Admiration

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  CHRYSOSTOM. He was able, to cleanse by a word, or even by mere will, but He put out His hand, He stretched forth his hand and touched him, to shew that He was not subject to the Law, and that to the pure nothing is impure. Elisha truly kept the Law in all strictness, and did not go out and touch Naaman, but sends him to wash in Jordan. But the Lord shews that He does not heal as a servant, but as Lord heals and touches; His hand was not made unclean by the leprosy, but the leprous body was made pure by the holy hand. For He came not only to heal bodies, but to lead the soul to the true wisdom. As then He did not forbid to eat with unwashen hands, so here He teaches us that it is the leprosy of the soul we ought only to dread, which is sin, but that the leprosy of the body is no impediment to virtue. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. But though He transgressed the letter of the Law, He did not transgress its meaning. For the Law forbade to touch leprosy, because it could not hinder that the touch should not defile; therefore it meant not that lepers should not be healed, but that they that touched should not be polluted. So He was not polluted by touching the leprosy, but purified the leprosy by touching it. DAMASCENE. (De Fid. Orth. iii. 15.) For He was not only God, but man also, whence He wrought Divine wonders by touch and word; for as by an instrument so by His body the Divine acts were done. CHRYSOSTOM. But for touching the leprous man there is none that accuses Him, because His hearers were not yet seized with envy against Him. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. Had He healed him without speaking, who would know by whose power he had been healed? So the will to heal was for the sake of the leprous man; the word was for the sake of them that beheld, therefore He said, I will, be thou clean. JEROME. It is not to be read, as most of the Latins think, ‘I will to cleanse thee;’ but separately, He first answers, I will, and then follows the command, be thou clean. The leper has said, If thou wilt; the Lord answers, I will; he first said, Thou canst make me clean; the Lord spake, Be thou clean. CHRYSOSTOM. No where else do we see Him using this word though He be working ever so signal a miracle; but He here adds, I will, to confirm the opinion of the people and the leprous man concerning His power. Nature obeyed the word of the Purifier with proper speed, whence it follows, and straight his leprosy was cleansed. But even this word straightway is too slow to express the speed with which the deed was done.

• From Memoirs of Hadrian (1951)

