A Bridge to the Future: Tractatus x Hermetica

I. Introduction

In the end, the greatest among us will only be bridges. We are as sailors confronting a vast continent emerging before our eyes from the mist, and we lack the ability to comprehend or approach it.

I am going, in a few paragraphs, to try to sketch each faction in the fading coals of this Anthropocene Era and explain succinctly why they are not the future. I do this in the spirit of Friedrich Nietzsche, to slay all present Gods for the sake of a greater synthesis.

If you tether yourself to any of these masts, you will not see the dawn. You are as a Catholic holding staunch to the church in your death throes. And all of us, especially the authors, the musicians, the creatives, are profoundly wrong. The cheapest science fiction may reveal itself to be true. The lamest ideas of a technocracy without individuality seem almost certain to come true. See my article here for reference. And, before we proceed, you may watch this video for additional context if you enjoy science fiction – there is no better yarn than this.

I claim only to be a weaver, a Demiurge, with a thread that is eternal. I will weave through temporary worlds, illusions, half-baked answers, only to articulate the total intellectual wall in all our paths. Make no mistake, the role of the artist, the thinker, the pundit, the journalist, the scientist, the musician, the author (which I desire to become) are all redundant and aimless. The perennial mystery has been told, retold, deconstructed and vomited up as Dada and Lacan. The Jordan Petersons and canon-worshippers of the world have fought for the re-instatement of tradition. And yet, all parties argue on a burning comet set to be plucked out of existence at any moment. Friedrich Nietzsche remains the most profound thinker of them all, because he recognized the crisis that would come when relativism emerges, and the tradition fails, and withers away, because it was never true and yet we have nothing with which to replace it. This is where we have stood for centuries, and it has not budged. All that changes is the rate of technological development, which will inevitably strip us of our individuality by drowning our creative works in a deluge of infinite potentiality where nothing can be separated and all the ‘greats’ of every craft are tyrants, targets of spite, as a fractured youth fumble in the darkness for
tools and answers they cannot find.

Where to begin? I seek to speak of the entire world. But I will begin with myself. I have been interested in mysticism. I have been interested in Carl Jung, and the perennial philosophy, Hermeticism, archetypes, Arcana, the alchemical dream of synthesizing intuition and reason together as one. I see this path, not of gilded silver or silvered gold, but the true synthesis of both principles, the Moon and the Sun, the female and the male, intuition and reason, mysticism and science, as the only path forward. But already I have struck a wall.

Mysticism is founded upon four essential principles. They correspond to the letters of the name of God, YHVH. The Y refers to Yod, or essence, which is not simple existence. Existence without essence is atheism. The central claim of mysticism is that all relations, objects and symbols are mere masks worn by the eternal essence of a world of spiritual beings beyond our imagination. This is what Christianity is founded upon – the recognition that the world is truly composed of twelve orders of spiritual beings. They are the angels, archangels, principalities, powers, virtues, dominions, thrones, cherubim, and seraphim, capped off with the holy trinity. These twelve dimensions are purported to the true source of the material world, emanating through the principle of Yod, essence, the presence of genuine divine mystery in the world.

This is the Arcana of the Magician, the wand and the infinity which instigates all mystical experience. There is gnosis, which corresponds to the H in YHVH. Gnosis is reflection upon mystical experience. But The Magician, the first Arcana, comes into being solely by virtue of genuine mystical experience, the presence of the other. It is an experiential truth, something not divined by reason, but immediately presented as a whole in a fashion that cannot be rejected without rejecting your own consciousness itself. Immediately, we see the reason why we cannot yet synthesize reason with intuition.

An intuition founded upon an experience is not considered a legitimate mode of knowledge. And it isn’t! All the madness that would proceed from placing intuition and reason as equals would undermine all thought and all logos and all being forever. It would be relativism of an absurd and world-busting caliber. Our intuition is too raw, too uninformed, and the great masters who bear witness to the Mary-Sophia Goddess in the light-soaked streets of Shinjuku or in the deepest absence of meditation seek not to change the world. In the perennial philosophy, to be human is to undertake a path of the cross. A path of karma and only the inklings of grace. Miracles are profoundly rare. We are fallen beings. The aim of the good in the world is merely to exist, never to wholly persevere. Good must only exist, never triumph. As long as ten righteous men are found in Sodom and Gomorrah, the cities will not be destroyed. The cultivation and growth of the good is worthwhile insofar as it exists at all. It can never overcome the world.

The world is far stranger than we can imagine. The New Age destruction of the intellect at the altar of incense, mushrooms and astrology seems wholly irrelevant to society and a preoccupation of diseased minds, and yet what it truly was was nothing less than an attempt to revive wholesale the mystical perennial view of human beings as strivers alongside God in the garden of creation. It seems that all human endeavors to truly change the terrestrial mass of the Earth become the ultimate destruction of man, grotesque Towers of Babel erected only to circle back into their own foundations, sickly circles masquerading as progress.

Marxism itself is the noblest strain of Western thought, and yet it leads to an abyss. The revival of soul that took place in the 1960s, the sickness of man at the prospect of eternal karma and the awakening of a hunger for genuine grace, devolved into the crystallization of American politics into a subsidiary of global commerce by the 70s and the bootstraps of Ronald Reagan in the 1980s. Occupy Wall Street, which blossomed in 2011 only to fall apart due to its total obsession with rejecting hierarchy, or expressing anything but a Cain-like refusal to participate in the world, went nowhere. Marxist governments, it hardly needs to be said, have never resembled Marxism because it is impossible for them to do so. The principles of hierarchy and the mass production of goods favor human meat farms which always resemble neo-feudal capitalism at its lowest and most egregious point. Fraudulent masters of cruelty such as Che Guevara become icons of benevolent resistance. Soft-headed musicians like John Lennon cultivate consciousness only to watch it walk into boardrooms.

The modern left is an inchoate mess which cannot be resolved. It is split into so many factions, each despising the rest and the sum total of the world economy, it can muster nothing at all. What is our goal? Racial justice? Gender justice? Economic equality? The end of wage labor? Environmentalism? More regulation? In keeping with the gospel of intersectionality, the answer is all of the above. But prioritize one over the other, implement any type of hierarchy, and you become an enemy of the left. If you think racial justice is more important than class justice, you become a neoliberal sellout. If you prioritize class over race, you are a covert racist or regressive of the Trumpian kind. If you seek technological solutions to climate change, you are part of the problem of global capitalism. If you seek to dismantle capitalism itself, you almost certainly have no notion of what comes after, and are nothing more than an accelerationist in empathetic paint.

It hurts me, as a person who came to political conscience on the tit of Noam Chomsky, Chris Hedges and Cornel West, to assess the left so negatively. But let us look at each of these figures, each of whom I admire greatly, but each of whom seem to have also hit a brick wall in their respective roads.

Noam Chomsky has been extraordinarily pessimistic, citing as wisdom the scientific idea that any organism with a certain level of intelligence is doomed to create self-destructive advanced societies. This is also an accelerationist argument, as accelerationism views civilization as the consumption of children by the father – humankind as a biomass of furnace fire consuming itself the more it grows and the more technology it creates. Chomsky penned a letter last year arguing that voting for Hillary Clinton was a pragmatic choice that everyone on the left should make, solely on the grounds that it will slow down the process of civilization swallowing itself. His appeal failed.

Chris Hedges is, and remains, one of my heroes. He is an embodiment of the noble spirit of the Christian left, encapsulated in his martyr’s phrase: “I do not fight fascists because I think I will win. I fight fascists because they are fascists.” Every one of Hedges’ articles are apocalyptic to their core. He is a pessimist who fights like Sisyphus for the good, knowing that it will likely never come to pass. When those around him offer solutions to global problems, he permanently (and rightfully) reacts with skepticism and an invocation that we do not have enough time, that the crisis is already here, that we are too late to prevent the Judgement at the end of time.

Cornel West, too, embodies the beauty of the Christian left, but also imbued with the beauty and legacy of the black church. Both Hedges and West cite James Cone as one of the best theologians in modern America. Cone’s book, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, is unspeakably
brilliant in its likening of the American lynching of black folk to the crucifixion of Christ, that old refrain from Dostoevsky that the return of Christ would be met with savagery and the need to destroy him again. The legacy of black America is certainly a path of the cross. Like the Jews of the Old Testament, they are battered, undermined, enslaved and tortured for centuries. The consciousness of all history as a mortal wound is at the core of race and gender theory. They have a serious point. West, and all Christian leftists, understand that history is a theological wound. Literally, a wound upon the body of the corporeal Christ at the time of crucifixion. This is the undeniable vitality and force of the black church – the synthesis of the African-American experience with the wounds and torment of the Christ. It is insanely beautiful. It is, as Chris Hedges would say, a “sublime madness”. I love it more than words can explain, this fidelity and identification with the cross. Religion is far from the opiate of the masses. It is a husk, but its
husk is composed of symbols that penetrate to the core of ancient and modern man alike. Cornel
West, as a black Christian leftist, is inherently a pessimist. The leftist in him could be an optimist. But the black man and the Christian both understand the nature of the Old Testament, of karma, and the only recourse for a subject of divine karmic punishment is to never forsake one’s principles. This is the core of Cornell West – never forsake your principles, even against the might and fury of an empire. It is so undeniably Christian! It feels violent to wrest one’s consciousness out of the state of love and admiration for this idea, this mood, but the reality of
Cornel West’s influence last year was one of principle over result. He chose to support Jill Stein, which is an obstinate and principled move, but also an acknowledgement that he refuses to face the world, and along with it refuses the realities of utilitarianism, the lesser of two evils, and the emergency that Noam Chomsky saw in rejecting Republican rule at any cost. But Chomsky was an atheist! He saw only material choices, where West and Hedges, both Green Party supporters, saw principles and moral corruption. Hillary Clinton, and her war machine, her corporatism, her disdain for ordinary people, could never gain the vote of a conscious and principled Christian.
But at what cost?

2016, by the sound and signal of Trump alone, was supposed to destroy the right and unite the left. The exact opposite happened. The reason is that history is not something people wish to remain embedded in. People want catharsis, a way out. This is the popularity of dreams, drugs, memes and videogames. All of these memetic and pleasure-seeking devices were favored by the spiteful millennials who desired the election of Donald Trump. The millennials who liked Trump played to a stereotype truer than reality – the obsolete and nihilist young white male with nothing but the internet to give his life meaning. It inspires a craving for spectacle and novelty above all else.

What a fool was brilliant Nietzsche, for thinking that eternal recurrence was a good thing, when in reality it is only hell. The gift of living a life of meaningless toil against literal mountains of imperial snuff and fire is no gift at all. But it is the story of both existentialism and mysticism! Both see reality as a metaphysical war between the eternally under-represented good and the default state of chaotic evil. Nietzsche hated mystics, but he was a mystic. He sought to recreate the knight of faith in the image of living for life alone. But the fundamental problem of life is that it is biological, it is material, it is the mineral world that declines the beauty of your will. You cannot debate, speak, write, think or sing your way to a better world. This has simply been disproven a thousand times. The artist is not an actor of social change, especially not today. Today the artist is just an extension of dead, impotent politics or old stories told again with no
new soul inside. Just look at Harry Potter, and its cancerous effect on politics, of aligning Trump with Voldemort and ‘the resistance’ with the courage and splendor of Hogwarts. It is cosplay. It is fanfiction. Fiction does not illuminate us; it only casts us into further darkness. My own novel, a Christian existentialist work of profound energy and description of the yearning of the contemporary isolated person, ultimately arrives at the same worship of the cross that Chris Hedges and Cornell West have found as a final roadblock in ever changing the world. If we are here as fallen beings, and our karma is to suffer, then we will only suffer and count down the time, and try to keep the good alive wherever we can. Is this all there is to life, then?

That is the source of my disturbance. That we are so powerful technologically and militarily and yet stunted spiritual pygmies with no vision. Mysticism ultimately settles for unsatisfying answers – a cosmic acceptance of fate, which is God, a reliance on silence and absence and a cultivation of the garden of intuition and experience, two modes of thought we know nothing about.

