The Nature of Woman, o my Son, is as thou hast learned in our most Holy Qabalah; and she is the Clothing in Sex of Man, the Magical Image of his will to Love. Therefore was it said by thine Uncle Wolfgang von Goethe: Das Ewigweibliche zieht uns hinan
But therefore also hath she no Nature of Truth, because she is but the Eidolon of an Excitement and a Going of thy Star, and appertaineth not unto its Essence and Stability. So then to thee she is but Matter and to her thou art but Energy, and neither is competent to the Formula of the other. Therefore also thy Will is itself Imperfection, as I have shewed thee aforetime, thou art not in the Way of Love except thou be dressed in that Robe of thine which thou callest Woman. And thou canst not lure her to this Action proper to her by thy Truth; but thou shalt, as our Grammar sayeth, assume the Mask of the Spirit, that thou mayst evoke it by Sympathy. But thou shalt appear in thy Glory only when she is in thy Power, and bewildered utterly by Ecstasy. This is a Mystery, o my Son, and of old times it was declared in the fable of Scylla and Charybdis, which are the Formulæ of the Rock and the Whirlpool. Now then meditate thou strictly upon this most worthy and adorable Arcanum, to thy Profit and Enlightenment.