival so that 'food has assumed
an importance that astonishes every one of us that have visited
Shikasta' (225). It becomes clear that Shammat's 'poison is at work
in the bodies and minds of every Shikastan' (225), 'Shammat cap-
tured whole cultures, civilizations' (146). Not only does Shammat
propagate disequilibrium by inducing people to avoid 'transgres-

sions' and interaction between different levels, but worse still it
attempts to distort memory within each ideology. It does so by
emphasizing one aspect at the expense of the other. Shammat
distorts religion either by emphasizing the material level only so
that religion operates in terms of 'something given, bestowed'
- for, 'by then, very few of them could respond to anything,
except in terms of personal gain, or loss' (146) - or by feeding
their hunger for transcendence with illusion and fantasy: for it
is 'Shammat who feeds their hunger with illusions' (136). It
therefore becomes clear that the crucial problem in that epoch
is one of 'emphasis, [of] scale' - in short, disequilibrium is
the core of evil in that era, for 'The difference between this
period and others is rather in emphasis, in scale' (141).
Flaving located evil, the crucial test then is to face and confront
its power. In two episodes which are of crucial importance here,
the text leads the reader to face Shammat in operation distorting
the memory of equilibrium. Perhaps the most vivid example of
the distortion of memory is the episode of the Child Festival. Here
the reader descends to witness Shammat's agents distorting the
memory of equilibrium. The reader is first introduced to an image of
equilibrium where people of other cultures 'were able . . . to study
the movements of the stars' which 'were made of earth . . . And
of water. And of fire' (212). That image, which verges on levels
of cosmic equilibrium, is eventually distorted as the main point
- 'the point which they must remember' (212) - is forgotten.
The crucial point we are told here, is that 'every child has the
capacity to be everything. A child was a miracle, a wonder! A
child held all the history of the human race, . . . could live in
water, or in fire' (212). According to Shah, this view of the child
as reflecting and incorporating all the levels of cosmic dimensions
is the basic tenet which initiates the Sufi methods to recapture
such equilibrium. In this episode, however, the reader witnesses
the disintegration of that ritual at the hands of 'monks and soldiers'.
As the reader watches the process in which the villagers gradually
lose 'the point . . . the point they must remember' and succumb to
the militant priests who eventually distort the memory, a sense
of loss is experienced. As the episode interweaves elements from
the fable with elements from the reader's reality, it induces the
reader to locate and face Shammat in operation in his world.
A further episode in which the 'complacency' of the natives
leads to their loss of equilibrium also connects the fable with the
historic. As in the previous one, this episode portrays an image of
equilibrium which does not last, but while the previous episode
traces the root of evil in the practice of religion this one verges on
politics. Again in that episode the reader is projected to an image of
equilibrium where the Southern cultures 'lived in balance with their
surroundings . . . ' (199). However, 'this admirable state of affairs
had not been long-lived' because of the natives' 'complacency'.
The 'temperament of these tribes did not make for anxiety and
foreboding' (199) and in their complacency they are an easy prey
to outer invasion. This episode is reminiscent of that of the Giants
who, 'thrived in peace, mutual help . . . '; instead of acknowledging
and facing the forces of danger, they 'ignored them until it was too
late' (36).
As the text interweaves the two levels, the reader, like Johor,
attempts to 'piece information together' (66) in order to understand.
As the reader integrates perception achieved in the fable and detects
similar mechanisms in his world, he starts to face and acknowledge
the operation of evil which is an initial step in order to be able to
combat its power. Having achieved such understanding, the reader
has reached the final phase of descent. He has confronted and
acknowledged all the repressed material of the unconscious. In the
course of the descent into individual and collective unconscious, the
reader has traced the roots of the crisis and integrated the perception
achieved in both levels, a process which enriches understanding.
Through that process it becomes clear that the reason underlying
the prevalent negative relationships and the 'Generation Gap' is
complacency, lack of interaction and reluctance to descend into
history to understand their proportional place: 'They do not know
what their own history is, as a species, nor what are the real
reasons for their condition' (219). Their 'psychological malaise'
is due to their one-dimensional mode of survival which excludes
the realm of spiritual - the fable with spiritual dimensions - 'to
the region of myth' (217). Through the projection to history from a
cosmic perspective, the reader, unlike the Shikastans, can transcend
the 'empathies of the near, the partial views', and consequently
shed 'powerful emotions' (216) which marks the fulfilment of
descent. 123
It is only after that episode that the text starts to project positive
relationships. While astutely singling out individuals trapped in
negative relations with their society, the novel perpetuates others
through its tacit juxtaposition of another set of individuals, who

through developing their 'hidden power' - their 'inner monitor'
- carry positive relationship with their milieu. The narrative thus
leads the reader in the process of reconstruction through the instru-
mental nature of the novel's form. This effect is largely achieved
through another Sufi method which Lessing refers to as the method
of 'multiple impact'. 124 As Shah explains, that strategy is intrinsi-
cally connected with 'the method of scatter whereby a picture is
built up by multiple impact to infuse into the mind the . . . mes-
sage'. 1 2 5 By juxtaposing a number of individual experiences in that
respect, the reader realizes that while one individual is locked in
a sado-masochistic cycle of male-female relations because of her
reluctance to descend (223), another manages to bring forward
'components of his or her personality, aspects of themselves they
may not be aware o f and thus hold a positive and productive
relationship. The juxtaposition of a number of individual cases in
that respect and the 'repetition' of similar experiences in various
and scattered situations stimulates the memory (94) and drives the
message home that so long as the inner is stifled the individual will
be entangled in negative relations of violence and self-destruction
while, on the other hand, developing the inner self initiates more
positive relations.
It is significant that towards the middle of that episode, the
text refers us to Lynda Coldridge. Here, we are not only asked
to incorporate more than one level within the text but also to
employ inter textual reference in order to understand. Reference
to Lynda Coldridge in that episode is of great importance as it
sheds light on a long misunderstood aspect within the motif of
descent in Lessing's canon. As previously mentioned, earlier critics
have repeatedly referred to instances of madness and breakdowns
in Lessing's novel, quoting Lynda Coldridge of the The Four-Gated
City and Watkins of Briefing for a Descent into Hell as evidence that
according to Lessing indulgence into madness is the only means for
understanding. 126 Lynda's return in Shikasta as a positive leader is a
significant variation on her basic role in The Four-Gated City where
she loses control of her sanity. In Shikasta, the point is made that
while descent into the unconscious involved the 'danger' of 'risking
her sanity' (226), the crucial test is to be able to restore the 'balance'
(226) and integrate the perception achieved in the inner realm into
the consciousness. By referring to Lynda in that context, therefore,
Lessing makes the point that it is the ability to restore the balance
which is important to make the experience positive. Thus while

developing the outer at the expense of the inner is negative, so
conversely is developing the inner at the expense of the outer. Both
Lynda of The Four-Gated City and Watkins of Briefing fail to reconcile
the outer and inner experiences. In Shikasta, Lessing makes it clear
that 'two kinds of madness are different, not the same' (231). In
juxtaposing Lynda's later development in Shikasta with her role in
the early novel, the reader sees the difference clearly. Here Lynda
is in control of her 'faculties' - consciously 'working everyday
on [her] "faculties'" (236). What distinguishes between her early
schizophrenic state and her later role in Shikasta is the capacity of the
personality to harmonize its own dissonant elements for, as Lynda
puts it in a nutshell,' we are several people, fitted inside each other.
Chinese boxes' (233). It is towards that direction that the text is
leading its 'audience' through intertextual reference to Lynda who
acknowledges and incorporates all levels of the psyche - including
the animal level as she refers to '(people and . . . dogs too)' (232).
Towards the end of that segment of the novel, the reader is
projected to the animal level in a scene reminiscent of the final
episode of descent in Memoirs, where the narrator is reconciled
to Hugo. In that episode the reader watches and learns from an
enactment operated by a she-cat and a male cat as they teach their
offspring 'safe descent' (244). That episode marks the culmination
of descent as it signifies accepting and learning to incorporate the
animal level. The reader then is ready for further development.
Having completed descent and integrated all the levels of the
psyche, the text then prepares its 'audience' to see 'in more ways
than one' (216). Before achieving that multilevelled perception,
however, the first step, as mentioned earlier, is to deconstruct
habitual modes of thought and undermine shelters that veil that
multilevelled perception. That is precisely what the text does as it
exposes and challenges one after the other of the reader's concep-
tions and deeply cherished beliefs. It does that through the novel's
technical structure and its generic form which proves to be a crucial
vehicle for realizing the motif of ascent.
I have said that in the motif of descent the reader is projected
to 'history', employing referential faculty to ensure cognition. It is
necessary to concede here that the referential is a function not an
end. Its aim is to create a bridge for communication and cognitive
identification - in other words, to ensure the fulfilment of descent.
Having achieved that, the text operates on another level in which the
projection to history acquires further significance. It does not stop at

the point of cognition, but evokes a new mode of recognition. Start-
ing from a commonly accepted basis, it questions and challenges the
given situations and creates new perspectives through forcing the
reader to construct meaning by establishing a 'new order' which
incorporates more than one level. Thus, in the depiction of the past,
the text does not attempt to justify affronts to the reader's sense of
the plausible. The crucial point is not how far referential to our past
history it is but rather how far does it succeed in opening up vistas
of cognition by def ami liar izing and broadening our understanding
of the past, present and future. Frank Kermode's study of that aspect
in modern fiction is useful here. According to Kermode, it is not the
detail of the referential that is important, but the 'concord' which
the fiction creates between past, present and future. It is the 'new
order' that the fiction creates which enables the reader to broaden
and deepen insight into his or her world. The projection to 'history'
therefore, becomes a part of a more complicated operation:
History, so considered, is a Active substitute for authority and

tradition a maker of concords between past, present and future,
a provider of significance to mere chronicity . . . The novel imi-
tates historiography in this: anything can take its important place
in the concord . . . The merely successive character of events has
been exorcised, the synthesizing consciousness has done its work.
Order, as Giovanni Gentile puts it, 'has ceased to be a succession
and become an inter-connexion of parts all mutually implied and
conditioned in the whole'. 1 2 7
That highly modern view of fiction in which the tendency shifts

from 'a literature which assumed that it was imitating an order to
a literature which assumes that it has to create an order' 1 2 8 is crucial
in studying the motif of ascent in Shikasta. Indeed, in projecting the
reader to the empirical reality and historically verifiable events, the
text does not stop at the point of reflecting the past. Seen from
that perspective only, the novel would be simplistic as history and
uninteresting as fiction. Doris Lessing goes beyond that simplistic
project, to project our history from a perspective that ensures
a fresh mode of recognition. It is here that the science fiction
genre is particularly useful. In the context of science fiction, the
motif of ascent is used not merely to reflect, but more crucially
to distance, in order to achieve its function of 'detachment'. Darko
Suvin, in his Metamorphosis of Science Fiction, points out how the

construction of meaning in the genre depends on the reader's oscil-
lation between the referential and estrangement, which ultimately
creates the 'semantic novum' required since 'its specific modality of
existence is a feedback oscillation that moves now from the author's
and implied reader's norm of reality to the narratively actualized
novum in order to understand the plot-events, and now back from
these novelties to the author's reality in order to see it afresh from
the new perspective gained'. 129 This method of forcing the reader to
oscillate between his analogical faculties and the reality of the novel
is particularly useful in forcing the reader to rethink preconceived
ideas. That is precisely the effect achieved in the reader of Shikasta.
It is useful to refer here to Steven E. Coburn's study of the effects of
the reading of Shikasta on his students. Coburn records the results
of a practical experience with reading Shikasta 'to test the students'
ability to read critically, to use analogical reasoning, and to make a
creative rather than a mechanical (conditioned) response to a per-
suasive text'. Cobum records the results of his practical experiment
as follows:
The slight shifting of the contextual frame that Lessing used in

'The History of Shikasta' to convert historical facts into fictional
assertions disoriented the analytic ability of most of my freshman
students. In particular, it forced them to rely upon their ability
to make an analogical transformation of the material in order
to interpret the text, rather than allowing them to rely sim-
ply upon their convention historical knowledge. In this text, as
in many others, Lessing puts the reader on the epistemologi-
cal defensive by mingling fact and fiction, the literal and the
symbolic 1 3 0
As the reader oscillates between the referential and the imaginative,

he undergoes a process in which he must suspend the ideas and
attitudes that influenced him as a cultural being before experiencing
the unfamiliar world of the text. It is only when the reader has
outstripped his preconceptions and left the shelter of the familiar
that he is in a position to gather new experiences. That process fulfils
one of the main achievements of ascent - namely the deconstruction
of the habitual modes of consciousness to be able to transcend its
limitation. That is precisely what takes place in Shikasta as the reader
is ' [f]orced back and back upon herself, himself, bereft of comfort,
security . . . denuded of belief in "country", "religion", "prog-

ress"' - in short, 'stripped of certainties' (250). Indeed as Lessing
zooms onto history, a demythologizing impulse runs through the
text, presenting a convergence with the generally accepted norms in
vast and diversified fields as politics, religion and science. Projected
to history from an estranged perspective the reader is shocked out
of complacency.
Shikasta abounds with evidences of such a process. In describing
the politics of that period, Lessing defamiliarizes it for us. By
referring to Western Civilization as the 'Northwest fringes', Lessing
decentralizes it and challenges its 'importance in the global scale'
(121). Furthermore, in highlighting the existence and even the
'superiority' of other cultures she challenges the mentality of the
'me-generation' which fails to see its parts in the greater whole.
Her reference to colonized cultures as 'superior to that of the
oppressors' is intended to startle her readers and challenge 'a
particularly . . . self-satisfied' tendency (109). As the text refers to
the Northwest fringes' technological achievement in the context
of the World Wars and their aftermath, it further challenges the
overwhelming faith in that aspect exclusively as 'the key to all
good'. Furthermore, by dismissing as irrelevant political differences
that existed between the conflicting powers in World War I and
World War II, Lessing works to discredit another cultural myth -
that of 'nationalism'. In doing so she challenges one of the most
cherished beliefs which enhances and fuels the call for wars:
The nationalisms of Shikasta, that pernicious new creed which

uses much of the energies that once fed religions, are strong,
and new nations are born every day. And with each, a genera-
tion of its young men and women steps forward ready to die for
the chimera . . . [since] it was possible for a Shikastan to spend
a life thinking not much further than a village, or a town, only
just able to grasp the concept of 'nation'. (248)
In emphasizing the similarity between the two major dictatorship

in power at that time, we are made to see the limitation of national
thinking which inflicts a crippling poverty of imagination on those
subject to it. It is necessary to underscore here that Lessing does
not undervalue the concept of 'nation' as such but the crippling
limitation which makes it 'so difficult, so hard to understand.
When the next town was the limit of their imaginations' (211).
As the text challenges that 'crippling partiality' it promotes a new

order in which the concept of 'nation' is seen as part of a whole, so
that 'while "nation" is strong, devouring, so is the idea of the whole
world as an interacting whole'. Thus, while deconstructing the rigid
boundaries of that pattern of thought, it simultaneously reconstructs
a new order which incorporates nation within a wider scale.
Religion, which is considered one of the oldest 'certainties' (247),
is also challenged. Through inter textual references to the Bible,
Lessing confronts the reader with some of the most established
rituals and religious beliefs. Biblical allusions which we recognize
without too much difficulty, such as the reference to David who is
significantly a 'storyteller and song-maker' (69), to the flood and
Noah's rescue with his crew (129-30), the Tower of Babel and
the initiation of languages (122), the birth of Ishmael and Isaac
to the elderly father Abraham (140), and finally reference to the
advent of prophets - the 'Public Cautioners' - and the 'Christ-child'
(215), are a clear evidence of such a process, However, in these
passages where Lessing gets us recognize our sacred history, she
defamiliarizes it for us. The constant counterpoint between the
biblical version and the fable of the Giants and Natives operates as
a de-mythologizing impulse that runs throughout the text, violating
the rigidity and complacency of that realm and inducing the reader
to rethink that aspect of our lives - in other words to employ
'thought' in the realm of 'faith'. In taking this position, Lessing
attempts to surmount a barrier which she considers as the major
drawback of members of religious creeds - namely their rigid-
ity and incapability for self-examination. In projecting religion as
such, Lessing is undertaking several tasks. She is not discrediting
religion but rather that 'inflexible', 'narrow', 'monolithic' (145)
set of mind it may create. She acknowledges the human craving
for transcendence but dispenses with the militant attitude which
avoids self-examination and makes religion 'the most powerful
of the reality-blunters' (247). In that context, religion has both a
positive and a negative aspect. On the one hand, it has the potential
to counterbalance and curb the 'brutality and violence' in a culture,
but if perverted by the militant it can harden into dogma and lose
its positive effect:
These religions had two main aspects. The positive one, at

their best: a stabilization of the culture, preventing the worst
excesses of brutality, exploitation, and greed. The negative:
a priesthood manipulating rules, regulations, with punitive

inflexibility; (144)
While challenging the rigidity of religious militants on the one hand,

and those who completely ignore religion on the other, Lessing
introduces a new order in which religion could 'become weightier
and more portentous: yet at the same time transparent . . . ' (247).
Another certainty which Lessing attempts to challenge is
grounded in science. Science is described as 'the most recent of
religions' and though it is the most recent 'ideology' cherished in
the Northern Continent on grounds of its promise of openness and
flexibility, it proves to be as 'bigoted and inflexible' as the most
dogmatic religions. By setting science and religion side-by-side as
the novel does, the text defamiliarizes it for us. Furthermore, by
highlighting the destruction and dissolution caused by technology,
it forces the reader to see its limitation and to reconsider its highly
venerated place - in other words it induces the reader to reshuffle
balances so that science and scientists who viewed themselves as
'the great culminator and crown of all human thinking, knowl-
edge, progress -behaved with according arrogance' could 'begin to
know their own smallness' (248-9). The point here is not to exclude
or eliminate science but to find its proportional place within the
overall sources of knowledge.
That view coincides with the Sufi concept of 'equipoise'. Accord-
ing to the Sufis, 'the seeker after knowledge' does not find truth
in any one aspect. Science, religion and sensual perception are all
partial sources of knowledge and it is only in the 'Sufi doctrine
of equipoise between extremes' 1 3 1 that wisdom could be attained.
Addressing a Western scholar, Shah explains the difference between
the Western and Sufi methods of seeking Knowledge as follows:
The difference is that you have chosen one single method of

approaching truth. This is not enough. We use many different
methods, and we recognize that there is a truth which is per-
ceived by an inner organ. 132
Shah iterates in that respect, 'We do not regard intellect as sufficient.

Intellect for us, is a complex of more or less compatible attitudes
which you have been trained to regard as one single thing'. 133 The
Sufis, therefore, do not exclude intellect as a mode of understanding
but they insist that it 'must fall into its right perspective, find its
own level, when the present lack of balance of the personality is

restored'. 134 La order to achieve that, Shah asserts that the ' Western
would-be disciple' should first shed his assumptions - 'Our Western
would-be disciple has to learn that he cannot bring his assumptions
about his own capacity to learn in a field where he does not in fact
know what it is that he is trying to learn.' 135
That is precisely what takes place in the final episode of Johor's
'Additional Explanatory Information II', as one after the other
of the 'certainties' is questioned and challenged. The aim of that
process is to challenge that 'arrogance' and 'pride' - to challenge
'their armour of righteousness, their conviction that they were in
the right. Because of their empire. Because of their religion' (249).
According to Sufis, self-righteousness hinders understanding. As
Shah put it, 'the Veil of Light, which is the barrier brought about
by self-righteousness, is more dangerous than the Veil of Darkness,
produced in the mind by vice'. 136 Furthermore, Sufis consider
that 'pride' binders developing higher levels. Shah asserts in that
context, 'in order to develop higher faculties, self-pride must be
recognized and overcome. This forms another part of Sufi training
and study'. 1 3 7 It is precisely that 'arrogance' and pride which does
not tolerate other points of view, and is incapable of incorporat-
ing other dimensions, that the text attempts to challenge. The
reader who is exposed through the reading of the text to the
interweaving operation of our history, transcends the limitation of
that one-dimensional 'frame of mind'. As the text gnaws through
the ideologies by which the Shikastans abide, it attempts on another
level to interweave a more balanced perspective that incorporates
more than one level - in other words, it involves the reader in a pro-
cess of 'creative destruction' (256). In doing so the text operates to
challenge 'the complacency' of 'a particularly self-satisfied breed'
and opens for the reader other 'possibilities'.
Doris Lessing employs several strategies to ensure the fulfilment
of that effect. Apart from involving the reader in a dialectic exchange
with the reality outside the text, the reconstruction of history within
the text force:? the reader to review7 his past from more than one per-
spective. The aim is to project the reader to his past but not from the
prospect of 'selective memory'. Here, Lessing's great synthesizing
talent is at work. Arranged as an archive, a repository of diverse per-
spectives, she* interweaves stories from the Bible side-by-side with
the scientific theories of evolution. In reviewing his past, the reader
finds himself in a situation of trying to strike a balance between the
competing poles of a dialectic. Science as well as religion attempt to

provide a basis for the universe; however, pursuing each ontology
on its own leads to one-sided insularity, which in the fable leads to
the failure of the Lock and the disruption of the cosmic Order. As
the text introduces the reader to both standpoints, the crucial issue is
that because each excludes the other the result is destructive rather
than constructive - instead of interacting, they cancel one another:
Religion reacted with violence, and civic authority, . . . was