  Nothing in her appearance or bearing was out of keeping with that palace more ancient than the splendors of Rome: this daughter of a race newly come to power was in no way inferior to the Seleucids. We two were in accord on almost everything. Both of us had a passion for adorning, then laying bare, our souls, and for testing our minds on every touchstone. She leaned toward Epicurean philosophy, that narrow but clean bed whereon I have sometimes rested my thought. The mystery of gods, which haunted me, did not trouble her, nor had she my ardent love for the human body. She was chaste by reason of her disgust with the merely facile, generous by determination rather than by nature, wisely mistrustful but ready to accept anything from a friend, even his inevitable errors. Friendship was a choice to which she devoted her whole being; she gave herself to it utterly, and as I have done only to my loves. She has known me better than anyone has; I have let her see what I carefully concealed from everyone else; for example, my secret lapses into cowardice. I like to think that on her side she has kept almost nothing from me. No bodily intimacy ever existed between us; in its place was this contact of two minds closely intermingled. Our accord dispensed with explanations and avowals, or reticences: facts themselves sufficed. She observed these more closely than I; under the heavy braids which the fashion demanded her smooth brow was that of a judge. Her memory retained the exact impression of minutest objects; therefore, unlike me, she never had occasion to hesitate too long or to decide too quickly. She could detect at a glance my most secret adversaries, and evaluated my followers with cool detachment. In truth, we were accomplices, but the most trained ear would hardly have been able to catch the tones of a secret accord between us. She never committed the gross error of complaining to me about the emperor, nor the more subtle one of excusing or praising him. On my side, my loyalty was not questioned. Attianus, who had just come from Rome, joined in these discussions, which sometimes lasted all night; but nothing seemed to tire this imperturbable, yet frail, woman. She had managed to have my former guardian named privy councillor, thus eliminating my enemy Celsus. Trajan's mistrust of me, or else the impossibility of finding someone to fill my post in the rear, would keep me in Antioch: I was counting upon [Hadrian 82a.jpg] Plotina Rome, Capitoline Museum [Hadrian 82bc.jpg] Romans in Combat with Dacians Sarmatian Cavalry in Action Rome, Reliefs on Trajan's Column [Hadrian 82d.jpg] Trajan in His Last Years Netherlands, Museum of Nijmegen (Bronze, found in the Roman Camp Nijmegen) these friends to inform me about everything not revealed in the official dispatches.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, As stated above [3827](A[1]), the difference between one religious order and another depends chiefly on the end, and secondarily on the exercise. And since one thing cannot be said to be more excellent than another save in respect of that in which it differs therefrom, it follows that the excellence of one religious order over another depends chiefly on their ends, and secondarily on their respective exercises. Nevertheless each of these comparisons is considered in a different way. For the comparison with respect to the end is absolute, since the end is sought for its own sake; whereas the comparison with respect to exercise is relative, since exercise is sought not for its own sake, but for the sake of the end. Hence a religious order is preferable to another, if it be directed to an end that is absolutely more excellent either because it is a greater good or because it is directed to more goods. If, however, the end be the same, the excellence of one religious order over another depends secondarily, not on the amount of exercise, but on the proportion of the exercise to the end in view. Wherefore in the Conferences of the Fathers (Coll. ii, 2) Blessed Antony is quoted, as preferring discretion whereby a man moderates all his actions, to fastings, watchings, and all such observances. Accordingly we must say that the work of the active life is twofold. one proceeds from the fulness of contemplation, such as teaching and preaching. Wherefore Gregory says (Hom. v in Ezech.) that the words of Ps. 144:7, “They shall publish the memory of . . . Thy sweetness,” refer “to perfect men returning from their contemplation.” And this work is more excellent than simple contemplation. For even as it is better to enlighten than merely to shine, so is it better to give to others the fruits of one’s contemplation than merely to contemplate. The other work of the active life consists entirely in outward occupation, for instance almsgiving, receiving guests, and the like, which are less excellent than the works of contemplation, except in cases of necessity, as stated above ([3828]Q[182], A[1]). Accordingly the highest place in religious orders is held by those which are directed to teaching and preaching, which, moreover, are nearest to the episcopal perfection, even as in other things “the end of that which is first is in conjunction with the beginning of that which is second,” as Dionysius states (Div. Nom. vii). The second place belongs to those which are directed to contemplation, and the third to those which are occupied with external actions.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Whether parish priests and archdeacons are more perfect than religious?Objection 1: It would seem that also parish priests and archdeacons are more perfect than religious. For Chrysostom says in his Dialogue (De Sacerdot. vi): “Take for example a monk, such as Elias, if I may exaggerate somewhat, he is not to be compared with one who, cast among the people and compelled to carry the sins of many, remains firm and strong.” A little further on he says: “If I were given the choice, where would I prefer to please, in the priestly office, or in the monastic solitude, without hesitation I should choose the former.” Again in the same book (ch. 5) he says: “If you compare the toils of this project, namely of the monastic life, with a well-employed priesthood, you will find them as far distant from one another as a common citizen is from a king.” Therefore it would seem that priests who have the cure of souls are more perfect than religious. Objection 2: Further, Augustine says (ad Valerium, Ep. xxi): “Let thy religious prudence observe that in this life, and especially at these times, there is nothing so difficult, so onerous, so perilous as the office of bishop, priest, or deacon; while in God’s sight there is no greater blessing, if one engage in the fight as ordered by our Commander-in-chief.” Therefore religious are not more perfect than priests or deacons. Objection 3: Further, Augustine says (Ep. lx, ad Aurel.): “It would be most regrettable, were we to exalt monks to such a disastrous degree of pride, and deem the clergy deserving of such a grievous insult,” as to assert that ‘a bad monk is a good clerk,’ “since sometimes even a good monk makes a bad clerk.” And a little before this he says that “God’s servants,” i.e. monks, “must not be allowed to think that they may easily be chosen for something better,” namely the clerical state, “if they should become worse thereby,” namely by leaving the monastic state. Therefore it would seem that those who are in the clerical state are more perfect than religious. Objection 4: Further, it is not lawful to pass from a more perfect to a less perfect state. Yet it is lawful to pass from the monastic state to a priestly office with a cure attached, as appears (XVI, qu. i, can. Si quis monachus) from a decree of Pope Gelasius, who says: “If there be a monk, who by the merit of his exemplary life is worthy of the priesthood, and the abbot under whose authority he fights for Christ his King, ask that he be made a priest, the bishop shall take him and ordain him in such place as he shall choose fitting.” And Jerome says (Ad Rustic. Monach., Ep. cxxv): “In the monastery so live as to deserve to be a clerk.” Therefore parish priests and archdeacons are more perfect than religious.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  As to the miracles worked by others, Christ did greater still. Hence on Jn. 15:24: “If I had not done in [Douay: ‘among’] them the works that no other men hath done,” etc., Augustine says: “None of the works of Christ seem to be greater than the raising of the dead: which thing we know the ancient prophets also did . . . Yet Christ did some works ‘which no other man hath done.’ But we are told in answer that others did works which He did not, and which none other did . . . But to heal with so great a power so many defects and ailments and grievances of mortal men, this we read concerning none soever of the men of old. To say nothing of those, each of whom by His bidding, as they came in His way, He made whole . . . Mark saith (6:56): ‘Whithersoever He entered, into towns or into villages or into cities, they laid the sick in the streets, and besought Him that they might touch but the hem of His garment: and as many as touched Him were made whole.’ These things none other did in them; for when He saith ‘In them,’ it is not to be understood to mean ‘Among them,’ or ‘In their presence,’ but wholly ‘In them,’ because He healed them . . . Therefore whatever works He did in them are works that none ever did; since if ever any other man did any one of them, by His doing he did it; whereas these works He did, not by their doing, but by Himself.”