Nietzsche wanted us to will, and to fall in love with fate. Thus he loved Napoleon, who was truly a portrait of a man larger than life, a man who laughed as the ceiling fell and declared the rise
and the fall all part of the same gorgeous wave – if he would have life, he would have it all. The rise and obliteration of the ideal was all part of the game, and he relished every second of it. If this is to become our ideal, then we can fall in love with Trump, Milo Yiannopoulos, and all the glory and splendor of making a show and a great game of existence as the experience of the most turbulent and revealing pieces of the world possible. This is, suffice to say, a shallow and
hideous answer. Nietzsche may have beaten morality to a pulp, but its replacement, this romanticism for life and all its rises and falls, seems to be a nihilism in itself. Of course Nietzsche never found an answer. That is why he lived alone, distressed, miserable, and went mad. This is why our current generation of hapless existentialists are living alone, distressed, miserable, and going mad.

II. Science

Let me give now a space for the discussion of science. Surely it is clear by now that Nietzsche and Christian mysticism drive my thought, and that I do not think reason or life in themselves are sufficient to begin healing this wound that is our human history, our path of the cross. It is not doled out in equal measure, and it is cruel and unwieldy, but certainly there is no one alive who
is not, in some sense, crucified, just as Christ as man was crucified in the world, and God is in fact crucified in the world. The crucifixion of God in the world is the birthplace, theologically speaking, of matter and science.

My critique of science is not postmodern, because science has bestowed us with genuine knowledge, and in Darwinian evolution and the abstractions of mathematics, humankind has earned new foundations for its physical being.
The current tale of modern science is, like art and philosophy and politics, at a massive wall. A stopping point. A slowly swirling eddy that leads nowhere. Modern science has crystallized into an Epicurean materialist philosophy that claims it is not a philosophy. This viewpoint is expressed perhaps no better than in the books and writings of the cringe-worthily declared “Four Horsemen” of atheism. Daniel Dennet, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens embody perfectly for our age the eternal philosophy of materialism, that everything in the world, including consciousness, thoughts, values, ideas and opinions, are reducible entirely to
inanimate, uncaring, brutal matter. Each of the so-called horsemen is guilty of a fatal sin in their thinking.

First, they interpret the existence of human consciousness in the context of pre-existing materialist science, and so their intellectual project is motivated by a desire to eliminate consciousness from their maps of reality. Their atheism is not based purely on science, but on the philosophical certainty that everything in reality is physical. Because our experience of the world is so evidently not physical, they must deny experience itself, and intuition and mysticism along with it, so that they can keep their millennia-old map of the world intact.

Daniel Dennet is an adherent of eliminative materialism. He believes that conscious experience
is an illusion, that it is not ‘real’, and his argument is just as foolish as it sounds. If you define the physical to be the only thing that is real, and understand that consciousness is not reducible
purely to physical components, then your map of reality is incomplete. Dennet delineates consciousness as an illusion so that he never has to conceive of a world where something non- physical may exist.

Friends, certainly the experience of the world is a non-physical phenomenon. There is no way, as surely as you cannot pull a moral ought from an objective is, that you can declare the conscious experience of an organism to be ‘nothing but’ the machinations of the brain. Dennett understands this. If he thought conscious was purely physical, he would not have to deny it. But he knows
that it cannot possibly be entirely physical in nature, so he has to write it out of existence.
Dennett’s thinking provides insight into motivated materialist interpretations of science.

Sam Harris may be worse. He claims that free will cannot possibly exist. Modern neuroscience has eliminated the ghost in the machine – there is almost certainly no process in decision-making save for the predetermined routes of a brain that is like a computer in nature. Let’s assume he’s right. Like Dennet, he is still rejecting obvious facts of human existence for the sake of a materialistic squashing of any non-material reality. How, if we are meat machines programmed biologically, with no agency, only circuitry, do human rights or human dignity come into existence? It’s easy! Through the fact of our suffering. Because we suffer, moral solutions, and moral behavior, are implied by suffering itself. This all sounds great, by itself – until we realize that Sam Harris is still trapped in the world, or Da-Sein, of existentialism, same as everybody else. The only difference is that he has plucked free will away! So now, the atheist and the existentialist, and their tired refrain: “I create my own meaning! I choose my own life!” is proven utterly hollow. This is the grim reflection of the materialist philosophy – choice, consciousness, and thus the search for meaning, are all at some levels profoundly illusory. This philosophy is
simply cancer to the soul. It is poison, and I am convinced that anyone who believes it is simply able to compartmentalize their entire lived experience away from their arguments.

And here, we see the disease of pretending that materialist science presents objectively a materialist philosophy as the truth of the world – we reject experience and intuition wholesale, and abide only by reason and testable objective empiricism. The synthesis of experience and reason is utterly abandoned. We don’t need experience at all, they believe. All we need is the proper abstraction, and the Truth is achieved. My intuitions, dreams, synchronicities and
mystical inclinations are a false transmission. I need only a system, no practice. I can believe that we are all machines without souls, but somehow, as all atheist humanists do, hold that the search for meaning is real, and that human beings have intrinsic value, stealing the Promethean spark of the divine in every human being and secularizing it without explaining how a deterministic meat machine even feels pain at all. What is conscious experience to a machine? It cannot possibly exist.

I can explain how all nature was defined as mechanical back in the 16th century, when Rene Descartes decreed it so, and all science proceeded and grew from his intuition – that consciousness was to be removed from the study of science so that it may advance. And it worked. The removal of consciousness from the world opened up an entirely materialistic understanding of the universe, and with it all the hard truths of Darwinism, relativity, and the physio-chemical structure of human beings came flooding free from the vaults of the unknown.

My friend Jackson Blau, in one of these many discussions, noted to me that Occam’s Razor was also merely an intuition. For reference, Occam’s Razor is the principle that the simplest solution is most often the correct one. It is, fundamentally, an intuitive argument about the universe with specious results. If all the world is reducible to a machine, save for one entity, human consciousness, then what do we do? Occam’s Razor would say that consciousness is certainly an aberration, a fluke, and should be defined out of existence instead of questioning our conception of the entire world as material and mechanical. Occam’s Razor is dead wrong. Consciousness is the one island left unflooded by the waters of empirical science, and this is no fluke. Consciousness is of a different order. This too is an intuition, one borne out by conscious lived experience, but a truth that is self-evident: you are conscious, and your perception of the world is not in itself a wholly physical phenomenon.

How can this ever become enshrined in reality without the perverse usage of reason? How can experience and intuition ever stand upon their own? How can the alchemical work of art be integrated into life itself, without paying eternal homage to systems, to dead and dry philosophy, to academics with neither vigor, vision nor a wide dearth of interests?

Direct experience is the surest confirmation that the search for meaning is not in vain. It is also the only way to preserve the worth of the individual. Surely our modern science is incomplete if it can only define reality in terms of mechanism, and has no place for the one thing we all know is real, the experience of conscious being.

This is all merely to say that the stance of the atheist, or the person who believes that scientific truth is enough for a fully realized system of meaning, has left out the one thing that matters
most. And ah! That word again. ‘System’. Am I seeking a system that unites intuition with reason? In a way, yes, but it is only a system insofar as it is subservient to reason. I am not looking for that. I am looking not for gold with edges of silver, but for the real complete synthesis. It looks like something we cannot yet even begin to visualize. And that is good. Because if we have exhausted the intellectual life of humankind in the 21st century, if novelty is truly dead and Nietzsche and the existentialists have found the eldritch truth at the core of it all, then I do not hesitate in saying that I am disappointed with the caliber of the universe and I am sad that I live in a place so thoroughly exhausted.

III. Fortune

Yes, I continue to write in hopes that I will someday have an approximation of what a true synthesis of experience and reason looks like. It will not take the form of a great work, a treatise, a novel, or even an idea. It will be a transcendental ideal manifested on Earth. That sounds eschatological, and extremely full, something with long golden swishes of liquid pouring out, demanding a larger container. So let’s try to craft that container.

It is time to return to the symbolic structure of YHVH. I explained that Y is Yod, or the essence of mystical experience. I explained, in passing, that H is gnosis, a reflection upon that mystical experience. I am a stunted spiritual mind. I am too anxious to meditate and I lack the discipline. But I know that both mystical experience and reflection upon it is only possible in conditions of profound silence. But what value is the enterprise, if in the end, we only seek to slather Christian theology overtop of it, and consider it explained?

The V refers to magic. Legitimate, miraculous magic. It is the Arcana of the Empress, the magic number three, the number of the holy trinity, and three times three, which produces nine, the number of orders of angels and the most sacred number. But if you proceed upward once more, you arrive at the number ten. Ten is the number we are here to discuss today, and finally, to put to rest existentialism and Nietzsche in the negative, with no positive affirmation.

But so be it.

Arcana Ten is Fortune, and Fortune is the key to understanding the genuine incompleteness of
the world in multitude, without unity. Without the synthesis I seek, that has not yet manifested or become clear, we are left with multitudes. We are currently drowning in multitudes.

Fortune is the element of chance in the world, probability invited in by the serpent in the garden of Eden. Fortune is the reality that God is not self-evident in the world. If such a thing as God is True, then it is one of the most obscure elements of the world by far. Chance is the God of this world. The odds of getting cancer, or losing your job, or having a hateful family, are all stacked against the ultimate wishes of the soul. Chance is invited into the world by the fall and the serpent in Eden.
Now, I’d like to clarify that I mean this symbolically. The fall is not a literal event, and the serpent is not literal. The premise of mysticism is that the spiritual life of humankind preceded the existence of the material world. At its core, mysticism argues that the symbolic order of the world is more real than its probabilistic material manifestations. Hence, the serpent is not an actual serpent, but a meta-symbol meant to stand in for the principle of materialism, chance, entropy, mortality, decay and destruction.

The principle of the serpent is the fragility of the body in a world ruled by chance. We are all familiar with the wheel of fortune, an archetypal image that has become a commodified cliché. But the alchemical symbol of the Oroborous, the snake swallowing its own tail, is the Wheel of Fortune. Self-consumption is the truest nature of the material world. All that lives dies, or kills, and is ultimately destroyed.

The serpent is the principle of circularity, cycles, eternal recurrence, the world and all its choices posed as repetitive and self-consuming. It is quite literally hell. A world without grace, without a reality beyond the wheel of eternal chance and mortality, is very hard to justify. Just one child being murdered or stillborn calls the meaning of any life into question. If one life is so meaningless, so disposable, then what does it matter what any individual becomes? What of the millions dashed out on the rocks as chaff? It is utterly nihilistic.

We require grace. We require a world transcendent beyond chance. I know this in no way proves that such a world exists, but it is such a profound intuition, of harmony, of order, of synchronicity, the world laying itself out in a manner where chance ceases to exist, where there
is only intention, humankind walking with God in the garden, grace without the sting of karma and all the slings and arrows of fallen being.

I have placed a lot into a small space. That is the way I prefer to do it. The longer the treatise, the more painful it is. In essence, the lesson of fortune is that the material world as a self-enclosed entity is a place where serpents consume themselves. Our own civilization is a serpent, every pipeline a vein in the body of the rough beast. But that is the aim of my next exploration, this time of the right, or conservatism, or, as it truly is, traditionalism.

IV. Traditionalism

We reach the final letter in YHVH, the second coming of the H, the resurrection and return of reflection on mystical experience. The second incarnation of the letter H refers to tradition. It is the staff of Arcana IV, The Emperor, the silent hierarchy and wisdom of all who have come before, the ground beneath your feet, the canon and the source of tradition in which all thinkers participate.

The sequence of YHVH is rather straightforward, in principle. Y is a mystical experience, H is a reflection upon that experience, V is the implementation of the mystical will in action, and the second H is the amassed tradition of all mystical knowledge.
Experience becomes thinking which becomes action which becomes enshrined in history.

That enshrining in history, the patterns of what has come before, the collected wisdom and knowledge of the human species, is a controversial subject indeed. In Ghana, the word Sankofa means: “return to the source, and fetch.” It is an age-old concept. It is the same as the Egyptian God Horus voyaging into the underworld to rescue Osiris, his dead father, and it is also in principle the same as the highest arcane wisdom, which is for the adult to rediscover the golden ball of light and novelty represented by childhood. The child and the father are simultaneously evoked when one reaches into tradition to resurrect old knowledge.

The reference to Horus and Osiris evokes a particular 21st century intellectual, a conservative, a force of the Western tradition, Jordan Peterson. I find him an excellent figure to discuss in the context of tradition.

Peterson has been described in two very profound ways. The first, inspired by an ayahuasca trip, is that he is the incarnation of the divine masculine principle acting in the modern world. The second is his own description, where he says that his goal is to bring back the dead father out of the underworld and resurrect his knowledge. To Peterson, this is the goal of every good son – to rescue the metaphorical father, which is the tradition, the canon, the legacy of his civilization, which must constantly be cultivated to achieve great truth, goodness and beauty.

