Lipton’s Journal/January 25, 1955/254

From Project Mailer

The advances in medicine may well be an expression of the S. (I am sick of writing sociostasis. From now on S for that and H for homeodynamic). Put briefly, the increase in the war between the H and the S has rendered people so physically sick, their bodies so overcome by the false nutritions offered by S, that they are literally in danger of dying faster out of essentially nervous ailments. Sexual ailments—sex being the euphoria of the nervous system when it is satisfactory.

Therefore more and more money has gone into research, and the antibiotics have come—without them mortality rates might have increased, and one of the strong advertisements society always has to offer is to say, “Look, because you obey us, you live longer. Medical research is society.” The anti-biotics were lying around for years—penicillin was discovered back sometime in the twenties, but it wasn’t necessary then—it is today.

Uncle Dave[1] would have died without cortisone, and he is one of the perfect examples of a man who was strong, capable, executive, dynamic, and then past fifty was suddenly ravaged by asthma—the rage of the soul at how he had not lived. But his case is not the exception. How, otherwise, can one account for the perfect obsession with cancer which runs through people, and the millions spent on research. I’m certain that when the cause of cancer is truly discovered, it will be psychosomatic.


  1. David Kessler (1889-1960), a candy manufacturer, was married to Mailer’s father’s sister, Anne (1889-1958). The Kesslers were fond of Mailer and helped with his college expenses. Advertisements for Myself is dedicated to them.