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  For dinner there might be one chicken to feed fourteen children. My mom would have to fight with the bigger kids to get a handful of meat or a sip of the gravy or even a bone from which to suck out some marrow. And that’s when there was food for dinner at all. When there wasn’t, she’d steal food from the pigs. She’d steal food from the dogs. The farmers would put out scraps for the animals, and she’d jump for it. She was hungry; let the animals fend for themselves. There were times when she literally ate dirt. She would go down to the river, take the clay from the riverbank, and mix it with the water to make a grayish kind of milk. She’d drink that to feel full. But my mother was blessed that her village was one of the places where a mission school had contrived to stay open in spite of the government’s Bantu education policies. There she had a white pastor who taught her English. She didn’t have food or shoes or even a pair of underwear, but she had English. She could read and write. When she was old enough she stopped working on the farm and got a job at a factory in a nearby town. She worked on a sewing machine making school uniforms. Her pay at the end of each day was a plate of food. She used to say it was the best food she’d ever eaten, because it was something she had earned on her own. She wasn’t a burden to anyone and didn’t owe anything to anyone. When my mom turned twenty-one, her aunt fell ill and that family could no longer keep her in Transkei. My mom wrote to my gran, asking her to send the price of a train ticket, about thirty rand, to bring her home. Back in Soweto, my mom enrolled in the secretarial course that allowed her to grab hold of the bottom rung of the white-collar world. She worked and worked and worked but, living under my grandmother’s roof, she wasn’t allowed to keep her own wages. As a secretary, my mom was bringing home more money than anyone else, and my grandmother insisted it all go to the family. The family needed a radio, an oven, a refrigerator, and it was now my mom’s job to provide it.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  things without compromising the basic principles they adhere to. In adversity they can retain their presence of mind. They can handle chaos and the unpredictable without succumbing to anxiety. They keep their word. They have patience, can organize a lot of material, and complete what they start. Not continually insecure about their status, they can also subsume their personal interests to the good of the group, knowing that what works best for the team will in the end make their life easier and better. People of weak character begin from the opposite position. They are easily overwhelmed by circumstances, making them hard to rely upon. They are slippery and evasive. Worst of all, they cannot be taught because learning from others implies criticism. This means you will continually hit a wall in dealing with them. They may appear to listen to your instructions, but they will simply revert to what they think is best. We are all a mix of strong and weak qualities, but some people clearly veer in one or the other direction. As much as you can, you want to work and associate with strong characters and avoid weak ones. This has been the basis for almost all of Warren Buffett’s investment decisions. He looks beyond the numbers to the CEOs he will be dealing with, and what he wants to gauge above all else is their resilience, their dependability, and their self-reliance. If only we used such measurements in those we hired, the partners we take in, and even the politicians we choose. Although in intimate relationships there are certainly other factors that will guide our choices, strength of character should also be considered. This was largely what led Franklin Roosevelt to choose Eleanor as his wife. As a handsome young man of wealth, he could have chosen many other more beautiful young women, but he admired Eleanor’s openness to new experiences and her remarkable determination. Looking far into the future, he could see the value of her character mattering more than anything else. And it ended up being a very wise choice. In gauging strength or weakness, look at how people handle stressful moments and responsibility. Look at their patterns: what have they actually completed or accomplished? You can also test people. For instance, a good-natured joke at their expense can be quite revealing. Do they respond graciously to this, not so easily caught up in their insecurities, or do their eyes flash resentment or even anger? To gauge their trustworthiness as a team player, give them strategic information or share with them some rumor—do they quickly pass along the information to others? Are they quick to take one of your ideas and package it as their own? Criticize them in a direct manner. Do they take this to heart and try to learn and improve, or do they show overt signs of resentment? Give them an open-ended assignment with less direction than usual and monitor

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  When Virginia met Lily, her fifteen-year-old niece, Lily had said to her, “Grandmother used to tell us about you all the time. She said you could pick oranges in your back yard. She said you once found a lobster walking in your living room. She said there’d be tornadoes and your house would flood, and horrible snakes would come in. You sounded so exotic. It didn’t seem like you could be related to us.” They were riding in the warm car with their seat belts on. Virginia had just picked Lily up at the Newark airport because Lily was coming to live with them. Virginia had been charmed by her remark. — Lily’s mother was visiting Jarold and Virginia. It had been almost eight years since Virginia had spent so much time with her sister. Anne was the short, brown-haired sister to two tall blondes, a nervous, pitifully conscientious child who always seemed to be ironing or washing or going off somewhere with an armload of books. Her small mouth was a serious line. Her large gray eyes were blank and dewy. She often looked as though she was about to walk into a wall. Since Anne was the oldest by five years, their mother made her responsible for the care of Virginia and Betty on weekends, when she went into Lexington to clean houses for rich people. Anne accepted the responsibility with zeal. She rose early to get them eggs and milk for breakfast, she laid the table with exquisite care, wreathing the plates with chains of clover. Virginia and Betty complained when she dragged them out of bed to eat; they made fun of her neat breakfast rituals. They refused to help her with the dishes. Anne dated only scholarly boys. She spent earnest, desperate hours on the porch with them, talking about life and holding hands. She’d bound up the stairs afterward, her eyes hotly intent, her face soft and blushing with pleasure. Her sisters would tease her, sometimes until she cried. At forty-eight, Anne had become plump, homely and assured. Her eyes had become shrouded with loose skin and she wore large beige glasses. Her eyebrows had gotten thick, but her pale skin was fine and youthful. During the visit it was Anne who made charming, animated conversation with Jarold and Magdalen. It was she who laughed and made them laugh on the canoe trips and barbecues. Virginia sat darkly silent and meek, watching Anne with interest and some love. She knew Anne was being supportive. Anne had been told that Virginia had not recovered well from Charles’s death, and had come to bring lightness to the darkened house. She was determined to cheer Virginia, just as she’d been determined to mop the floor or make them eat their breakfast. She had approached Lily with the same unshakable desire to rectify.