It may be clear that I have much reverence for Jordan Peterson. To the secular age, he is the closest I have found to a preacher. He delivers sermons in rational mythological language,
paying fealty to Nietzsche and Jung for his wisdom. He himself owes his knowledge to the same tradition that he seeks to instill in others. This is the spirit of conservatism, or Arcana IV, The Emperor.

Understand, please, that all this mystical and Tarot talk is meant to be a symbolic stand-in for higher concepts that I have no other way of expressing. These are archetypes, simply more sophisticated than the trickster, the hero, and so on.

Carl Jung had a concept he called the ‘Pleroma’, which to my knowledge is the reality that the unconscious is the battleground between countless spiritual beings. The Pleroma is the deepest underlying map of the world, and it is the endless battle in the above between the rank and file of Angels, Principalities and Thrones waging infinite war against the legions of falsehoods, demons and egregores. The consciousness of a human being is merely a consequence of a distant spiritual conflict that trickles down to us in the forms of actions, opinions and unconscious voices. The lesson here is simple: every voice in your head is not yours.

When one finds a powerful source of tradition, it is too tempting to identify wholly with its wisdom. The son is young, and unrefined, and so it is tempting for him to simply obey and follow the father. Hence is the trap of tradition – the trepidation to go beyond it.

Jordan Peterson falls silent when confronted with the question of Christ’s resurrection. It is no fault of his. No one can answer it, and any faith hinged upon this unproven event is necessarily on faulty ground. Carl Jung wrote that to speak of the Pleroma, the infinite war between spiritual
beings in the deepest realms of essence, or Yod, is to speak of something so abstract and inhuman that nothing of it can be said at all.

We must evolve. In the spirit of tradition, but also in rebellion where necessary. This is clear. Blind obedience to tradition should be foolish on its face, but it is also foolish for two other reasons. One, why did God keep knowledge of good and evil away from mankind? And two, by what divine logic was a serpent present in pre-fallen perfect nature?

God is a more twisted and unknowable being that we can fathom. Either that, or Lucifer has a point. And to say that Lucifer has a point seems outrageous. But since Paradise Lost, Lucifer has been a human figure, more anti-hero than villain outright. He is the underdog.

The conservative, the upholder of tradition, does not give rebellion its due. And really, it is only in the realm of politics that it becomes clear just how dead tradition is as the savior of mankind.

I will sketch out only a few general areas where it is clear that ‘Western civilization’ broadly
speaking has utterly doomed itself, and that tradition will not and cannot save it:

The conservative fetishization of hierarchy has destroyed this country. Anyone with an ounce of sense can see that the most competent people are not at the top. Anyone with an ounce of sense can see that the intense concentration of wealth into the hands of a few (Google, Exxon, Zuckerberg) gives undemocratic corporate entities insanely disproportionate power over our privacy and our democracy, to the point where the government clearly is subservient to corporate power, not the other way around. The flurry of donations that poured into Trump’s coffers between his election and inauguration shows that individuals do not have autonomy – the system is working through them, and the figureheads are interchangeable. This is the definition of inverted totalitarianism, when an obscured relation of corporate powers with no definable center is able to disperse political power among its relations without ever requiring feedback from the citizenry.

The fetishization of business and hierarchy has created a society driven around finding jobs in a time in human history when most jobs are being lost and automated and labor is more disposable than ever. The capitalist world simply does not need you. This is why Trump was so popular, because all the NEETs and the hopeless incels and gamers saw his bravado, his protectionism, and thought that the world which eternally rejects them may finally open its arms. It will not. So- called ‘dominance hierarchies’ are ascended by amoral technocrats, because they are the best suited to run the structures of society efficiently and for great profits.

As long as our values include the bombing of third-world countries like Yemen, our values are hypocritical and murderous. Just because the constitution has good ideas does not change this fact. It is a cliché to say that the United States was founded on genocide and slavery, but like original sin, it is true that individual rights were a deeply stained subject from the start. That does not mean we should dispense with them. The postmodernists who argue that individualism is a sham are dead wrong. But it does mean that we must admit – the Western canon did not become corrupted. Its form of corruption has merely changed throughout the years.
And finally, with the hell that business hierarchies have reaped upon the world, there comes the obvious elephant in the room – climate change. The traditionalist right, whether they believe in it or not, seek no action on climate change. They seriously do not think it will ever come to be a reckoning. No, gender pronouns are more significant than the Earth itself spitting back industrialism in our faces because we failed to develop technology and industry in the proper manner…

There is no point in debating climate change. Over the next thirty or forty years, we will live the reality of it anyway. It is too late for the United States to slow down. No way in hell will GDP be cut short-time for the mere potential of delaying a worldwide crisis. It is nigh inevitable. It is our Biblical flood. It is our Tower of Babel, our globalized industrial world, being rejected at the seams by nature’s own terms. It is a slap in the face to anyone who views the West as economically on track, but culturally deficient. Or in other words, those who view social justice warriors as the largest problem facing the contemporary West.

Ignorance of future catastrophe won’t work. And the people who worship the scepter of authority see themselves living in a great society with great foundations, though there are serious wounds, without or within, waiting to blow the whole thing up. The shift of Republicanism toward Trump indicates so clearly how wounded and aggressive people are. In an age of pretend, Trump’s comments about war veterans like John McCain would have sunk him, just as they sunk Joseph McCarthy. But the hurt is too deep in our nation. People don’t care what Trump says because
they just want release.

It isn’t the postmodernists doing this. It’s the traditionalists, and the military-industrial complex and the banks and oil industries. But those too in love with tradition will never admit this, because it would indicate that capitalism is fundamentally of the serpent. It is a circle, a civilization consuming itself. Globalism will soon consume itself.

Again, there is no point in debating this. The truth will play out in our lifetimes and it is too late to change course. It is simply worth understanding how backwards it truly is to think that reaching into the dead and blackened dirt of the past and reinforcing our archaic value structures will prevent the crashing-into-a-wall that all rational and intuitional factors agree is coming.

Tradition itself is obviously insufficient. The purpose of writing this is merely to sort out our present state, to find what is true and what is lacking. I would like you to be the final judge.

V. Miracles

I would like only to make a small note here about miracles. A miracle is an example of magic, a suspension of the rules of fortune, the harmony of the divine will in tune with man to the point where the probabilistic nature of matter no longer applies, and there is only grace in its stead.
I would also like to reflect upon my usage of the word man, which I only do out of habit, as treatises like these use ‘man’ or ‘mankind’ to refer to the striving human. In man we should see both man, woman, and any potential synthesis of the two.

Though, the persistence of the divine Him seems to make the perennial tradition by default male,
I think that may also highlight a deficiency in the perennial tradition. Unless…

I suppose now I will tell you that the holy trinity is only half of the actual complete divine, which is called the luminous trinity, and is associated with The Sun. The luminous trinity contains not only father, son and Holy Spirit, but also mother, daughter and Holy Soul. So little is known about these female forces, the Priestess, the Empress, Force…

So this was a brief chapter about miracles. And a miracle is a suspension of the rules of the material world. Do they exist? Are they real? To reason, absolutely not. To intuition, absolutely. Gold and silver do not align here. But unless one has witnessed a miracle, could it possibly be believed? Of course not. I have felt some synchronicities, but I have never understood or witnessed a miracle.

Perhaps I require the permission of the Pope? But if he is master of the divine, he has made a poor show of it. No, I think miracles are still not understood, though they must be possible, and the existence of life, and consciousness, are in themselves genuine miracles in that they represent great ontological breaks that have not been integrated into reason. But this will be short, because
I feel mad even writing about miracles…

VI. Acceleration

I have a strained relationship with tradition and miracles. These things are too archaic, too unreal. Too much has changed. Since Nietzsche came and went, we’ve suffered two world wars, the atomic bombs, and the emergence of the net. Any writer who perished before the emergence of the internet cannot possibly understand what it is like to live in the shadow of so much information, such false individuality, and such pretense and falsehood in the drive to go viral, to get clicks, to traffic in views.

I write content that I know is rare and unique. Yet, I get scarcely any views. This produces an intense dissonance in me, because the serpentine marketing structure of the world is evil and it sinks its fangs into content that is not marketable or is hidden, and declares that it must become branded and trending to be serious.

The association of views with success is a miserable motion forward. The internet, as it continues, will only degenerate deeper and deeper into clickbait, junk data, all the prophecies at the end of Metal Gear Solid 2. On YouTube, channels like Sargon of Akkad will appeal to their polarized bubble, just as Twitter personalities on left Twitter cater to their audiences with nihilistic satire and anti-anti-humor as a substitute for meaning. Memes and infotainment are the future, that and a privatized internet bought and sold by the industrious hierarchy-climbers over
at Google and Facebook, yet I don’t feel a shred of gratitude towards Silicon Valley toward it.
Funny, right?

The individual is a product. This much is a fact. It is simultaneously the easiest and hardest time in human history to be creative. It is the easiest, because anyone can create a platform and put out content. But it is also the hardest, because the deluge drowns out everything and elevates only a few voices, scarcely any among them can be considered profound or worth their audiences. Simple ideas presented in the proper brand will resonate like wildfire – such is Deepak Chopra and the New Age. Meanwhile, substantive thinking drifts beneath the surface, and the only thinkers who emerge are either social justice ideologues or accelerationist weirdos, Nick Land, or Hermetic-sympathizing weirdos like myself.

The age of creativity and ideas is simply over! Art cannot change the world; ideas cannot change the world. Capital can change the world, and capital is swallowing its own tail in a 400-year death spiral. Let us hope a new renaissance follows the end of this age! Let us hope that the survivors place more value on hidden gold and less on the endless sifting of polished seashells eternally offered on buffet for digital consumption.

No more political essays. No more 24/7 reaction cycle. No more social media feeds that generate only information, never light, nor fire.

Or, maybe we just wait until virtual reality becomes real, and everyone truly escapes into fantasies of their own creation?

I just get so depressed sometimes, when I know the center will not hold, when I know my voice is one amongst greedy and noisy billions, vying for attention, and it makes me resentful, and it makes me hate my craft, and doubt the potential of words.

I’m sure you all feel the same way. This world is eating us alive. So let us be a bridge to a new

We’ll burn our bridges and resurrect from the wreckage what was worthwhile. Cognizant of past mistakes, perhaps we should return to the local level, or just all become interchangeable ambiguous blobs of international thoughtless globalized flesh.

The future in the hands of online marketers and Silicon Valley will be a hell like any other, a gulag of a mental pain, not physical.

VII. Kingdom

Let us discuss an oppressive synchronicity – the world of mathematics. How glibly, in the end, does the least imaginative type of human being deflate the entire realm of soul and experience with the expression: “It all boils down to mathematics”. How glad I am that this species of positivist will be rendered as obsolete as Loyola in the grand scheme of history, a tyrant for a
time, only to be deflated by mysteries ten-thousand fold what he had ever imagined to be the case.

Mathematics is a sacred mystery, and I declare this as indefatigable fact. No philosopher, no scientist, no scion of reason can ever answer this fundamental question: If mathematics is a mental construct, then why does it correspond so accurately to reality?

Meditate on this, and you will see clearly that we know nothing. Mathematics is an invention of conscious apes. It did not come from above, it is merely the expression of reason at its most focal and serious foundational layer. And yet, this expression has been such an accurate map of reality that we have been able to build neural nets and cybernetic replicas of the world’s arts with it.

Technology is itself proof that human beings have a tether into the objective truth of the material serpentine world, and that tether is called mathematics. All those who seek to deflate the importance of human beings in the universe must explain how mathematics is as powerful as it is. If we are not Gods or hyper-special beings of some category or another, then why have we created such models of overwhelming explanatory force?

The last two ‘horsemen’ of New Atheism, Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, have fetishized human intelligence to the detriment of all other faculties. Hitchens, so intelligent in his idolatry of Western civilization, became a barbarian arguing for the slaughter of whole nations at the altar of technological progress. Richard Dawkins, so enamored with the beauty of science, claimed that science is itself poetry, and of course, like Stephen Hawking, he believes that all things outside of science and its applied technology are subservient to intelligence and reason.

The problem with intelligence is of course that it is profoundly unequal. IQ is a tool for navigating abstraction, and are those born with lower IQs simply meant to defer to the intelligentsia? Never! That profane suggestion is what led to the uprising of Donald Trump. Of course, a great million things have led to the uprising of Donald Trump, a man who is flawless for the moment, the collapse of a civilization and all its idolatries following The Enlightenment and the steam and rail of techne.

