Conversations in groups continued as usual. Once Gurdjieff said that he wanted to
carry out an experiment on the separation of personality from essence. We
were all very interested because he had promised "experiments" for a long
time but till then we had seen nothing. I will not describe his methods, I
will merely describe the people whom he chose that first evening for the
experiment.
One was no longer young and was a man who occupied a fairly prominent
position in society. At our meetings he spoke much and often about himself,
his family, about Christianity, and about the events of the moment connected
with the war and with all possible kinds of "scandal" that had very much
disgusted him.
The other was younger. Many of us did not consider him to be a serious
person. Very often he played what is called the fool; or, on the other hand,
entered into endless formal arguments about some or other details of the
system without any relation whatever to the whole. It was very difficult to
understand him. He spoke in a confused and intricate manner even of the most
simple things, mixing up in a most impossible way different points of view
and words belonging to different categories and levels.
I pass over the beginning of the experiment.
We were sitting in the big drawing room.
The conversation went on as usual.
"Now observe," G. whispered to us.
The older of the two who was speaking heatedly about something suddenly
became silent in the middle of a sentence and seemed to sink into his chair
looking straight in front of him. At a sign from G. we continued to talk
without looking at him. The younger one began to listen to the talk and then
spoke himself. All of us looked at one another. His voice had become
different. He told us some observations about himself in a clear, simple,
and intelligible manner without superfluous words, without extravagances,
and without buffoonery. Then he became silent; he smoked a cigarette and was
obviously thinking of something. The first one sat still without moving, as
though shrunken into a ball.
"Ask him what he is thinking about," said G. quietly.
"I?" He lifted his head as though waking up when he was questioned. "About
nothing." He smiled weakly as though apologizing or as though he were
surprised at anyone asking him what he was thinking about.
"Well, you were talking about the war just now," said one of us, "about what
would happen if we made peace with the Germans; do you still think as you
did then?"
"I don't know really," he said in an uncertain voice. "Did I say that?"
"Yes, certainly, you just said that everyone was obliged to think about it,
that no one had the right not to think about it, and that no one had the
right to forget the war; everyone ought to have a definite opinion; yes or
no-for or against the war."
He listened as though he did not grasp what the questioner was saying.
"Yes?" he said. "How odd. I do not remember anything about it."
"But aren't you interested in it?"
"No, it does not interest me at all."
"Are you not thinking of the consequences of all that is now taking place,
of the results for Russia, for the whole of civilization?"
He shook his head as though with regret.
"I do not understand what you are talking about," he said, "it does not
interest me at all and I know nothing about it."
"Well then, you spoke before of your family. Would it not be very much
easier for you if they became interested in our ideas and joined the work?"
"Yes, perhaps," again in an uncertain voice. "But why should I think about
it?"
"Well, you said you were afraid of the gulf, as you expressed it, which was
growing between you and them."
No reply.
"But what do you think about it now?"
"I am not thinking about it at all."
"If you were asked what you would like, what would you say?"
Again a wondering glance-"I do not want anything."
"But think, what would you like?"
On the small table beside him there stood an unfinished glass of tea. He
gazed at it for a long time as though considering something. He glanced
around him twice, then again looked at the glass, and said in such a serious
voice and with such serious intonations that we all looked at one another:
"I think I should like some raspberry jam."
"Why are you questioning him?" said a voice from the corner which we hardly
recognized.
This was the second "experiment."
"Can you not see that he is asleep?"
"And you yourself?" asked one of us.
"I, on the contrary, have woken up."
"Why has he gone to sleep while you have woken up?"
"I do not know."
With this the experiment ended.
Neither of them remembered anything the next day. G. explained to us that
with the first man everything that constituted the subject of his ordinary
conversation, of his alarms and agitation, was in personality. And when his
personality was asleep practically nothing remained. In the personality of
the other there was also a great deal of undue talkativeness but behind the
personality there was an essence which knew as much as the personality and
knew it better, and when personality went to sleep essence took its place to
which it had a much greater right.
"Note that contrary to his custom he spoke very little," said G. "But he was
observing all of you and everything that was taking place, and nothing
escaped him."
"But of what use is it to him if he also does not remember?" said one of us.
"Essence remembers," said G., "personality has forgotten. And this was
necessary because otherwise personality would have perverted everything and
would have ascribed all this to itself."