• From Combating Cult Mind Control: The Guide to Protection, Rescue and Recovery from Destructive Cults (1988)

  Title : Combating Cult Mind Control: The Guide to Protection, Rescue and Recovery from Destructive Cults Author: Hassan, Steven Past Praise Hassan brings decades of thought and experience to his invaluable work in helping people emerge from “thought reform” and mind control and to reassert the precious human attribute of freedom of the mind. Robert Jay Lifton, M.D. Author of Witness to an Extreme Century: A Memoir and Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism I want to go on record as strongly endorsing Steven Hassan’s approach to understanding the sources of cult power in controlling the minds and behavior of members. His now classic text on cultic mind control, Combating Cult Mind Control, integrates his personal experiences in a cult with his cogent analysis of the underlying dynamic processes, and then adds in to the mix current research and theory. …Steven Hassan’s approach is one that I value more than that of any other researcher or clinical practitioner…Hassan is a model of clear exposition, his original ideas are brilliantly presented in a captivating style. Philip G. Zimbardo, Ph.D. Former president of the American Psychological Association Professor Emeritus of Psychology, Stanford University Author of The Lucifer Effect and Influencing Attitudes and Changing Behavior President and Founder of the Heroic Imagination Project In my judgment this is a singularly important and valuable book. I was especially impressed by the author’s candor in addressing his experiences both within the Unification Church and subsequent to his departure from it. Beyond the value of this illuminating personal account of a practitioner of “exit counseling” lies a remarkably useful collection of information about cult-related issues in contemporary American life. I heartily recommend this book to lay readers who for one reason or another wish to become better informed on this topic. It will also be valuable to professionals in health-related fields, clergy, attorneys, and others whose responsibilities bring them into contact with cults, their members, and the families whose lives are affected. Louis Jolyon West, M.D. (1924-1999) Former chairman of the Department of Psychiatry, UCLA School of Medicine A major contribution....For the first time, a skilled and ethical exit counselor has spelled out the details of the complicated yet understandable process of helping free a human being from the bondage of mental manipulation....Steve Hassan has written a “how to do something about it” book. Margaret Singer, Ph.D. (1921-2003) Department of Psychology, University of California, Berkeley I came away from this book with a heightened sense of the urgency of the problem of mind controlling cults, and a heightened admiration for Steven Hassan’s work in understanding them and liberating people from them. It is a clear and valuable work. Rabbi Harold S. Kushner Author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People, A Heart of Wisdom, and many other books

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  He added a cubit to the race, by giving it back its dignity, its strength, its need of creation. He saw everything as creation, as solar joy. He didn’t record it in orderly fashion, he recorded it musically. He was indifferent to the fact that the French have a tin ear—he was orchestrating for the whole world simultaneously. What was my amazement then, when some years later I arrived in France, to find that there were no monuments erected to him, no streets named after him. Worse, during eight whole years I never once heard a Frenchman mention his name. He had to die in order to be put in the pantheon of French deities—and how sickly must they look, his deific contemporaries, in the presence of this radiant sun! If he had not been a physician, and thus permitted to earn a livelihood, what might not have happened to him! Perhaps another able hand for the garbage trucks! The man who made the Egyptian frescoes come alive in all their flaming colors, this man could just as well have starved to death for all the public cared. But he was an ocean and the critics drowned in this ocean, and the editors and the publishers and the public too. It will take aeons for him to dry up, to evaporate. It will take about as long as for the French to acquire a musical ear. If there had been no music I would have gone to the madhouse like Nijinsky. (It was just about this time that they discovered that Nijinsky was mad. He had been found giving his money away to the poor—always a bad sign!) My mind was filled with wonderful treasures, my taste was sharp and exigent, my muscles were in excellent condition, my appetite was strong, my wind sound. I had nothing to do except to improve myself, and I was going crazy with the improvements I made every day. Even if there were a job for me to fill I couldn’t accept it, because what I needed was not work but a life more abundant. I couldn’t waste time being a teacher, a lawyer, a physician, a politician or anything else that society had to offer. It was easier to accept menial jobs because it left my mind free. After I was fired from the garbage trucks I remember taking up with an Evangelist who seemed to have great confidence in me. I was a sort of usher, collector and private secretary. He brought to my attention the whole world of Indian philosophy. Evenings when I was free I would meet with my friends at the home of Ed Bauries who lived in an aristocratic section of Brooklyn. Ed Bauries was an eccentric pianist who couldn’t read a note. He had a bosom pal called George Neumiller with whom he often played duets. Of the dozen or so who congregated at Ed Bauries’ home nearly every one of us could play the piano.