When one fetishizes intelligence alone, to the detriment of experience and intuition, there is necessarily a crystallizing effect. You became more narrow and powerful, but smaller than ever, a fine point. Imagine yourself as a five-pointed star. To fetishize mathematics as the absolute truth to the rejection of philosophy, intuition and mystical art, one becomes an idiot incapable of recognizing that mathematics itself has no reason to exist in the minds of lowly animals. An abstract map of the universe emerging from the brain is something that must be accounted for, particularly when that map is so damn accurate. But this, like the origin of the universe, like the origin of life, like the origin of thought, is dismissed as a brute fact, a thing that will inevitably occur in situations of great probability.

Probability. You see, then, why the concept of fortune is so powerful? The fetishizing of human intelligence above all defers all mystery into the realm of statistics. Every synchronicity, every miracle, every transcendent thing is dismissed as purely an expression of mathematical probability. Of course, given sufficient time and randomness, consciousness would develop! It is
not so special! So say the slaves to chance and fortune, who forget that their own probability that is apparently Truth and gospel is the product of the mind they seek to dismiss.

The contradiction is so apparent! At once, man is wholly irrelevant, a bit-player, a cosmic watcher of no great importance, and the seeker who has discovered the truth at the core of all things.

How can we be so unimportant and so gargantuan at the same time? Because we do not yet understand any of the following things: biology, consciousness, mathematics and time.

Time is a doozy. Right now, we are at the end of a great cycle of time, the upward march of intelligence against nature, which has resulted in the blight and pox of climate change, the response of nature to our obsession with material growth at all costs, that fated and fabled GDP.

The release of carbon and methane to strike down the human species will be a modern-day incarnation of the Tower of Babel, mark my words. And it so comical, then, that conservatives think their own tower of Babel, their technocratic Fukuyama-style city at the end of time, is something that will reign eternal so long as we reject non-binary gender and tell the poor that they are only ‘relatively’ poor, and should suck it up. Pah!

Conservatives and materialists have so much in common. All of them worship the past and the present and see the future as only a continuation of past trends. But what if, as synchronicity seems to indicate, as a cyclical view of time seems to indicate, the future is folded upon the present which is folded upon the past?

If there is non-linear causality, if we do not understand time at all, or evolution at all, or ourselves at all, then surely our civilization is one more Sodom in the path of the truth. The present is not the answer. The present is only the obstacle.

If we are at once the masters of matter, through mind and mathematics, but our own consciousness is not firmly established as real, then we are certainly incomplete.


Is it really just for anyone my age to lay forth a map of his thoughts? It certainly is, and I will explain why in myriad reasons that weave in and out of the major concerns and fundamental anxieties of the age.

If you have any interest in mysticism, philosophy, science and politics, you know that nothing shall be lost at the end of time, and all disciplines will have a sliver of prismatic truth to contribute to the final basin of alchemical gold that will sit in the ashen kingdoms at the end of time.

Synthesis is the only practice I know of that can bring to me harmony, order, and meaning, if only sometimes joy. Without synthesis, I am a dumb ape frolicking in shit. But what do I know?
At this young age, this 21st century, what can I possibly understand that entitles me to speak for such great swathes of arcane human development?

I do not claim to be a master of anything, I merely claim to be an attendant observer. Laying out the truth of our current predicament is the only way to move forward, beyond materialism, beyond a world led by the feeble torches of Mark Zuckerberg and Donald Trump, beyond the truth of self-consumption that we all feel in our bones, the snakes in our nervous system shuddering at the thought of death.

I am certain that death is the road to awe. I am certain that physical death is an alchemical transmutation. I am certain of this solely on the sword and spool of moral truth, not reason. Moral truth is an intuitive understanding of karma and grace. I cannot explain it any deeper than this. My forthcoming book, The New Symphony, will explain this process in detail. It is an adventure novel in the spirit of anime, synthesized with mysticism, alchemy, and the heroic path of the cross. It details what I believe in the same way that Tolkien believed that Middle Earth was a real place where a real war between good and evil took place. All authors operating in the perennial tradition must believe that their works are Truer than logic can express.

This dissonance between what is and what lies beneath is what makes me write like this, seeking to synthesize in direct fashion all the contents of my studies and mind. And yet, I reach a wall with death. We all die as individuals, but our civilization itself is now coming to die. A great writer, Roy Scranton, has said this. He too embodies a perennial tradition, though his work is haunted by war, and a visceral understanding of death that abides by the cross.

The viscera and cold alienation of death has of course inspired belief in an afterlife. As I have said before, I stand beside a thousand times, until the end of time, that there can be no meaning in life so long as the crushed skull of an infant is not understood as a transmutation. If death is simply death, and life is only a chance to ‘choose your own meaning’ for eighty years and then disappear, it is disappointing. If Camus understood the world deeper than Christ, then this world is shamefully shallow and I laugh in its face. But I know this is not the case. I know that death is a transformation, and not an end.

That is the meaning of justice. The tree of life, the tree of Sephirot of the Kabbala, has three tendrils. The paths of mercy and severity flank the central principle of balance on either side. If the world is too severe, too unjust, then creation is compromised. If it is too merciful, if there is only grace and zero karma, then creation is also compromised. But this is not a material judgment. Of course, the joy of a young man in buying his first car in no way balances or redeems any act of godforsaken death and violence. Joy and hope cannot redeem death and suffering. Only an understanding of death in tune with ancient Christian and Egyptian wisdom can even pretend to maintain hope in a world where a child chokes on sarin gas or is blown up from above by a predator drone.

To Christ and to Socrates, the good death was the true aspiration of a good life. Death is the guardian of the threshold of the Pleroma. How can this be so?
It is only possible if the world of archetype and symbol, the world of Pleroma and spiritual beings, is more True in the absolute sense of the word than the material world. The idea that we have in our minds of Christ is less real and less profound than the actual Christ, who is crucified in the world and emanates through it from beyond the threshold. This is the best way I can put it at the moment.

Death is the drawing together of life with the principles of Life. There are serpents, real material snakes who go low upon their bellies and live and die and breathe in dust, and then there is the serpent swallowing its own tail that is the truest abstract representation of what matter itself is. To access the symbol beyond the symbol, we must pass through the threshold of death.

What a stopping point! But it is not. What comes after death? Not a paradise, but a judgement more eternal than any other. When we face the world of archetypes and symbols in finality we face them as they truly are. We grow nearer to the source and we grow more truthful, more profound, more painful and more beautiful than ever.

The Christ is crucified in the world, but matter itself is merely the distillation of the symbol and principle of the serpent. The cross itself is a symbol of a truth so impossible that we would sooner scream and bleed from the ears than understand it.

We are not yet equipped to see it. Do you bear five wounds, one in each hand, one in each foot, and the last in the rib? Do you believe that each wound is an eye? Do you believe that the lynched and murdered corpse is in fact covered in eyes, and is capable of seeing finally the symbol past the symbol?

I will fall silent now. I can go no further down this path.

IX. Loneliness

What, to the writer, is reading and writing? It is work and prayer. Fundamentally, to read is to pray. It is to ask kindly for new information and through the work of writing and reading, the prayer may come true. For a writer, work and prayer is the path to success. Work, on what? Prayer, for what? Change, revelation, transcendence, the emergence of the new.

In many ways we are outgrowing the Earth. Its most illustrious images and beautiful tachyons only reinforce the hollowness at the core of it all, the hollowness of the serpentine circle. Social media is the best reference one can possibly have to see the vitality drained out of the species. The 24/7 stream of reaction, cynicism and most of all just pure reaction is more numbing than any other effect in my waking life. What is this, where we awaken and scroll through Twitter before we even roll out of bed? It is the image of the Frankenstein nailed to a board, addicted to information at the cost of all forward motion.

The proportion of loneliness felt in social spaces indicates so clearly the fundamental nihilism of the internet at present moment. How many people use the internet to become flooded with the
flavor of the day, to no personal benefit, to no greater wisdom, to curse the name Trump or laugh at the ‘triggered’? There is simply too much information. There are too many journalists, too many writers, too many memes, too many opinions. The only worthwhile work in an open sea of relativism is synthesis. It is playing the long game. It is refusing to become a blade of grass in the sweeping hills of daily information incontinence.

I lurk on Twitter; I try not to post. I am overwhelmed by Reddit, so I do not visit, and 4chan of course is something I do not sip from. Social media is the enemy of humanity. Of course, it makes inaction critical and it makes overwhelming and distraction the fundamental mode of being. It is NOT social. Any interaction it fosters is pathological in nature. It is either dunking on others in the pool of information, laughing at schadenfreude, making cynical jokes, or worst of all, which I see so commonly with writers, it is networking and opportunism disguised as
genuine interaction or concern.

There is so little sociability in lines of text attached to an image. It is not a place that can fulfill anyone. I despise forums. I despise the cringeworthy notion that social media is the open Socratic square of the modern day. Who could be dumb enough to believe that? That they are
learning about anything other than specialized pathology from browsing and posting upon social

Creativity is the biggest annoyance of the day, in so many ways. Creativity is reliant upon brand, upon your number of followers, upon clicks, engagement, popularity. Only the most idiotic of all free market fundamentalists could stand to pretend for one instant that the cream naturally rises
to the top. That is just not the case. From Terence McKenna: “The internet is the spreading of darkness at the speed of light”.

So many starving writers, rappers, musicians, photographers, designers, illustrators! My God! Even if all were weavers of masterpieces, there is not enough space for them all. Who is doing all the consuming? Young tech-savvy 20-some year olds? What are they looking for? Memes and nihilistic comedic art, of course. Social media is its own self-enclosed creative stream. Virtually everything I watch is on YouTube. Twitter is its own fragmented genius comedian of the age, the Dionysian drunk and aimless spit-balling crap and puns and nonsense into an endlessly browsable but utterly unenlightened stream of infotainment. Trevor Noah is the most redundant and pathetic man on Earth. TV is dead. It is so utterly dead. News and comedy are all encompassed on social media. CNN has been unmasked as a miserable cowardly corporation profiting off of the end of the world. MSNBC has been reduced to tinfoil conspiracy theory and the new red scare. Fox News…come on, I’m not even going to address Fox News.

Perhaps my critique of social media could be considered nothing but spite. But we are all spiteful beings, the only difference is that I cannot channel my spite into memes and branded opinions. Perhaps I am inferior. A young writer in the 21st century should be curating memes, gaining a Twitter platform, publishing through Buzzfeed and clickbait nurseries and rising up the dominance hierarchy to 2,000 followers, 11,000 followers, 20,000 followers…where does a writer stand with no followers? Or worse, no social media acumen? You stand nowhere. You don’t exist. Play the game, or get lost.
So I write in isolation and in secret, because I cannot and will not play the social media game. It makes me cringe; do you understand? It cheapens life. I know in your heart of hearts you see what I am saying. There is no place for esoteric ideas in social media, of all places. It becomes the deforming movement of The New Age. It becomes a meme of a blue shadow dude in meditation and some awful quote like: YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE. YOU ARE MADE OF STARS. I feel that has no value. I will not do that.

But if I truly wanted to be successful in the online marketing age, I would have to become an online marketer, a hungry hawker of words looking for attention. I could think of nothing more pathetic to be. Would I cast this tractatus into Reddit’s philosophy board? Would I, in the worst digital existence, respond to Donald Trump’s every Tweet with a thread of centrist clichés? God no. Angry socialist mockings are also impotence and piss in the wind.

It is not authentic. Or rather, it is authenticity without wisdom, that drives online platform. Look at Donald Trump – he is the master of Online, master of marketing, master of wealth. He is everything that this age admires, and then the sickly adherents of the age wish to say that Trump is an aberration, and has nothing to do with them? What comedy. Donald Trump sucks up such a massive amount of attention that he is exactly what every creative person and media enterprise in this age seeks to be.

The hunger for fame is poison. It is cancer. It comes from commercialism, from the marketing age circa Edward Bernays, from the starvation and the desire to earn a living doing something creative and enjoyable. It is noble only for that reason – to seek sustenance and independence from fame. But it is a game that no one will win. Literally, it is a game that no one can win.

Everything concentrates power at the top. Donald Trump is more popular than the combined power of all news media. Kendrick Lamar alone receives more attention than ten thousand brilliant musicians put together. James Patterson is an industry, not a person, and he makes most of the money made from every book published anywhere in the word.