touchy, incensed, punishing, arbitrary , . . few individuals
fought back with courage and spirit, opposing 'superstition'
with 'rationalism' and 'free thought' and 'science'. In one way
or another, each had to suffer for his stand. (240)
The text however, does not stop at this point. As it projects this
dehydrating process, it simultaneously introduces a more positive
one by interweaving the two realms of knowledge - in doing so,
it 'offer[s] the history of one' (240). As it interweaves the story
of the 'scientist' who is also a 'carpenter', it initiates a whole
dynamic in which the reader starts to adopt an attitude of 'free
inquiry' to search for 'truth', for '"new knowledge"' in a library
that accumulates 'works of science' to 'fellow spirits' (240).
That process of interweaving the realm of science with the realm
of religion runs throughout the text, practically inducing the reader
to employ a synergetic process in following the action of the novel.
We are made to see the biblical flood and the inundation of Atlantis
as results of a shift in the Earth's axis. We are also asked to
believe that outer space is not just astrological truth but is also
linked with higher powers. The very title of the series brings
this interaction into play. Furthermore, the very premise of the
series violates Darwin's theory of evolution. Instead of Darwin's
scientifically-based theories, we are asked here to accept the alterna-
tive explanation that combine the existence of a 'higher' reality with
the natural process of evolution from monkeys - it thus introduces
a 'new Cross' (126). Lessing takes Darwin's theory of evolution a
step further to incorporate the Sufi concept of evolution. A basic
Sufi supposition is that just as we have developed from primitive
tool-using animals into intelligent beings capable of philosophic
inquiry and complex technological accomplishment, so we shall
further develop into beings capable of establishing contact with
forces and with levels situated beyond earth and that few people
have developed the spiritual and psychic powers that enable them
to achieve that level. 138
By retelling the history of humanity in terms that resonate
with Christian eschatology, Sufi philosophy and scientific theories,
Lessing obliges us to view our existence in the universe from a
multiplicity of perspectives - in other words, she forces the reader
to create a 'new order' in perceiving the world. The authorial play of
consciousness over history imposes on the reader stringent demands
to connect. The construction of meaning may thus be seen as a
challenge. The reader is confronted by the difficulty of throwing
a bridge between entities of a fundamentally different nature. We
stretch our imagination to incorporate more than one level, the
object of which is to cure our fragmentation and 'partiality'. By
combining the interests of science fiction and sacred literature
in a delicate generic balance, therefore, Doris Lessing creates a
dynamic dialectic which is useful in bringing equilibrium into
practice. She therefore sheds doubt on reason, only to open a door
that admits other realms of perception. Thus while challenging the
'certainties' of science and religion, she sows seeds of hope as to
whether an interaction between both modes could enrich the 'tree of
knowledge' and open up a vast realm of 'possibilities'. The constant
counterpoint between the two realms provides rich ground for such
equilibrium to take place, preparing us to gather new experience as
Johor concludes this section of his reports, calling on his audience to
employ 'faith . . . After thought . . . With an exact and hopeful
respect' (257).
It is then that the text exposes us to the first of three climactic
episodes of ascent. In the final episode of part one of Shikasta, this
is enacted in epitome with the feminine and masculine Principles
- an interaction between ' h e / s h e ' propelling the action forward
to attain an image of ascent. Nature figures as the key image in
that episode and it is illuminating to study its significance in terms
of Sufi philosophy. According to the Sufis, symbols manifested in
Nature are means of activation of levels of perception. As Laleh puts
it, 'Everything in creation is a symbol', and 'It is through symbols
that one is awakened; it is through symbols one is transformed'. 139
Symbols, according to Sufis, are crucial as means of learning and
understanding the universe. They are means of mediation between
the phenomenal and the spiritual world. 140 It is only when the Sufi
is able to perceive such symbols that he ascends to levels of under-
standing which transcend the phenomenal world. This realization
is often expressed as a 'spiritual awakening', in which 'the mind

reawakens to the phenomenal world'. 141 Perceiving and expressing
symbols, therefore, marks for the Sufis stages of understanding
referred to in terms of light and darkness. 142 The culmination
of that process is when the individual recaptures a vision where
'one was at one with nature. By doing so, one unveils one's ego
oriented attitudes, and each unveiling removes a darkness which
allows more light to shine through.' 1 4 3 This marks the beginning of
'transformation' which is 'the goal of the Quest'. 144
Among the important 'cosmological symbols' is that of the 'Tree'.
According to the Sufis, the epitome of knowledge is expressed
through the 'Tree of Knowledge', which has its roots in the phenom-
enal world but is also connected with the World of Archetypes and
therefore figures as the crown of knowledge that combines between
both levels of cognition. Laleh refers to Ibn Arabi's description of
this symbol as the epitome of knowledge:
The whole of the cosmos is seen as a tree, the Tree of Knowl-

edge . . . The tree has sent down its roots, sent up its trunk, and
spread out its branches, so that this world, the world of Symbols,
and the world of Archetypes, are all contained by this Tree. It is
the symbol of wisdom which, through roots in meditation, bears
fruit of the Spirit. 145
In Laleh's study of the cosmological symbols, she refers to the

'Cosmic Tree' in all the stages of ascent. According to Laleh, there
are four stages of ascent in the 'Gardens of Paradise' through which
'the mystic makes use of the thinking function in its highest form'. 146
The climax of that ascent is when the mystic reaches the 'Tree of
knowledge' whose 'roots are in the lower part, but its fruit grows
in the upper regions'. This stage marks the potential interaction
between two levels of perception where 'the kernel receives nour-
ishment and delights from the fruit of contemplation'. It is at this
stage that the masculine and the feminine principles are reconciled
as a symbol of completion. Referring to that stage of ascent, Laleh
concludes that 'here, structurally, the feminine principle is reaching
towards completion in the masculine principle'. 147
That is precisely the stage in the final episode of part one of
Shikasta where 'a man, a woman', glancing out of the window, share
a vision of the tree whose roots are 'dragged in the soil' but 'the
mind meditating there sees its supporting ribs, the myriad of its
veins branching and rebranching . . . ' (254). Emerging from their

'sleeping', the male and female at the centre of that episode look at
a leaf that fell from the tree and perceive the cosmic order beyond
the physical level:
There it lies in a palm . . . balanced like a feather, . . . and the

mind meditating there sees its supporting ribs, the myriads
of its veins branching, and rebranching, its capillaries, the
minuscule areas of its flesh which are not - as it seems to this
brooding human eye - fragments of undifferentiated substance
between the minute feeding arteries and veins, but, if one
could see them, highly structured worlds, . . . a universe in
each pin-point of leaf . . . for the slightest shift of vision shows
the shape of matter thinning, fraying . . . And this is what an
eye tuned slightly, only slightly, differently would see looking
out of the window at the tree which shed the leaf on to the
pavement . . . (254)
According to the Sufis, the crucial point is to be able to see beyond

the physical level and to see that level in its rightful proportion as
part of a whole. That is the first sign of enlightenment. As Shah puts
it, 'this getting into tune with the whole plan, the comprehensive
action of life, is essential to enlightenment'. 148 That perception
which incorporates and transcends the physical level is, to Sufis,
knowledge of a different dimension:
It comes into your consciousness as a truth different in quality

from other things which you have been accustomed to regarding
as truths. By its very difference you recognize that it belongs to
the area which we call '"the other"'. 149
That is precisely how the ' h e / s h e ' perceive the tree after they had
shed 'all the old supporters' (250):
the man, glancing out of the window, forcing himself to see the
tree in its other truth, . . . may see suddenly, for an instant, so
that it has gone even as he turned to call his wife: Look, look,
quick! - behind the seethe and scramble and eating that is one
truth, and behind the ordinary tree-in-autumn that is the other
- a third, a tree a fine, high, shimmering light, like shaped
sunlight. A world, a world, another world, another truth . . .
(256)
Reference to light is illuminating in that context. As the individual

sees light, it signifies the stage of 'baqa' in which 'the mind reawak-
ens to the phenomenal world, but now these forms and images are
objective forms in which the Divine Essence manifests itself'.150 It
is only then that the individual fulfils the goal of the Sufi quest.
As Shah puts it, 'it is the production of this condition which is the
objective of the dervish Orders'. 1 5 1 The climactic episode of part one
in Shikasta in which the man and woman share a vision of light,
where 'he will look up and out and see a little smudge of light'
(255) and where a 'high, shimmering light, like shaped sunlight'
illuminate their view of the universe, signifies the culmination of
the quest.
Further reference to 'sunlight' in that context adds to the signifi-
cance of the episode. Reference to sun is significant of immortality,
as 'the sun which lights the day is the symbol of the Spirit which
lights the next world'. 152 It is worthwhile noting here that the
perception of immortality figures as one of the stages of ascent
in the Gardens of Paradise and is therefore described in terms of
the symbol of the 'Cosmic Tree' which the mystic encounters in
each stage of his ascent. According to Laleh, before reaching the
' Tree of Knowledge' the mystic must encounter the ' Tree of Life or
Immortality'which grows in the'Garden of the Heart . . . the abode
of intuition'. It is here that the mystic perceives 'universal meaning
which relate all forms and images to the inner sameness existing
within all things'. 1 5 3 It is the incorporation of that transcendental
level that signifies the fulfilment of equilibrium and it is on this
point that Johor, activating the levels of perception, places his
emphasis - Tt is here, precisely here, that I place my emphasis'
(250). As mentioned earlier, that level cannot be attained unless
the veil of the ego is shed. Thus it is only when the Shikastans are
'stripped of certainties' that they are able to transcend the level of
violence and see beyond:
stripped of certainties, there is no Shikastan who will not let

his eyes rest on a patch of earth, perhaps no more than a patch
of littered and soured soil between buildings in a slum, and
think: Yes, but that will come to life, there is enough power
there to tear down this dreadfulness and heal all our ugliness
- . . . and in war, a soldier watching a tank rear up over a
ridge to bear down on him, will see as he dies grass, tree, a
bird swerving past, and know immortality.
It is here, precisely here, that I place my emphasis. (250)
Only when the Sufi is able to transcend the physical level and
conceive of nature as immortality can he perceive a level of crea-
tivity beyond the destructiveness that faces him. It is here that the
episode takes a new turn as the description of the phenomenal world
transcends the messages of destruction that the 'mind' detects and
unravels messages of regeneration and creativity. According to
the Sufis, that concept of creation in which constant recreation
is the mainspring is fundamental and only those enlightened can
perceive it:
The universe, in the Sufi view, is being re-created at every

moment . . . At every moment creation is annihilated and re-
created . . . the world is in intense motion . . . The flow occurs
in such an orderly, successive manner, according to definite
patterns, that we are unaware of it, and the world appears to us
to stay the same. This ever-new creation is a process which only
the human form endowed with consciousness of Self can come
to know . . . These people who do not perceive are in confusion
because they do not know the constant renewal of things with
each Divine Breath. 154
That note of 'recreation' and the perception of nature as a constant

flux of creativity is the keynote of that episode of Shikasta where
'nature, the creative fire spawning new forms as we breathe' (251)
sets the rhythm of the scene. It is in that concept of Nature that the
reality of the tree with the 'myriad of its veins' resides:
that is what this tree is in reality, and this man, this woman,
crouched tense over the leaf, feels nature as a roaring
creative fire in whose crucible species are born and die
and are reborn in every breath . . . every life . . . every cul-
ture . . . every world . . . the mind, wrenched away from its
resting place in the close visible cycles of growth and renewal
and decay, the simplicities of birth and death . . . (255)
Reference to death and life 155 in that context signifies a realiza-

tion of opposites. According to Sufis, it is only through opposites
that truth can be perceived. Rumi refers to the 'opposition within
the fundamental structure of the natural world' where 'Everyday
experience confirms this truth, for the existence of the myriad

things of the world only becomes possible through differentiation
and opposition'. 156 In his poetry, 'Rumi alludes to the opposition
within the fundamental structure of the natural world, i.e. the four
elements; earth, air, fire and water' as evidence of the necessity to
incorporate opposites in order to perceive cosmic equilibrium. 157
Once the realization of opposites is enacted, the individual, accord-
ing to the Sufis, reaches a stage referred to as the 'gathering of
opposites' 1 5 8 in which the feminine and masculine principles are
reconciled to the existence of opposites in the phenomenal world.
That concept sheds light on what takes place in that episode in
Shikasta where the male and female are reconciled to the idea of
nature as 'a fighting seething mass of matter in the extremes of
tension, growth and destruction, a myriad of species . . . ' (255),
where:
there can be no rest, in the thought that always , at every

time, there have been species, creatures, new shapes of being,
making harmonious wholes of interacting parts, but these over
and over again crash! (255)
It is that reality that Anna of The Golden Notebook had to realize in

order to outgrow her frustration and which the Giants needed in
order to regain their power.
It is significant that after the realization of the co-existence of
opposite forces in the phenomenal world, the episode culminates
in hope, referring to Noah's dove directing the action 'to go forth'
despite the existence of destructive forces (255). Reference to Noah
here adds to the significance of the episode. In the context of Sufi
philosophy, reference to Noah signifies the culmination of the
learning process. According to Sufis, learning is attained in two
ways. One is the gaining of the doctrine or law, the second is
experiencing. This is symbolized by Noah's Ark which is made
of 'planks and dowels'. 'The planks are "knowledges" and the
"dowles" are action. Without the Ark one is drowned in the flood of
materiality '. 159 As that culminating scene refers to Noah, it therefore
signifies the culmination of the learning process. However, the point
is that there is 'no rest'. The masculine and feminine are not allowed
to rest: 'He cannot rest in thoughts of the great creator, nature', and
'she cannot rest in her familiar thoughts of the great reservoir of
nature' (251); but are looking for further development, 'are looking
for the mutations which she knows are working there, will soon
show themselves'. Nature is no more a resort, but a manifestation
of dialectic creativity, a dynamic interaction between 'extremes of
tension', 'growth, destruction, a myriad of species' where 'there
can be no rest' and it is only through that constant interaction that
there is always hope 'that the rains of next week will seep the leaf-
stuff back through the soil to the roots, so that next year, at least, it
will shine in the air again' (256). Reference to 'rains', 'soil', 'shine',
'air' in that context is significant as the episode culminates in an
image evoking the four elements of cosmic equilibrium - water,
earth, fire and air, respectively.
The realization of Nature as 'a dance of atoms' (250) and of
themselves as 'a species among myriads' (252) is associated with
the concept of the 'reflective Mirror' referred to earlier as the goal
of the Quest in which the mystic becomes one with nature as he
reconciles opposites and perceives multiplicity-in-unity. It is only
when the Sufi sees multiplicity-in-unity that his quest is completed.
'Consumed in the Light, . . . the mystic has reached the goal of the
quest, the truth of Certainty': 160
To the Sufi, creative expression which results from participation

mystique - that is, a state of being one with nature, although not
conscious of the Divine Presence - is an expression of one's vision
of self within self. It is an expression which is not reflective, not
polished, not aware of the total possibilities inherent in the nature
of things. It is only through conscious expression that one has the
more perfect vision of self reflected in qualities of something else.
The only way that expression can serve in its full capacity is when
it is reflective. 161
According to Sufis, it is only when a Sufi is able to attain such

perception, in which all physical forms - human and natural phe-
nomena - become as mirror mediating between the 'spiritual' and
the 'phenomenal world', that the darkness is relieved and he is able
to perceive 'possibilities'. As the narrator of Memoirs encounters the
'realm of possibilities' in her ascent, so do a few of the Shikastans as
this episode concludes:
This, then, is the condition of Shikastans now, still only a few,

but more and more, and soon - multitudes.
Nothing they handle or see has substance, and so they repose
in their imaginations on chaos, making strength from the pos-

sibilities of a creative destruction. They are weaned from every-
thing but the knowledge that the universe is a roaring engine
of creativity, and they are only temporary manifestations of it.
(256-7)
It is that reconciliation of opposites which releases Anna from her

frustration and provides her with patience and courage to accept her
role as 'boulder-pusher'. Similarly, after the enactment of reconcilia-
tion of opposites in that episode in Shikasta, 'few' Shikastans attain
the 'patience' and 'courage' required to transcend their frustration:
It is an ironic, and humble, patience, which learns to look at a

leaf, perfect for a day, and see it as an explosion of galaxies, and
the battleground of species. Shikastans are, in their awful and
ignoble end, while they scuffle and scrabble and scurry among
their crumbling and squalid artefacts, reaching out with their
minds to heights of courage . . . (257)
Having achieved such heights, the text then leads us to follow

Johor in his urgent journey to pursue his task on Shikasta. It is
important to note here that the first part does not close with the
episode of ascent but rather pursues Johor's incarnation in order
to return to Shikasta. Johor's return to Shikasta at that stage of his
journey has a crucial significance in the context of Sufi philosophy.
Although the fulfilment of ascent is the consummation of the quest,
it is the return to outer social reality which is the crucial test
for equilibrium according to the Sufis. The Sufis regard mystical
illumination and the ascetic union with Nature, Divinity and the
perception of cosmic order as valuable only if they result in making
the Sufi a more useful member of the community so that 'he
"returns to the world", to guide others on the way'. 1 6 2 Unlike
other modes of mysticism, which believe that reality is primarily
spiritual and regard 'ascent' as the end of achievement, Sufis believe
that reality is the interaction between the spiritual and the material
world arid therefore insist on a start from and a return back to
ordinary reality. Shah puts this clearly:
Mankind, according to the Sufis, is infinitely perfectable. The

perfection comes about through attunement with the whole of
existence. Physical and spiritual life meet, but only when there
is a complete balance between them. Systems which teach with-

drawal from the world are regarded as unbalanced. 163
The crucial test for a Sufi teacher, in order to become a leader

or 'Guide', is to achieve that balance between detachment and
involvement. Shah puts that point forward in his discussion of the
Sufi teacher:
The ascetic who has attained detachment from things of the world
and is thus himself an externalized incarnation of what seems to
the externalist to be detached is not a Sufi master. The reason is
not far to seek. That which is static becomes useless in the organic
sense. A person who . . . has been trained to have this function,
the function of detachment . . . 'never shows agitation', and by
depriving himself of one of the functions of organic as well as
mental life, he has reduced his range of activity . . . 164
In that context, it is crucial to the development of Johor as a

'leader' that he returns to Shikasta without further 'delay' (257).
This operation is further concurrent with Canopus' early warning
not to remain in any one level for long. Johor returns to Shikasta as
George Sherban, who eventually becomes an 'undisputable leader'
(418) of the younger generation. By working from within the culture,
he manages to lead others on the way. According to the Sufis,
this ability to take on 'the guise' 1 6 5 of the culture in question is
another basic requirement for a Sufi to prove his 'maturity' and
ability to deliver his message. To become eligible as a 'Guide', the
Sufi teacher has to lead others from within the community and to
establish a means of communication according to the 'level' of their
development - a matter which only a Sufi teacher can assess. 166 As
a Sufi teacher, Johor takes on the guise of the culture in question.
He enters Shikasta 'on the necessary level' (257) in order to be
able to communicate his message and to try to halt the planet's
degeneration from within.
The description of the incarnation evokes in the reader's mind
levels from the fable, with reference to Zone Six with its 'churning
sands'. Johor passes through the zones urging people 'to find work
in other zones' and not to be 'fastened' within one level, warning
of the danger of the 'standstill' situation and facing again the threat
of the loss of memory as he and Ben, a fellow emissary whom we
met earlier in the fable, are reborn as twins Benjamin and George
Sherban to enlightened, 'well balanced' (258) British parents serving

medical missions in Africa.
A visual break in the text - two black bold lines - initiates the
story of Johor's further experiences on Shikasta told primarily by
the journal of his sister Rachel. Rachel Sherban is a young woman
who is trying to 'understand' the enigma of her mystifying brother
George, whom we know already as Johor. She has been advised
by a mentor to write down all her observations of George and her
perception of life - an instruction which complies with Canopus'
insistence on record keeping. Rachel is in fact the heroine of her
journal, and in writing about George, she reveals more of her own
development. As we become attached to her stories, which fill the
second part of the book, we, on another level of our reading,
start to detect a discrepancy between what we as readers know,
and what Rachel does. Not only is she unaware that George is a
Canopean envoy, but she also is not conscious of the existence of
Canopus. What she records of George, therefore, is based on her
limited knowledge of him on one level only - the physical level.
Thus while she claims 'to be telling the truth', we realize that it is
only one part of the truth - a distorted one-dimensional version of
it. Since by the time we reach that point of the narrative, we have
become privy to Canopus' existence and operations as well as to the
other forces at work on Shikasta, we find Rachel's viewpoint naive in
comparison to what we already know from reading the first part of
the novel. That creates an ironic gap between the reader and Rachel
- a gap which allows us to stand aside further from her, sufficiently
to ponder the limited range of her 'understanding'.
The two section division of the novel therefore achieves a crucial
development of the reader's perspective. Because of the way the
novel has been constructed, a distance is set up between us and
Rachel's point of view - a distance that detaches us from identifying
with her despite the fact that she represents the normative point
of view. The reader's sympathy and interest, which might more
naturally be directed primarily towards Rachel, who operates on
familiar grounds, are thus drawn towards the unfamiliar realm
of Johor's perspective. Our response is further assured by the fact
that Rachel cannot gain our trust for the simple reason that we
know more than she does. Through that ironic gap, therefore, we
are estranged from our habitual view, as we incorporate Johor's
more comprehensive perspective. In other words, in incorporating
Johor's perspective as a 'touchstone' in reading Rachel's journal, we
acknowTedge our acceptance of the Canopean point of view. More

important, in weighing and balancing the two modes of thought, the
reader brings into play his faculty of connecting. What we encounter
in reading Rachel's journal is a kind of intratextual recognition
which evokes levels from the reader's memory. Despite the 'visual'
break between the first and second parts, the reader crosses the
boundaries and connects the two levels, and his understanding
grows in the process. In other words, for reading more into Rachel's
account than she knows, we acknowledge our capacity to transcend
the one-dimensional level.
What makes the interaction more positive is that Rachel does not
stop at this point of limitation but rather develops in the process of
writing her diary. As she goes through the process of 'looking back,
and linking' (283), the episode starts to gain further significance, for
the reader detects motifs of descent and ascent familiar from the
fable as well as the historic section of the novel. In that context,
Rachel's descent and ascent has two basic functions. As it develops
in compliance with the tale-within-tale technique referred to earlier
in which the reader is involved in a 'centrifugal' action as he watches
one after the other of the characters undergo the motifs, it also points
out the spiral direction of the whole project since not only Rachel,
but also the reader, develops in the process. Here lies the second
interesting achievement of the episode. That episode operates on
the reader as Emily's slow development operates on the narrator
of Memoirs. We watch Rachel as the narrator of Memoirs watches
Emily, acknowledging the same process which she has undergone
and developing in the process. As we read Rachel's journal, we
interweave levels from the fable as well as levels from the historic,
and the interaction enriches our understanding of the episode which
gains further significance in that context.
We watch Rachel as she descends to her past, 'to write an account
of [her] childhood' following Hassan's 'orders' and it is through that
process that she 'was understanding things' (276). However, in that
early stage, she faces a difficulty already familiar to us from the
fable as well as the historic section of the novel when she writes 'my
emotions got in the way' (285). Another difficulty which faces Rachel is
her idealism and reluctance to 'face' life in its complexity of good and
evil - a fact which further hinders her understanding and acceptance
of others leaving her 'full of resentment' (285). As we follow Rachel in
her stages of descent, we see how she indulges in roles refusing the
opportunity offered to her to develop. Although she, like George,