• From Born on the Fourth of July (1976)

  The tall marine spoke in a very beautiful way about the exciting history of the marines and how they had never lost and America had never been defeated. “The marines have been the first in everything, first to fight and first to uphold the honor of our country. We have served on distant shores and at home, and we have always come when our country has called. There is nothing finer, nothing prouder, than a United States Marine.” When they were finished, they efficiently picked up their papers and marched together down the steps of the stage to where a small crowd of boys began to gather. I couldn’t wait to run down after them, meet with them and shake their hands. And as I shook their hands and stared up into their eyes, I couldn’t help but feel I was shaking hands with John Wayne and Audie Murphy. They told us that day that the Marine Corps built men—body, mind, and spirit. And that we could serve our country like the young president had asked us to do. * * * We were all going in different directions and we had our whole lives ahead of us, and a million different dreams. I can still remember the last stickball game. I stood at home plate with the sun in my face and looked out at Richie, Pete, and the rest. It was our last summer together and the last stickball game we ever played on Hamilton Avenue. One day that summer I quit my job at the food store and went to the little red, white, and blue shack in Levittown. My father and I went down together. It was September by the time all the paperwork was completed, September 1964. I was going to leave on a train one morning and become a marine. I stayed up most of the night before I left, watching the late movie. Then “The Star-Spangled Banner” played. I remember standing up and feeling very patriotic, chills running up and down my spine. I put my hand over my heart and stood rigid at attention until the screen went blank. “AWRIGHT, LADIES!” shouted the sergeant again. “My name is Staff Sergeant Joseph. This—” he said, pointing to the short sergeant at the end of the formation, “this is Sergeant Mullins. I am your senior drill instructor and he is your junior drill instructor. You will obey both of us. You will listen to everything we say. You will do everything we tell you to do. Your souls today may belong to God, but your asses belong to the United States Marine Corps!” The sergeant swaggered sharply back and forth in front of the formation, almost bouncing up and down on his heels, his long thin hands sliding up and down against his hips. “I want you swinging dicks to stand straight at attention, do you hear me?

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  God help me, what have I done to deserve this?” To which he’d remark, “Aw forget it! You’re just an old prune!” Often as not his sister would come up to try and smooth matters out. “Jesus, Wallie,” she’d say, “it’s none of my business what you do, but can’t you talk to your mother more respectfully?” Whereupon MacGregor would make his sister sit on the bed and start coaxing her to bring up the breakfast. Usually he’d have to ask his bed-mate what her name was in order to present her to his sister. “She’s not a bad kid,” he’d say, referring to his sister. “She’s the only decent one in the family. . . . Now listen, Sis, bring up some grub, will yer? Some nice bacon and eggs, eh, what do you say? Listen, is the old man around? What’s his mood today? I’d like to borrow a couple of bucks. You try and worm it out of him, will you? I’ll get you something nice for Christmas.” Then, as though everything were settled, he’d pull back the covers to expose the wench beside him. “Look at her, Sis, ain’t she beautiful? Look at that leg! Listen, you ought to get yourself a man . . . you’re too skinny. Patsy here, I bet she doesn’t go begging for it, eh Patsy?” and with that a sound slap on the rump for Patsy. “Now scram, Sis, I want some coffee . . . and don’t forget, make the bacon crisp! Don’t get any of that lousy store bacon . . . get something extra. And be quick about it!” What I liked about him were his weaknesses; like all men who practice will power he was absolutely flabby inside. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do—out of weakness. He was always very busy and he was never really doing anything. And always boning up on something, always trying to improve his mind. For example, he would take the unabridged dictionary and, tearing out a page each day, would read it through religiously on his way back and forth from the office. He was full of facts, and the more absurd and incongruous the facts, the more pleasure he derived from them. He seemed to be bent on proving to all and sundry that life was a farce, that it wasn’t worth the game, that one thing canceled out another, and so on. He was brought up on the North Side, not very far from the neighborhood in which I had spent my childhood. He was very much a product of the North Side, too, and that was one of the reasons why I liked him.

• From Combating Cult Mind Control: The Guide to Protection, Rescue and Recovery from Destructive Cults (1988)

  Steve Hassan has clearly and convincingly described how mind control is induced. He integrates his personal experience in a cult, and his practical skills developed in years of exit-counseling of persons who have been in mind control situations, with theories and concepts in the scientific literature. The book comes alive with real-life examples. For the first time, an experienced exit-counselor outlines step by step the actual methods, sequence, and framework of what he does and how he works with families and the persons under mind control. He draws on the various scholarly works in the fields of thought reform, persuasion, social psychology, and hypnosis to offer theoretical frameworks for how mind control is achieved. Exit-counseling is a new profession, and Steve Hassan has spelled out here a type of ethical, educational counseling which he and others have developed. He has devoted the time and has the literary skill and educational background to make this volume a major contribution. The reader is taken from Steve’s first telephone contacts with desperate families to the final outcome of his interventions. These counseling techniques and tactics are socially and psychologically well worked out. They are ethical and growth enhancing. While the need is great, there are few really adequately prepared and experienced exit-counselors. They do not offer what psychologists and psychiatrists offer, nor can they be replaced by these or other mental health professionals. Exit-counseling is a special field, one that demands specific knowledge, special techniques and methods, and a high level of skill. This book should have a wide appeal. Anyone with a relative or friend who has become involved with a group using mind control procedures will find it useful. Any citizen can profit from seeing how vulnerable to influence we all are and learning that mind control exists—that it is not a myth. We must heed the potentially destructive and frightening impact that the use of mind control by selfishly motivated groups can have on the very fabric of a society. This book fills a need and deserves a wide audience. Margaret T. Singer, Ph.D. Adjunct Professor, Department of Psychology University of California, Berkeley Recipient of the Leo J. Ryan Memorial Award This foreword was written for the first edition of Combatting Cult Mind Control, published in 1988. Unfortunately, Dr. Singer died in 2003. She authored two books with Janja Lalich, Cults in Our Midst (Jossey– Bass, 1995) and Crazy Therapies (Jossey- Bass, 1996). Preface to the First Paperback Edition