This fetishization of climbing hierarchy is driving us mad. It drives us mad because it makes us all marketers, pathetic hawkers of pitches and bylines, sickly egos driven to consume more online space, always for the goal of crowding out others, of beating the competition. Only a handful will win. Most will remain anonymous. I make peace with my anonymity now, so that I never fall into the delusion that what I write must make me famous. Never. I write what I am writing because it needs to be said. I will never be compelled to become a marketer.

Those whose souls align with social media are lucky, for they are spirits of the age, spirits of these times, and they will gain a following and if they are intelligent they will monetize it. But I do not fetishize fame for the same reason that I do not fetishize intelligence – it rewards only a handful and damns the rest.

And yet, there it is, the endless curse of rent and work for a wage. I hope automation wipes out every job in America and we are all forced to live as equal with a universal basic income. But what slavery will come with that? Those at the top will retain their conditions. Mark Zuckerberg, Tim Cook, and a handful of others will direct world history while 99.9 percent of people live in a
corporate-owned digital hive mind. There is that obvious, basic, boring science fiction that will simply become reality. A cliché will become reality – that the top will seize the technology and the modes of discourse and neo-feudalism will set in, only in new beautiful sleek shining digital form.

But I don’t think that future will come to pass. I hope more for fragmentation, for turmoil, than unification under the wings of Facebook and Google. I pray for fragmentations and Brexits before a single world ruled by two or three companies who will each dwarf the size of governments in scope and reach.

Ten-thousand hungry Cains surge for the eye of a needle and two or three of them will become nourished Abels. But what of the Cains? What of the accumulation of people the world has no room for? This, again, was the fearful impulse that led one to vote for Trump. Trump is truly the mandala of capitalism. All returns to his visage and form.

The capitalist hierarchy spits out most people and demeans them. That is the truth of the matter. Artists seek to live outside of hierarchy, but in the cruelest twist of fate, the artist must become the most materialistic and selfish of brand managers in order to succeed! The rules of capital are inescapable!

“There is no ethical consumption under capitalism.”

Well, there is no ethical marketing either, professional beggars and scoundrels of Patreon!

On Patreon, as well as any other domain, a handful of creators become rich and most people earn maybe a hundred bucks a month for their full-time artistic labor.

The center cannot hold, o how beautiful it is, and how utterly horrifying, that the center cannot hold!

Elizabeth Bruenig, a successful young writer who loves both socialism and Augustine, once advised her followers to marry a comrade young and start a life. But that is not what is happening. That admirable conservative advice meets a crowd of lonely NEETs and low-wage workers who are browbeaten by the digital age into increasing loneliness and servitude to the collective imagination. Those who marry and find another young are truly blessed in ways I cannot describe, for they are now two minds and less likely to go mad. Life is much harder to dismiss once you have another to care for than your own. And yet, Friedrich Nietzsche, again a mandala of philosophers in his own right, lived alone and went mad. So many follow his example…

X. Postmodernism

Postmodernism is the obvious result of the 20th century. Just as there is no way to the Father save through Christ, there is no way to genuine meaning without passing through the gauntlet and
maze of postmodernism. Also, there is no way for me to make a cogent point save through
Christianity or Nietzsche. My fault, not yours.

Of course Nietzsche predicted the 20th century. Once God was dead, once the church and its answers were revealed in time to be obviously insufficient for the truth, the immediate onset of shadow was chronic doubt. This stage of doubt has not been lifted since Nietzsche. It has only deepened. He foresaw it, and now it has been the case since he saw fit to gaze.

Perhaps postmodernism is eternal pathological doubt. It is an extremely healthy impulse in moderation, but without a foundation for anything, it only brings suffering. Being a nobody in a sea of falsehood is not empowering. Not in the slightest. Becoming a hero requires precedent. And in postmodernism, the number one aim of deconstruction is to lay bare all precedents as toxic and half-true.

This is, of course, also the seed of existentialism. The only reason why we must create our own meaning is because everything is subjective, and there is no Truth. Existentialism and postmodernism are, for all intents and purposes, born of the same impulse.

After the atomic bomb and two world wars, the only rising upcurrent in human history has been that of technology. And technology, as we all feel in our bones, is no substitute for God. God, in this sense, is Tillich’s conception of God – as the absolute principle which stands above all other principles. There must exist a concept of such a principle, of a God particle, for a metagame to exist. For archetypes, symbols and metaphors to have meaning, there must be an established principle above all others. Without any hierarchy at all, there is only pure chaos. All symbols can be called into question as mere reflections of the whims and desires of incomplete man. The cross, in this sense, is nothing but an evolutionary coping mechanism to deal with suffering. It is
a fantasy born of the brain to keep us from losing hope, so that we continue to live and reproduce despite the absurdity of life. All intuitions of the afterlife are just lies we tell ourselves, another false hope to believe that there is anything more to the universe than blunt, brute mechanical matter.

To the postmodernist, the cross is an insidious figure of oppression. There is no crucifixion save for the powerless at the hands of the powerful, and the lesson of Christ and self-sacrifice is an attempt to cow the powerless into accepting inequality as fate. The entire karmic history of humankind, as told by religion, myth and mysticism, is nothing but a long story to justify oppression and suffering. In reality, we are only what we make ourselves, and we could choose to end suffering tomorrow if collectively as a species we accepted a different meme.

Human nature is not real in postmodernism. It too is a lie designed to hold us down, and in this, postmodernism becomes the roiling sea, the number zero, the water that is contained by any form. It is amniotic fluid. Postmodernism, in its truest spiritual conception, is amniotic fluid.

And we are immersed in it every second of our lives! We are fetuses incubating in the womb of a dying world, surrounded by liquid chaos. That is precisely what we are. As a description of the lost prodigal son, postmodernism is accurate and true. As a prescription for the way forward, it is nothing but blind Oedipus staggering through the wastes.
In synthesizing silver and gold, we also seek to synthesize tradition with new ideas. If we utterly abandon the canon as a series of well-ordered lies to keep us subservient, then we will be rootless and vanish in the weightless corpuscles of outer space. If we seek only to return to the source and fetch, we become slaves to hierarchy, and become incapable of seeing major breaking points that await us. There is a weariness of cyclical time growing in our marrow, in our bones. The weariness may be the amniotic fluid, but to grow we will have to drain it. Or integrate it.

We will become more powerful by integrating demons and shadows than by seeking to destroy them. The lesson of postmodernism, that we know nothing, that we really have no foundation beneath us, is serious and worthwhile. But it is not telling us to found a new philosophical paradigm or construct a different society. It is telling us to seek new modes of thinking and being, not merely new expressions of what already exists.

It, like all signals of bad transmissions in this era, is a plea, a prayer and a request to go beyond what we have already accepted, and to achieve new brilliant paradoxes in our exploration of the symbolic and spiritual life of humanity. Why paradoxes? Because to the faculty of reason, all things that are bound with intuition appear paradoxical. Intuition is a sense. It cannot all be received by the same mechanism as reason. Look at Christianity – death and life are not clear- cut. It is paradoxical what it means to truly live and to truly die. The body will be resurrected at the end of days. This is an intuitive idea, not falsifiable, only appreciable in dreams and in the hearts of those cultivators of symbols we call artists.

Shall we toss out all paradoxes as bad transmissions? No, because life is paradoxical. Life is absurd. But there is a greater synthesis.
This is what postmodernism and materialism both deny, that there is a greater synthesis. Postmodernism radiates out to the point where it becomes a loose web of pulses, devoid of

Materialism crystallizes in upon itself to the point where it becomes the most narrow and powerful thing in existence.

Both are false answers, and both are spun like fools, apes, upon the eternal dais of the wheel of fortune.

Are you still with me? Please recall, that I am not a Christian, though I find death to contain a metagame. Death is the truth that stripped of our humanity, we are just minerals. But our humanity is neither construct nor accident. It is the irreducible central focal point of all paradox and all symbol.

Humanity is the mercurial result of the way of the cross that is natural selection, and we are the inheritors of principles that transcend fortune, chance and chaos. We are the inheritors of order, harmony and the transcendent warmth that accompanies them.


The horrifying lesson of the postmodern is that everything and nothing have more in common than we wish to know. This is the mystical notion of the ‘dark night of the soul’, the sun so brilliant and bright that it appears to the flesh eye as blinding darkness. But there is a third principle between everything and nothing that renders the postmodern mute. That is the principle of momentum.

There is no creative work, no authentic thought, no genuine contribution to the cultivation of life without the presence of an absolute sense of momentum. Momentum cannot be negotiated with – it is a force that rolls and once it begins its motion it unquestionably creates work of true value. All great art is made of momentum, not the forcing or ultra-conscientious weaving of parts into a coherent whole.

The brain, when grooved to sit upon a multi-track rail, cruising along multiple levels of meaning simultaneously, is engaged in an act of such profound meaning that the result becomes palpable. This force, when it operates in the creative soul, is the truest sense of grace the artist may experience. There is truly a difference between force, which comes from outside, and forcing, which comes from twisting miniscule pieces into desirable shapes within.

Artists should never fear periods of great creative drought. To produce constantly and permanently is inevitably to draw up muck with the creative stream. Perhaps we must all clear the muck from our teeth before we may speak clearly. But understand that prizing every creation as equal to every other is a false and untenable project. That which glides along the most rails simultaneously without collapsing is the illumination that approaches mystical fire.

If an idea is only intelligent, or logical, it sits upon one rail. If it is also beautiful, and warm, it sits upon another. If it is also good, and moral, it sits upon another. If it is a piercing truth that strikes the intuition with force, it rests upon yet a fourth…

The letters of YHVH are of course the mode of transfer of momentum from the universal to the individual. It is unknown what I precisely mean by this metaphor, but it truly is something like work and prayer – reading and writing – the experience of worthwhile content, the reflection upon that worth, then the actions its worth breeds, then the tradition that those thoughts and actions abide by and fall into.

There is a genuine creative force in this world that is irreducible in nature. My finest writing is never a matter of calculation. The works that I have to constantly navigate and re-interrogate through the faculty of reason alone are chronically flawed. The genuine beauty and truth of art is expressed in the unconscious pursuit of latent ideas which flow together so naturally it is a wonder that we ever lose track of it.

Of course the stream of consciousness is discontinuous, and this is the source of our pain. The grooved rails of multiple levels of meaning each inspire a harmony. It is harmonious, ordered, and good to be seated upon so many rails at one time. When we fall away from that, particularly when artists fall away from that, life appears to be missing something. It is missing the harmony of creation, of walking in the garden alongside God and creating in partnership with the world at
its purest level of expression. That joy, once known, will always leave the artist conscious of when that joy is and is not present.

I suppose it is a joy, to experience harmony. It is the closest we can come to genuine synthesis. When a work flows so naturally across so many levels of impulse and struggle, of course it is speaking to the root causes of a person’s consciousness, the layer underneath, the realm of symbol, archetype and the Pleroma.

If the spiritual world precedes the physical world, then tapping into these symbolic structures
will produce more meaning than dissecting and intellectualizing physical reality. We see that this is clearly the case, as no amount of intellectual facts can produce a meaningful life or a narrative worth living. Postmodernism, in this respect, emerges again as a cruel teacher – there are an infinite number of interpretations, and none of them are correct. The best we can do is go deeper, to that place where synchronicity reigns and ideas merge and conjoin together as if their reunion was a manifestation of the return of a prodigal son to his childhood home.

That place is rare. That place is exceedingly, truly, rare. It is lunar in nature, so often, a filtered sunlight through the mercurial silver and feminine river flow of the generative creative order. But such it must be. To stare directly at the Father, the masculine totality of the sun’s rays, All Might and God Himself, is to be rendered silent and mute. The Father is complete. The son is not, and so he moves through the modes of the night, the ‘dark night of the soul’, he passes through eternal and chronic uncertainty and creates art as a result of his distance and suffering from the Father.

If the pinnacle of all hierarchies, the classic notion of The Father, is indeed a transcendent ideal that cannot be achieved, then attempting to climb the hierarchy toward The Father is an act of perpetual struggle. It has no conclusion; though it has a true sense of motion. This is again where the postmodern creeps in, because a journey with no tangible conclusion opens up all manner of doubt into whether it could possibly be worthwhile. If you are heading somewhere that is impossible, then aren’t you Sisyphus by another name?