is offered the chance to develop through 'the ^special contacts*',
she abstains, preferring instead 'to be in the kitchen cooking . . . and
feeding the chickens' (279). Spending her time in the company of
Shireen and Naseem, she is exposed to the sado-masochistic cycle
of male/female relationship. As Rachel watches 'the ebbs and flows'
of that cycle, where 'he hits her. Then he cries. She cries and comforts
him' (298), she feels the claustrophobic atmoshere of a 'trap' (303).
It is in the company of Naseem and Shireen that the female roles
are 'acted-out' in a sort of 'game' (301), where the 'laugh' and 'jokes'
become necessary manoeuvres - a situation referred to earlier as
'collusion' in which each party complies in a game to sustain their
pseudo-balanced existence. That enactment reaches its climax when
Rachel is forced to face these roles in the mirror of a pool at the centre
of the court. In that episode, whose key images are the ego patterns,
Rachel is made to put on Shireen's dress and is 'dolled up' to fulfil the
female image. She is dressed and made up in a ritual which becomes
the centre of all the women's attention:
She made my lips a dark sultry red like a tart's. She stood me in front
of the cracked glass in the neighbour's room, and the women came
crowding around to watch. (301)
In an episode similar to the final episode of descent in Memoirs,

where Emily projects and mocks the ego patterns in the baroque
mirror, Rachel is made to project her image in the clear water of
the pool. Although Rachel is first reluctant to undergo that process,
she is then made to confront that image of herself as Shireen
gently pushed [her] forward to look in the pool. I didn 't want to. I
felt ridiculous. But I had to . . . I was made to look at myself I was
beautiful. They made me be . . . I was a real woman, their style. I
hated the whole thing. I felt as if Shireen and Fatima were holding me
and dragging me down into a terrible snare or trap. (303)
As she mocks the very attitudes which she is demonstrating, she

pierces the core of these ego patterns, thus 'folding up', a stage of
being manipulated by imprinted patterns of behaviour. As she faces
and distorts that image in the pool, the episode closes with reference
to 'fire', and 'burning' (306), significant of the similar process through
which the narrator of Memoirs undergoes as she passes through the
purifying flame that consumes passion. Significantly, Rachel finds

this experience 'Educational' (304).
Another episode whose keynote is the 'whirl' is of crucial impor-
tance here. Midway through her journal, while still attempting to
understand, Rachel describes an incident in which George picks her
up and whirls her round the room:
This was in the living room. Benjamin came in at this point. He

wanted to be part of it. The moment he came in, things were dif-
ferent, . . . George whirling me about became a different sort of act,
hostile and against me, and not friendly. Which it had been. I could
feel George slowing down because he knew this too. Benjamin tried to
join in the whirling about. . . he wanted to throw me up and down and
whirl me about (322)
That episode evokes the whirlpool scene with the dangers involved
in that stage of descent. While that act of whirling is described by
Rachel on the physical level, it gains further significance when we
incorporate levels from the fable. Early in the fable, the whirlpool
scene figures as a crucial symbol signifying the candidate's reluc-
tance to descend and the dangers involved in that respect. It is
associated with Zone Six where the lost souls are unable to face real-
ity with its complexity of good and evil and are therefore frustrated.
The 'whirling' episode in Rachel's journal, where George, realizing
her reluctance to 'face' life, picks her up and whirls her round,
therefore gains further significance in that context. It is therefore
significant that despite Rachel's initial 'rage', she 'was grateful to
George' who projected her to the whirl.
It is through further contact with George that Rachel's devel-
opment is propelled forward. Having exposed her to the 'whirl',
George then starts to project Rachel to the limits of her 'sheltered
life' (334). A basic obstacle which hinders Rachel's understanding
and development is her idealism which fills her with frustration
and resentment, especially towards her brother George. In accepting
George on one level - as a 'saint' - she fails to understand or accept
his relationship with Suzannah. Although she refers to her attitude
as '*childish*', she feels 'trapped' within its confining boundaries.
Overcome by resentment and despair Rachel describes that 'emotion'
to her mother and decides - 'I can't stand it. . . I can't stand life'
(319). Instead of further sheltering her, however, her mother urges
her 'to face it' - a message similar to the one delivered earlier by Johor
to the inhabitants of Zone Six in the fable. Her mother's words shock
Rachel out of her complacency and start her on the path to growth.
When her mother tells her that 'George isn't a saint, he isn't some sort of
paragon', she starts to acknowledge other 'dimensions' (319) in George
and asserts, 'On that night I grew up' (320). Finally, when George tells
her 'if you can't face all this, then you'll have to come back and do it all
over again', a message which Johor had given Rilla earlier in the
fable, it is then that she starts to see the other side of the matters
- not only the 'beautifid', but also the 'ugly' face (335). It is only
when she acknowledges and reconciles these two opposites that her
life starts to take a positive direction. Instead of her frustration and
negative passivity, she decides to take responsibility towards the
younger generation. When George asks her to help in the Children's
Camps, she finally decides: T am going to actually have to face doing
it' (335). Her relationship with Benjamin also takes a new direction.
Instead of the sado-masochistic cycle in which they were trapped,
she becomes more tolerant towards Benjamin and for the first time
they can have an easy discussion: T cannot remember ever having this
kind of nice easy time with Benjamin before. Not ever. For the first time
I really like Benjamin' (339). However, she realizes that she needs
a continuous effort to retain that level: 'I could see that if I wasn 't
careful we would slip back into the awful quarrelling way we used to be
in' (344).
When George embarks on his 'last trip', he leaves Rachel with his
final message to 'remember' (345). George's final words to Rachel
about 'love' open up 'possibilities. Potentials' and evoke the message
from the fable - the SOWF. As Rachel is about to 'faint', she is
being initiated into another level of consciousness. That segment of
Rachel's journal comes to a climax towards its end as it incorporates
two letters written by George and Sharma Patel. The juxtaposition
of the two letters - written by a male and a female - in that stage of
Rachel's development is significant. It provides a vision whose key
image is balance and equilibrium and most important it denotes a
spiral direction. While George's letter to Sharma depicts a 'dream'
of balance, Sharma's letter depicts the evolutionary direction of
that interaction: 'Our lives together, our love, will fuse into the great
upward march of mankind' (352). While Sharma iterates in her letter,
T remember . . . do *you* remember? - that jewel of a night', the episode
gains further dimensions as the reader detects levels associated with
the motif of ascent. Reference to the 'jewel of a night' in that context
evokes the Philosophers' Stone which signifies the activation of the
levels of perception to attain a vision of equilibrium. George's letter

to Sharma, referring to the 'use of minerals', highlights that issue.
As the letter depicts images of equilibrium on the individual and
collective levels, it evokes a new order in which while the family is
still important - 'the mother is good and balanced and beautiful enough,
and the father is also these things and his line too' - the crucial point
is to see themselves as part of a whole, as 'representatives' and
'bearers of culture'.167 This does not signify loss of individuality
but rather insists on the importance of the individual not as an
isolated experience but as a part of a whole:
it is not with a sense of personal affront, which is how we would, now,

in these days, experience a discussion about - not our wonderful and
precious selves - but our importance as representatives. (353)
That realization of the individual as part of a whole is crucial for

'enlightenment', according to the Sufis. As Shah puts it, a Sufi has
to 're-shape his thinking along these lines' in order to perceive his
place in the cosmic order. In that context, an individual is a complete
individuality as well as part of a whole so that:
They are all taking part in a comprehensive action, although each

is absorbed in his individual action . . . life must be looked upon
as a whole, as well as individuality. This getting into tune with
the whole plan, the comprehensive action of life, is essential to
enlightenment. 168
As George's letter further refers to a time when 'this earth had

close links with the stars and their forces', it starts to acquire
cosmic dimensions, evoking Johor's early message of equilibrium
in an image whose keynote is 'movement' and interaction:
The lives of these people were regulated, every minute, by their knowl-
edge. But this did not mean a clockwork regularity, which is how we
have to think and feel, but a moving with, and through, these always
changing flows of the currents. (356)
Since George's letter echoes Johor's Canopean message, the two

levels interact in the reader's mind and initiate an activity whose
intent is to retrieve levels from the fable. It therefore serves two basic
functions in that stage of the novel. First, it operates as a 'reminder'

of the Orders - a necessity which Johor had expressed in the fable. 169
Secondly, by evoking levels from the fable, it activates the levels
of consciousness, and forces the reader to integrate more than one
level in the memory. In other words, George's letter operates as a
Philosopher's Stone, activating the levels of consciousness.
The juxtaposition of the two letters in that stage of Rachel's
development serves another crucial point as it creates a vivid
interaction between George's 'dream' and Sharma's grasp on the
'actual' - the vision and the real. As George shares that 'dream'
with Sharma, he makes it clear that her 'capacity' for 'the *actual*'
is of great 'value'. It is 'how you put your feet on the earth' which
George finds admirable in Sharma and it is through that interaction
that she can develop 'a language of understanding' (355). It is only after
Rachel is projected to these letters that she starts to work o u t ' [w]hy
should the world need Rachel Sherban if it has SuzannahV (360). Early in
her adolescence she cannot accept Suzannah and what she stands
for - namely the physical aspect of life. After reading these letters
in juxtaposition, she finally gives 'room' to Suzannah in her life.
While Rachel finds this letter useful - 'judging by *results*, this
letter was more for me than for her' (350) - she cannot at this point
grasp the full extent of Johor's message. As Rachel attempts to
'remember', the reader connects and watches her growing, at her
own pace, in the process. Before attaining a higher level of cogni-
tion, Rachel has first to face and acknowledge evil and incorporate
the animal level - a stage which figures as the final phase of
descent.
That is precisely what takes place in the final segment of her
journal where Rachel finally faces and acknowledges evil - 'The
Devil'. It is then that she writes, T feel as if I have suddenly found a
key in my hand' (357). Reference to the animal level is also significant
in that context as she learns to observe and contemplate the way
a mother cat wakes her kittens and shocks them out of their com-
placency in the process (358). The episode closes with reference to
'moonlight', which is associated in her mind with Olga and therefore
evokes the Feminine Principle, the symbol of integration of levels of
perception:
The night before last I woke up and saw Olga sitting on my bed. She was
smiling. At once I could see it wasn 't Olga, it was the moonlight . . . I
felt . . . a sweetness and a longing. (358)
As Rachel starts to ascend to higher levels - 'I keep feeling myself float
off into *unreality*' (358), there 'is a transparency around me, like a film I
can't brush aside. A sort of faint rainbow' (359), she guides others on the
path. The episode in which she projects Suzannah to the 'mirror' and
the feminine image which is the initial step for descent, is significant
of that process. The last we hear of Rachel is that she takes 'disguise'
and travels to several nations to fulfil her task.
We hear of Rachel from the reports of Chen Liu, the Chinese
Overlord 'in charge of the people's Secret Services in Europe'.
While Chen Liu represents the highest political authority on earth
at the time, his understanding is still limited in comparison to what
the reader knows. Like Rachel at the beginning of her career, the
information he offers is limited and distorted by his anthropo-
centric perspective. Thus, while Chen Liu's letters and reports
aim to undermine the credibility of the Sherban's activities to
his 'readers', they themselves subtly counteract this effect. While
the raison d'etre of Chen Liu's letters is to report to the Chinese
Government the Sherbans' movements and activities, and to rec-
ord his efforts to undermine them, they play ironically on that
achievement. They do provide information on George and his
colleagues' movements, but they do it in a way which sheds ironic
light on Chen Liu's understanding of such activities. For instance,
when Chen Liu reports regretfully that George Sherban's brother,
Ben, 'has undergone Top-Level Re-education, with no noticeable
results', we realize thankfully that Ben has not succumbed to the
influence of their 'Education' and that he therefore still 'remem-
bers'. This discrepancy is forced on the reader's attention primarily
by counterpointing Chen Liu's reports with the extracts from the
Canopean Archives as well as the reports by the Sirian Empire and
Shammat's Agents which further affirm that Chen Liu's perspective
is limited and naive. This realization is further reinforced by the
contradiction in tone within his reports to the party on one level,
and his personal letters to his friend on another. While Chen Liu
parrots the party line in his official reports to his superiors, he
expresses his ambivalence in his personal letters to his friend Ku
Yuang. In doing so, he posits the conflict between his public and
private selves in its most trenchant form. Furthermore, while he
refers to his role as 'Overlord' with great reverence, it becomes clear
to us through the process of his writing that he is not only a cog in a
wheel, but also a victim of the whole system. Finally, Lessing throws
in an unexpected development. While Chen Liu tries to convince
his superiors that George has to be 're-educated' in order to be

converted to their rule, he himself is converted to the Canopean
perspective. Thus while Chen Liu attempts to undermine George's
authority, we watch Chen Liu's authority being undermined in the
process. Like Rachel, Chen Liu gradually becomes more receptive
to George's point of view. The last we learn of him appears in a
note from the Archivists to the effect that he and his friend Ku
Yuang 'were sequestered and underwent "beneficient correction"
until their deaths' - a further indictment of the system.
As wre hear from one after the other of all the characters that
populate the second part of the novel, however, we realize their
partial perception of the 'Truth'. While Rachel attempts to 'write
down the facts', Chen Liu attempts to 'rationalize' - and both prove
to be inadequate because they are limited to one level of thought.
Apart from Rachel and Chen Liu, we encounter, on another level,
Sahmmat's agents, and an agent from the Sirian Empire - each
professing their ' Supreme' power and their exclusive point of view
of the 'truth'. The crucial point is that while each knows the truth
only in part, we as readers know the truth in all its dimensions.
The reader is more privileged than any of the characters as he or
she is introduced to the different forces at work. Indeed, a major
feature of this part is the multiple protagonist which bears the
intellectual weight necessary for retaining a healthy interaction in
the reader's mind. Composed entirely of documents, field notes,
interviews and excerpts from official history on the collective level,
as well as reports, letters, diaries on the individual level, the intent
is to maintain an attitude of open questioning rather than to replace
one set of closed convictions with another. That strategy is expressed
in epitome in the Mock Trial episode.
The Mock Trial episode recapitulates the novel as a whole not only
thematically but also formally, for it epitomises the motifs of descent
and ascent and promotes the multidimensional mode of communi-
cation as it operates on more than one level. Not only does this
episode balance and subtly but persistently interrelate the different
dimensions, it is also structurally the point where all the strands
come together. It is the climax of the total plot in the sense that it
is the periphery of all the levels, and in incorporating them helps to
promote the SOWF on which the novel's message is based. Here lies
the fundamental issue of that episode and its relationship with the
theme of equilibrium. In that episode we are challenged to extend
our imagination - a strategy which, according to Lessing, will make
us become 'less lethal to each other'. In other words it operates as a

device which 'heals u s ' from the limited one-dimensional point of
view by forcing us to extend our imagination to encompass others.
In that context, it evokes an earlier episode in which Individual
Three who, tormented by his inability to extend his imagination
'to encompass the dark-skinned in his compassion' (155), wishes if
'Taufiq had been there', to hold a 'trial' that 'would have captured
the imagination of a generation, focusing inner quests and doubts;'
a trial that would 'have led above all to a deeper understanding'
(163). That is precisely the effect of the Mock Trial episode on the
reader. Here, not only Taufiq is present, but George and Ben are also
at its centre.
We hear about the trial from Chen Liu's reports to the council in
Peking and his personal letters to his friend. Chen Liu accumulates
his account indirectly through a network of young patriotic ideol-
ogies and voluntary old informers. As he detects change in their
reports, the reader, in his turn, perceives change in Chen Liu so
that the reader is exposed to several levels of development. As
Chen Liu 'puzzles' over the various reports - 'I was struck then,
and am struck again, by the difference in tone between the early
reports of our agents and the later ones' (396) - he starts to 'learn'
and to 'reflect'. In the process, the reader learns as much about Chen
Liu and his reporters as about the events they are relating. Since the
Mock Trial episode is enacted by Canopean agents - George, Taufiq,
and Ben - and interpreted by uninitiated humans - humans who
are unaware of the 'forces' at work in Shikasta - it simultaneously
suggests multilevelled interpretation.
On the political level, the Mock Trial episode operates, as the
whole of Shikasta does, by forcing the 'audience' to stretch its
imagination to incorporate the other's point of view. Early in
the narrative, politics is being exposed as the realm of 'crippling
partiality' - 'a condition of being blinded by the 'correctness' of a
certain viewpoint' since 'nearly all political people were incapable
of thinking in terms of interaction, of cross influences . . . '. That
episode, where delegates from nations all over the world fill a
Greek amphitheatre with the Planet's young righteousness-seekers,
exposes and deconstructs the limiting one-dimensional point of
view. The fact that George himself is the epitome of two conflicting
cultures forms the initial challenge to the 'audience'. He reconciles
within himself two nations, diametrically opposed in colour and in
culture - India and Britain, persecutor and persecuted. Furthermore,
that this 'almost entirely white man was enthusiastically accepted

by blacks as a representative' is, according to Chen Liu, 'an assault
on their expectations' (377). While Chen Liu does not understand
that choice, referring to it as 'cynical and careless', the reader can see
the significance of that reconciliation. It deconstructs our allegiance
to any one side, and challenges the tendency to establish clear-cut
frontiers. This, according to Chen Liu's informers, was the striking
feature of the scene as a whole: 'My informants were all without
exception, struck by this disposition of the arena, that there was no
clear-cut unambiguous target for their indignation' (383). Instead
of rigid boundaries, there were no dividing lines. 'The spectators
were participants' so that 'there was a continual movement from
the arena to the tiers and back again' (383) thus challenging the
borders of any frontiers. That the defendant was an old man was,
according to Chen Liu /visually as provocative'. While Chen Liu
considers that gesture to be 'a deliberate attempt to weaken the
white side', the point is that it is to weaken the tendency to abide
by any one side - a strategy which simultaneously strengthens our
sense-of-we-feeling. This makes the mock trial 'unprecedented for
its daring, its imagination, its success' (377). That strategy comes to
a climax towards the middle of the episode. While one after another
of the witnesses comes forward to condemn the white races, the epi-
sode takes a new turn as the indictment shifts from the other to the
self. That turn towards the middle of the episode in which the blacks
are projected to their failures so that the accusers become accused,
administers a shock on the audience's perspective - a strategy
whose intent is to deconstruct the political tendency to abide by one
point of view as the only 'correct' one, and simultaneously promotes
the tendency to extend the imagination to perceive the other's point
of view. When Chen Liu addresses his friend apologetically refer-
ring to a 'softening of my ability to see things from a correct class
viewpoint' (386), we start to detect the significance of that change.
On the psychological level, the episode acquires further signifi-
cance as George moves 'into the centre'. The description of the
circular amphitheatre where all the spectators come 'face to face'
is particularly significant in the context of the motif of descent
where 'confrontation' (397) is a keyword. That Greek arena, where
the spectators are 'forced to see', is similar to the pool episode in
which Rachel projects and mocks the ego patterns. The Mock Trial
- as the title signifies - is an enactment of the same activity on
the collective level where the spectators surround the arena and
look on the figures at the centre projecting the ego patterns of the
'white race' as though they were puppets: 170 - '"it was as if we
were looking down at little puppets". "It had a disturbing effect"'
(384). In that context, reference to torches of 'fire' - 'descending
great flaring lit torches' from the four corners to the centre of the
arena which 'was quite dark' - add to the significance of the scene.
As the witnesses descend to the centre of the arena, projecting the
spectators to events from further past to 'more recent' events (396),
the affinity with the motif of descent comes into focus. The witnesses
operate on the spectators' memory as the narrative operates on the
reader's, projecting the whole history in a time capsule. The aim of
descent, as mentioned earlier, is not to throw blame - an activity
which Johor earlier asserts to be futile - but 'to know what went
wrong so as to avoid it' and stop its recurrence. That is precisely
what Sharma points out as she descends to the centre, reminding
the participants that:
Thousands and thousands of years it has been going on, and still
it seems that we are unable to put an end to this monstrous
wrong. Instead we come here to criticize others. (414)
Thus, while Chen Liu thinks that the one 'function' of the trial is
'to air grievances and complaints against the erst white colonial
oppression', the real aim is to trace and understand the 'the root of
this criminal behaviour' (395). As one after the other of the witnesses
approaches the centre of the arena, confronting the white races with
accusations of 'arrogance, ignorance, stupidity' and condemning
materialism - 'Money. Goods. Objects. Eating. Power' (394) - it
gradually becomes clear that these are the very causes of the
Degenerative Disease. It all comes down to the one-dimensional
mode of survival and the loss of memory. This Chen Liu describes
'in more detail' because it made him 'reflect'. He finds the tendency
'to forget' and not to incorporate other realms in the memory to
be 'the key fact' responsible for such criminal behaviour and for
the repetition of mistakes. That inability 'to remember' is also the
cause underlying lack of understanding between the old and the
younger generation. Posing the defendant as an old man is therefore
significant as it projects the old to the young (387). Through such
confrontations the trial attempts to fulfil its function. Halfway in
the episode, however, an atmosphere of 'frustration' dominates the
scene as some experience reluctance to descend - 'avoiding eye
confrontation' (396) and arousing a negative mood in the arena

because of 'an insufficient readiness to boldly grasp'. Reference to
such 'highly pressured occasions [where] there are always those
who seem to spin off, as if from a centrifuge' evokes the whirl
episode which, as studied earlier, is associated with the reluctance
to descend. Finally, as 'conditions were becoming impossible' with
a 'frenzy of restlessness', John Brent Oxford is called upon to
settle the case. Here the episode takes an interesting 'turn' as the
defendant faces and acknowledges his crimes - 'I plead guilty to
everything that has been said' (411). As John Brent Oxford further
projects the Dark Races to their failures, the initial 'indignation' is
followed by an 'easing of the tension' (412) and 'the mood was
one of amiability' (412-13). It is then that we reach the climax
of that episode where George goes 'into the centre' and directs
'self-criticism'. As he directs blame to the 'self rather than to the
'other' the episode takes a new direction. In terms of the motif of
descent, it is only when the candidates stop projecting faults on
others that they can face the 'self and burn the ego patterns. In
the final segment of that episode where John Oxford is destroyed,
the final destruction of the ego patterns takes place. Early in the
fable, Taufiq is introduced as the Canopean agent who has taken
'a false turning' by succumbing to outer roles and denying Johor,
his 'other self, 'his deepest self. Since Taufiq is John Brent Oxford,
the scene in which he is the only one destroyed can therefore be
taken to express, on the psychological level, the change from the
egoic mode of consciousness to a non-egoic perspective centred in
the self. In that context, this signifies the culmination of the motif
of descent where the ego patterns are projected and destroyed.
That destruction of the old man - the old 'villain' (385) - is further
significant if interpreted in terms of Sufi philosophy. According to
the Sufis, the initial operation is to deconstruct the habitual modes
of thought referred to by Nasrudin as the '"Old villain" - the crude
system of thought in which almost all of us live'. 171 In that context,
the destruction of 'the old criminal', 'the white villain' who we
know had succumbed to the outer habitual modes of thought, is
particularly significant. Thus while the Mock Trial episode gains
significance when interpreted in terms of psychology, its meaning
is not fully complete except when complemented by further levels in
terms of the Sufi philosophy. The choice of a circular amphitheatre
as the place of meeting gains further significance in terms of Sufi
philosophy. The circle is the basic centre in the Sufi methods of
teaching. As Shah describes their rituals he asserts that 'the basic