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  I had been prepared, through MacGregor’s description of him, to meet a rather “strange” individual, “strange” in MacGregor’s mouth meaning slightly cracked. He was indeed strange, but so sharply sane that I at once felt exalted. For the first time I was talking to a man who got behind the meaning of words and went to the very essence of things. I felt that I was talking to a philosopher, not a philosopher such as I had encountered through books, but a man who philosophized constantly—and who lived this philosophy which he expounded . That is to say, he had no theory at all, except to penetrate to the very essence of things and, in the light of each fresh revelation to so live his life that there would be a minimum of discord between the truths which were revealed to him and the exemplification of these truths in action. Naturally his behavior was strange to those about him. It had not, however, been strange to those who knew him out on the Coast where, as he said, he was in his own element. There apparently he was regarded as a superior being and was listened to with the utmost respect, even with awe. I came upon him in the midst of a struggle which I only appreciated many years later. At the time I couldn’t see the importance which he attached to finding his real father; in fact, I used to joke about it because the role of the father meant little to me, or the role of the mother, for that matter. In Roy Hamilton I saw the ironic struggle of a man who had already emancipated himself and yet was seeking to establish a solid biological link for which he had absolutely no need. This conflict over the real father had, paradoxically, made him a superfather. He was a teacher and an exemplar; he had only to open his mouth for me to realize that I was listening to a wisdom which was utterly different from anything which I had heretofore associated with that word. It would be easy to dismiss him as a mystic, for a mystic he undoubtedly was, but he was the first mystic I had ever encountered who also knew how to keep his feet on the ground. He was a mystic who knew how to invent practical things, among them a drill such as was badly needed for the oil industry and from which he later made a fortune. Because of his strange metaphysical talk, however, nobody at the time gave much heed to his very practical invention. It was regarded as another one of his cracked ideas. He was continually talking about himself and his relation to the world about, a quality which created the unfortunate impression that he was simply a blatant egotist. It was even said, which was true enough as far as it went, that he seemed more concerned about the truth of Mr.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  He had come to me as a boy of fourteen looking for a job as messenger. His parents, who were then in South America, had shipped him to New York in care of an aunt who seduced him almost immediately. He had never been to school because the parents were always traveling; they were carnival people who worked “the griffs and the grinds,” as he put it. The father had been in prison several times. He was not his real father, by the way. Anyway, Curley came to me as a mere lad who was in need of help, in need of a friend more than anything. At first I thought I could do something for him. Everybody took a liking to him immediately, especially the women. He became the pet of the office. Before long, however, I realized that he was incorrigible, that at the best he had the makings of a clever criminal. I liked him, however, and I continued to do things for him, but I never trusted him out of my sight. I think I liked him particularly because he had absolutely no sense of honor. He would do anything in the world for me and at the same time betray me. I couldn’t reproach him for it . . . it was amusing to me. The more so because he was frank about it. He just couldn’t help it. His Aunt Sophie, for instance. He said she had seduced him. True enough, but the curious thing was that he let himself be seduced while they were reading the Bible together. Young as he was he seemed to realize that his Aunt Sophie had need of him in that way. So he let himself be seduced, as he said, and then, after I had known him a little while he offered to put me next to his Aunt Sophie. He even went so far as to blackmail her. When he needed money badly he would go to the aunt and wheedle it out of her—with sly threats of exposure. With an innocent face, to be sure. He looked amazingly like an angel, with big liquid eyes that seemed so frank and sincere. So ready to do things for you—almost like a faithful dog. And then cunning enough, once he had gained your favor, to make you humor his little whims. Withal extremely intelligent. The sly intelligence of a fox and—the utter heartlessness of a jackal. It wasn’t at all surprising to me, consequently, to learn that afternoon that he had been tinkering with Valeska. After Valeska he tackled the cousin who had already been deflowered and who was in need of some male whom she could rely upon. And from her finally to the midget who had made herself a pretty little nest at Valeska’s. The midget interested him because she had a perfectly normal cunt.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  He spoke of Roy Hamilton as a bad influence, which again was deeply true since this unexpected meeting with his half brother served more than anything else to alienate us. Hamilton opened my eyes and gave me new values, and though later I was to lose the vision which he had bequeathed me, nevertheless I could never again see the world, or my friends, as I had seen them prior to his coming. Hamilton altered me profoundly, as only a rare book, a rare personality, a rare experience, can alter one. For the first time in my life I understood what it was to experience a vital friendship and yet not to feel enslaved or attached because of the experience. Never, after we parted, did I feel the need of his actual presence; he had given himself completely and I possessed him without being possessed. It was the first clean, whole experience of friendship, and it was never duplicated by any other friend. Hamilton was friendship itself, rather than a friend. He was the symbol personified and consequently entirely satisfactory, hence no longer necessary to me. He himself understood this thoroughly. Perhaps it was the fact of having no father that pushed him along the road toward the discovery of the self, which is the final process of identification with the world and the realization consequently of the uselessness of ties. Certainly, as he stood then, in the full plenitude of self-realization, no one was necessary to him, least of all the father of flesh and blood whom he vainly sought in Mr. MacGregor. It must have been in the nature of a last test for him, his coming East and seeking out his real father, for when he said good-by, when he renounced Mr. MacGregor and Mr. Hamilton also, he was like a man who had purified himself of all dross. Never have I seen a man look so single, so utterly alone and alive and confident of the future as Roy Hamilton looked when he said good-by. And never have I seen such confusion and misunderstanding as he left behind with the MacGregor family. It was as though he had died in their midst, had been resurrected, and was taking leave of them as an utterly new, unknown individual. I can see them now standing in the areaway, their hands sort of foolishly, helplessly empty, weeping they knew not why, unless it was because they were bereft of something they had never possessed. I like to think of it in just this way. They were bewildered and bereft, and vaguely, so very vaguely aware that somehow a great opportunity had been offered them which they had not the strength or the imagination to seize. It was this which the foolish, empty fluttering of the hands indicated to me; it was a gesture more painful to witness than anything I can imagine.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  The heterosexual men were always coming to stand by her desk and talk to her about their poetry or political ideas while she looked at them and nodded. Even the gay men developed a certain bravado in her presence. Tommy kept on reassuring her that her prince was just around the corner. “I can feel it, Daisy,” he would say exultantly. “You’re on a collision course with Mr. Right!” “Do you really think so, Tom?” “It’s obvious! Aren’t you excited?” Then Ariel would get up from his desk and lumber over to her and, bending from the waist, would put his large fleshy arms around her shoulders. Joey could see her small white hand emerge on Ariel’s broad flank as she patiently patted him. And, as if it weren’t enough to be the heartthrob of the basement crowd, she was kind to helpless, repulsive people. There was a grotesque old woman who would come into the store from time to time to seek out her kindness. The woman was at least sixty years old, and covered her face with heavy orange makeup. She bought horrible best-sellers and self-help books with lurid red covers. She’d stand by Daisy’s desk for half an hour and talk to her about how depressed she was. Daisy would turn off her typewriter and turn toward the woman with her chin in her hand. She’d listen gravely, agreeing sometimes, letting the woman give her small bags of hard candy and kiss her on the cheek. Everyone made rude comments about Daisy and “that crazy old dyke.” But Daisy remained courteous and attentive to the distressed creature, even though she often made fun of her after she left. — Joey didn’t think of having sex with Daisy, at least not in detail. It was more the idea of being near her, protecting her. She was obviously so confused. She looked everywhere for answers, for someone to tell her what to think. “I just want your perspective,” she’d say. There was a customer she called the “answer man” because he claimed that he could predict the future through “automatic handwriting.” He was a handsome elderly man who wore expensive suits and looked as though he’d had at least one face lift. He had been coming into the store for years. Every time he came in, Daisy would walk him off into a corner and ask him questions. He would scrawl down answers in thin red ink and hand them to her with an imperious, terribly personal look. She would become either stricken or joyous. Later she would run around talking about what he’d said, examining the red-scrawled pieces of store stationery. “He says my painting is going to start being successful in a year and a half.” “He says there are no worthwhile men around me and that there won’t be for months.” “He says David will move out next month.” “You don’t take that stuff seriously, do you?” asked Joey.

