by Colin Wilson
But the chief necessity of our age is to dare to be inner-directed. This is not easy. Behind us is the rise of fascism, the extermination of millions of Jews, the disappearance of the old order; we live in a world of constant political tension, with a permanent threat of world communism, and a world in which all writers would be expected to be grateful for state supervision. It is no longer a mere figure of rhetoric to say that man’s freedom is being destroyed every day. In such a situation, it is hardly surprising that men are losing their sense of interior certainty and becoming more other-directed. Yet it is impossible for man to regain his power over his situation without turning away from the immediacy of his experience and concentrating upon his intuitions of his own value. This turning away is not a form of escapism; it is only the first step in regaining detachment and, eventually, the control that comes with detachment. The solution lies in a deepening of subjectivity, and an analysis of the problems that possesses the confidence of subjectivity. The claptrap about commitment must be rejected without compunction. Commitment cannot be imposed as a duty; its impulse originates in self-belief. The impulse that for four centuries has expressed itself in scientific discovery must be redirected. The field of man’s subjectivity is still unexplored.
The responsibility of literature in the twentieth century becomes appallingly clear: to illuminate man’s freedom.
1 “A Writer’s Prospect,” the London Magazine, January, 1959.