unit of the Sufis is the circle, the "halka"'. 172 He refers to the
chivalric circle as the practice which combines all methods of Sufi
teachings:
Sufi teachers have a combined method which is centered within

their inner circle, technically termed the markaz, 'centrifuge, cen-
tre of a circle, headquarters'. A session of Sufis performing such
exercises is referred to as a markaz; though when not actually
engaged in exercises they might be termed a majlis (session). 173
Further description of the practices taking place in the Mock Trial

episode unravels affinities with the Sufi methods of concentra-
tion. According to the Sufis, in order to attain higher levels of
concentration, certain practices and self-imposed routines have to
be applied and followed rigorously. Reference to such practices is
clear in the Mock Trial episode where the participants soon realize
that 'a routine had been established . . . a self-imposed discipline'
(400). While the spectators are forced 'to sit still' and concentrate
on what is taking place in the centre, the episode reveals further
affinities with the Sufi techniques. Laleh refers to such practices in
the 'Arc of Ascent': 'You must seek a certain stillness. You cannot
hear . . . until you are still. ' 1 7 4 That is precisely the practice imposed
on the audience in the amphitheatre where 'they all understood that
they had to remain completely still to hear anything at all . . . '(386).
Sound is another means of concentration. Imposing silence is a
necessity for that activity. It is therefore significant that, in the Mock
trial episode, 'silence' is imposed as a necessity in order to 'listen'
(383). Reference to light and darkness is further significant in terms
of Sufi philosphy. As Chen Liu attempts to provide the 'reader'
with a picture of 'appropriate light and shade' it becomes clear
that 'the lighting was the most important factor of the trial' (387).
It is significant that when the 'moonlight strengthened', it 'dimmed
the torches, and dwarfed the arena and its antagonists' (400). It is
then that the 'self-imposed discipline' was seen as a 'necessity'.
According to the Sufis, the moon is associated with the Feminine
Principle and the intermingling of the levels of perception so that
'the soul, the feminine principle of the reflective moon within, is
united with the spirit or Intellect, the masculine principle . . . '. 175
Thus, as George and Sharma, the male and the female figures,
gather at the centre of the circle, the episode signifies the completion
of the integration of the levels of perception - the fulfilment of

equilibrium.
Thus as the trial episode resonates on several levels, its meaning
is not completed on any one level. Rather, the meanings interact
and enrich one another so that the political level is complemented
by the psychological depths and the latter is enriched by the Sufi
heights. Only in the interaction between all levels is the meaning
completed.
As this episode promotes a multilevelled interpretation, the words
in the last section of the narrative start to resonate on more than one
level, and it is in grasping the different depths that the meaning of
the whole emerges. The word 'crafts' is a keyword here. Reference to
'crafts' that hover over Shikasta evokes a two-dimensional meaning,
and in unravelling these we unlock the mystery of the 'forces'
that dominate not only Shikasta, but the series as a whole. As
the word resonates on the physical and metaphysical levels, it
evokes in the reader the tendency to fuse different strands to
obtain the overall meaning. That strategy is crucial to the Sufis
as a means of developing the levels of understanding towards
'multiple meaning, depending upon how much or on what level
the individual can grasp them'. 176 It is only when the disciple has
reached a certain stage of his training that he can perceive the levels
of meaning. Shah refers to the effect of that practice on Nasrudin's
disciples:
The disciple understood that the terms which we use for meta-
physical things are based upon physical terms. In order to pen-
etrate into another dimension of cognition, we have to adjust to
the way of understanding of that dimension. 177
A close look at the term 'crafts' as it is used in this episode in Shikasta

reveals a similar practice and therefore imposes a similar demand
on the reader. Initially the word 'crafts' recalls the mysterious
'aircrafts' that hover over Shikasta. But on another level it evokes
'crafts' and 'forces' within Shikasta. The implicit primordiality
that builds at the beginning opens into another level of meaning
- evoking meaning beyond the physical level. It is only in the
interaction between these levels of meaning that we unlock the
mystery of the competing forces that visit Shikasta from 'outer
space'. It all comes down to the initial 'battle' between science
and the spiritual dimension, between logic and intuition, between
Sirius and Canopus. As the narrative proceeds to describe the

'uneasy' relationship between Canopus and Sirius, the patron of
science and technology, that meaning emerges. Sirius is Cano-
p u s ' 'former enemy and uneasy ally'. Instead of interacting and
complementing one another, however, each force experiences the
other as a 'threat' and operates in separate realms. Thus while Sirius
operates its 'experiments' on Shikasta in '"secrecy"', it does not
benefit from the findings of Canopus. It is precisely that 'uneasy'
relationship and the lack of interaction between them that aggra-
vates the situation and allows the infiltration of Shammat, which
grows more powerful as it feeds on that disequilibrium, causing
further degeneration and barbarism on Shikasta. As these forces
hover round the 'whirling shell of metal that encased Shikasta',
the crucial point is that instead of experiencing each other as a
'threat', they should interact and complement one another, for it
is only in '[t]heir happy balances in the structure of forces' that
Shikasta can regain its 'health' and progress as a 'harmoniously
interacting whole' (424). It is only then that 'Shikasta's long night
would end, and be succeeded by a slow return to the light' (424).
Here lies the 'message' not only of Shikasta, but of the whole space
saga, and it is in unravelling the depths in the word 'crafts' that
the message is understood. As Johor's message to the Giants in the
fable resonates on more than one level, so does the meaning in this
section of the narrative. As one meaning is burgeoned into the other
it becomes clear that the crucial point for the Shikastans involved is
'to see things in interaction, a meshing of events, the reciprocation
of needs, abilities, capacities' (429), in other words to reconstruct a
new order.
It is significant that those who survive World War Three are
those who manage to develop 'Capacities' and to speak of their
work together as ' w e ' . As the novel approaches its end, we hear
a number of voices of those 'few' individuals whose 'patience' and
'courage' help to drive the dynamic of the social scale forward. It
is in such individuals that lies the hope for the regeneration of
Shikasta - as the text reaches out for a similar hope in the reader.
It is further significant that while Lynda Coldridge and Dr. Herbert
work together to develop the 'Capacities of contact' (432), Suzannah
is looking after the physical side. Both enterprises are indispensable
for the development of humanity and it is in the interaction between
the teachings of Rachel and Suzannah that Kassim - who delivers
the final words of the narrative - is educated.
The novel closes with a letter from Kassim Sherban - a member

of the younger generation nurtured by Rachel and Suzannah and
guided by George. As Kassim describes the new towns he visits - all
have 'a central square and a fountain' as well as patterns of stones
- his description evokes the mathematical cities referred to earlier
in the fable. If we compare these cities to the early ones, however,
we note a significant development. Whereas the Round City in the
fable 'was a perfect circle, and could not expand', the later one is 'a
circle but with scalloped edges', significant of expansion. While the
early cities are 'uniform and stable' (26), and therefore do not last,
the later ones are 'functional'. The repetition with-a-difference has a
significant function here. As doubling involves a degree of variation,
it is incremented within the narrative to achieve a kind of dialectical
progression. Furthermore, it is worthwhile noting here that while
the early cities have only one form, the later ones incorporate
more than one - the 'six-pointed star' incorporates two intersecting
triangles, and the octagon is composed of six hexagons. This is
a further indication of progression. The keynote of these shapes
according to the Sufis is interaction, expansion and regeneration:
the six-pointed star is the union of two triangles and signifies
'generation of form inward to the centre', while the interaction
between the six-pointed star with the hexagon signifies 'the Gen-
eration of form outward from the centre'. 178 Furthermore, according
to Laleh, the octagon, which is the interaction between two squares,
signifies 'expansion'. 179 Moreover, according to the Sufi Builders,
a sect of Sufism using numbers and frames in delivering their
message, 'eight symbolizes the number of perfect expression' and
is used in delivering the message of '(balance)' denoting forward
direction. 'The meaning here is "The eight (balance) is the way
to the nine'". 1 8 0 Such mathematical shapes developed according
to 'expressions of points' are referred to as 'dynamic geometry',
where forms are used as an expression of complementary stations
between which the seeker constantly moves. 181
As Kassim walks through the mathematical cities, perceiving
their shape, he is accompanied by a dog, a jaguar and 'a lit-
tle yellow bird'. While the dog and jaguar - a member of the
cat family - are associated with the motif of descent, the bird,
as studied earlier, is a symbol of ascent to higher levels. It is
therefore significant that he loses his jaguar in his journey 'up'.
It is significant that before Kassim goes 'up, u p ' the 'path' with
George leading the way 'ahead', he first descends to the old cities
and, like Johor in his early descent, he approaches it with dis-

may:
He took me first of all to one of the old towns, not a big one, . . . I
hated being in it . . . it is a dying town. People are leaving it.
Everywhere buildings are collapsing and not being rebuilt. All
the centre was quite empty. (445)
He then ascends a hillside where they start 'building' a new city

- a star city with 'five points'. As George leaves Kassim, he tells
him ' w h y . . . things [are] so different', why they are 'functional'.
The reader, however, is left 'to work it out'. It is then that George
finishes 'his task in Europe' (446-7) as he leaves Kassim and his
colleagues 'building' the new city.
The novel closes on a note of reconstruction and hope as Kassim
arrives at the conclusion that 'there are a lot like George', 'there are
more and more George-people all the time'. The people establishing
cities at the end of Shikasta recall the image in Memoirs, in which
people are gravely piecing together bits of fabric. Kassim's closing
words, 'we all are together, here we are . . . ' evokes the SOWF. In
referring to 'a wind that clears our sad muddled minds and holds
us and heals us and feeds u s ' it evokes the Breath that spreads the
message of equilibrium in the fable. As the book approaches an
end with an instruction to consult other volumes of the archive,
the reader is implicitly asked not to conclude, not to settle on a
single perspective, but to embark on a journey with the science
fiction saga still in progress to investigate among other things the
'Relationship Between Canopus and Sirius' and to strengthen 'The
Canopean Bond (On Shikasta, "SOWF")'.
5
Conclusion
It is as if the structure of the mind is being battered from

inside . . . Maybe out of destruction there will be born some
new creature. I don't mean physically. What interests me more
than anything is how our minds are changing, how our ways
of perceiving reality are changing.
(Doris Lessing at Stony Brook in 1969)1
I have been concerned, in this study, with a line of development

in Doris Lessing's novels which expresses her growing recognition
of the necessity of the reconstruction of 'our ways of perceiving
reality' in order to achieve a balance between outer and inner
modes of perception. That is the guiding idea in my study and
it is in relation to that development that the main features of
her novels studied here emerge. I have tried to show that Doris
Lesing's novels represent an honest and unflinching response to a
situation which has led the author to see the very structures of the
mind as the bases of the individual and collective predicament and
limitation. In following the course of Lessing's fiction it has become
obvious to me that the strongest line of continuity in her canon is the
development of her recognition of the need for an inward movement
to counterbalance the predominant outer mode of perception. Only
in the achievement of that perennial balance do the characters take
valid action and the novels become developmental.
My work suggests that it is in view of that development that
her methods develop. If the early novels were heavily weighted
in favour of the outward realm, the later novels tend to retrieve
the balance by developing inner modes of perception. Thus if critics
find that the later novels show an increasing interest in inner modes
of perception, it is to balance the scale, not to indulge in one mode
at the expense of the other. It is precisely that balance between
outward and inner modes of perception which attracts Doris Lessing
235
236 Conclusion
to Sufism and it is in relation to that balance that her career develops.

As Bruce Bawer put it, 'the years as a Party functionary had thrown
[Lessing] off balance: her scales had been too heavily weighted in
favor of the outer world. The solution was to restore true balance,
to set up an "inward movement"'. 2 She therefore finds in Sufism a
system of thought which answers her requirements since, as Martin
Lings puts it, the balance of perception is what Sufism is about. In
his book Wltat is Sufism? Lings sums the gist of that mode of Eastern
mysticism as culminating in that counterbalancing operation:
The primordial soul is a unified multiple harmony suspended as

it were between . . . the Inward and the Outward, in such a way
that there is a perfect balance between the pull of the inward
signs - . . . and the signs on the horizons . . . But . . . where
the attraction and the Heart is more or less imperceptible the
balance is broken and the scales are heavily weighted in favour
of the Outer world.
To ask how the true balance can be restored is one way of
asking 'what is Sufism?' And the first part of the answer is that
an inward movement must be set up in the soul to counteract
the pull of the outer world so that the lost harmony can be
regained. 3
That essential balancing effect of Sufism has been illustrated in the

course of my study, and evidence has been found to suggest the
extensive influence it had on Lessing's work.
The fascination of establishing contact with different levels of
consciousness might draw some novelists into a closed private
world. With Lessing, my research has shown that it enriches the
essentially social and realistic pattern of her fiction. To judge from
The Golden Notebook, The Memoirs of a Survivor, and the science fiction
series, she remains highly rational. Throughout these works, as has
been shown, Lessing never undervalues intellect. On the contrary,
she insists on the importance of consciousness and 'cognition'
since, according to her, in order to change humanity one must
first understand. In her interest in Sufism, therefore, she is not
looking away from her situation; she is looking deeper into it from
a multilevelled rather than a one-dimensional perspective. She is
not saying that reality is spiritual or that all is one, but that the
truth of a situation may reveal itself through modes of awareness of
which intellect is but one. In that context, Sufism forms one pole of a
Conclusion 237
dynamic dialectic, with intellect and psychology providing the other

two poles. They exist interdependently as three ways of looking at
the world. It is not a question of which is of primary importance but
of a balance between them without which the individual's potentials
are reduced. 4
That balance has proved to be the crucial test of survival in
Lessing's universe. Thus while Mary of The Grass is Singing has no
chance of survival since she is unable to achieve that balance, the
narrator of Memoirs survives, as the title signifies, by the agency of
retaining the balance of perception in her memory. It is that balance
which gives Anna of The Golden Notebook the energy to become a
'boulder pusher' and it also constitutes the message which the
Canopean 'agents of equilibrium' survive to spread throughout the
Canopus in Argos series.
By analysing the theme of equilibrium in her novels it has there-
fore become possible to see the rationale of Lessing's development
in narrative technique. Increasingly, the theme of equilibrium is
embodied in the structure of the novels, challenging the reader's
habitual modes of perception and forcing him to reconstruct 'a
new order' in perceiving reality. As her work progresses, an ever-
increasing effort is made to force readers to be aware that they
cannot simply 'read' the text. In her writing method she has moved
from an early defence of realism through a variety of introspective
and psychoanalytic forms to a mode of speculative 'space fiction'
which combines her earlier styles, juxtaposing them against one
another, exposing their limitations and creating a synthesis that is
richer than any of its parts.
In the early novel, The Grass is Singing, the omniscient narrator
instructs the reader and shapes his perspective so that a sense of
a restricted world is gained. In this endeavour, the narrative tech-
nique limits the reader's choices and brings home the confinement
of such existence by constantly exposing its limits. The Golden Note-
book, and The Memoirs of a Survivor, on the other hand, undermine
our habitual modes of thinking and challenge the one-dimensional
mode of perception by virtue of their forms. By perpetually forcing
us to incorporate more than one level they open up the possibility of
new, different forms of experience. Lessing thus attempts through
the disjunction of the text to lead the reader to a higher state of
awareness. In that context, Lessing's novels increasingly operate
as the Philosophers' Stone activating the reader's perception. She
is trying to invoke in the reader a new and original attitude of mind
238 Conclusion
in the activity of reading by drawing on Sufi methods of writing.

In short, she has introduced the quintessence of Sufi methods of
writing in which what is important is not only the content of the
book but what it does as real experience to the reader's mind in
initiating a new order of understanding.
In that context, it becomes possible to see the rationale of Lessing's
development towards the science fiction genre. The science fiction
further accentuates the theme of equilibrium by initiating the
process of cognition and estrangement in the reader - a process
which helps to 'create a new way of looking at life'. Through
the interaction of modes of cognition and estrangement, Lessing
ensures the effect required to achieve equilibrium. This effect is
achieved by encouraging the reader to extend his imagination while
simultaneously operating on his cognitive capacity. 5 By combining
the interests of realism and fantasy in a delicate generic balance
therefore, Lessing creates a dynamic dialectic which is useful in
bringing equilibrium into practice.
Critics who refer to her later fiction as indulgences in escapism
and decadence fail to see that, through the productive interaction
between realism and modes of speculative fiction, both her earlier
novels and her science fiction fulfil the two major functions which
are, according to Scholes, required of good fiction: sublimation -
which is mainly connected with non-realistic tradition, and cogni-
tion - which is the aim of the realistic tradition. In The Fabulators,
Scholes refers to the tendency of modern fabulators as 'post-realistic
and post-romantic as well':
The artist as sensitive observer and recorder of man in nature

is a romantic poet. As sensitive observer and recorder of man
in society, he is a realistic novelist. As sensitive observer and
recorder of the motions of his own soul he is a romantic, realistic
autobiographer - a Rousseau. 6
Lessing's success lies in that heterogeneous interaction. The insist-

ence on the juxtaposition of the levels of perception forms the
basic dynamic of Lessing's novels and it is through that interac-
tion that we can achieve further understanding of her works. The
extraordinary range of Lessing's fictional concerns has encouraged
critics to consider her writing in a number of different contexts
- socialist, feminist, psychological, metaphysical, and so on. This
compartmentalising leaves much of Lessing's overall achievement
Conclusion 239
to be explained. To study just one aspect of her novels is to reduce

the achievement of a writer who has come to the conviction that
'we should not compartmentalise'. By incorporating elements from
Eastern as well as Western modes of thought in my study, this
book seeks not to confine the reading to a single angle, but rather
to explain the reasons for retaining the diversity and complexity of
Lessing's novels, and to provide a key to her extraordinary vision -
one that incorporates more than one level and transcends cultural
limitations.
Notes
Introduction
1. The visionary experience is apparent as early as The Grass is Singing in

Mary Turner's moments of intense illumination, which has resonance
in the process of conscious evolution in the later novels.
2. Michael Magie, 'Doris Lessing and Romanticism', College English,
Vol. 38 (Feb. 1977), p. 552. See also Robert K. Morris who argues
in Continuance and Change, 1972, p. 26, that in her later novels Lessing
depicts a 'dead-end world', and Ingrid Holmquist who objects to The
Four-Gated City on the grounds that the 'mystical consciousness leads
to social nullity', in From Society to Nature: A Study of Doris Lessing's
'Children of Violence', 1980, p. 162.
3. See Nancy Corson Carter, 'Journey Towards Wholeness: A Meditation
on Doris Lessing's The Memoirs of a Survivor', Journal of Evolutionary
Psychology (2 Aug. 1981), pp. 33-47, and Alvin Sullivan, 'Memoirs of
a Survior: Lessing's Notes toward a Supreme Fiction', Modern Fiction
Studies, Vol. 26, No. 1 (Spring 1980), p. 157.
4. Nissa Torrents, 'Doris Lessing: Testimony to Mysticism', Doris Lessing
Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter 1980), p. 13.
5. Doris Lessing, 'A Small Personal Voice', in A Small Personal Voice:
Doris Lessing, Paul Schlueter (ed.), 1974, p. 12.
6. Ibid., p. 14.
7. In an interview with Nissa Torrent she asserts:
I recently had to read all my work for reprinting, and in my

first work, The Grass is Singing, all my themes already appear.
Critics tend to compartmentalize . . . At first they said that I
write about the race problem, later about Communism, and then
about women, the mystic experience, etc. . . . but in reality I am
the same person who wrote about the same themes . . . I always
wrote about the individual and that which surrounds him. (Nissa
Torrents, 'Doris Lessing: Testimony to Mysticism', Doris Lessing
Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter 1980), p. 1)
8. Doris Lessing, Preface to The Golden Notebook (1962), rpt., 1973, p. 11.
All subsequent references to this novel will be to this edition.
9. Doris Lessing, Going Home (1957), rpt., 1968, pp. 103, 311.
10. Joseph Haas, 'Doris Lessing: Chronicler of the Cataclysm', Chicago
Daily News (14 June 1969), p. 5.
11. Doris Lessing, 'Smart Set Socialists', New Statesman, Vol. 62 (1
December 1961), pp. 822, 824.
12. In his account of 'socialist realism', Damian Grant argues that the
240
Notes 241
socialist writers' attempt at synthesis is 'illusory, or at least artificial,

because the absolute reality which shall be discovered by the process
of dialectic is pre-determined, it must be socialist reality, conforming
to political ideal . . . the vision of socialist society' (Damian Grant,
Realism, 1970, p. 77).
13. Lessing, 'A Small Personal Voice', in A Small Personal Voice, Schlueter
(ed.), p. 6.
14. Ibid., p. 4.
15. Diane Johnson, The New York Times Book Review (June 4 1978), p. 66.
16. Georg Lukacs, The Meaning of Contemporary Realism, 1963, p. 19. In his
essay, 'The Intellectual Physiognomy of Literary Characters', Lukacs
defines 'Weltanschauung' as follows:
Weltanschauung is a profound personal experience of each and

every person, . . . and it likewise reflects in a very significant
fashion the general problem of his age. (Georg Lukacs, 'The
Intellectual Physiognomy of Literary Characters', L. E. Mins, in
Radical Perspectives in The Arts, Lee Baxandall (ed.), 1972, p. 90)
17. Preface to The Golden Notebook, p. 11.