• From Combating Cult Mind Control: The Guide to Protection, Rescue and Recovery from Destructive Cults (1988)

  Review of Books, The Lancet (British medical journal) No one understands the cult experience better than Steve Hassan, and no one is better qualified to help people break free of their devastating effects. I wish there had been a Steve Hassan in my life when I needed one. Mitchell Kapor Technology entrepreneur and investor Founder Lotus Development Corporation Steven Hassan has developed a deep understanding of how individuals can be transformed from the identity they were raised in to become almost, or even completely, unrecognizable. The ease by which this happens is important for both scientific understanding and real world problems ranging from friends and family in cults to extremist movements. Consistent with complex systems science, his work dramatically expands our understanding of the role of context in psychology, following in the tradition of Philip Zimbardo’ s Stanford Prison Experiment. I look forward to his insights becoming more widely incorporated into scientific thought. His presentations at the International Conference on Complex Systems have been widely acclaimed. Professor Yaneer Bar-Yam Founding President ofthe New England Complex Systems Institute Author of Dynamics of Complex Systems and Making Things Work I strongly recommend Combating Cult Mind Control. Cults are a major problem that affects more than a few people....Steve Hassan is a bright and superior person who has authored an important book. Go to a bookstore to buy it....really try to get it! Steve Allen (1921-2000) Entertainer, comedian, and songwriter Creator of the original Tonight Show Parent of an ex-cult member Author of Beloved Son: A Story of the Jesus Cults …the serious clinician will find Hassan’s book a challenge to the ignorance and prejudice that tragically surround the cult phenomenon. Paul Martin, Ph.D. (1946-2009) Founder of Wellspring Retreat and Resource Center, a rehabilitation facility for ex-cult members COMBATING CULT MIND CONTROL The #1 Best-Selling Guide to Protection, Rescue, and Recovery from Destructive Cults Steven Hassan, PhD America’s Leading Cult Expert 30th Anniversary Edition Revised and updated for today’s new realities [image file=image_rsrc2PJ.jpg] Freedom of Mind Press Newton, MA The #1 Best-Selling Guide to Protection, Rescue, and Recovery from Destructive Cults Copyright © 1988, 1990, 2015, 2016, 2018, 2024 by Steven Hassan Fourth edition, newly revised and updated A Freedom of Mind Press Book ISBN 978-0-9670688-3-5 Library of Congress Control Number: 2015935807 Cults-Psychology, Deprogramming, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Thought Reform, Persuasion, Religion-Cults, Human Trafficking, Terrorism, Social Influence, Self-Help, Recovery, Ex-cultists-Rehabilitation, Ex-cultists-Mental Health Includes bibliographic references All rights reserved. No part or this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For permission to reprint, media inquiries, and information on talks, presentations, and trainings by Steven Hassan, contact the publisher: Freedom of Mind Resource Center 716 Beacon Street, #590443 Newton, MA 02459 Phone: (617) 396-4638 Fax: (617) 628-8153 center@freedomofmind.com freedomofmind.com