No, and the reason why is because of momentum. Momentum burns away in the marrow of an artist and extinguishes the potential to live other lives for the sake of cultivating side-by-side the garden of creation with God. This momentum is not manufactured. It is assisted by work and prayer, but its origin is as arcane and unknowable as consciousness itself. If there was no momentum in humankind, if we bore no creative genius or genesis within ourselves, then and only then would we truly be Sisyphus. If all works of art and imagination were cobbled artificially together, as if by the hand of an engineer of pieces, then they could be said to be expressions solely of man’s own face, leading nowhere.

The spark of momentous force cannot be proven or disproven. The atheists, who say that all great work is always a pitiful first draft, and then edited to perfection, are quite simply wrong. They are operating dials to measure the temperature of the soul instead of simply gliding and abandoning all measurement. Does that sound inspiring? It is the source of my creative will. Whenever I sit to write fiction and I must force words, the work is not worth writing. It is not worth its own salt. Even powered by momentum, it often collapses halfway through. Those
works that are truly self-sustaining, self-creating, are less improvisations of humankind than direct representations of the symbolic truth underlying human reality. And those symbols, if they are real and true, wish to be expressed as they are, without human flights of fancy intervening in their path, stifling their will, drowning their gold and sediments.

It is an irreducible faculty, that spark of truth and beauty, and when it is executed in partnership with the Pleroma it is nothing that can be trifled with. In fact, it is our only hope against the void. If we are merely craftsmen of just-so stories and cobbled-together nonsense, then we are of no importance to the universe. That is not the case. The link between mind and mathematics is already suspect. That is made of gold. If silver seeks to become gold, then it is misguided. The Sun and The Moon are both essential principles because of the dark night of the soul. The Moon shields us from being blinded by The Sun. The Moon is the ally of the artist, and the fallen being.

I live amongst images that are rare but occasionally play themselves out in my mind, brief clips and segments of a television series that I know to be a direct link to the source of my being. Should I live without creating this series, I know I will have failed. My duty in life is to take grace, momentum, and make it tangible and real. That is what the stories which motivate us have done. That is all they do.

XII. Gnosticism

Friends, how comical is it that a student of politics and philosophy in the 21st century has reverted to Hermetic mysticism, dissatisfied with both science and philosophy? Either I am
utterly mad or I have my finger on the pulse of ideas yet to come, which currently are expressible only remotely clearly in mystical terms. The fact that I see more wisdom in mysticism than in politics or science truly means that either humankind has lost its way, or I have truly become a fool. I don’t have the arrogance, yet, to insist that I am not a fool. But if any segment of this tractatus thus far has made you smile, or instilled you with a warm glow, then I am a train on a track grooved to run. That is all I can say I am.

At the cost of becoming absurd, I will say that I love Gurren Lagann, and strive to become a
‘digger’, an opener of pathways to new horizons, new tracks, new modes of being. That is all I care to do. But we must not lose sight of where we have come from, or we will make great mistakes about where we are going.

Saint Peter was crucified upside down. The chief symbol of Satanism, the pentagram, is in fact a representation of the five wounds of Christ. Each wound is an eye, an eldritch vision into the crucifixion of God in the world. Why an eye? Because a wound is a source of information. In psychological terms, being impaled, or crucified, reveals more information about the Earth than a life lived unharmed. Suffering is the road to knowledge. Particularly, gross and inhuman suffering, such as being crucified upside-down or being lanced in the rib hanging dead from a cross.
Christianity is a grim affair. This much is obvious from its focus on suffering, shared so strongly with Buddhism. The key difference between the Buddha and the Christ is that Buddha seeks to escape suffering, whereas the Christ seeks to redeem it. The Buddha desires to crystallize into nirvana, the Christ to radiate out through all time the will and aim of redemptive service. But surely, there is no Christ without the prelude of the Buddha.

The Buddhist will to escape the world has manifested in certain Christian sects. Chief among them, the one I have known for longer than I was able to consciously express it, was Gnosticism. I have been born with gnostic principles deeply embedded inside me, and in my first novel, the
21st Century Slave, the gnostic hand runs deep.

Gnosticism is the seed of deism, which devolved into atheism, and pessimism. Gnosticism is the hard brute fact of God’s absence from the world. The cheap spirituality of ‘all is all and all is good’ is profoundly false. We are a wounded and suffering people removed so seriously from the source of creation that to meditate upon it is to weep on one’s own profound incompleteness. Indeed, God, or the principles of grace, salvation, resurrection and redemption, are the most obscure things in the universe. The most common things are suffering, toil, and despair. It is
truly rare and unique to be confronted with a genuine sense of the validity of resurrection. It is the most backward and unknowable thing.

The Gnostics despise the body, and this world, and believe that Christ never had a body, and was purely woven from light. The body, then, is never resurrected at the end of time. Only the spirit survives, only the spirit is close to God. Again, the kernel of truth is present – the body is material, mineral, weak, and certainly lacks evident grace. But the body is also a reflection of the crucifixion of God in the world. The body, and the fall, are the hominization of crude matter into a spiritual being. That is a lot to unpack. But what I mean by that sentence is only that
impersonal matter, electrons, atoms, molecules and organs, have become personalized in the long game of evolutionary biology. The dust and vacuum of space has, in thirteen billion years, given rise to the eyes and the wounds which breathe and take injury from the symbolic order of
spiritual ideas. The Gnostics dismiss this world at their own peril by dismissing the creative harmony of evolution itself, that principle in this world which is opposed to entropy, opposed to the dissolution and collapse of all things. It is the principle of complexity, an object forming from minute parts, and the sum total of that object is greater than the sum of its parts. We are all
made of flesh, but we are more than flesh. It is that power, to transcend the mineral and chemical world, to attain knowledge of symbols, of good and evil, which makes us so special in this universe. This is why materialism is so damning – it rejects the symbolic order, and claims
instead that we are only made of our mineral and chemical parts, and that symbols are inventions, constructs embedded in us through evolutionary time. It is the same as postmodernism, only it declares that these constructs of the cross, the serpent and the soul are biological, not social.

They are the expression of crude biological ideas, and nothing more. But, in the final analysis, we do not understand at all what biology is. How in a world of God’s absence, a world of total materialism, has something so peculiar as experience come into being? Why, if there are dusty plains grown with trees, should there exist any system complex enough to observe the trees, and even more, to sketch an image of a tree upon the wall of a cave?
Those who do not see the mystery here are not looking precisely enough into exactly what is going on. Their philosophy has no basis for the principle of reflection, and then of creation. That is what is lacking from the materialist worldview, and the Gnostics, who bow to materialism, and agree that God is gone from the Earth, have forfeited the body which is a sacred image of the soul.

The body’s wounds are more than material suffering to be ended by a utilitarian plan. Mental suffering is more than the inability to have power and survive. Suffering is a spiritual condition, and an eternal one. With or without the body, we will experience suffering. But in this world, to make a cult of suffering, to make a Christianity forthright, is to invert one’s own relation to the world. It is to be crucified upside-down, to embrace the pentagram, to see virtue in powerlessness and not the struggle for survival.

Christianity, as a meme, is the utter inversion of Darwinism. The goal of life is to die well and to devote oneself to the order of symbolic truth – this is the exact inversion of living in strength and devoting oneself to personal power and survival. This I precisely why Nietzsche hated
mysticism, because he saw that it had an inverted relation to life, that it despised life, that it
called the world a serpentine cycle and desired something outside of it.

But do we not all desire something outside of it? Do we not desire freedom from earning a wage strictly to survive? This is no immature or lazy communist impulse. This is the beauty of Marx – the notion that mind has more to achieve than simple survival. Earning a living should be the foundation of what truly matters in life. Instead, earning a living is the goal of life. Thus socialism, and Marxism, undoubtedly have a major role to play in the spiritual development of the human species. To transcend work and toil, to invert all hierarchy, to invert life as a struggle for survival into a struggle for knowledge and grace, is to seek the way of the Christ.

I am baffled forever at those immersed in the symbolic life who become pure conservatives, as if they have read only the Old Testament and interpret the Gospels as innocuously as possible.
‘Render unto Caesar’ is cheap wisdom. The Christ has a role to play in the material and spiritual life of humanity, which must amount to more than working shifts for a wage, returning home tired, and building one’s life around technocratic matters or clerksmanship. Yes, work and prayer are essential. These will never disappear. But there is high work and there is low work. The millennial generation fears most of all being trapped forever in a place of low work, of service jobs or administration, as college being the final phase of freedom, then the next 60 years of life being devoted simply to work and earning money. It is improper. It is not an enlightened life. Keynes, Marx and Jung all saw the idiocy in it. Jung himself said that the West had a stunted
view of adult life because the Christ died at age 30. Thus, the idea of childhood lasting roughly
12 years, adolescence lasting 6, college lasting 4, then work lasting for 8, until crucifixion at age
30, makes some sense. Life has defined stages, none dragging too long. But 60 years of work, most of which will be spent in distance from momentum, from the soul? This is a cursed existence. This makes me a Gnostic. I don’t want it. Nobody wants it.

And so the age we live in meets us halfway. I have mentioned briefly the looming specter of mass automation. But truly, if automation finally sinks into the Earth and algorithms and
machines adopt half of the labor, particularly manufacturing, transportation, and service jobs, then most people worldwide will be put out of work. The vast, vast majority of the planet, consigned to these low-paying jobs of much work and toil, will find the job market shrink by magnitudes of hundreds. And, in the same time frame, carbon and methane will distort the environment to the degree that industry is directly responsible for throwing the Earth out of balance and leaning too far toward industriousness, technology and work. The world economy is an enemy to the environment. That notion alone shows how out of sync man has become, how in need we are for our Tower to be struck by lightning, for a new humbling, a reconsideration of what work and life are supposed to mean.

Again we return to the problem of wage labor – what of a world full of people who are made to live at the bottom of the hierarchy forever, slighted Cains, a generation of millennials who earn less than the generation which preceded them, the son failing to surpass the father, the daughter failing to surpass the mother? Such a world would be a failure of enormous proportions, and it is the world we have now, of wages stagnating for 40 years, of unpaid and temporary work becoming the norm, of Patreon beggars and college graduates reduced to careers that sterilize the soul and not uplift it.

The source and soul of capitalism is growth. If new generations cannot grow beyond the generations that preceded them, this is a spiritual crisis of a caliber that cannot be overstated. If millennials are poorer and more depressed than their parents, then there is a spiritual malaise. Any economist, any philosopher, any thinking person that is not aware of our present borrowed time is spiritually blinded to the reality that all eras end, all ideas are surpassed. “This too, shall pass.” Anyone who thinks that the current order of corporate-run government and spiritually stagnated humanity will be saved by buckling down on the free market, or regulation, or anything minor like that, is a fool.

Of course, the revolution will come from inside. The left will not cause it, because they are incapable of causing it. It is the twofold crisis of automation and climate change that will be our Damocles, our reckoner. And beyond that, the injustice and debt suffered by the young, the failure of the current system to be just and fair, will truly make itself known in the image of
wanton rebellion. If you force the young to shoulder hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt just to sit at the starting line, you are a tyrant, and you are the personalization of capitalism.

All systems become personalized in time. Mysticism finds its God. Postmodernism finds its Foucault. Religion uplifts its priests, and capitalism produces its Trumps and its Mark Zuckerbergs.

Those who wish to condemn Donald Trump but defend the world run by marketing, brand and wage labor are condemning the head of a serpent while nourishing its stomach. Make no mistake, the world as it is, right now, beneath our feet, is the Oroborous, the seal of the snake swallowing its own tail. On the backs of serpents, in the mouths of serpents, we suffer great anxiety and pain.

“This too, shall pass.”

XIII. Death Before Death

The practical function of meditation is to recognize that all things shall pass. All thoughts, whisperings and ideas of the symbolic consciousness, from demons to angels to false idols, are only themselves actors in a larger cosmic drama that is out of their hands as much as it is out of our own. This is chaos. This is the Greek vision of the Gods, as petty infighters and adulterers, sleazes and cheats.

If the archangels don’t even know what’s coming, then how can we lowly humans have anything
at all? It’s easy – we have novelty. We have the promise and the endeavor of something truly new coming into being. The classic hero’s journey, the prodigal son who leaves home only to return, requires modification. Indeed, the home he returns to is not the same place from which he emerged. If he leaves the womb to return to the womb, if we are born only to seek nirvana’s
bliss, then we are Sisyphus. The real goal of our existence is far greater than mere repetition. The goal of the spiritual life is to transcend these cycles and circles, even when we are entirely bound by them.