18. Lukacs, Realism in Our Time, 1964, p. 19.
19. Lukacs, The Historical Novel, 1962, p. 91.
(ed.), p. 7.
21. Ibid., p. 4.
22. Ibid.
23. Susan Stamberg, 'An Interview with Doris Lessing', Doris Lessing
Newsletter, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 4.
(ed.), pp. 10-11.
25. Holmquist, p. 168.
26. Humanistic Psychology in the narrower sense of an organized 'move-
ment' sprang up in America in the early 1950s, initiated by Abraham
H. Maslow (1908-70), and was established as the 'Association of
Humanistic Psychology' in 1962 with James F. T. Bugental as first
president. I use the term in its broader sense as referring to a form of
psychological theory and therapeutic practice based on the humanistic
belief in the possibility of the free individual in a free society and
the view of man as potentially positive. The motivation behind it is
the strong discontent with the two dominant psychological theories,
Freudian psychoanalysis and behaviourism. Both approaches were
felt to be based on a negative view of man. Humanistic Psychol-
ogists feel that man is neither the arduously socialised 'cauldron of
seething excitement' (Freud) nor the outcome of reflexes to which
these theories reduce him. They demand a psychology which takes
account of man as potential being capable of self-realization. Ronald
D. Laing, a British psychiatrist more often labelled as an 'existential
psychiatrist', is an exponent of a parallel approach in England. His
books The Divided Self in 1957 and The Politics of Experience in
242 Notes
1967 introduced important new ideas into the field of psychiatry

at that time. Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961), however, wrote on the
issue of the individual's psychological potential long before Laing
developed his approach. Jung's description of human individuation
is an analysis of the process of self-realisation whose depth and
comprehensiveness makes him eligible to be seen as the spiritual
father of Humanistic Psychology in this broader sense. The first issue
of the movement's periodical, the Journal of Humanistic Psychology,
Vol. 1 (1961), names Jung amongst the psychologists whose writings
illustrate the approach which the movement has in mind (Anthony J.
Sutich and Miles A. Vich (eds), Readings in Humanistic Psychology, New
York 1969, p. 7). I shall draw extensively on the work of both Jung and
Laing in the study of the motif of descent in Doris Lessing.
27. Karl Marx, Frederick Engels, Marx/Engels, Collected Works III, M.
Milligan (trans.), 1975, p. 296.
28. The Enlightenment, as is evident from Kant's reference to the move-
ment, valued highly the power of reason as a weapon in the struggle
for the individual's emancipation, given 'a priori... in the concep-
tions of pure reason'. See Immanuel Kant, Fundamental Principles of
the Metaphysic of Ethics, T. Kingsmill Abbot (trans.) (1879), rpt., 1900,
p. 4ff.
29. Carl Gustav Jung, 'Approaching the Unconscious', in Man and His
Symbols, Carl G. Jung et al. (eds), 1964, p. 94.
30. Jung, The Integration of the Personality, Stanley Dell (trans.), 1940,
p. 52.
31. Jung, The Archetype and the Collective Unconscious, The Collected Works
ofC. G. Jung, Vol. 9, part I, R. F. C. Hull (trans.), 1968, p. 43.
32. Jung, Psychology and Alchemy, The Collected Works ofC. G. Jung, Vol. 12,
1968, p. 41.
33. Jung, Psychological Types, The Collected Works, Vol. 6, H. G. Baynes
(trans.), 1959, p. 419.
34. Increasingly, critics have referred to the correspondence between men-
tal states of Lessing's characters and those of Laing's patients to the
extent that parallels have been drawn between patients' experience
recorded in Laing's books and figures in Lessing's novels, as in the
case of Charles Watkins of Briefing for a Descent into Hell and a patient
of the same surname in Laing's Politics of Experience, pp. 120-37. See
Marion Vlastos, 'Doris Lessing and R. D. Laing', PMLA, Vol. 91, No. 2
(March 1976), p. 253, and Douglas Boiling 'Structure and Theme in
Briefing for a Descent into Hell', Contemporary Literature, 14 (1973), pp.
550-63.
35. R. D. Laing, The Politics of Experience and The Bird of Paradise, 1967, rpt.
1970, pp. 18, 128-30.
36. Ibid., pp. 18, 128-30.
37. Laing, The Divided Self: A Study of Sanity and Madness, 1960, pp. 40-45.
See infra., for further definition of these terms in my study of The Grass
is Singing.
38. Laing, Self and Others, 1961, p. 30.
39. Laing, The Divided Self, p. 40.
Notes 243
40. N. Torrents, 'Doris Lessing: Testimony to Mysticism', Doris Lessing

Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter 1980), p. 13.
41. Letter from Doris Lessing to Roberta Rubenstein, dated 28 March
1977, quoted in Roberta Rubenstein, The Novelistic Vision of Doris
Lessing: Breaking the Forms of Consciousness, 1979, p. 199.
42. Letter from Doris Lessing to Roberta Rubenstein, dated 28 March
1977, Ibid., pp. 230-1.
43. Although Jung's exploration of the unconscious led some critics
to refer to him as a right-wing thinker involved in obscurantist
mythology because of the ahistorical and non-rational nature of
the concept of the 'collective unconscious', yet he still remained
fundamentally loyal to the scientific approach in psychology which
limited his explorations. In his essay on 'the transcendental function'
this confining attitude is evident in his assertion: 'It is unprofitable
to speculate about things we cannot know. I therefore refrain from
making assertions that go beyond the bounds of science' (Jung, The
Structure and Dynamic of the Psyche, The Collected Works, Vol. 8, R. F.
C. Hull (trans.), 1960, p. 90).
44. Idries Shah, The Sufis (1964), rpt., 1977, p. 297.
45. Robert E. Ornstein, The Psychology of Consciousness (1972), rpt., 1977,
pp. 152-3.
46. I refer to the Sufi philosophy's exploration of that realm to denote a
reality which transcends the empirical level in a spiritual or intuitive
sense, but without involving religious exegesis, and it is in that sense
that I use the term ascent (see Shah, The Sufis, pp. 23, 43-4, referring
to the 'nonreligious viewpoint' of Sufism).
47. Idries Shah's position as spokesman for contemporary Sufism has been
acknowledged by a large number of authorities, and Doris Lessing
was introduced to Sufism through his books. She affirms, T read a
book of Idries Shah, . . . I realized it answered many of my questions
and since then I have studied it sufficiently (Torrents, 'Doris Lessing:
Testimony to Mysticism', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter
1980), p. 12).
48. Shah, The Sufis, p. 339.
49. Ibid., p. 299.
50. Ibid., p. 276.
51. Doris Lessing, 'A Revolution', New York Times (22 Aug. 1975), p. 31.
In 'An Ancient way to New Freedom' Lessing further refers to that
central issue as the basic tenet which attracted her to Sufism:
'Man has had the possibility of conscious development for ten

thousand years', say the Sufis. . . . I have believed this all my
life, and that the idea is central to Sufism is one reason I was
attracted to it. (The Diffusion of Sufi Ideas in the West, L. Lewin
(ed.), 1972, p. 50)
52. Hyam Maccoby, 'Heaven and Shikasta'', The Listener (22 Nov. 1979),
p. 716.
244 Notes
54. Ibid.
56. Shah, The World of the Sufi, 1979, p. 1.
57. Since 1964, Lessing has written numerous articles and essays on
Sufism. See the Bibliography.
58. Lessing, 'An Ancient Way to New Freedom', in The Diffusion of Sufi
Ideas in the West, L. Lewin (ed.), p. 50.
61. Ibid., p. 302.
62. Ibid., p. 126.
63. Ibid., p. 26. It is worthwhile noting here that Doris Lessing empha-
sizes the point that Sufism differs from the Western concept of
mysticism. In 'An Ancient Way to New Freedom', she asserts that
Sufism is 'a far cry from what our conditioning has taught us
to call "mysticism"' (pp. 53-4). Her essay on the issue opens as
follows:
For a long time 'mysticism' has been almost a joke in the West,
although we have been taught that at the heart of the Christian
religion have been great mystics and religious poets. If we knew
more than t h a t , it was that these people's approach to God was
emotional, ecstatic, and that the states of mind they described
made ordinary life look pretty unimportant. But our information,
in a Christian-dominated culture, did not include the fact that
the emotional road was only one of the traditional, and very
ancient approaches. (The Diffusion of Sufi Ideas, L. Lewin (ed.),
p. 44)

65. Nasrollah S. Fatemi, in 'A Message and Method of Love, Harmony
and Brotherhood', explains that:
Sufis divided the works of God into two kinds - the per-
ceived world and the conceived world. The former was the
material visible world, familiar to man. The latter, the invisible,
spiritual world. The Sufis tried to show that in the relation
existing between them could be found the means whereby man
might ascend to perfection. (In Sufi Studies: East and West, L. F.
Rushbrook Williams (ed.), 1973, p. 59)
66. Lessing, 'In the World, Not of It', in A Small Personal Voice, Schlueter
(ed.), p. 133.
67. Lessing, 'The Ones Who Know', Times Literary Supplement (30 April
1976), 514.
68. Since Ornstein's study encompasses Western psychology as well as
esoteric traditions, it is more comprehensive for my point here. It is
also worthwhile noting here that Laing uses the term 'egoic' for the
Notes 245
outer mode while Ornstein uses the term 'rational'.

69. See Ornstein, The Psychology of Consciousness, pp. 12,124, 231,126,141,
127ff.
1 The Grass is Singing
1. Lessing, The Grass is Singing (1950), rpt., 1980. All subsequent refer-
ences to this novel will refer to this edition.
2. Lessing, 'Preface for the 1964 Collection', Collected African Stories,
Vol. I, 1973 (unnumbered).
3. See Doris Lessing's comment on that issue in an interview with Nissa
Torrents, supra. Introduction, note 12.
4. It is worthwhile noting here that Marston occupied a more promi-
nent role in the first version of this novel. In her article 'My first
book', Lessing refers to her early version of The Grass is Singing,
which was first entitled Grass, referring to the character of the
'young idealist Englishman' who 'does not either leave, or change
himself to fit his new surroundings', but 'sticks out, challenging
everything around him, with the sincere and radiant conviction
of his rectitude', as occupying 'two-thirds' of that early version
(Lessing, 'My first book', The Author, Vol. 91 (Spring 1980), p.
12).
5. This is not to say that Doris Lessing was directly influenced by Laing
at this stage, for The Grass is Singing predates Laing's publication
of The Divided Self by nearly a decade. However, though no direct
influence is implied here, I refer to Laing as a point of reference in
my study in compliance with the earlier definition of the motifs, since
the correspondence between mental states of Lessing's characters and
Laing's observations is instructive in understanding the rationale of
Lessing's characters.
7. See ibid., pp. 100-12.
8. Laing, Self and Others, p. 30.
10. lung, The Integration of the Personality, p. 303.
11. Ibid., p. 111.
12. Ibid., p. 303.
13. Ibid., p. 111.
14. Laing, The Politics of Experience, p. 75.
15. Jung, Aion, Vol. 9, p. 71.
16. Eve Bertelsen, 'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Doris Lessing, Eve
Bertelsen (ed.), 1985, p. 102.
17. Wayne C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (1983), r p t , 1987, p. 112.
18. Ibid., p. 175.
19. D. C. Muecke, Irony, 1970, p. 37.
20. Bertelsen, 'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Doris Lessing, Eve
Bertelsen (ed.), p. 101.
246 Notes
2 The Golden Notebook
1. Ornstein, The Psychology of Consciousness, pp. 12,124,126, 231.

2. Shah, The Sufis, p. 295. *
3. Ibid., p. 129.
4. It is necessary to note here that though critics refer to Lessing's
allegiance to Sufi philosophy, starting with the publication of The
Four-Gated City in 1969, I contend that her interest in that philosophy
predates that period. Evidence of that interest emerges in her article
'What Really Matters' published in 1963, in which Doris Lessing
criticizes current methods of education. Like Sufis, she argues against
compartmentalization of thought and advocates a new method of
education which would operate by exerting 'shocks' on a candidate
as a means of initiating the individual into a new awareness: 'edu-
cation should ideally be a series of shocks. Every child should be
dazzled, startled, shaken into realizing continuously his or her unique,
extraordinary potentiality' (Lessing, 'What Really Matters', Twentieth
Century, Vol. 172, Autumn 1963, p. 98). This method of learning
suggested by Doris Lessing is precisely the method advocated by Sufis
as a necessity 'to escape the trap of customary thinking-patterns'.
In Learning How to Learn, Shah explains how such methods are use-
ful to 'shock' and 'jolt people' as a means of overcoming the difficulty
of transcending limited one-dimensional thinking to new realms of
understanding (Shah, Learning How to Learn: Psychology and Spirituality
in the Sufi Way, 1978, pp. 128, 48 et passim). It is that difficulty which
is central to Anna's block in The Golden Notebook, whose 'essence, the
organization of it, everything in it, says implicitly and explicitly, that
we must not divide things off, must not compartmentalize' (Lessing,
1971 Preface to The Golden Notebook, p. 10). Further evidence of the
early influence of Sufism on Lessing appears in her 'Testimony to
Mysticism' where for the first time she asserts that her interest in
Sufism started 'at the beginning of the 1960s' (Torrents, 'Testimony
to Mysticism', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2, p. 12).
5. Julian Mitchell, Spectator (20 April 1962), p. 518.
6. Irving Howe, 'Neither Compromise, nor Happiness', New Republic (15
December 1962), pp. 17-20.
7. Elizabeth Wilson, 'Yesterday's heroines: on Rereading Lessing and de
Beauvoir', in Notebooks/Memoirs/Archives, Jenny Taylor (ed.), p. 71.
8. Elizabeth Hardwick, 'The Summer Before the Dark', The New York Times
Book Review (13 May 1973), p. 1.
9. Roy Newquist, 'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Small Personal Voice,
Schlueter (ed.), p. 51.
10. Annis Pratt, in 'The Contrary Structure of Doris Lessing's Golden
Notebook', has related the main duality in The Golden Notebook to
Blake's myth of innocence and experience. Pratt finds this dichotomy
central to the novel (Pratt, 'The Contrary Structure of Doris Lessing's
Golden Notebook', World Literature Written in English, Vol. 12 (Novem-
ber 1973), pp. 150-61). While I agree that this duality expresses Anna's
frustration, I make the proviso that this dichotomy is but a symptom
Notes 247
of the central problem facing Anna, namely her alienation from the
inner self and the imprisonment in the one-dimensional mode of
perception which refuses 'to fit conflicting things together'.
11. Jung, Man and his Symbols, p. 83.
12. Jung,The Integration of the Personality, p. 71.
13. This technique becomes a major one in Lessing's later novels - The
Memoirs of a Survivor, the Canopus in Argos: Archives series and later
also in The Diaries of Jane Somers - as the title of these works signify.
14. Rubens, 'Footnote to The Golden Notebook: Interview with Doris
Lessing', The Queen (21 August 1962), 32.
16. See Jung, Aion, pp. 11-12.
17. Ibid., p. 12.
18. Laing defines this state of 'collusion' as a 'game' played by two or
more people whereby they deceive themselves. The game is the game
of 'mutual self-deception'. Self and Others, p. 90.
19. Lessing, 'An Elephant in the Dark', The Spectator (18 September 1964),
p. 373.
20. Ornstein has described the inner mode of perception as being 'often
devalued by the dominant, verbal intellect' since it 'often appears
inelegant, lacking formal reason, linearity and polish of the intellect'
(The Psychology of Consciousness, p, 231).
21. This is a significant variation on the Marxian dialectic which finds
expression in Engels' principle that the unjust mode of production
will eventually bring about its own dissolution: 'the elements of
the future new organization of production and exchange which will
put an end to those abuses' will be revealed 'within the already
dissolving economic development' (Marxism and Art: Essays Classic
and Contemporary, Maynard Solomons (ed.) 1973, p. 73). Ironically in
that context of the Marxian dialectic, Doris Lessing reverses Engels'
assumption. Whereas Engels anticipates that change and progress will
eventually grow out of that dialectic process, Anna sees it as a cycle of
frenzied repetition in which 'the elements of the future organizations'
are entrapped in a vicious circle that propagates death rather than
life. It is worthwhile noting here that the dialectic process appears
in Lessing's fiction as regressive so long as it is depicted within the
political level only. Later in her science fiction, the dialectic process
takes a pogressive direction because it incorporates more than one
level.
22. Mary Anne Singleton, The City and the Veld: The Fiction of Doris Lessing,
1977, p. 68.
23. Jung, The Psychogenesis of Mental Disease, Vol. 3, p. 177.
24. Jung, The Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious, Vol. 9, part I, p. 42.
25. Ibid., p. 43.
26. Fatemi, A Message and Method of Love', in Sufi Studies: East and
West. L. F. Rushbrook Williams (ed/), p. 59.
28. M. L. Von Franz, 'The Process of Individuation', in Man and his
Symbols, p. 207.
248 Notes
29. Jung, The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, p. 69.

30. Shah, The Sufis, 296.
31. See Shah's reference to this quality of 'detachment' as essential to
overcome frustration and to attain freedom and further understand-
ing, The Sufis, p. 23.
32. Reference to 'walls' in that context becomes a major element in
Lessing's fiction, denoting transcending limitations of perception
as in The Memoirs of a Survivor and The Representatives of Planet
8.
33. The use of dreams to symbolize the major action taking place is a
technique increasingly employed by Lessing. In an interview with
Jonah Raskin, Lessing asserts:
The unconscious artist who resides in our depths is a very

economical individual. With a few symbols a dream can define
the whole of one's life. (A Small Personal Voice, Schlueter (ed.),
p. 67)

35. This state is similar to 'the Sufi doctrine of equipoise' in which the
intellect 'must fall into its right perspective, find its own level, when
the present lack of balance of the personality is restored' (Shah, The
Sufis, p. 315).
36. It is illuminating to refer in that context to the significance of the
'whirl' in Lessing's later fiction. See infra. Chapter 4.
37. Laing similarly says about the experience that 'At the point of
non-being we are at the outer reaches of what language can state'
(Politics of Experience, p. 40).
38. Ernst Cassirer, 'The Phenomenology of Knowledge', in The Philosophy
of Symbolic Forms, 1955, p. 208.
39. See the significance of the form of The Golden Notebook, infra, Chapter
2, note 56.
40. Jolande Jacobi, The Psychology of C. G. Jung : An Introduction with
Illustrations, 1943, p. 150.
42. Ibid., p. 276. The 'dervish' are defined by Shah as a group of Sufis. See
The Sufis, pp. 267, 282.
43. See John L. Carey, 'Art and Reality in The Golden Notebook', Contempo-
rary Literature, Vol. 14 (Autumn 1973), p. 457. See also Betsy Draine,
Substance Under Pressure: Artistic Coherence and Evolving form in the
Novels of Doris Lessing, 1983, pp. 82, 85.
44. Carey, p. 456.
45. Draine, Substance Under Pressure, p. 82.
47. It is significant to note here that as early as The Golden Notebook
Lessing shows a subtle interest in areas illuminated by Sufi phi-
losophy. Reference to the 'blade of grass' has significance in Sufi
philosophy. Shah refers to 'a blade of grass' in the context of his
discussion of the qualities required in a Sufi teacher - a leader in
Notes 249
Sufi terms:
The Sufi teacher cannot be an earthshaking personality who

attracts millions of people and whose fame reverberates into
every corner of the earth. His stage of illumination is visible
for the most part only to the enlightened. Like a radio receiving
apparatus, the human being can perceive only those physical
and metaphysical qualities which are within his range. Therefore
the man (or woman) who is bemused and impressed by the
personality of a teacher will be the person whose awareness
is insufficient to handle the impact and make use of it. The
fuse may not blow, but the element becomes destructively or
inefficiently incandescent. 'A blade of grass cannot pierce a
mountain. If the sun that illumines the world were to draw
nigher, the world would be consumed.' (Rumi, Mathnawi, in
Shah, The Sufi, p. 351)
It becomes possible in that context to understand the tentative and

humble tone of Anna and Saul (sun) as leaders.
48. Shklovsky, 'Art as Technique', Russian Formalist Criticism, Lee T.
Lemon and Marion J. Reis (trans.), 1965, p. 12.
49. A quotation which appeared on the dustjacket of the British edi-
tion of The Golden Notebook in a letter to the publisher from Doris
Lessing.
50. Marjorie Lightfoot, 'Breakthrough in The Golden Notebook', Studies in
the Novel, Vol. 7, No. 2 (Summer 1975), pp. 281-2.
51. Carey, 'Art and Reality', Contemporary Literature, Vol. 14 (Autumn
1973), 440. Carey points out that Tommy is twenty years old in
'Free Women', which is set in 1957, whereas he is seventeen in
an entry in the Blue Notebook dating from 7 January 1950. While
the Blue Notebook tells us that Tommy marries a girl from the
'New Socialists', the 'Free Women' shows him ending with Marion,
his father's second wife, in Sicily. Anna's lover in the Notebooks
is called Saul but in 'Free Women' he is called Milt (see Carey
p. 439).
52. Rafael Lefort, The Teachings of Gurjieff, 1968, p. 57.
53. Doris Lessing, 'Introduction to Olive Shreiner', in A Small Personal
Voice, Schlueter (ed.), p. 99.
54. Carey, 'Art and Reality', Contemporary Literature, Vol. 14 (Autumn
1973), 440-1.
Lessing', The Queen (21 August 1962), p. 32.
56. The form of four and five evokes 'a square and a circle', which
in its turn signifies the mandala that later becomes an important
symbol in Lessing's canon evoking the Sufi methods of contempla-
tion and meditation and signifying wholeness. See infra, Chapters 3
and 4.
Lessing', The Queen (21 August 1962), p. 32.
250 Notes
3 The Memoirs of a Survivor
1. In an interview at Stony Brook in 1962, Doris Lessing flatly states: T