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  He recognized no duties, no obligations, except to God. And what did God expect of him? Nothing, nothing . . . except to sing His praises. God only asked of Grover Watrous that he reveal himself alive in the flesh. He only asked of him to be more and more alive. And when fully alive Grover was a voice and this voice was a flood which made all dead things into chaos and this chaos in turn became the mouth of the world in the very center of which was the verb to be. In the beginning there was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was God . So God was this strange little infinitive which is all there is—and is it not enough? For Grover it was more than enough: it was everything. Starting from this Verb what difference did it make which road he traveled? To leave the Verb was to travel away from the center, to erect a Babel. Perhaps God had deliberately maimed Grover Watrous in order to hold him to the center, to the Verb. By an invisible cord God held Grover Watrous to his stake which ran through the heart of the world and Grover became the fat goose which laid a golden egg every day. . . . Why do I write of Grover Watrous? Because I have met thousands of people and none of them were alive in the way that Grover was. Most of them were more intelligent, many of them were brilliant, some of them were even famous, but none were alive and empty as Grover was. Grover was inexhaustible. He was like a bit of radium which, even if buried under a mountain does not lose its power to give off energy. I had seen plenty of so-called energetic people before—is not America filled with them?—but never in the shape of a human being, a reservoir of energy. And what created this inexhaustible reservoir of energy? An illumination. Yes, it happened in the twinkling of an eye, which is the only way that anything important ever does happen. Overnight all Grover’s preconceived values were thrown overboard. Suddenly, just like that, he ceased moving as other people move. He put the brakes on and he kept the motor running. If once, like other people, he had thought it was necessary to get somewhere now he knew that somewhere was anywhere and therefore right here and so why move? Why not park the car and keep the motor running? Meanwhile the earth itself is turning and Grover knew it was turning and knew that he was turning with it. Is the earth getting anywhere? Grover must undoubtedly have asked himself this question and must undoubtedly have satisfied himself that it was not getting anywhere. Who, then, had said that we must get somewhere?

• From Cleanness (2020)

  He wasn’t hurting me yet but I grew tense anyway, and he sensed this, bringing his forehead to my temple, laying it there and whispering again that I was good. And then he began to tighten his grip, very slowly and with a steady pressure on all sides, causing that terrible low ache to build in my abdomen, and I pressed my own forehead into the coarse fabric of the carpet, rubbing it very slightly back and forth. I groaned as he continued to squeeze, and then gasped as I felt his tongue on my cheek, a broad swipe from my jaw to my temple. Mozhesh , he said, you can take it, and then I cried out when suddenly he squeezed me harder and let me go. Good, he said again, whispering with his forehead still pressed to my temple, as I lay there recovering, though the worst thing about that particular pain is that you recover so slowly; the pain welled instead of ebbing, settling in my groin and the pit of my stomach and the backs of my thighs. When his weight shifted next to me I almost protested, I almost said chakaite , wait, I had even taken the breath to say it. But he hushed me, making a soothing sound to keep me in my place as he shifted his frame over mine, sliding himself over until he was resting on top of me. It helped, the weight of him, it pressed me down and pressed down the pain I still felt, that ache about which there is nothing erotic, or not for me. I know there are men who like it, who go to great lengths to find others who will hurt them in exactly this way, though I’ve never been able to fathom the pleasure they take from it. But then there’s no fathoming pleasure, the forms it takes or their sources, nothing we can imagine is beyond it; however far beyond the pale of our own desires, for someone it is the intensest desire, the key to the latch of the self, or the promised key, a key that perhaps never turns. It’s what I love most about the websites I visit, that you can call out for anything you desire, however aberrant or unlikely, and nearly always there comes an answer; it’s a large world, we’re never as solitary as we think, as unique or unprecedented, what we feel has always already been felt, again and again, without beginning or end. He lay on me for some time, not moving or rather moving only to press me down, to ease out my pain and my will; he spread his length along mine, reaching until his hands were at my hands, coaxing free the fingers I had curled, and his feet found their place at my ankles, and then it was as if with his whole body he eased me, stretching and relaxing me at once.