A Cursory Review of Ends and Means.

A Cursory Review of Ends and Means.

Reading Huxley now disappoints me only because I am all too familiar with the personality type. The perpetual resistance to any sort of Primary Cause in accordance with which all of existence would be considered rationally is in fact typical of the Champion (E.N.F.P.) whose stridency is derived from his own disorganized thinking and restlessness. Huxley has gone so far in the pursuit of an underlying order that he has barred his own path to it, foregoing the pursuit as though it were mere sublimation and directing his criticisms outwards at the likes of Nietzsche and Marx, coupling them heavy-handedly with their fanatical adherents. At that same moment he blatantly, and with self-contradiction that would bar me from publishing (but that he himself adopts with Camusian vainglory and without apology), exposes his own sublimation, for what if not that temperamental distaste for ordered discipline, so typical of Extraverted Champions, manifest perpetually in broken promises and scattered schedules (small wonder “Time Must Have a Stop”, or so the poor timekeeper hopes), could prompt the preacher to forego Unity altogether, except within the narrow confines of his favourite discipline (“the natural sciences”), assigning to his own Godlessness (or perhaps his Christian guilt, for the idle hands of a broken clock are a Devil’s Workshop save for only two times a day) all of the faith once placed in God?

All ready it is that I hear within my mind the accented laughter in retort: that it is simply I that presupposes that his personality could fit so neatly such a prejudiced description. Yet it is just as much a testament to my own faith in him in youth, when I thought little of the problems of the type, but owed a debt that I could not deny to its disciples, who had come to me by various means yet were produced by common strain, as it is a testament to my jaded disillusion at present. Nothing forbids me to suggest that it was not Nietzsche’s strife but that of Huxley himself that besmirches the thought of the respective thinker. After all: I am simply using Huxley’s thinking, as though it were my own (for he himself foregoes identity with it, and hence possession of it) in application to the speaker himself.

In so doing I do not accuse him of hypocrisy, but rather vertigo.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]