believe the future is going to be cataclysmic' and she reveals that in
her concern for the survival of humanity she sees that social, psycho-
logical and spiritual aspects are issues of equal importance. See 'Doris
Lessing at Stony Brook', A Small Personal Voice, Schlueter (ed.), p. 70.
2. In a lecture in 1972 at Rutgers University and in 'Doris Lessing on
Feminism, Communism and Science Fiction', Doris Lessing states that
the only hope for survival lies 'in the new man [who] is about to be
born', implying the mutation of new organs of perception ('Doris
Lessing on Feminism, Communism, and "Space Fiction/", New York
Times Magazine (25 July 1982), 29).
3. Quoted by Doris Lessing in The Four-Gated City (1969), rpt., 1972,
p. 461 from Shah's The Sufis, p. 54.
4. Doris Lessing, The Memoirs of a Survivor (1974), rpt., 1976. All subse-
quent quotations will refer to this edition.
5. I have said in my study of the inner motifs in The Golden Notebook that
the psychological and spiritual domains are not clearly distinguished
and they are therefore largely studied within the context of Jungian
psychology. In The Memoirs of a Survivor, the distinction between the
psychological and spiritual motifs is made clearer. The realm of the
'impersonal rooms' unravels significant affinities with the 'mandala
symbols' which are basic in the Sufi method of meditation. More
important, the 'She' who dominates these rooms has particular
significance in the Sufi philosophy as the 'Feminine Principle' which
undertakes the Quest of mediating Between the different levels of
perception 'so that a balance is always preserved' (Laleh Bakhtiar,
Sufi: Expressions of the Mystic Quest, 1976, p. 18). The Sufi sources will
therefore serve as points of reference in my analysis of that realm to set
an argument against a largely spread misunderstanding of the novel
caused by the interpretation of the 'She' as a 'deity' that leads the
characters out of the empirical world.
6. Lessing, 'In the World and Not of It', in A Small Personal Voice,
Schlueter (ed.), p. 133.
7. J. Mellons praises Lessing for her accurate depiction of reality, and
takes the outer action of Memoirs as a literal parallel 'to the conditions
we have had a taste of in the last few years' (J. Mellons, 'Island
Styles', The Listener, Vol. 93 (23 January 1975), p. 126), On the other
hand Lorelei Cederston, interprets it in terms of the inner action as
'the interior symbolic landscape, peopled by mythological figures and
the personification of different aspects of the collective and personal
unconscious of the protagonist' (Loreli Cederstrom, 'Inner Space
Landscape: Doris Lessing's Memoirs of a Survivor', Mosaic, Vol. 13,
parts III—IV, p. 116). Further still, Michael L. Magie faults Lessing
for deserting rationalism and realism and retreating in an ivory
tower of hermetic art, conjuring up 'a private religion of her own'
(Magie, 'Doris Lessing and Romanticism', College English, Vol. 38
(Feb. 1977), p. 531). See also Melvin Maddocks, termed this book
Notes 251
'a ghost story of the future' in 'Ghosts and Portents', Time (16 June
1975), 16. Jenny Taylor terms it 'Doris Lessing's fantasy' in 'Memoirs
was made of this' in Notebooks/Memoirs/ Archives, p. 227, and Martin
Green concludes that Memoirs 'employs the techniques of fantasy
and rejects those of realism', in 'The Doom of Empire: Memoirs of
a Survivor', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Winter 1982), p. 6.
8. Betsy Draine, in her study of Memoirs, bases her argument on the 1902
theory of William James that each world 'whilst it is attended to is
real after its own fashion, only the reality lapses with the attention'.
This creates a rather limited response to the novel since it stops at
the point where the novel starts - that is she appreciates the novel's
distinction and clear definition of each realm and rejects the increasing
interaction between them which is the novel's raison d'etre. Moreover
she overlooks the many modern theorists for whom the interaction
between two modes within the parameters of two genres is not only
valid, but also of great aesthetic value. See in that context Gregory
L. Lucente, The Narrative of Realism and Myth, 1979, R. Scholes, The
Fabultors, 1975, and Maurice Z. Schroder, 'The Novel as Genre',
Masachusetts Review, Vol. 4 (1963), pp. 291-308.
9. Ornstein, The Psychology of Consciousness, p. 39.
10. Laing, The Politics of Experience, p. 113.
12. Ibid., p. 22.
13. See Laing, The Divided Self, pp. 43-7.
14. Aniela Jaffe, 'Symbolism and Visual Arts' in Man and His Symbols,
Carl Jung (ed.), p. 265.
15. Laing, Politics of Experience, p. 73.
(ed.), p. 12. It is interesting to note that this early assertion by Lessing
found resonance in her later interest in the Sufi tradition where: ' The
Complete Man (insan-i-Kamel) is both a real individuality and also a
total part of the essential unity' (Shah, The Sufis, p. 294).
19. The concentration on patterns is an essential experience in the Eastern
methods of thought of meditation and a 'niche' - an opening in the
wall - is, according to the Sufis, significant of the initiation into a
metaphysical phase. See Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, pp. 42, 79; also Ghazalli,
Niche, W. H. T. Gaidner (trans.), 1938.
20. Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, p. 23.
21. Ibid., p. 18.
22. Ibid., p. 19.
23. Ibid., pp. 98-102.
24. See Jung, The Development of the Personality, p. 174.
25. The 'mirror' figures as an important device in the motif of descent.
According to Frye, both the 'clock' and the 'mirror' 'take on a good
deal of importance as objectifying images' for 'the reflection of one's
personality' (Frye, Secular Scriptures, p. 117). See also Laing's reference
to mirror projections of role-playing as a means to reduce involvement
252 Notes
in such behaviour (Laing, The Divided Self, p. 75). See also Jung,
The Integration of the Personality, pp. 65-9. The mirror projection
becomes an important element in the motif of descent in Shikasta.
Infra Chapter 4.
26. Jung, The Integration of the Personality, p. 146.
28. Ibid., p. 103.
29. J. E. Cirlot, A Dictionary of Symbols, Jack Sage (trans.), 1962, p. 199.
30. The forms of the mandala are presented with countless variations in
Eastern and Western epistemology. In whatever form it is presented,
however, the important feature is its concentrical and balancing
element. According to Cirlot, the mandala's 'basic components are
geometric figures, counterbalanced and concentric. Hence it has been
said that "the mandala is always a squaring of a circle"' (Cirlot,
p. 200). Cirlot identifies the mandala with 'all the figures composed
of various elements enclosed in a square or a circle - for instance
the horoscope, the labyrinth, . . . ground plans of circular, square or
octagonal buildings are also mandalas' (201).
32. See for the connection between alchemy and the Sufi quest Shah, The
Sufis, p. 203.
33. Ibid., pp. 194-5.
34. Cirlot, p. 233.
35. Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, pp. 100-1. Laleh provides a diagram of two
intersecting triangles within a hexagonal form signifying a combi-
nation between passive and active forms respectively to achieve a
'complete form'. It is also useful to note here that Shah refers to
'the carpet-making fraternity' as one of the Sufi methods in which
'certain extraordinary perceptions can be developed by means of a
certain kind of human association' as in the exercise of the 'alchemist
and his assistants' (Shah, Learning How to Learn, p. 205).
36. Ibid., p. 104.
37. Ibid., p. 18.
39. Ibid., p. 338.
40. Ibid., p. 339.
41. Ibid., p. 350.
42. Ibid.
43. The walled garden is a recurrent element in Sufi literature. It is
instructive to quote here Laleh's description of the garden and
courtyard in Sufi philosophy:
The garden is traditionally an enclosure planted with trees

surrounding a central pavilion. The whole becomes a mandala,
providing both a centrifugal movement outward into the para-
dise of nature, and a centripetal movement inward, through its
four porches, to the water, its spiritual centre. Generating ever-
expanding ripples, the fountain recommences the cycle of con-
scious expansion and contraction. (Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, p. 106)
Notes 253
See also The Walled Garden of Truth, by Sanai of Afghanistan, written

in 1131 A.D., and The Secret Garden, by Shabistari.
44. According to Laleh, 'one of the most beautiful of all symbols which
has found unexcelled expression in Islamic architecture, carpet, design
and poetrv is that of the Gardens of Paradise' (Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi,
p. 28).
45. Ibid.
46. Ibid., p. 30. It is worthwhile noting here that the description of the
'She', in Memoirs is associated with that image of unity in multiplicity:
the 'She' whose 'Presence' was 'the Whole they [the multitudes who
had once lived there] were minuscule parts o f (p. 91).
47. Cirlot, p. 275.
51. Ibid., p. 98.
52. Ibid., p. 99.
54. Ibid., p. 351.
55. Ibid., p. 202.
56. Ibid., p. 355.
57. Ibid., p. 346.
58. Ibid., p. 354.
59. Ibid., p. 192.
60. Ibid., p. 174.
61. It is relevant to refer here to the article written by Lessing in 1972
entitled 'What Looks Like an Egg and Is an Egg?', in which she
expressed her interest in the Sufi methods of communication which
arrive at an obvious conclusion but which an ordinary man may not
be able to perceive because his mind is restricted by the 'patterns of
conditioned thinking which form the prison in which we all live'. She
gives the example by quoting one of the dervish tales which are 'a
mind stretcher' means of communication:
A wag met Nasrudin. In his pocket he had an egg. 'Tell me,

Nasrudin, are you any good at guessing games?'. 'Not bad.'
'Very well, then, tell me what I have in my pocket'. 'Give me
a clue then.' 'It is shaped like an egg, it is yellow and white
inside, and it looks like an egg'. 'Oh, I know', said Nasrudin,
'it is some kind of cake'.
In his calculated deduction he did not grasp the obvious meaning. See
Doris Lessing: 'What Looks like an Egg and Is an Egg', New York Times
Book Review (7 May 1972), p. 42.
62. According to Shah, the teacher provides help according to his per-
ception of the other's need. As Shah puts it, the Sufi teacher 'must
be able to determine the capacity of the disciple. He will have to deal
with this disciple in accordance with his potentiality' (Shah, The Sufis,
p. 265). That process is evident in Memoirs. Earlier the narrator could
254 Notes
not take that step because she realizes that Emily was not yet ready
(126).
64. According to Jung, 'Fire is emotional excitement or sudden bursts
of impulse, and if a pot is set upon the fire, then one knows that
transformation is under way' (Jung, The Integration of Personality,
p. 94).
66. Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, pp. 10, 15.
68. See Victoria Glendinning, "The Memoirs of a Survivor'r The Times
Literary Supplement (13 December 1974), p. 1405.
69. Malcolm Cowley, 'Future Notebook', Saturday Review (28 June 1975),
23-24.
70. Ingrid Holmquist, p. 148.
71. Alvin Sullivan, 'The Memoirs of a Survivor: Lessing's Notes Towards a
Supreme Fiction', Modern Fiction Studies, Vol. 25, No. 1 (Spring 1980),
p. 160.
72. Lucente, The Narrative of Realism and Myth, p. 43.
73. Frye, Secular Scriptures, p. 183. See also in that respect Joseph
Campbell's reference to the descent into the unconscious as a mode
of experience typical of the hero's quest in the Romantic traditions as a
necessary step towards restoring equilibrium. According to Campbell,
the descent into the unconscious is 'the universal formula . . . of the
mythological hero journey . . . Interpreted from that point of view,
a schizophrenic breakdown is an inward and backward journey to
recover something missed or lost and to restore, thereby, a vital
balance' (Campbell, 'Mythology and Schizophrenia' in Myths to Live
By, 1972, pp. 202-3).
74. Todorov, The Poetics of Prose, Richard Howard (trans.), pp. 132, 133,
135.
75. Lorna Martens, The Diary Novel, 1985, p. 5.
76. Shah, The Sufis, p. 56. See also the definition of fable as an element of
romance in literature in Scholes and Kellog, The Nature of Narrative,
According to them, the fable 'is inclined to lean heavily on romance
for narrative articulation if the narrative artist had anything like a
sustained flight of mind' (R. Scholes and R. Kellog, The Nature of
Narrative, 1966, p. 14).
77. Term used by Todorov as a strategy to negotiate between text and
reader. See Todorov, 'Origins of Genres', New Literary History, Vol. 8
(1976), p. 167.
78. Ibid.
79. Wolfgang Iser's comment on that issue of the relationship between
text and reader in the modern novel may be helpful here:
What is normally meant by 'identification' is the establishment

of affinities between oneself and someone outside oneself ~ a
familiar ground in which we are able to experience the unfamiliar.
The author's aim, though, is to convey the experience, and
above all, an attitude towards that experience. Consequently,
Notes 255
'identification' is not an end in itself but a stratagem by means

of which the author stimulates attitudes in the reader. (Wolfgang
Iser, The Implied Reader, 1974, p. 291)
In an interview discussing Memoirs Doris Lessing refers to that issue

in her novels:
I don't think literature is there for people to identify closely with

some character. I think the right way to read a book is to try and
get some kind of objective view of the situation. If you're going to
identify with some character in a book - like a woman's magazine
way - it's a form of self-indulgence. It's certainly not what the
writer had in mind. (Susan Stamberg, 'An Interview with Doris
Lessing', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 3)
80. In her Defense of Fantasy, Ann Swinfen explains that 'the essential
ingredient of all fantasy is "the marvellous ", which will be regarded
as anything outside the normal space-time continuum of the everyday
world . . . [and in which] the writer as sub-creator creates a complete
and self-consistent "secondary world"' (Ann Swinfen, In Defense of
Fantasy, 1984, p. 50). In that context any form of analogy with reality
cancels the grip of the marvellous. This marks the crucial difference
between Memoirs and the genre of fantasy for as Tolkien explains,
fantasy must present a consistent alternative world - 'a Secondary
World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is "true":
it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it while
you are, as it were, inside'. Tolkien further postulates in that context
that since fantasy 'deals with "marvels", it cannot tolerate any frame
or machinery suggesting the whole story in which they occur is a
figment or illusion' (Tolkien, Tree and Leaf, 1964, pp. 36,14).
81. According to Todorov, 'autobiography is distinguished from the novel
in that the author claims to recount facts rather than construct fiction'
(Todorov, 'The Origin of Genres', New Literary History, Vol. 8 (1976),
p. 165).
82. Lorna Martens in The Diary Novel, further makes the point that
memoirs refers to more general background than autobiography,
p. 4.
83. Darko Suvin, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction, 1979, pp. 20-1.
84. According to Suvin, 'Fantasy' and 'Myth' engage only the imagina-
tive faculties. See Darko Suvin, 'On the Poetics of the Science Fiction
Genre', College English (December 1972), pp. 372-81.
85. Michel Butor, 'The Crisis in the Growth of Science Fiction', Inventory,
Essays in Science Fiction, p. 225. See also Scholes, Structural Fabulation,
pp. 70-1. Like Butor, Scholes asserts: 'These fictions of the near
future represent a continuation of the tradition of sociological and
psychological fiction. They are projections of realism into future
time.'
86. Butor, 'The Crisis in the Growth of Science Fiction', Inventory, Essays
256 Notes
in Science Fiction, p. 225.

87. Critics have frequently referred to the similarity between the apoca-
lyptic world of Memoirs and their present culture. To quote but two,
see Sydney Kaplan, 'Passionate Portrayal of Things to Come', Twen-
tieth Century Women Novelists, Thomas F. Staley (ed.), 1982, pp. 1-15,
and J. Mellons, 'Island Styles', The Listener, Vol. 93 (23 January 1975),
p. 126.
88. Kermode, The Sense of an Ending, p. 18.
89. Gerard Genette, Narrative Discourse, Jane E. Lewin (trans.), 1980,
pp. 44-85.
90. Kermode, The Sense of an Ending, p. 96.
91. Ferdinand de Saussure's distinction between the signifier - the linguis-
tic unit or word sign, and its signified - all the possible referents for the
signifier - is important in relation to how 'it' is used in this context.
By laying bare the multivalence of this semiotic sign, the narrator calls
into question the perception of language and the process of reading.
See Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics (trans.), W.
Baskin, 1974.
92. It is useful to note in that context that Jungian psychology describes
symbols as 'transformers of energy' because they mediate the rational
grasp on reality with the non-rational unconscious (Jolandi Jacobi,
The Psychology of C. G. Jung, p. 94). According to Sufis, symbols
play an important role as 'the place of encounter between the
world of Archetypes or intelligibles and the sensible phenomenal
world' (Laleh Bakhtiar, Sufi, p. 25). Shah refers to the symbolic
significance of the language of alchemy - 'the Philosophers' Stone' as
the 'hidden tongue' which transcends the limitation of words through
the associations it invokes: the process of 'connecting mundane with
the greater dimensions of "other worlds'" (Shah, The Sufis, p. 193). In
many instances Doris Lessing has expressed her admiration of the Sufi
methods of symbolism (see in that context, Lessing, 'What Looks Like
an Egg and Is an Egg?', New York Times Book Review (7 May 1972), pp.
41-3).
94. Ibid., p. 160.
95. Shah, The World of the Sufi, 1979, p. 215.
96. Lessing, A n Elephant in the Dark', Spectator, 213 (18 September 1964),
p. 373.
98. Barthes, S/Z, 1974, pp. 5-6.
99. Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction, p. 20.
100. Lessing, Preface to The Golden Notebook, p. 10.
4 The Science Fiction Series
Enhancing effects of setting type in italic, bold, bold italic and underline
are extensively used in Shikasta. Original settings have been followed in all
Notes 257
quoted material; underline is represented in the text by an asterisk before

and after the original underlined phrase.
1. I have emphasized in my study of The Memoirs of a Survivor that

a misunderstanding of the denouement of the novel arises from
overlooking the key word 'order' in the phrase, 'they stepped into
another order of world altogether'. In Canopus in Argos series, the
same word 'order' creates an implicit primordiality which needs
to be brought to the surface to prevent further misinterpretations.
The term 'Order' - with a capital letter - evokes the Sufi Dervish
Orders. According to Shah, 'Almost all Sufis at one time or another
are members of one of the Ways which are called "Orders'". However,
Shah makes the point that there is a difference between the Western
scholar's understanding of the term as 'a self-perpetuating entity with
a fixed hierarchy and premises, forming a training system for the
devotee', and the Sufis' use of the term. To the Sufis, the 'Order' is
the medium through which they communicate the 'necessities of the
"work"' - namely the activation of the levels of perception which Shah
refers to as the 'activation of the subtleties' or 'lataif. 'The objective
of the Dervish Orders' according to Shah, is to achieve 'harmony with
objective reality' to be able to perceive cosmic unity (Shah, The Sufis,
pp. 286-95).
A close look at the term as it is used in Canopus in Argos reveals
an initial obscurity. At first the word evokes 'order' as imposed
from the outside, but in The Marriages Between Zones the difference
is made clear. When Al Ith returns from her visit to Zone Four, she
makes the distinction when she complains to Yori, 'It is a place of
compulsion . . . they can respond only if ordered, compelled . . . [but]
not the Order, not Order. But do this. Do that. They have no inner
listening to the Law' (p. 74). There is therefore an implied critique
in Lessing's use of the word. The implicit primordiality that builds
at the beginning opens into another level of meaning - a strategy
repeatedly used by Lessing to evoke meaning on outer and inner
levels.
2. Doris Lessing, Re: Colonised Planet 5 Shikasta (1979), rpt., 1981. All
subsequent references will be to this edition.
3. It is interesting to note here that 'Rohanda' implies in Arabic,
'having spiritual connections' and Shikasta means in Persian 'bro-
ken'. Also Shammat, which is reminiscent of the malicious polter-
geist in earlier novels, means 'malice' in Arabic. This method of
incorporating names with significant meanings in foreign languages
is a strategy which Lessing employs throughout the series as a
part of her project to transcend language limitations and assimilate
different cultures. This is particularly evident in her reference to
the origins of the title of the overall series in her introduction to
the Kalila and Dimna tales where she records her interest in the
time when 'people were expected to regard names as signposts'
(Lessing, 'Introduction' to Ramsay Wood, Kalila and Dimna, 1982,
pp. xvi-xvii).
258 Notes
4. Lessing, The Marriages between Zones Three, Four and Five (1980), rpt.,
1981. All subsequent references will be to this edition.
5. Zone Four is a militistic state of external orders. Zone Two stands for
the spiritual realm - 'the blue' colour signifies that realm according
to Sufi symbolism and is therefore associated with the Sufi attire (see
Shah, The Sufi, p. 217). Al Ith, the representative of Zone Three, is the
Feminine Principle mediating between the zones through her ' Descent
into the Dark' (75) and her 'ascent' to the heights of Zone Two, and
Ben Ata's marriage to the queen of Zone Five achieves the required
acknowledgement of the animal level of the self - Vahshi means 'wild'
in the Persian language.
6. The theme of 'forgetting' parts of reality is also the central issue in the
third volume of the series - The Sirian Experiments - and is the cause
of Ambien II's 'blindness' to the 'truth'.
7. Lessing, The Sirian Experiments (1981), rpt., 1982. All subsequent
references will be to this edition.
8. Lessing, The Making of the Representative for Planet 8 (1982), rpt., 1983.
All subsequent references will be to this edition.
9. It is noteworthy that Shah refers to the levels of perception as 'the
subtleties' in The Sufis p. 295.
10. Lessing, Documents Relating to The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen
Empire, 1983. All subsequent references will be to this edition.
12. Frederick Engels and Karl Marx, Marx/Engels: Collected Works, Vol. 25,
1987, p. 327.
13. The concept of cosmic unity and 'multiplicity-in-unity' finds
resonance not only in the Sufi philosophy (see Laleh Bakhtiar,
Sufi, p. 10), but also in the scientific world view. Lessing's repeated
references in her series to 'atoms' and the principle of multiplicity
in unity is a clear manifestation of her project of interweaving two
opposing realms.
14. Robert Reilly (ed.), The Transcendent Adventure: Studies of Religion in
Science Fiction / Fantasy, 1985, p. 3. In his introduction to the book,
Reilly argues that 'One can . . . see that physical science can be
included within the scope of [the] definition of religion. It uses
rational means to explain order in the universe and provides a
relationship (the experimental method) to the source of order. The
scientists themselves are a sort of priesthood' (p. 3). Doris Lessing
expresses a similar point of view. In an interview published in 1980,
she postulates:
The best scientists, those on the highest levels, always come

closer and closer to the mystical. Much of what Einstein said
could have been said by a Christian mystic, St. Augustine,
for example. Science, which is the religion for today, looks
for the metaphysical . . . Hence the boom in science fiction,
which reflects this preoccupation and which moves in the world
of the non-rational. (N. Torrents, 'Testimony to Mysticism', Doris
Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter 1980) p. 12)
Notes 259
15. Engels, Marx/Engels: Collected Works, Vol. 25, p. 313.