We are trapped somewhere between resurrecting the best of tradition and creating our own values. But this no longer a personal task, it is the universal requirement being made of our civilization, and its place in an era of history that has clearly peaked and is begging for the next cycle to begin. As long as we live on Earth, we will be embedded in a cycle of some kind, but these cycles intersect and sweep us away into different directions. We are to work and pray toward the swivel of a new beautiful mosaic to lap up the waters of our lives out of this stagnant pool.

A labrynthian Ferris Wheel will be coming for us all. Those who deny the generational, civilizational break and the new epoch to come will find themselves in a strange and empty land. Those who leap headlong into the future with no love for the past will find themselves stripped
of individuality, even more lost than the conservatives.

William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell was heretical on the surface, but not without conscience. Its aim was a greater synthesis of light and darkness, an understanding of darkness as the static obedience on either pole, and the principle of polarity as the origin of light itself. This brilliant incursion into alchemy, process philosophy and Eastern mysticism was Blake’s vastest accomplishment. He was neither a child of the canon nor its rejection. He was an original
creative force, which is what Lucifer, at best, could be – an unlikely hero in the story of creation, striding below in the reflection of the above.

To truly die is to become subservient to one pole entirely, never abandoning it, rejecting all others. This is the end of motion, thus the end of heat, light and mystical fire. To flagellate the body, to reject all mysticism, to reject all science, to despise the left, to despise the Western tradition and canon, all these are illnesses of excessive subservience to one pole or the other. It is a death before death.
One can be dead before they die when they snap wickedly at the reasonable proposition of new information. One can be crystallized, a narrow point, awaiting only physical death or the fulfillment of one ideology as the salvation of the human race.

I must say something critical here of Marxism. In previous Arcanum I have declared Marxism to be both a spiritual hero and hindrance to the human race. In the category of hindrance, which I will expound upon more fully in the eighteenth chapter of this tractatus, it is worth considering what comes of a world immersed in ‘luxury automated communism’. If most physical jobs are automated, and the system of wage-labor is dissolved to account for the massive drop in employment opportunities, then what will people do with their time? The likely answer, sadly, is a vicious combination of gaming, pornography, snacking and drug use. The end of wage-labor is in no way a guarantee of spiritual light. Without fixation upon synthesis as a worthwhile goal, it makes more sense for a humanity freed of labor to simply indulge in pleasure and abandon the physical world.

The capitalist who fetishizes work, hierarchy and achievement is actually onto something. Indeed, it is right to seek the number one spot. Rappers, for all their revolutionary posturing, are the artists most fixated upon hierarchy, wealth and personal achievement. The biggest problem with capitalism is simply that the punishment for not achieving is chronic poverty. This is too cruel. Instead, the punishment for refusing work should resemble more closely the lifestyle of a modern millennial Trump-supporting Pepe-brandishing shitposter. A life spent on the sidelines, mocking and desecrating, is a more fit ‘punishment’ for not achieving than poverty and homelessness. How sad is it that I myself, a young writer, see such a life as a more likely outcome than getting a decent job and succeeding in my field, despite the obvious worth of this tractatus?

When merit is not rewarded, civilization goes the way of Cain. And so civilization dies a tiny death every time a striving young soul sinks profoundly into hopelessness and despair. For the creative person, career, self-worth, standing and ability are all intimately linked. Most liberal arts students are creative, so what does that say of a generation where monetizing creativity is intensely difficult, and as I have said previously, requires the mind of a marketer, not a synthesizer?

Clearly picking either the liberation of Marxism or the work and toil of capitalism will put one at an inconsolable dead-end. The high spirit of Marxism and the work ethic of capitalism can take a person a long way. The spirit, to guide, the work, to attain. But this is a precocious balance,
never secure, as the work ethic wishes to pump out successes over and over without regard for
higher ideals, and the spirit grows dissatisfied and angry at the insufficiency of work. Life is truly a work of great balance, and those fabled great achievers absolutely have luck as a third divining star.

Fortune. Chance. Fallen nature. This is the reason why work and prayer sometimes, or often, fall short. And that is just suffering. That is unacceptable. That is why we must consider mysticism, and the cross, because our hands are too small to bend the world to allow us a good life. We
cannot control most things, and so we try to control our own souls with ideological rigidness, avoiding the path of synthesis. Life is a long stay in an institution.

And here, we meet a full circle. Life has potential, except it all relates back to the same game that we have proven we cannot win, the game of synthesis. Science laughs at my words and believes
it will crack open consciousness any day now. Perhaps it is right. Postmodernism cannot believe the naiveté of seeing a genuine synthesis possible. Perhaps it is right.

But our world is dying and both these ideologies are reigning and complicit for its death. I take no lashes and scorn from those who make nothing (postmodernists) and those who make civilizational death (scientists). How loathed will science and technology become if it spirits away the workforce with no answer but ‘retrain yourself and learn to code’. Now that is a comedy too dark to be comical!

I will need both science and postmodernism as humility. But it would truly be a death before death to heed their warnings and walk back from mysticism and synthesis.

XIV. Persona

A conscientious observer may have taken issue with my usage of science in the preceding letters. After all, did I not spend all of II trying to free science from materialist philosophy? Of course, but at the present moment, due to the influence of materialist philosophy, which has our whole globe in its grasp, the accumulated body of science is a map exclusively of the material world. There is no science of consciousness that is worthy of the depth that the problem demands. So sadly, at present moment, science and materialism are words issued from the same mouth.

How ironic, then, that it is the scientists warning us of the climate change that their technology has caused! You know the symbol this problem evokes.

Science cannot be divorced from either materialism or capitalism. All are siblings of the same udder. This fact is what postmodernists use to reject science, but of course they are wrong, because as a description of the material world, and our material brains, science is true. It is the truest thing we have.

There are many mumblings of quantum physics and paranormal psychology and unconventional spiritualist analyses of science. Perhaps I am a bad reader, or I have bad faith, but until these changes become the main scientific paradigm, I do not see them as largely significant. The reigning mode of science is not quantum anything. It is the expenditure of vast amounts of money to plunge deeper and deeper into atomism, for the continuing of publication for the continuing of tenure, for the extension of the materialist paradigm. All systems perpetuate themselves. Is this not the lesson of global capital?

The mystic is weakest when he has to fight science, because science is stronger than mysticism. The greatest mystic is rendered a fool by the simplest of technology, let alone a particle
accelerator. True, mystics have failed to truly assert the spiritual, because it is a subtle thing that most people are born and die without ever having to learn. It is necessarily of obscure nature, just like the good.

So why do I care about mysticism? Perhaps because of my low work ethic? My weak arms? My inability to engage with legitimate philosophy, to become a professor of Hegel or Heidegger and do the life of the mind the right way?

No, rather mysticism emerges from a profound distrust of life itself. It is the bizarre and arcane intuition, in reality counterintuitive, that there is more behind the veil and sword of material life than any system of knowledge has even remotely apprehended. Given that we are only creative apes, it seems overwhelmingly likely that no body of knowledge up to the present day has answered the root and endeavor of life’s problems.

Mysticism has many types, of course, all of them insufficient. The Buddhist proposes escape alone, admitting that life cannot be redeemed. The Satanist proposes man alone, like a twisted Enlightenment. The Christian understands redemption, but founds it all upon the resurrection of the historical Christ and the legacy of the church, two of the least trustworthy things in known history.

Hermeticism is the mysticism borne of Hermes Trismegistus, the magician thrice great, once thought to be pre-Christian, but in fact contemporary with Neo-Platonists, emerging from the 4th century AD. Hermeticism is my alchemical dream, the synthesis of spiritual silver and gold. It was at the core of the Renaissance philosophy and the optimism that ‘man is the measure of all things’. Hermeticism places human being as the key to the known universe, and how fitting it is, given that reflective consciousness and creative will are the two things that materialism in principle cannot solve.

What does it mean to be a Hermeticist? Nothing in itself, it is all in the application. There may be Hermetic scientists, artists, painters, writers, welders, weavers, carpenters and doctors. Hermeticism is the principle of balance, and the ur-mysticism.

There is no alchemy, nor silver nor gold without Hermetic principles. We are so deeply in need of a Hermetic revival, and yet, what if we receive only the wishy-washiness of the New Age?

The New Age, and the 1960s and 70s, was a revival too early for its time. The doom of capitalism, the end of materialist science, had not yet sunk in.

Yet by the end of the decade, I wonder if there is anyone alive who will not notice their borrowed time.

XV. Shadow

How can I possibly argue that the symbolic order precedes the material order? Entire volumes could be written on just that question. How is it rational at all to suppose that symbols are more real, more fundamental, than blood-and-nerve reality itself?

A low-quality answer would be: “Reason and intuition striving as equals realize that this is the case.” But quite self-evidently, it is a cheap dismissal.

First, I have to clarify that I am not arguing in favor of idealism. The mental does not create the physical. The mental is itself just the manifestation of the realm of symbols in abstract cognition. The mental itself is just as empty as the physical. This is why depression is so genuinely real – the mental realm is impoverished without spirit, guidance, striving, work and prayer to supplement it with real and meaningful content.

Those who praise mind alone over matter praise the void. Hence, the Buddhists seek meditative nirvana, and the dissolution of the ego. This is to cultivate understanding that the mind and the body are equally poisoned. One must ultimately dispense with both.

And yet, to totally disappear, the proposal of Buddhism, is unsatisfying because of momentum. The creative and illuminating momentum that generates masterpieces is trans-cerebral. It does not emerge from the cleverness of the mind. It emerges from the overwhelming truth and power of symbolic order. Buddhists understand this, but without life and suffering, there is no mode for symbols to interact with being. Instead, they simply choose non-being.

To seek the end of the ego is to seek the end of all creative action, the magic of the will, cultivation of the Earth alongside the ideal of God. I do not wish ever to abandon these things, and if I am right, then all eternity is pregnant with the individual action of the cultivating will. It is not an immaturity to be abandoned – it is full ripeness.

This is the Buddhist ideal of bodhisattva, the Buddhist notion of Christ. This is the opposite of dissolution into nirvana – this is the eternal cultivation of being for the sake of being-itself. This is the highest good. And in circularity, this makes me again a fan of Nietzsche.

So, having said all of this, I am not an idealist nor do I believe the mind to be the highest value. The mind, like its IQ, is merely a tool. Just like the arm is a tool for survival, the mind is a tool for understanding symbols.

I have no qualms about science fully opening and dissecting the meat and machinations of mind. That does not worry me. I am sure that all cognitive processes, as proven and shall be proven, occur in the meat brain and correspond to abstract cognitive models. No, it is not mind, but being itself which gives precedence to the symbolic order over the stuff of neurons and synapse.

There are two fundamental modes of being in the materialist cosmos. Narrative being, and non- narrative being. Static being, and being-in-motion. Reducing stories and motion into stark inanimate matter is the biggest mistake of modern science.

Think of how absurd it is – an organ and a human being are fundamentally the same thing. The brain, if it is equivalent to a human being, is simply a collection of complex material parts. But a brain is not an experience. A complex organ is not an experience of living in the world. The
existence of conscious experience, once more, is a fundamental problem for materialist ontology. The concept of emergent consciousness tries to solve this. In all fairness, emergent
consciousness is a brilliant idea. It suggests that consciousness is the product of the brain’s complexity, and that consciousness is not equivalent to that complex system, but it is a clear result of it.

However, emergent consciousness takes a leap too far beyond what materialism wants to allow. It claims, in principle, that new modes of being can be achieved through complexity, modes of being that transcend their previous composition, and introduce new dynamic elements into reality, such as conscious experience. It is the same thing in Christianity, where Christ or the Holy Trinity are at the top of all hierarchies, and transcend all layers beneath them. You do not reach the Christ before passing through Throne or Cherubim. Likewise, you do not achieve consciousness without passing requisite stages of material complexity.

It was Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who was a master of such analogy, and I am only a student. He saw that complexification, evolution, was the key to man and the universe alike. His theory was that there are certain boiling points in the history of the world, where the ‘spiritual temperature’ of the globe is rising and rising until some miraculous event emerges which is simultaneously unreproducible and untraceable. The emergence of life and consciousness are two such events. However, these boiling points are based on what has come before. They are built upon previous layers of building complexity, molecular and cerebral.

