Sharing this story by P.D. Ouspensky. 

The Hague Conference

It is the year 1906 or 1907. The editorial office of the Moscow daily paper The Morning. 

I have just received the foreign papers, and I have to write an article on the forthcoming Hague Conference. French, German, English, Italian papers. Phrases, phrases, sympathetic, critical, ironical, blatant, pompous, lying and, worst of all, utterly automatic, phrases which have been used a thousand times and will be used again on entirely different, perhaps contradictory, occasions. 

I have to make a survey of all these words and opinions, pretending to take them seriously, and then, just as seriously, to write something on my own account. But what can I say? 

It is all so tedious. Diplomats and all kinds of statesmen will gather together and talk, papers will approve or disapprove, sympathise or not sympathise. Then everything will be as it was, or even worse. 

It is still early, I say to myself: perhaps something will come into my head later. 

Pushing aside the papers, I open a drawer in my desk. The whole desk is crammed with books with strange titles. The Occult World, Life after Death, Atlantis and Lemuria, Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie, Le Temple de Satan, The Sincere Narrations of a Pilgrim, and the like. 

These books and I have been inseparable for a whole month, and the world of The Hague Conference and leading articles becomes more and more vague and unreal to me.

I open one of the books at random, feeling that my article will not be written today. Well, it can go to the devil. Humanity will lose nothing gif there is one article fewer on The Hague Conference… 

– P.D. Ouspensky

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