“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

In one way or another many artists of whatever kind seek to physically express these innermost overtones. As Ruburt mentioned, years ago in Sayre he would find someplace in your apartment that seemed somehow secret for his workroom. He would then momentarily, for a while, withdraw from the workaday world. On other occasions he would write nighttimes, letting those hours by themselves create their own moods of secrecy and isolation from the social environment.

(Pause.) In later life the trend continued, as per many examples at 458 (and as we have discussed today). That creative kind of withdrawal is quite healthy, psychologically pertinent, and creative. As some of his other less auspicious ideas came into prominence, however, that natural healthy withdrawing tendency was also used to some extent (underlined) as a framework that was overextended. As the feeling that he needed protection grew, the need for relative isolation grew also. You live in a social world, so the symptoms also served as face-saving devices.

Ruburt had a reason for not going on tour, for example—one that was certainly acceptable enough in a world of conventional understanding. He was saved, so it seemed, from endless explanations; so with a kind of psychological economy that worked far too well for a time the symptoms served to keep him writing at his desk, to regulate the flow of psychic activity, making sure of its direction, and to provide a suitable social reason to refrain from activities that might distract him—from tours or shows, and also even from any onslaught of psychic activity that might follow any unseeming (underlined) spontaneous behavior.

The fact that some isolation suits you both made the affair palatable enough in the beginning. The idea of a public life—to some extent, now—has hung over his head, so to speak, almost like a threat. He told himself that if he were using his abilities as he should, he would then naturally seek out their public expression.

He took it for granted that, ideally speaking, he should do such public work, that it was his responsibility, but also that it represented a natural expression of abilities that he was denying because of his fears. So often he told himself that if he got better he would only be too glad to go on television or whatever, or to do whatever he was supposed to do.

(Pause at 10:20.) It goes without saying that this is all black and white thinking. He writes his own books because writing is such a natural part of his expression. It is his art. Ideally it is his play as well, and his books serve as his own characteristic kind of public expression, fulfilling the most private and the most public poles of his psychological activity.

He did not start out being a public speaker, for example. He likes the distance between himself and the public that books provide (emphatically). He is excellent at communicating ideas in writing or vocally, gifted in understanding people—so those abilities do come to his aid in public speaking engagements.

(Long pause.) In such engagements, however, for him at least, that necessary private threshold is crossed, endangered. The inner psychological distance must become surfacely portrayed, instantly translated to the audience, so that for him there is the same kind of reaction that he might have in talking to others overly much about a book of his own in progress—as if he might talk out the book, and therefore not need to write it, while at the same time losing much of the inner development that might otherwise give the book its own deeper meanings.

So while he can indeed speak well publicly, that kind of contact does not come easily for him. He might plunge into it at the occasion, but not naturally seek it out. This does not mean he does not enjoy discussing his work with others, with individuals or small groups, carefully chosen or at home, or that he does not enjoy reading poetry, say, on those occasions.

He has, however, held it over his head that if he improved he should then do such work—and that only fear held him back. He was afraid that the spontaneous self would go overboard in that direction. It is the spontaneous self, of course, as much as any other portion of the personality, that often spontaneously holds back when such issues are considered—the part that is somehow spontaneously offended—a very important point to remember. So the reasoning: “Get better, then you can go out into the world to go on television or whatever,” or “Once you get better, you will be delighted to go on television and tell your story”—those directives simply make the issues more muddy.

(Long pause at 10:35. This turned into a one-minute pause.) The public arena (pause) is not so frightening. It is more factual to say that it goes against the grain as far as Ruburt is concerned. On top of that, however, you have the unconventional aspects of his own work that involves at least some controversy. (Long pause.) If Ruburt wrote other kinds of books—mysteries, for example, or straight novels—he would of course have no trouble explaining them in the public arena. But he would not find that arena anymore to his overall liking.

Added to that you have the issue mentioned earlier, of my relationship with him and vice versa, and his idea of an idealized self. Now it is that idealized self he is seeing in his mind that should find it so easy and natural to triumph in the public arena, solve people’s problems, always be compassionate and understanding, and certainly not critical of mankind’s foibles.

In that area of thinking, any one interview that is offered becomes a testing ground. The news broadcast (for ABC) for example: Suppose he did say yes, he has thought, and even managed to get by with it in his present condition—how many other such interviews might then be offered? With Sue’s book there have been other opportunities—people who wanted the story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, and the talk from Prentice of a new campaign publicizing Ruburt’s work. Ruburt didn’t feel free to simply admit that he did not like the public arena. He felt he needed excuses, or in his own eyes and the eyes of others he would seem to be a coward.

Now this idealized self was primarily Ruburt’s—but to some extent also you contributed to it, feeling that anyone as gifted as Ruburt, if he were sure enough of himself, would indeed want to go out in that arena and press forward. You both felt a sense of schism between Ruburt’s physical condition and a hypothetical image of Ruburt as someone getting my material and ideally embodying it, so that if not perfect at least the main aspects of the life were smoothed out without contrasts. (Long pause.) In that regard indeed Ruburt felt as if he could not live up to my creative work—as if his physical being must embody all of the knowledge that came to him through our sessions—another important point.

If Ruburt had wanted to join the public arena, nothing would have kept him out. The feelings of resistance do not signify cowardice, but quite spontaneous objections to activities that largely go against his grain, and certainly when they are presented in such a black or white framework to begin with.

Now spontaneously he would give more sessions for others, quite happily and easily, but in the framework of the situation, the black or white aspect holds back such expression. (Pause.) He would probably see more groups, as you both did at 458 together, were it not for the black or white thinking, but this would be in response to quite spontaneous urgings to do so. (Pause.) The spontaneous self can quite spontaneously say no—and most of his spontaneous feelings toward the public arena are those of quick natural rejection.

(It’s Thursday night [2/12] as I finish typing this session. As I typed the paragraph on page @38-39 of the material, I had the insight described below. I think it came to me because of my concern recently over the new idea I’d come across—concerning Jane’s ideas about her relationship with Seth, her feelings about her abilities versus his, etc. I must admit that I am still rather surprised to understand, finally, that Jane has entertained feelings of inferiority about her abilities as related to those of Seth.