16. C J. Driver, 'Profile 8: Doris Lessing', The New Review, Vol. 1, No. 8
(November 1974), p. 23.
17. Darko Suvin, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction, pp. 3-15.
18. Shah, The Sufis p. 278.
19. Patrick Parrinder, Science Fiction: Its Criticism and Teaching, 1980,
p. 58.
20. Ibid.
21. Betsy Draine, 'Competing Codes in Shikasta' in Critical Essays on Doris
Lessing, Claire Sprague and Virginia Tiger (eds), 1986, p. 154.
22. Suvin, Metamoiphoses of Science Fiction, p. 66.
23. Ibid., p. 15.
24. Ibid., p. 66.
25. Doris Lessing has repeatedly declared her belief in the importance of
the co-existence of the two modes. When asked whether evolution
meant to her the Darwinian theory of evolution or the evolution of
the inner faculties as defined by the Sufis, she asserts:
We have to have both. We have to have a higher feeling of

responsibility towards other animals, including the animals and
others of our species, and the world and so on. And I think we
might develop intuition . . . ('Interview with Doris Lessing', in
Eve Bertelsen (ed.), Doris Lessing, p. I l l )
According to her, scientific interest has permeated popular thought

from the moon landing to the exploration of subatomic matter, and
has brought complementary realms of experience together in the
imagination; 'This is how we now think, so this is how as a writer
I am now writing. I find it strange that other people think it strange,
since this is now our world' (interview by Lesley Hazelton, 'Doris
Lessing on Feminism, Communism, and Space Fiction', New York
Times Magazine, Vol. 131 (5 July 1982), p. 28).
26. Robert Galbreath, 'Ambiguous Apocalypse: Transcendental Versions
of The End', in The End of the World, Eric S. Rabkin et al. (eds), 1983,
pp. 45-5.
27. Lois and Stephen Rose, The Shattered Ring: Science Fiction and the Quest
for Meaning, 1970, p. 112.
28. Lessing, 'A Small Personal Voice', p. 5.
29. Quoted in William Irwin Thompson's Passages About the Earth: An
Exploration of the New Planetary Culture, 1973, p. 138.
30. Scholes, Structural Fabxdation, p. 18.
31. Parrinder, p. 130.
32. Lorna Sage, Doris Lessing, 1983, p. 78.
33. Shah refers to that concept in Sufi philosophy by quoting luminary
Jafar Sadiq:
Man is the microcosm, creation the macrocosm - the unity. All

comes from one. By the joining of the power of contemplation all
260 Notes
can be attained. (The Sufis, p. 223)
34. Lesley Hazleton, 'Doris Lessing on Feminism, Communism and Space

Fiction', New York Times Magazine 131 (5 July 1982), pp. 20, 28.
35. Lois and Stephen Rose, The Shattered Ring, p. 110.
36. Marie Ahearn, 'Science Fiction in the Mainstream Novel: Doris
Lessing', Proceedings of the Fifth National Congress of the Popular
Culture Association (21 March 1975), p. 1281.
37. Ibid.
38. The Greek word argos also means swift, which would imply the
dynamics of the movements of the quest, apt for Lessing's theme
which does not approve static worlds, but instead shows the con-
tinuing peril of worlds that are static.
39. Introduction to Ramsay Wood, Kalila and Dimna, pp. xvii-xviii.
40. The connection has been suggested by Lessing in her introduction to
Kalila and Dimna, ibid., p. xviii.
41. Eve Bertelsen,'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Doris Lessing, Eve
Bertelson (ed.), p. 111.
43. Doris Lessing, 'Spies I Have Known', Partisan Review, Vol. 38, No. 1,
1971, p. 55.
44. Eve Bertelsen, 'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Doris Lessing, Eve
Bertelsen (ed.), p. 94.
45. Ibid.
46. Susan Stamberg, 'An Interview with Doris Lessing', Doris Lessing
Newsletter, Vol. 8, No. 2 ((Fall 1984), p. 3.
47. Report by Ruth Saxton on 'Lessing's visit to California' on April 5,
1984 in Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 7.
48. N. Torrents, 'Testimony to Mysticism', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 4,
No. 2 (Winter 1980), p. 1.
49. Northrop Frye refers to the particular usefulness of that technique in
science fiction. According to him 'Doubles in time' produced by some
kind of 'time machine' have been extensively explored in SF so 'that a
memory can be objectified in a conscious being, hence repeated, hence
recreated' (Secular Scriptures, p. 117).
50. Shikasta is an archive of 'personal psychological, historical docu-
ments' documented by Johor as he descends into his 'memories'. The
Marriages is narrated by 'the Chroniclers of Zone Three'. The Sirian
Experiments is an 'attempt at a re-interpretation of history' recorded by
Ambien II, and The Making of the Representative of Planet 8 is narrated
by Doeg, the 'Memory Maker and Keeper of Records' whose role is
to make 'a faint coloured . . . memory, stronger' (p. 122).
51. Frye, p. 185-6.
52. That motif is particularly relevant to the purposes of the science fiction
genre. In his pioneering study of the genre, Tolkien pointed out the
'Mirror' as one of the three basic characteristics of the genre - 'the
Mirror of scorn and pity towards Man' (Tolkien, Tree and Leaf, 1964,
p. 28). In her preface to The Sirian Experiments, Doris Lessing clearly
refers to that intent of her cosmology by expressing her attempt to
Notes 261
invoke 'parallel universes, universes that lie intermeshed with ours

but invisible to us, universes where time runs backwards, or that
mirror ours' ('Preface', The Sirian Experiments, p. 9). She adds in
the same context that 'What of course I would like to be writing
is the story of the Red and White Dwarves and their Remembering
Mirror' (p. 12). In line with the use of mirror technique to confront
the reader, it is further interesting to note here that the general title of
Canopus in Argos evokes resonance with Bidpai's The Lights of Canopus
- a sequence of Oriental fables so framed as to constitute 'A Mirror
for Princes'. It 'was given to Princes as part of their training to be
monarchs', as Lessing explains in her 1982 introduction to the tales
(Lessing, 'Introduction' to Ramsay Wood's Kalila and Dimna, p. xiv).
53. According to Frye, 'mirror devices' are an important element in the
motif of descent. See Secular Scriptures, p. 117.
54. Doris Lessing, 'Introduction' to Kalila and Dimna, p. xiv.
55. The concept of groping towards the truth at the centre is at the core
of the Sufi methods of concentration. See Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 23.
57. Doris Lessing, 'Some Remarks', preface to Shikasta, unnumbered.
58. Shah, The Sufis, p. 350. Doris Lessing expresses her interest in that
effect of Sufi literature by referring to Mulla Nasrudin's fables in
Doris Lessing, 'What Looks Like an Egg and Is an Egg', New York
Times Book Review (7 May 1972), p. 42.
59. Nancy Hardin, 'The Sufi Teaching Story and Doris Lessing', Twentieth
Century Literature, Vol. 23, No. 3 (October 1977), p. 316.
60. Ibid., p. 318.
61. Doris Lessing, 'Introduction' to Kalila and Dimna, p. xiv.
62. Ibid., p. xvi.
63. Ibid., p. xiv.
64. In Learning How to Learn, Shah puts this clearly in his essay entitled
'Conditioning and Education':
The secondary self stands in the way of learning and it will

be conditioned unless it is 'polished' - another technical term,
likening it to a mirror on which dust has settled, again empha-
sized by Ibn Arabi (in his Fusus) as well as by the classical and
contemporary exponents of Sufism. (pp. 149-50)
65. Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 15.

66. Ibid.
67. 'Polishing the mirror' in Sufi terminology means activating the higher
levels of perception to be able to perceive the spiritual dimension
in the phenomenal world - to see 'unity-in-multiplicity' which is
the goal of Sufi quest: 'to go from multiplicity-in-unity to unity-in-
multiplicity' and to 'realize that all is reflected in the mirror of one's
being' (Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 10).
68. Ibid., p. 15.
69. Ibid., p. 11.
70. See reference to 'pomegranates' p, 70. According to the Sufis, the
262 Notes
pomegranate is 'the symbol of integration of the multiplicity in unity,

in the station of Union, conscious of Essence' (Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 30).
75. Ibid., p. 278.
76. It is worthwhile noting here that this device of coming in on ourselves
imaginatively from outside is similar to Mary Turner's first signs
of transcending her limitation in The Grass is Singing, and is also
similar to the 'game' carried on by Anna of The Golden Notebook and
the exercise experienced by Lynda Coldridge in Shikasta where she
describes the experience of 'watching myself from the outside . . . I
stand outside [Lynda] and look at her and think' (233-4). This activity
also is the key experience in the fourth novel of the series - The Making
of the Representative of Planet 8., whose climax is an episode in which
the representatives finally manage to cross the 'wall' and transcend
their 'old eyes' to have a clearer vision of themselves (153-61).
78. Suvin, The Metamorphoses of Science Fiction, p. 18.
79. Idries Shah, 'The Teaching Story: Observations on the Folklore of Our
"Modern" Thought,' in The Nature of Human Consciousness, Robert
Ornstein (ed.), 1974, p. 291.
80. See the significance of the names of Rohanda and Shikasta in that
context. Supra, note 3.
81. The idea of 'rescue' has been recurrent in Briefing for a Descent into
Hell - 'rescue by Them'. But while in Briefing, this expectation remains
present throughout the novel, it is destroyed at the outset of Shikasta,
since Johor's initial message puts an end to any hope of rescue from
the outside (50), This is in accordance with the Sufis' concept of
responsibility which is basic to the Sufi quest. Shah postulates in that
context: 'Man must develop by his own effort, toward growth of an
evolutionary nature' (Shah, The Sufis, p. 202). This lesson also forms
the main challenge in the fourth novel of the series. The crucial test
in The Making of the Representative of Planet 8 is to stop depending on
outside 'rescue' and to learn that the only way for survival is through
the fruitful effects of their 'efforts' (65).
82. It may be significant that the division of their realms of experience
into two different hemispheres coincides with Ornstein's division
of the rational and non-rational modes of consciousness in the left
and right hemispheres of the brain - the former being 'predomi-
nantly involved with analytic and logical thinking' and the latter
'specialized for synthesis' (Ornstein, The Psychology of Consciousness,
pp. 20-1).
83. The relationship between the Sirian Empire and Canopus - the
technological and spiritual domains - forms the main theme of the
third volume in the series - The Sirian Experiments.
84. Johor approaches Zone Six with 'an inward sigh' (19) and later in his
descent he 'had to force each step' (89). This is in accordance with
Notes 263
Jung's reference to the individual's reluctance to descend and face

the inner self.
85. Laleh explains the relationship clearly: 'It is through geometry that
the personality and character of numbers is revealed, providing still
another means of coming to know the cosmic processes of nature.'
According to Laleh, the Sufi consider mathematics a crucial means of
learning because it creates an interesting mediator between the modes
of cognition:
The creation of shapes through the use of numbers of geometry,

as mathematical expressions, recalls the Archetypes reflected
through the World of Symbols. Mathematics, then, is a language
of the Intellect, a means of spiritual hermeneutics whereby one
can move from the sensible to the intelligible world. (Laleh
Bakhtiar, p. 104)
'This same relationship', according to the Sufis, 'is found in the science
of spiritual alchemy' (104). It is significant that both mathematics and
alchemy - suggested by the mentioning of 'osmosis' - are the means
of learning on Rohanda.
87. Ibid., p. 23.
88. Ibid., p. 27.
92. Ibid.
95. Shah, Learning How to Learn, p. 227.
97. In The Sufis, Shah refers to the importance of 'the search' as an activity
by referring to the story of the father who 'has several idle sons. On
his deathbed he tells them that they will find his treasure hidden in
his field' - the aim being to give them an incentive to search, and
the treasure will be the fruit of their efforts: 'They find no gold, but
indirectly they become both enriched and accustomed to constructive
labor.' Shah concludes by referring to the alchemical analogy that
'the search for gold through chemical methods, . . . produces gains
which are other than those apparently sought', further stressing 'the
importance of the work' itself (Shah, The Sufis, p. 200).
98. It is worthwhile noting in that context that while the Sufis consider
music an interesting means of activating the consciousness, they
consider it also dangerous if it operates on the outer level only. Shah
quotes Shibli on that issue:
The great Shibli says: 'Hearing music deliberately seems

outwardly to be a disruptive thing; internally it is a warn-
ing . . . Unless he has the Sign (awakening of the Organ of
264 Notes
Evolution), he is submitting himself to the possibility of danger.'

(Shah, The Sufis, p. 304)
Shah further explains the dangers: 'These are dangers, both because
they may lead to sensuality and because, through producing a taste
for the secondary indulgence, it veils the real usefulness of music,
which is to develop the consciousness' (The Sufis, p. 304).
99. See Shah, The Sufis, pp. 155, 297.
100. It is significant to note here, in accordance with the continuous
tendency of introjecting one culture into the other, that in Arabic,
Jarsum means 'parasite'.
101. Shah refers to this aspect of the Sufi teacher:
The Guide must be able to determine the capacity of the disciple.

He will have to deal with this disciple in accordance with his
potentiality . . . Unless he has this perception, the Sheikh cannot
be a Guide at all. (The Sufis, p. 265)
102. Shah, The Sufis, pp. 304-5.

104. Ibid., p. 114.
105. Ibid., p. 114.
107. Ibid., p. 173.
108. Ibid., p. 279.
110. Jung, The Integration of the Personality, pp. 71, 293.
111. Ibid., pp. 65-66.
112. Ibid., p. 69.
113. It is worthwhile noting here that 'factions and divisions' are among
the first signs of weakness and degeneration among the Giants in the
fable of the Giants and Natives.
114. Jung, The Integration of the Personality, p. 293.
115. Reference to 'degeneration' evokes the 'Degenerative Disease' as the
text gradually interweaves the two levels.
116. Sharon Spencer, Space, Time and Structure in the Modern Novel, 1971,
pp. 3, pp. xx.
118. Ibid., p. 113.
119. Ibid.
120. That episode sums up in epitome Johor's previous journey, and
operates as a reminder of the necessary process of descent and
ascent. Significantly, after referring to the necessity of descent by
referring to Zone Six, it culminates in an image of ascent as it refers
to the spiral flight of the eagle - 'the glide and the swerve and the
balances of the eagle, who moved on, on, on, in front' (192). The
bird which appears at this stage of the episode, 'to shepherd Ben and
Rilla onwards', has significant meaning in terms of Sufi philosophy. It
Notes 265
evokes the 'simurgh', a bird from a Persian legend which is a symbol

of 'inspiration' (Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 37) and of the development of
the mind (see also Shah, The Sufis, p. 197). The appearance of the
eagle in that stage of the journey therefore as it guides and directs
the characters signifies the ascent to higher levels. It is significant
that only after descent does the eagle appear to direct them 'in the
opposite direction from the borders of Zone Six' (191).
122. See Jung, Development of the Personality, p. 174.
123. According to Jung 'emotions' hinder understanding: 'Emotions are
instinctive, involuntary reactions that upset the rational order of
consciousness by their elementary outbursts' (The Integration of the
Personality, p. 10). Jung further states that 'emotions are coupled
with . . . a narrowing down of the mind to a remarkable single-
mindedness' (ibid., p. 20). It is only when such emotions are shed
that the individual can develop higher levels. According to the Sufis,
emotions foil concentration on higher levels, while 'detachment' is
crucial for ascent. As Shah puts it, a person triggered with emotion
'will be almost incapable of developing further' (Shah, Learning How
to Learn, p. 126, see also pp. 257-8). Shah further asserts, 'emotion can
swamp . . . intellect' (The Sufis, p. 311).
124. Doris Lessing, 'An Elephant in the Dark', Spectator, Vol. 213 (18
September 1964), p. 373.
126. Supra., Introduction, note 34.
127. Kermode, The Sense of an Ending, pp. 56-7.
128. Ibid., p. 167. That concept of modern fiction has a long tradition, but
one of the best descriptions of it has been given by Benjamin Lee
Whorf:
It was found that the background linguistic system . . . of each

language is not merely a reproducing instrument for voicing
ideas, but rather is itself the shaper of ideas, the program and
guide for the individual's mental activity, for his synthesis of his
mental stock in trade. Formulation of ideas is not an independent
process, strictly rational in the old sense, but is part of a particular
grammar . . . The world is presented in a kaleidoscopic flux of
impressions which has to be organized by our minds - and this
means largely by the linguistic systems in our minds . . . which
channel the [individual's] reasoning and builds the house of
his consciousness. (Benjamin Lee Whorf, Language, Thought and
Reality, pp. 212-13)
129. Suvin, The Metamorphoses of Science Fiction, p. 71.

130. Steven E. Colburn, 'Reading Shikasta: A Reading Comprehension Quiz
on "The History of Shikasta"', Doris Lessing Newsletter, Vol. 6, No. 2
(Winter 1982), 15.
132. Ibid., pp. 314-15.
266 Notes
133. Ibid., p. 312.

134. Ibid., p. 315.
135. Ibid.
136. Ibid., p. 118.
137. Ibid., p. 155.
138. According to the Sufis, the human soul 'consists of a threefold
hierarchical structure: sensory, psychic and spiritual' (Laleh Bakhtiar,
p. 18) and the Sufi path to achieve equilibrium is 'to become aware of
the possibilities which exist within the human form, to conceive them
and then through spiritual practices actualize them' (Laleh, p. 118).
140. Laleh describes the function of symbolism in Sufi philosophy as
follows:
Symbolism is perhaps the most sacred of Sufi sciences, for it

is through seeing symbols that one continues to remember, to
invoke . . .
Symbols are vehicles of transmission . . . they are the place of
encounter between the world of Archetypes . . . and the sensible,
phenomenal world . . . Everything in creation is a symbol: for
everything perceived by the outer senses may be conceived
through the inner senses as a Sign of a higher state of reality.
(Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 25)
141. Laleh Bakhtiar, pp. 26, 90, 32.

142. Light and darkness refer to stages of enlightenment in Sufi phi-
losophy:
Darkness and light are the archetypal symbols of Sufism . . . they

denote the stations of annihilation (fana) and subsistence (baqa).
These stations are metaphysical experiences which occur only at
a transcendental level of awareness. (Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 90)
143. Ibid., p. 26.

144. According to Sufis, 'Through symbols, one moves closer to transfor-
mation, the goal of the quest' (Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 84).
145. Ibid., p. 57 (from the fourteenth century Cosmic Mountain, in ms.
anthology of Persian poems, Behbahan, Fars, Iran).
147. Ibid., pp. 29-30. In another context Laleh further refers to the symbolic
significance of the cypress tree as a symbol of the reconciliation of
masculine and feminine principles:
The cypress tree symbolizes potential wholeness, for biologically

it is a tree which contains the masculine and feminine principles
within itself. It is a form which appears frequently in iconography.
Known as the perfect Muslim because of its submission to the
Notes 267
wind, it is in this windblown form that it is most often seen . . .

(Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 68)

149. Ibid., p. 312.
153. Ibid., p. 29.
154. Ibid., p. 17.
155. The concept of 'death and Rebirth' is recurrent in Sufi literature. See
William C. Chittick, The Sufi Path of Love, 1983, pp. 183,101-7.
156. Ibid., p. 49.
157. Ibid., p . 51.
159. Ibid., p. 8.
160. Ibid., p. 29-30.
161. Ibid., p. 16.
163. Ibid., p. 24.
164. Ibid., p. 349.
165. This activity of taking on the guise of a culture to spread their
teachings is a basic tenet in Sufi practices. As Shah puts it, the
Sufi teachers spread to different cultures - their 'external behaviour
may very well appear to change' (Shah, The Sufis, p. 349). Reference
to such practices is recurrent throughout the series. Early in Shikasta,
Johor takes on the guise of the Natives when he enters Shikasta
in the time of the crisis to deliver his message. Further reference
to this activity recurs among Canopean agents - referring to their
'innumerable guises' (Shikasta, p. 423).
166. See supra, Shikasta, note 101.
167. Reference to the importance of the individual as part of a whole, as
'representative' is the basic message in the fourth volume - The
Representative for Planet 8. Similarly, in referring to mutual 'respect
between cultures' - interaction between cultures referring to 'The
high marriage. A real marriage' - it anticipates the second volume The
Marriages Between Zones Three Four and Five.
169. Early in the fable, Johor points out that the repetition of the 'orders'
helps to revive the memory which is crucial to keep the orders
resound: 'the older Natives . . . were finding it hard to adjust . . . Yet
the repetition of my orders had made a difference' (94).
170. The concept of projecting the ego patterns on 'puppets' to expose and
mock the ego patterns is recurrent in Lessing as in The Summer Before
the Dark, where Maureen takes part in a similar experience (Lessing,
The Summer Before the Dark (1973), rpt., 1975, p. 232).
171. Shah, The Sufis, p . 245.
172. Ibid., p. 354.
173. Ibid.
268 Notes

175. Ibid., p. 18.
177. Ibid., p. 64.
178. Laleh Bakhtiar, p. 100-1.
179. Ibid., p. 16.
5 Conclusion
1. Jonah Raskin,' Doris Lessing at Stony Brook', in A Small Personal Voice,

pp. 65-6.
2. Bruce Bawer, 'Doris Lessing: on the Road to The Good Terrorist', The
New Criterion (4 September 1985), p. 11.
3. Martin Lings, What is Sufism?, London, 1975, p. 54.
4. Doris Lessing's more recent novels - The Good Terrorist (1985), and The
Fifth Child (1988) - are a clear evidence of her continuing interest in
realistic modes of writing. These novels highlight the continuities and
the steady development of Lessing's thought as well as the diversity
of her methods. In the domain of the realistic novel, Lessing depicts
how the lack of 'imagination' and inability to develop inner levels of
perception are at the root of the individual's failure and limitation,
causing consequent indulgence in modes of violence in our century.
Lessing refers to The Good Terrorist as 'a realistic novel . . . about a
girl . . . who drifts into becoming a terrorist out of sheer stupidity
or lack of imagination' (Virginia Tiger, 'Candid Shot', a report of
Lessing's visit to New York, 1 April 1984, Doris Lessing Newsletter,
Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), 5). The Fifth Child is another example of a
child of violence; portraying the nightmare of that experience in an
essentially realistic frame is precisely what initiates in the reader the
urgency of her message of the necessity for equilibrium.
5. As Professor Darko Suvin explains, 'The cognition gained . . . may be
simply the enabling of the mind to receive new wavelengths, but it
eventually contributes to the understanding of the most mundane
matters' (Suvin, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction, p. 380). In her
later science fiction, Lessing still insists on using the genre 'to talk
about what's happening on earth' and considers those who do not
understand the interaction as too limited: 'Why is it escapism? . . . It
seems to me that if people have imaginations so narrow that they can't
see themselves as Marianne from Planet X, then it's a pity' (Susan
Stamberg, 'An Interview with Doris Lessing', Doris Lessing Newsletter,
Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 3).
6. Scholes, The Fabulators, p. 102.
Select Bibliography
PRIMARY SOURCES
I list only the works from which I have quoted. For more extensive infor-
mation about works by Doris Lessing see the section on Bibliography.
(i) Novels (in order of publication)
1950: The Grass is Singing, London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books,

1980.
1962: The Golden Notebook, London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books,
1973.
1969: The Four-Gated City, 'Children of Violence', Vol. IV, London: Granada
Publishing, Panther Books, 1973.
1973: The Summer Before the Dark, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1973.
1974: The Memoirs of a Survivor, London: The Octagon Press, 1974.
1979: Re: Colonised Planet 5 Shikasta, Canopus in Argos: Archives, Vol. I
London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books, 1981.
1980: The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four and Five, Canopus in Argos:
Archives, Vol. II, London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books, 1981.
1981: The Sirian Experiments, Canopus in Argos: Archives, Vol. Ill, London:
Granada Publishing, Panther Books, 1982.
1982: The Making of the Representative for Planet 8, 'Canopus in Argos:
Archives', Vol. IV, London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books, 1983.
1983: Documents Relating to The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen Empire,
Canopus in Argos: Archives, Vol. V, London: Jonathan Cape, 1983.
(ii) Autobiographical Narrative
Going Home (1957), rpt., London: Granada Publishing, Panther Books,

1968.
(iii) Essays, Articles, and Short Stories Cited
'The Small Personal Voice', first published in Declaration, Tom Maschler

