1952. First Edition. 268 pages. No dust jacket. Blue cloth with gilt lettering. Black and white illustrations throughout. Light tanning to pages. More prominent to text block edges, pastedowns and free endpapers. Light cracking and creasing to gutters; some looseness to binding but pages remain attached. Boards have minor corner bumping and edgewear with mild staining, tanning and scuffing overall. Spine has heavier tanning with soft crushing to ends. Lettering remains bright and clear. Book has a slight forward lean.
D. E. Harding has authored numerous books, most of which I have read. This is by far the most complex.
THE HIERARCHY OF HEAVEN AND AND EARTH is a work of genius. In that, I agree fully with C. S. Lewis, who authors the forward.
That said no attempt whatsoever seems to have been made to make this book simple or even comprehensible. I am well read and I’ve written several books myself, however I was checking my dictionary more often with this book than any with any other I have read over the past couple of decades—including the unabridged works of the great philosopher, George Berkeley, authored three centuries ago.
With the exception of the beginning, this book bears almost no resemblance to the author’s other books—those are short, funny, easy to understand, and most important, applicable.
THE HIERARCHY OF HEAVEN AND EARTH, on the other hand, is an intricate opus.
Though brilliant, unique, profound, and significant, this book was written in such a manner as to exclude the majority of readers, making A COURSE IN MIRACLES child’s play by comparison. I laughed out loud, literally, when I saw an actual formula appearing out of the blue with no discernible explanation—d2r/ds2=⅓λr, and that was not because humor was intended, but because it wasn’t!
I wouldn’t recommend THE HIERARCHY OF HEAVEN AND EARTH to anyone without an open mind and an abundance of patience. This is not so much a read as it is a study, and at the same time, it requires a constant letting go to allow apparent contradictions to flow through and be experienced at a level deeper than the intellect.
This is not so much a book as it is a meditation. Reading it and loving it entails an openness that would more likely be a prior given state, rather than something that would evolve through the reading itself.
There is no doubt that D. E. Harding was an extraordinary thinker. You cannot read this book and think otherwise. Near the end of his book he provides a series of summaries: first of Christian mysticism, then of Western painting, and as an added illustration, of Western architecture. The scientific and philosophical, let alone theological understanding the man achieved amazes me.
This book is a difficult book. I got it because it has an introduction by C. S. Lewis. It turns out Lewis read it, was excited by it, confessed not to understand it fully, and then in later correspondence remarked that it was time to read it again. He must have gotten enough of a grip on the book for Harding to accept the introduction. It was an astute move by Harding, since he is not a household name and Lewis is. I have a feeling Harding approached Lewis (I gather he sent Lewis the manuscript and perhaps asked for the introduction) because of the planet books.
This book endeavors us to change our perceptions of space, then time, and then . . . everything. It is very hard to describe. The best I can say is that, like another such book by C. S. Lewis’s friend Owen Barfield, it is a mindbender. Both were addressing the same problem: where we have arrived in the evolution of human consciousness and the way forward. It is a difficult topic. I want to read the book again.
I like the little bit in there that changed everything for me. Or, rather, that changed everything for that someone/no one lurking in its liminal space, watching something type these words, feel these feelings, hear these thoughts.
The difference between an invention and a discovery isn’t the brilliance of the idea, but its obviousness. An invention is clever in its novelty; a discovery brings to light something you feel as if you’ve always known, but are only just now remembering. This book is that kind of reminder. It was written in 1950, but feels radically prescient in its anticipation of scientism’s dogmatic myopia and the need to recover a more wholistic framework of reality — less a clever construction of personal fantasies than a stroke of intuitive insight that uncovers the structures which we all understand and live by on a primordial level. Harding’s vision is both humanist and cosmic, and reconciles one to the other in a dazzling refusal to sever any part of the great chain of being which stretches from the deepest subatomic particle to the furthest reaches of galactic space, an attempted hard science of symbolic metaphysics that both subverts and reconverts the reader’s assumptions in equal measure. A joy to read, and one I plan to return to.