The Arousing of Thought

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In any case I have begun just thus, and as to how the rest will go I can only say meanwhile, as the blind man once expressed it, “we shall see.”

First and foremost, I shall place my own hand, moreover the right one, which—although at the moment it is slightly injured owing to the misfortune which recently befell me—is nevertheless really my own, and has never once failed me in all my life, on my heart, of course also my own—but on the inconstancy or constancy of this part of all my whole I do not find it necessary here to expatiate;—and frankly confess that I myself have personally not the slightest wish to write, but attendant circumstances, quite independent of me, constrain me to do so—and whether these circumstances arose accidentally or were created intentionally by extraneous forces, I myself do not yet know. I know only that these circumstances bid me write not just anything “so-so,” as, for instance, something of the kind for reading oneself to sleep, but weighty and bulky tomes.

However that may be, I begin . . .

But begin with what?

Oh, the devil! Will there indeed be repeated that same exceedingly unpleasant and highly strange sensation which it befell me to experience when about three weeks ago I was composing in my thoughts the scheme and sequence of the ideas destined by me for publication and did not know then how to begin either?

This sensation then experienced I might now formulate in words only thus: “the-fear-of-drowning-in-the-overflow-of-my-own-thoughts.”

To stop this undesirable sensation I might then still have had recourse to the aid of that maleficent property existing also in me, as in contemporary man, which has become inherent in all of us, and which enables us, without experiencing any remorse of conscience whatever, to put off anything we wish to do “till tomorrow.”

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expatiate

expatiate: 1530s, “walk about, roam freely,” from Latin expatiatus/exspatiatus, past participle of expatiari/exspatiari “wander, digress, wander from the way; spread, extend,” from ex “out” + spatiari “to walk, spread out,” from spatium. Meaning “talk or write at length” is 1610s.

This is an unusual but precise choice of word.

constrain

constrain: “to exert force, physical or moral, upon, either in urging to action or restraining from it,” early 14c., constreyen, from stem of Old French constreindre (Modern French contraindre) “restrain, control,” from Latin constringere “to bind together, tie tightly, fetter, shackle, chain,” from assimilated form of com “with, together” + stringere “to draw tight.”

In essence, Gurdjieff has decided to write because he has little or no choice.

and whether these circumstances arose accidentally or were created intentionally by extraneous forces, I myself do not yet know

In various books there is a speculation around why Gurdjieff ’s car accident in July 1924 occurred. The suggestion that what befell Gurdjieff could have been “accidental” (in the sense of his being under the Law of Accident) is absurd given his level of being. However, he is stating here that he does not (at the time he wrote the words) know why it came about. It is enigmatic.

tome

This is a precise word choice.

tome: 1510s, “a single volume of a multi-volume work,” from Middle French tome (16c.), from Latin tomus “section of a book, tome,” from Greek tomos “volume, section of a book,” originally “a section, piece cut off,” from temnein “to cut.” Sense of “a large book” is attested from 1570s.

remorse

The first mention in the book of the word remorse, which the reader will soon discover, is an important concept. The etymology is:

remorse (n.): "intense and painful self-condemnation and penitence due to consciousness of guilt; the pain of a guilty conscience," late 14c., from Old French remors and directly from Medieval Latin remorsum, "a biting back or in return," the neuter past participle of Latin remordere "to vex, torment disturb," literally "to bite back, bite again", from re- "back, again" (see re-) + mordēre "to bite."

The sense evolution came via the Medieval Latin phrase remorsus conscientiæ. This is Chaucer's remors of conscience, also translated into Middle English as ayenbite of inwit. Middle English also had a verb, remord "to strike with remorse, touch with compassion, prick one's conscience" (late 14c.), from Latin remordere.