(ed.), London: Maggibbon & Kee, 1957, pp. 12-27, rpt., A Small Personal
Voice: Essays, Reviews, Interviews, Paul Schlueter (ed.), New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1974, pp. 3-21.
'Smart Set Socialists', New Statesman, London, Vol. 62 (1 December 1961),
pp. 822, 824.
'What Really Matters', Twentieth Century, London, Vol. 172 (Autumn 1963),
pp. 96-8.
269
270 Select Bibliography
'An Elephant in the Dark', Spectator, 213 (18 September 1964), p. 373.
'Spies I Have Known', Partisan Review, Vol. 38, No. 1 (1971), p. 55.
Preface to The Golden Notebook (June 1971), The Golden Notebook, London:
Granada Publishing, Panther Books, 1973, pp. 7-22.
'An Ancient Way to New Freedom', Vogue, New York, 158 (15 December
1971), pp. 98, 125, 130-1, rpt., The Diffusion of Sufi Ideas in the West, L.
Lewin (ed.), Boulder, Colorado: Keysign Press, 1972, pp. 44-54.
'What Looks Like an Egg and Is an Egg?', New York Times Book Review,
New York (7 May 1972), pp. 6, 41-3.
'In the World, Not of It', Encounter, 39 (August 1972), pp. 62-4, rpt., in A
Small Personal Voice, Paul Schlueter (ed.), New York: Alfred A. Knopf,
1974, pp. 129-37.
Preface to Collected African Stories, Vol. I, London: Michael Joseph, 1973.
Preface to The Collected African Stories, Vol. II, London: Michael Joseph,
1973.
'Introduction to The Story of an African Farm by Olive Shreiner', A Small
Personal Voice, Schlueter (ed.), New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974,
pp. 97-120.
'If You Knew Sufi', Guardian, London (8 January 1975), p. 12.
A Revolution', New York Times, New York (22 August 1975), p. 31.
'The Ones Who Know', Times Literary Supplement, London (30 April 1976),
pp. 514-15.
'Some Remarks', Preface to Re: Colonised Planet 5 Shikasta, London: Granada
Publishing, Panther Books, 1981, unnumbered.
'My first book', The Author, Vol. 91 (Spring 1980), p. 12.
Preface to The Sirian Experiments (1981), London: Granada Publishing,
Panther Books, 1982.
'Sufism: A Way of Seeing', Book World, New York (18 April 1982).
' Learning how to Learn: Reflections on the Sufi Path', New Age, New York,
(December 1982).
'Introduction' Kalila and Dimna: Selected Fables of Bidpai, Ramsay Wood,
London: Granada Publishing, 1982, pp. ix-xix.
(iv) Interviews
Bertelsen, Eve, 'Interview with Doris Lessing', in Doris Lessing, Eve

Bertelsen (ed.), South Africa: McGraw-Hill Company, 1985, pp. 93-117.
Driver, C. J., 'Profile 8: Doris Lessing', The New Review, London, Vol. 1,
No. 8 (November 1974), pp. 17-23.
Haas, Joseph, 'Doris Lessing: Chronicler of the Cataclysm', Chicago Sun
Times, Chicago (14 June 1969), pp. 4-5.
Hazelten, Lesley, 'Doris Lessing on Feminism, Communism, and "Space
Fiction"', New York Times Magazine, New York (25 July 1982), pp.
28-9.
Newquist, Roy, 'Interview with Doris Lessing' in A Small Personal Voice,
Paul Schlueter (ed.), New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974, pp. 45-60.
Raskin, Jonah, 'Doris Lessing at Stony Brook: An interview', in A Small
Personal Voice, Paul Schlueter (ed.), New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974,
pp. 61-76.
Rubens, Robert, 'Footnote to The Golden Notebook', The Queen, New York,
(21 August 1962), 32-3.
Stamberg, Suzan, 'An Interview with Doris Lessing', Doris Lessing News-
letter, New York, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), pp. 3-4, 15.
Torrents, Nissa, 'Doris Lessing: Testimony to Mysticism', Paul Schlueter
(trans.), Doris Lessing Newsletter, New York, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Winter 1980),
pp. 1,12-13. Reprinted from La Calle, Madrid (1-7 April 1980).
SECONDARY SOURCES: (A) SPECIAL STUDIES
(i) Bibliography
Burkom, Selima R. A Doris Lessing Checklist', Critique, Vol. 2, No. 1 (1969),

pp. 69-81.
Ipp, Catharina, Doris Lessing: A Bibliography, Johannesberg: University of
Witwatersrand, 1967.
Seligman, Dee, Doris Lessing: An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism, London:
Greenwood Press, 1981.
See also the Doris Lessing Newsletter, published by the Doris Lessing Society,
New York: Brooklyn College Press.
(ii) Books about Lessing
Bertelsen, Eve (ed.), Doris Lessing, Southern African Literature series, No. 5,
South Africa: McGraw-Hill Co., 1985.
Brewster, Dorothy, Doris Lessing, New York: Twayne, 1965.
Draine, Betsy, Substance Under Pressure: Artistic Coherence and Evolving form
in the Novels of Doris Lessing, Madison: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1983.
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Narrative Technique, Westport: GreenWood Press, 1985.
Holmquist, Ingrid, From Society to Nature: A Study of Doris Lessing's 'Children
of Violence', Gothenburg: University of Gothenburg, 1980.
Kaplan, Carey, and Rose, Ellen Cronan, Doris Lessing: The Alchemy of
Survival, USA: Ohio University Press, 1988.
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Pratt, A. and Dembo, L. S. (eds), Doris Lessing: Critical Essays, Madison:
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Carolina Press, 1987.
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Lessing, Boston and London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1982.
Whittaker, Ruth, Doris Lessing, Macmillan Modern Novelists, London:
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(iii) Articles
Ahearn, Marie, 'Science Fiction in the Mainstream Novel: Doris Lessing',

Proceedings of the Fifth National Congress of the Popular Culture Association,
Massachusetts (21 March 1975), pp. 1278-96.
Bawer, Bruce, 'Doris Lessing: on the Road to The Good Terrorist', The New
Criterion, London (4 September 1985), pp. 4-17.
Boiling, Douglas, 'Structure and Theme in Briefing for a Descent into
Hell', Contemporary Literature, Madison, Wisconsin, Vol. 14 (1973), pp.
550-63.
Carter, Nancy Corson, 'Journey Towards Wholeness: A Meditation on
Doris Lessing's The Memoirs of a Survivor', Journal of Evolutionary
Psychology, New York (2 August"1981), pp. 33-47.
Carey, John L., A r t and Reality in The Golden Notebook', Contemporary
Literature, Madison, Wisconsin, Vol. 14 ( Autumn 1973), pp. 437-57.
Cederstrom, Loreli, 'Inner Space Landscape: Doris Lessing,'s Memoirs of a
Survivor', Mosaic, Vol. 13, parts III-IV, pp. 115-32.
Colburn, Steven E., 'Reading Shikasta: A Reading Comprehension Quiz on
"The History of Shikasta'", Doris Lessing Newsletter, New York, Vol. 6,
No. 2, (Winter 1982), p. 15.
Cowley, Malcolm, 'Future Notebook', Saturday Review (28 June 1975), pp.
23-4.
Glendinning, Victoria, 'The Memoirs of a Survivor', The Times Literary Sup-
plement, London (13 December 1974), pp. 1405.
Green, Martin, ' The Doom of Empire: Memoirs of a Survivor', Doris Lessing
Newsletter, New York, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Winter 1982), pp. 6-7, 10.
Hardin, Nancy, 'The Sufi Teaching Story and Doris Lessing', Twentieth
Century Literature, New York, Vol. 23, No. 3 (October 1977), pp.
314-25.
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Review, New York (13 May 1973), pp. 1-2.
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don (15 December 1962), pp. 17-20.
Johnson, Diane, 'Review' The New York Times Book Review, New York (June
4 1978), p. 66.
Lightfoot, Marjorie, 'Breakthrough in The Golden Notebook', Studies in the
Novel, Denton, Texas, Vol. 7, No. 2 (Summer 1975), pp. 277-85.
Maccoby, Hyam, 'Heaven and Shikasta , The Listener, London (22 Nov.
1979), pp. 715-16.
Maddocks, Melvin, 'Ghosts and Portents', Time (16 June 1975), p. 16.
Magie, Michael, 'Doris Lessing and Romanticism', College English, Vol. 38,
(Feb. 1977), pp. 531-52.
Mellons, J., 'Island Styles', The Listener, London, Vol. 93 (23 January 1975),
p. 126.
Mitchell, Julian, Spectator, London (20 April 1962), p. 518.
Pratt, Annis, 'The Contrary Structure of Doris Lessing's Golden Notebook',
World Literature Written in English, Guelp, Ontario, Vol. 12 (November
1973), pp. 150-61 .
Rubenstein, Roberta, 'An Evening at the 92nd Street Y', a report on a lecture
by Lessing on April 2 1984, Doris Lessing Newsletter, New York, Vol. 8,
No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 6.
Saxton, Ruth, 'Report on Lessing's Visit to California' on 5 April 1984, Doris
Lessing Newsletter, New York, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall 1984), p. 7.
Sullivan, Alvin, 'Memoirs of a Survivor: Lessing's Notes toward a Supreme
Fiction' Modern Fiction Studies, West Lafayette, Indiana, Vol. 25, No. 1
(Spring 1980), pp. 157-62.
Tiger, Virginia, 'Candid Shot', a report of Lessing's visit to New York,
1 April 1984, Doris Lessing Nezvsletter, New York, Vol. 8, No. 2 (Fall
1984), p. 5.
Vlastos, Marion, 'Doris Lessing and R. D. Laing: Psychopolitics and
Prophecy', PMLA, New York, Vol. 91, No. 2 (March 1976), pp. 245-57.
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Penguin Books, 1987.
Burckhardt, Titus, Mystical Astrology According to Ibn' Arabi, Bulent Rauf
(trans.), Aldsworth: Beshara Publications, 1977.
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Muecke, D. C , Irony, London: Metheun & Co., 1970.
Ornstein, Robert The Psychology of Consciousness (1972), rpt., New York:
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Inc., 1977.
(ed.), The Nature of Human Consciousness, New York: Viking Press,
1974.
Parrinder, Patrick, Science Fiction: Its Criticism and Teaching, London and
New York: Methuen, 1980.
Rabkin, Eric S. et al. (eds.), The End Of the World, Carbondale: Southern
Reilly, Robert (ed.), The Transcendent Adventure: Studies of Religion in Science
Fiction / Fantasy, London: Greenwood Press, 1985.
Shah, Idries, The Sufis, London: The Octagon Press, 1964.
, The Way Of The Sufi, New York: Jonathan Cape, 1971.
, The Subtleties of the Inimitable Mulla Nasrudin, London: The Octagon
Press, 1973.
, Learning How To Learn: Psychology and Spirituality in The Sufi Way,
London: The Octagon Press, 1978.
, The World of The Sufi: An Anthology of Writings about Sufis and their
Work, London: The Octagon Press, 1979.
Scholes, Robert, and Kellog, R., The Nature of Narrative, New York: Oxford
Scholes, Robert, The Fabulators, New York: Oxford University Press, 1967.
, Structural Tabulation: An Essay on Fiction of the Future, Notre Dame
and London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1975.
Shklovsky, Victor, 'Art as Technique', Russian Formalists Criticism: Four
Essays, Lee T. Lemon and Marion J. Reis (trans.), Lincoln University
of Nebraska Press, 1965.
Shroder, Maurice Z., 'The Novel as Genre', Massachusetts Review, Vol. 4,
(1963), pp. 291-308.
Spencer, Sharon, Space, Time and Structure in the Modern Novel, New York:
New york University Press, 1971.
Staley, Thomas F. (ed.), Twentieth-Century Women Novelists, London:
Macmillan Press, 1982.
Sutich, Anthony J. and Vich, A. Miles (eds), Readings in Humanistic
Psychology, New York: Free Press, 1969.
Suvin, Darko, 'On the Poetics of Science Fiction Genre', College English,
Urbana, Illinois (December 1972), pp. 372-82.
, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction: On the Poetics and History of
a Literary Genre, New Haven and London: Yale University Press,
1979.
Swinfen, Ann, In Defense of Fantasy: A Study of the Genre in English and

American Literature, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984.
Thompson, William Irwin, Passages About the Earth: An Exploration of the
New Planetary Culture, New York: Harper & Row, 1973.
Todorov, Tzvetan, 'Origins of Genre', New Literary History, Vol. 8 (1976),
pp. 159-70.
, The Poetics of Prose, Richard Howard (trans.), Oxford: Blackwell,
1977.
Tolkien, J. R. R., Tree and Leaf, London: Unwin Books, 1964.
Trimingham, J. Spencer, The Sufi Orders In Islam, Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1971.
Whorf, Benjamin Lee, Language, Thought and Reality: Selected Writing of
Benjamin Lee Whorf, edited with an introduction by John B. Carole,
Cambridge, Mass.: The M.I.T. Press, 1956.
Williams, L. F. Rushbrook (ed.), Sufi Studies: East and West, New York: E.
P. Dutton, 1973.
Index
Ahearn, Marie, 146-7 107,180,185, 193, 242, 243,
Arabi, Ibn El, 10, 209 263, 265
Bakhtiar, Laleh, 100, 110,114-15,116, Kermode, Frank, 128, 129, 201

159,161, 171, 173, 174,181-3,
208-9, 211, 230, 233, 252, 261, Laing, Roland D., 4, 5, 8-10,16, 26,
263, 266-7 29-30, 33, 59, 89, 90, 94, 189,192,
Barthes, Roland, 134 241-2, 247, 251-2
Bawer, Bruce, 236 Lessing, Doris
Bidpai Briefing for a Descent into Hell, 5, 86,
The Lights of Canopus, 152,156, 87, 88,152,178, 199, 200, 262
261, 266-7 Canopus in Argos: Archives, 136,
Booth, Wayne, 47-8,134 139,143,147, 150,152-3,
Butor, Michael, 127 237, 257
Children of Violence, The, 2,
Camus, Albert, 76 85-6,167
Carey, John L., 80 Diaries of Jane Somers, The, 247
Cassirer, Ernest, 72-3 Fifth Child, The, 268
Cirlot, J. E., 110, 115, 252 Four-Gated City, The, 5,199-200,
246
Draine, Betsy, 77, 88, 143 Going Home, 2
Golden Notebook, The, 9, 38, 39, 50,
Engels, Frederick, 140, 141, 247 51-84, 85-6, 87, 88, 92, 96, 99,
110,129, 136,139,148-9,151,
Fatemi, Nasrollah S., 244 167,169, 179, 185,188, 213,
Franz, M. L. Von, 64 237, 246, 248, 262
Frye, Northrop, 122,150, 251 Good Terrorist, The, 268
Freud, Sigmund, 6-7 Grass is Singing, The, 4, 8,19-50,
85, 91,136, 237, 240, 262
Galbreath, Robert, 144 Making of the Representative for
Genette, Gerard, 128 Planet 8, The, 138,141,152,
Ghazalli, El, 10,133 248, 262
Marriages Between Zones Three,
Harding, Nancy, 156 Four and Five, The, 137-8,141,
Holmquist, Ingrid, 5, 12,14, 120 151, 257
Memoirs of a Survivor, The, 85-135,
Iser, Wolfgang, 254-5 136,139-40,152,163-4,167,
172,178,179-80,186, 190,
Jaffe, Aniela, 93 191-2,193,196, 200, 214, 218,
Jung, Carl Gustave, 4, 5, 6-7, 9, 219, 234, 237, 248, 257
10,16, 30, 31, 32, 33, 42, 55-6, Sentimental Agents in the Volyen
60, 63-4, 75, 99-100,103, Empire, The, 141, 152
277
278 Index
Shikasta, 136-7, 140, 141-2, 151, 153,154, 158-62,171,173-5,
153-234, 257 177, 180-4, 193, 205-6, 208-10,
Sirian Experiments, The, 138, 150, 211-16, 221, 222, 229-30, 231,
152, 261-2 233, 236, 238, 243, 244, 246,
Summer Before the Dark, The, 86, 87, 248-9, 252-3, 256, 257, 259-60,
88, 267 261-2, 263-4, 265, 266-7
Sufi Concepts
Lightfoot, Marjorie, 80 Ana' I Haqu, 160
Lois and Rose, Stephen, 144-5, 146 Arc of Ascent, 100, 114,161,
Lukacs, Georg, 4, 16, 241 209, 230
Breath of the Compassionate,
Maccoby, Hyam, 12 183-4
Magie, Michael, 1 Centrifugal motion, 160-1, 218, 252
Martin, Lorna, 124 Cosmological symbols, 114-15,
Marxism, 2-3, 4-6, 16, 96,140, 141, 173,181-2, 208-9, 211, 266-7
142, 247 Dervish, 15, 248
Muecke, D. C , 48 Dervish Orders, 211, 257
Detachment, 15, 160, 161-2
Nasrudin, 229, 231, 253 Equipoise, 205, 248
Feminine Principle, 100, 107, 109,
Ornstein, Robert, 10-11, 17, 51, 89, 111,114,115,138,172,209,
223, 230, 258, 266
93, 247, 262 Gathering of Opposites, 68, 213
Geometrical symbols, 110-11, 171,
Parrinder, Patrick, 143,145 174, 233, 249, 252, 263
Guarded Tablet, The, 181-2
Qarmani, A tula, 81 'Halka', 230
Reilly, Robert, 141, 258 Jam' situation, 175
Rumi, Jalalludin, 113, 118, 119,155, 'Latifa', 11, 64
212-13 Mandala, 83, 101,108, 109-11,
114-15, 121, 151, 171, 249, 252
Sage, Lorna, 145 Multiplicity-in-unity, 114-15, 120,
Saussure, Ferdinand, 129, 256 158, 159, 160, 214, 258, 261-2
Scholes, Robert, 145, 238 Niche, 251
Science fiction, 142-8, 150, 162, Noah's ark, 213
201-2, 238, 260 'Old Villain', 229
Shah, Idris, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15, 51, 64, 'Organ of Evolution', 161,
68, 75, 85, 87, 98, 108, 112, 113, 181, 263-4
115, 117, 118, 120, 133,134, 142, Philosophers' Stone, 108, 109,
160, 161-2, 165,173-4, 175, 119, 121, 158, 160, 161,165,
183, 193, 205-6, 210, 215-16, 171, 173-4, 180-1, 221,
222, 230, 231, 256, 259-60, 261, 237, 256
263-4, 265 Presence, The - Hadarat,
Shibli, 181, 263 101,107
Shklovsky, Victor, 78, 162 Reflective Mirror, 119-20, 158-9,
Spencer, Sharon, 191 171, 214, 261
Sufism, 10-16, 51, 61-2, 64, 68, 75, Science of Letters, 182-3
77, 81, 85, 87, 98, 100-1, 107-21, Secret Language, 118,183
133, 134, 141, 142, 146, 148, 152, 'Simurgh', 265
Index 279
'States and Stations', 11,101, Suvin, Darko, 127, 142, 143-4,

116, 174 162, 202
Sufi teacher, 117-18, 160, 161,173, Swinfen, Ann, 255
180, 216, 248-9, 253, 264, 267
Sufi teaching stories, 134, 156, Todorov, Tzvetan, 123, 126
165, 193 Tolkein, J. R. R., 260
'Tajalli', 10, 11, 12, 15
'Tamkin', 116 Whorf, Benjamin Lee, 265
Wood, Ramsay
Sullivan, Alvin, 120 Kalila and Dimna, 147, 257

Shadia S. Fahim - Doris Lessing - Sufi Equilibrium and The Form of The Novel-Palgrave Macmillan (1994)

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Doris Lessing

Sufi Equilibrium and the Form of the Novel

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of

First published in Great Britain 1994 by

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First published in the United States of America 1994 by

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

1 The Grass is Singing 19

2 The Golden Notebook 51

3 The Memoirs of a Survivor 85

4 The Science Fiction Series 136

but which proves to be a major achievement. The Memoirs of a

It is a balance which must be continuously tested and

is further significant that she consistently defines Communism in

Communism . . . was a great, marvellous vision which was much

It is therefore clear that far from totally acquiring the Communist

Lessing's repeated references to the fiction of the nineteenth-

solid realistic background, gave rise to critical approaches referring

absorbs symbolism'. 22 When asked whether the role of the novelist

When critics like Ingrid Holmquist claim that 'Lessing's thinking

two directions in which these thinkers have looked for a solution.

nature', 3 0 Jung develops the idea of the 'personal unconscious' and

In addition to our immediate consciousness, which is of a thor-

The reconciliation between the individual and the collective

The activity of the unconscious [is] a balancing of the one-

Jung's paradigm of the psyche, the process of individuation,

Lessing's novels as manifested in the motif of descent. By descent

'engulfment' or implosion - different states of lack of equilibrium

My view of Laing is that at an appropriate time in Britain, he chal-

Laing's opinions coincided writh a general disenchantment with

The fact that psychiatry is restricted to the domain of science

The difference is that between Western psychology and the esoteric

Both types of psychology begin from common ground and

The basic tenet of Western psychology, according to Ornstein, is

When Western psychologists use, say, Catharsis to explode emo-

restored to, some sort of a norm assessed by purely logical or

Thus, whereas psychiatry considers descent into the unconscious

Thus wThereas psychology's basic tenet is to restore the balance of

Man has the possibility of conscious self-development, becoming

Critics have referred to Lessing's later mysticism as evidence of her

philosophy. My analysis of that realm therefore rests centrally on

The Sufis oppose the pure intellectuals and scholastic philoso-

It is that balance in perception which is the key to Sufi philoso-

It is precisely that aspect of Sufi philosophy which is most fruit-

[F]or people like myself, unable to admire organized religions

through her mysticism, Doris Lessing embraces a new form

Such an assertion shows a misunderstanding of the later novels

the Absolute. Rather, Sufism believes that 'the complete Man . . . is

When apparent opposites are reconciled, the individuality is

Furthermore, the Sufis regard mystical illumination and the

Sufi mysticism differs tremendously from other cults claiming

Unlike other modes of mysticism which believe that reality is

an individual who believes that by practising alternate detach-

The belief that Sufism encompasses both aspects of reality - the

Sufi literature is integrated into the ordinary fabric of life. Doris

Sufi literature, as well as the practices used by its exponents,

It then becomes possible to see Sufism within the dynamic of

these exclusively, seriously distorts her methods as well as her

presented in four novels, each representing a significant stage of

The response of the district to the murder briefly shows orthodox

Within the strictures of this environment, the relationship between

In that context, both Dick and Charlie are secondary as individ-