68
“In several respects,” Nur said, “the Church of the Second Chance and the Sufis agree. The Chancers, however, have somewhat different technical terms which might lead you to think that each refers to different things.
“The final goal of the Chancers and the Sufis is the same. Ignoring the difference in terms, both claim that the individual self must be absorbed by the universal self. That is, by Allah, God, the Creator, the Rel, call Him what you will.”
“And this means that the individual being is annihilated?”
“No. Absorbed. Annihilation is destruction. In absorption the individual soul, ka, or brahman, becomes part of’the universal self.”
“And that means that the individual loses his self-consciousness, his individuality? He is no longer aware of himself?”
“Yes, but he is part of the Great Self. What is the loss of self-consciousness as an individual compared to the gain of self-consciousness as God?”
‘ “That strikes me with horror. You might as well be dead. Once you’re no longer self-conscious, you are dead. No, I can’t understand why the Chancers of Buddhists or Hindus or Sufis think this state desirable.
“Without self-consciousness, the individual is indeed dead.”
“If you’d experienced that ecstasy which Sufis experience in one stage of development, the passing-away, you’d understand. Can a person blind from birth be filled with ecstasy while those with sight are looking at a glorious sunset?”
“That’s just it,” Frigate said. “I have had mystical experiences. Three.
“One was when I was twenty-six years old. I was working in a steel mill. In the soaking pits. There cranes strip large ingots from the molds into which molten steel was poured in the open hearths. After the stripping, the cooling ingots are lowered into gas-burning pits which reheat them. From there they’ re taken to the rolling mill.
“When I worked in the pits, I fancied that the ingots were souls. Lost souls in the flames of purgatory. They’d be soaked in the flames for a while, then carried off to the place where they’d be pressed down into shape for heaven. Just as the big rolls in the mill squeezed down on ingots, shaping them, pressing the impurities to the ends of the ingots, which were then chopped off, so the souls would be shaped and purified.
“However, this has little to do with the subject of conversation. Or does it?
“Anyway, one day I was standing at the huge open door of the soaking-pits building, resting a moment. I was looking out along the yards at the open hearth. I don’t remember what I was thinking then. Probably that I was tired of working in this extremely hot place at hard labor for such low pay. I was also probably wondering if I was ever going to become a successful writer.
“All of my stories had been rejected, though I’d had a few encouraging notes from editors. Whit Burnett, for instance, the editor of a high-prestige if low-paying magazine, Story, twice came close to buying my stories, but both times his wife disagreed with him, and he bounced them.
“Anyway, there I was, staring at the mill’s ugliness, not at all conducive to pleasant thoughts and especially not to a mystical state.
“I was in low spirits, very low. And the train tracks that filled the yard, the grey metal dust that covered the mud and every object on the yard, the huge, hideous sheet-iron building that housed the open hearths, the smoke that the wind brought down low to the ground, the acrid stink of the smoke, all made for a very depressing mood.
“And then suddenly, unaccountably, it all seemed to change. In a flash. I don’t mean that the ugliness became beautiful. It was just as grey and unpleasant as before.
“But, somehow, I suddenly felt that the universe was right. And all was and would be well. There was a subtle shift in my perspective. Let me put it this way. It was as if the universe was composed of an infinity of glass bricks. These bricks were almost, but not quite, invisible. I could see their edges, though these were ghostly.
“The bricks had been piled so that their faces were not quite even. As if God was a drunken mason. But now, in this subtle shift, the bricks moved, and their faces were even. Order had been restored. Divine order and beauty. The cosmic building was no longer an ill-built structure, fit only to be condemned by the cosmic zoning inspectors.