precisely in
the act of identification, and this identification is as much sensual
as it is intellectual. It is a totality of experience: the "sensuous
intellect," if the reader can imagine such a thing. We have so lost
the ability to make this identification that we are left today with
only two experiences that consist of participating consciousness: lust
and anxiety. As I make love to my partner, as I immerse myself in her
body, I become increasingly "lost." At the moment of orgasm, I am the
act; there is no longer an "I" who experiences it. Panic has a similar
momentum, for if sufficiently terrified I cannot separate myself from
what is happening to me. In the psychotic (or mystic) episode, my skin
has no boundary. I am out of my mind, I have become my environment. The
essence of original participation is the feeling , the bodily perception,
that there stands behind the phenomena a "represented" that is of the
same nature as me -- 'mana,' God, the world spirit, and so on.13 This
notion, that subject and Object, self and other, man and environment,
are ultimately identical, is the holistic world view.
Of course, we sometimes experience participation in less intense forms,
although sexual desire and panic remain the best examples. In truth --
and we shall treat this in detail in Chapter 5 -- participation is the
rule rather than the exception for modern man, although he is (unlike his
premodern counterpart) largely unconscious of it. Thus as I wrote the
first few pages of this chapter, down to this page, at least, I was so
absorbed in what I was doing that I had no sense of myself at all. The
same experience happens to me at a movie, a concert, or on a tennis
court. Nevertheless, the consciousness of official culture dictates my
"recognition" that I am not, and can never be, my experiences. Whereas
my premodern counterpart felt, and saw, that he was his experiences --
that his consciousness was not some special, independent consciousness --
I classify my own participation as some form of "recreation," and see
reality in terms of the inspection and evaluation Plato hoped men would
achieve. I thus see myself as an island, whereas my medieval or ancient
predecessor saw himself more like an embryo. And although there is no
going back to the womb, we can at least appreciate how comforting and
meaningful such a state of mind, and view of reality, truly was.
But was this view at all real? Weren't my predecessors simply living
in the same world as I am, but somehow conceptualizing it differently
(i.e., incorrectly)? Doesn't the subject/object dichotomy represent a
distinct advance in human knowledge over this primitive, even orgiastic
identification of self and other? These questions, which are all
essentially asking the same thing, are the ones most crucial to the
history of consciousness, and require closer scrutiny. For there are only
two possibilities here. Either original participation, which was the basic
mode of human cognition (despite the gradual attenuation of that mode)
down to the late sixteenth century, was an elaborate self-deception; or
original participation really did exist, was an actual fact.14 We shall
try to decide between these two alternatives by means of an analysis of
the paradigm science of participation, alchemy.
If the standard history textbooks are to be believed, alchemy was the
attempt to find a chemical substance that, when added to lead, transformed
it into gold. Alternatively, it was the attempt to prepare a liquid,
the 'elixir vitae,' that would prolong human life indefinitely. Since
neither of these goals is attainable, the entire alchemical enterprise is
dismissed as a nonsensical episode (more than two thousand five hundred
years) in the history of science, a venture that could be viewed as tragic
were it not so silly in content. At most, modern science concedes that
the alchemists did, in the pursuit of their spurious
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