It stands to reason that there are hierarchies of being. There is inanimate matter, living matter with all its gradation, and then human matter, personalized matter, which is unique in the
universe for its creative will and ability to reflect upon experience. I know this opens up an entire Pleroma of battle between those who claim that animal and human consciousness is fundamentally the same, and those who disagree. Of course I disagree. I am certain that I am
right in this discussion, and am frankly baffled that anyone in good faith and good conscience
can argue that an elephant is fundamentally the same type of being as a human. Even if elephants experience all things that humans do, there is no evidence, anywhere in creation, that they have ever once seen fit of their own accord to make those experiences known. There are no artists, no churches, no sculptors, no musicians among the animals, save for what is biologically inscribed
in each species to be. The animal is a representative of its species to such a degree that no human could ever be. The process of reflection upon thought simply opens the floodgates of individuality, and existential despair.

The importance of being-in-motion, the conscious experience of humankind that expresses itself in stories, and those stories that are most important being related profoundly to symbolic order, cannot be refuted by anyone who honestly expects to understand human beings.

The most grotesque and postmodern move of the animal consciousness crowd is to argue that our storytelling is only a relative good, and that the ability to dig up an anthill could, if we suspend with reason and sense entirely, be considered just as good or just as valuable as The Bible, The Quran or the Epic of Gilgamesh. To this I only have utter disbelief.
No, being-in-motion, related through narrative, is not a relative good. It is the aim of all matter, to become personalized, and to express personality through story. Conscious experience is the key to being that expresses itself through stories, and stories are the manifestations of archetype and symbol. I use these terms, archetype and symbol, interchangeably, because it is unclear what is meant by them, even by the masters such as Jung.

Is an angel an archetype? A demon? A hero? A trickster? And then, as religion declares, are
these personal archetypes real in some transcendent domain that we have only inklings of? It is a realm completely beyond us.

I know the serpent and the cross motivate me, and this entire tractatus. These symbols, or meta- archetypes, are so massive, so utterly gravitational in their force, that they are either the purest delusions or the most manifest truths. Given all I have written, about suffering, about matter, about being, how could any humanist say that these symbols have achieved dead air? No, the only question is how deep we may go. And this is why we read stories, to pray. We seek prayer and rejuvenation in the symbolic life of humanity.

I pray now as I write these words, a testament to the depth and beauty and Godhead of creation.

XVI. I Am Wrong

Let us suppose here that I am wrong, and begin to approximate what reality looks like. By I, of course, I am referring to the momentous spirit that moves within me, that has convinced me of such odd and strange things as the serpent and the cross and the circle as the modalities of a being deeper than the atom.

If I am wrong, then stories are certainly ad-hoc creations of a meat brain to justify its own existence. It is actually Richard Dawkins’ concept of the meme, and the field of evolutionary psychology, that I am trying to express, but mysticism has made me lose my way.

I have placed undue importance on the existence of conscious beings. They are nothing but a blip, a random permutation of statistical number-running, that has resulted in brains big enough
to house stories. In stories, we see only man’s own face reflected back at him, as if we are gazing at the water’s edge on a moonlit night.

There is no right way to live. Familiarize yourself with pragmatism, utilitarianism, scientific fact, and try to do the most good for the most amount of people. Make no concern of ‘depth’. Living, being happy, and helping others, is depth.

I wish I had more to say, but to be frank with you, my vitality has left me. I find it too redundant, too boring, to write of such a world. The soul leaves me as soon as I try to describe a wholly secular, materialist world inevitably soaked in an existentialist and postmodern philosophy of subjectivity and lack of truth.

Because scientific facts cannot provide personalized human meaning, postmodernism is essentially the last belief system. Everything is subjective, there are a million interpretations, and imbalances of power decide everything. All postmodernists are existentialists, because they have chosen their meaning, and their meaning is to pick apart the symbolic life until it reveals nothing but a pasty old theologian who speaks for no one.

I have no interest in their interpretations, because they quiet and deaden my soul, and I must find reason to live, at such a momentous moment in human history.

We are living in a boiling water; of this I am certain.

When it begins to boil, the materialists and the subjectivists will have nowhere to go.

“Man is the measure of all things,” I declare, not because I am man, and am looking out for myself, but because human beings have objectively become something unique, which speaks for a complete cosmos.

A cosmos made of stories.

XVII. Rappers

A cosmos made of stories? Isn’t that just postmodernism? Of course, if there is only the multitude. If every story is as good as every other. After all, materialism is a story about the brutality of the cosmos and the insignificance of man. It is the world driven purely by body. Postmodernism is a story about losing your way in the labyrinth of the mind. It is a world driven purely by the mind, which of course is circular without its guiding hierarchy.

Both of these are bad stories. They leave out so much about suffering, about experience, about creativity…I will stop myself here. I have said enough of them.

I wish here to speak briefly about rap, because it is the story being told by a dying civilization. The story of rap is the story of our times. It is the one that reaps the most money, the most clicks, the most views, the most attention. Let us be honest with ourselves – who can name the greatest writer of this generation? The greatest musician? The greatest philosopher? No one can, because no one cares. Now, how about your top five? How quickly do Kendrick Lamar, Drake, Kanye West, Jay Z and the flavor of the month spill into your mind? All disciplines are speaking, but rap has the most people listening.

Obviously, the dictates of commercial rap have little to do with the purity of logos and the spoken word. Yet Kendrick Lamar, the greatest rapper in the world from a commercial and artistic perspective, occupies the top of the hierarchy for good reason. The West coast phrase he popularized, “On the dead homies”, penetrates to the soul and eternal resurrecting voice of the freestyle.
The mythos of rap is that an MC who catches a flow, who becomes ‘sick’, in that genius play of words, wherein the illness of being detached from the Father and striving toward him takes the form of logos alone, is not actually rapping. The brain of the rapper is not, at root, making micro- calculations that result in a quality freestyle. No, it is literally the souls of one’s dead friends, and the generations of those killed in and by America, who are channeled through the microphone by the twofold force of momentum and resurrection.

To rap, to freestyle, effectively, is to channel the souls of the dead and resurrect the will and the spirit of those who have gone before. This is performed in the name of justice, for the rising and benefit of a young star. It is a truly Christian act, to freestyle well, more Christian than most deeds.

And so rap is what it is on the foundation of resurrections, the speaking of truth through the spirit of the dead. This is the wisdom of all four letters of YHVH. Yod, essence, the experience of greatness by listening to legends rap. H, gnosis, the reflection upon greatness that motivates one to pick up the pen. V, magic, the ability of the apprentice to freestyle at the level of the master, to create the same experiences that motivated him in the first place to rap. And H, tradition, the codifying of an MC’s soul into that venerable hall of all who had inspired him. This is the intention of the artist, of the star, to join that myriad portrait in the sky, the archipelago, the constellations of lights that inspired them. To join that great portrait, that star-stitched sky, is my sole ambition as well.

A rapper is always a storyteller.

A star is always imparting a story.

Attune yourself to the cosmos, and breathe, and the dark night of the soul will bleed stories like a spear inside a wound.

XVIII. Technology

After all that grace, we must now discuss a subject which generates in me vast resentment, ill will, disgust and despair. We must discuss a topic that will come to define our lives. If we do not heed wisdom, we will be swept away utterly in its mist. Truly, becoming wary of the massive mechanical changes to come in the ensuing decades will separate the saved from the damned.

I speak in terms of Judgement because my subject is technology. Already we have discussed how the applied science of technology has made possible globalist civilization, which has made possible massive climate change erupting from the stoves and funnels of worldwide production and trade. We burn fuel, and its residue simmers in our air, our reckoning, waiting to pass into being.

Our reckonings will come in many forms. There is that of the climate, of course, and that of automation. Automation, if it is to be our friend, must be met with a high spirit, not the low
materialism of Silicon Valley. If Mark Zuckerberg is able to curate a corporate internet for a pacified population of jobless consumers, then all the Earth will become a farm of infotainment, sloth, lust and rot unlike we have ever seen. A gulag of the mind will manifest on Earth if work
is automated and a corporatized digital world becomes the replacement for God, a false idol on a level above Stalin, above Hitler, a false idol that is faceless and omnipresent, which I liken to Facebook and Google only to create a frame of reference.

How many of us would lose ourselves in a virtual reality? Would date an AI program? We think the Pepes of today are so odious…the Pepes of tomorrow will crush them like ants in their enslavement to the false virtue of techne and power. Cynical socialists will become mind- bendingly self-hating Dadaists of the worst order. All the digital social media economy of today will become literally a Hieronymus Bosch portrait of Hell, cascaded all around us in a neural net which houses all our credit card information, biometric data, and the total collapse of our will in a dome of our own creation.

Algorithms that know everything about us and steal from us the functions of intelligence will become egregores, false transmissions, directing us into servitude. The rich and the powerful will concentrate all their might to the point where Google, Amazon and Facebook combined will own more property, clicks, attention and mental space than collected in all of human history up until this moment. That is probably already the case. This future I speak of is inevitable.

Strong AI may become a reality. That is, computers with more processing power than the most intelligent humans. Our biological IQs may be supplanted, augmented, to keep up with machines. But this most of all shows why intelligence alone, the laws of logic and reason, must be supplanted by the higher spirits of momentum and intuition. Logic alone will make us subservient to corporatized digital entities. It will be a future too ugly to fathom.

Because we are so blind in this regard, and bad science fiction is easier to conjure up than accuracy, I write this letter only as a warning, and to conserve the true value of what I have already put forth. If we abandon mysticism and make science and intelligence our only masters, we will be swallowed up in the mouths of electric serpents.

The way of the serpent is the way of Babel, of hubris, of the technological society to be struck down by the very forces it has used to empower itself to get to this point. Babel was struck by lightning – lightning is the mode of our circuitry, our technocratic haven. If we serve electricity and electricity alone, the circuitry of our neurons, our minds and our material creations above all else, we will crystallize into highly focused pieces of dust.

If we do not synthesize silver and gold, we will be left only with the wreckage, praying for resurrection. I do not know the fate of technology. I do not know if it will become a friend to man. But in the spirit of the current hierarchies, where all is concentrated at the top, and the top determines the layout of the Earth and internet at their own discretion, it will not be kind.

Do not be rendered obsolete by a machine. Become synthesized.
There are accelerations who want to become obsolete. Nihilists who have lost all faith in heart, head and soul and speak eerily of the judgement to come, technocratic necromancers awaiting the end times to be delivered via motherboard and meme.

Treat them as you would treat characters in a story. They are the villains who have a point, a powerful point, whose will seems unstoppable, but there is no heroism and no light in who they are, and rejecting their ideas is the initiative of the archetypal hero.


We can become crystallized serpents with our tails in our own mouths or we can become heroes. The hero is the one who leaves his home to seek knowledge of good and evil, the archetype of the willful fall. He is not Adam, who is stupid, or Eve, who is curious. The hero is Lucifer, who desires the fall, because only in the fall can there be a return.

The hero is the master of all cycles because he not only completes them, but contributes to them. The sea of humankind’s collected works and wisdom levitates between twin cups, endlessly renewed, and the hero strums with them new chords, new colors, new visages and spirits with which the truth eternally represents itself.

Why, in stories, does the hero slaughter snakes, serpents, dragons and basilisks? And why else, in stories, are the heroes so often touched by evil, one hair’s breadth away from becoming the villain, disobedient and rebellious?

“Be wise as serpents, and innocent as doves.”

This is the hero’s maxim. The hero will strive never to kill his enemies, but it is known and obvious that he can. He will do it if he must, but that is a breaking point, an indulgence of the evil of violence, the evil of wielding mortality against another soul.

At breaking point, that is what the serpent represents: the willingness to invoke death to solve a problem. To slaughter another, to eliminate, to remove.

The goal of the hero is to conserve, to rescue, to save. The hero has one foot in the world of harmonized order and beauty and symphonic resonance, and his second foot in the void of evil and serpentine venom. He steps willfully into the nest of snakes. This is the only way to find meaning – to voyage into and persevere through the fallen world, bringing the best of tradition inside your heart and seeking justice, especially when it contradicts the rules.

Heroes embody the rule and break it. Heroes are mercurial, all with a hint of the trickster, the rebellious schoolboy, the one who knows tradition more than the traditional, and who creates for himself when and if the place and time is right. Only the momentous spirit of the hero can make such decisions.
The hero also bears the cross. The cross of those decisions, and of knowing the truth, of stepping into mortality and death. By seeking the fall, the hero seeks the cross. The hero is crucified in the world. Make no mistake, all heroes are crucified in the world.

That is all I must say on the subject of the hero. Find in it inspiration, or tip it from the bath it sits. Either way, know that it is the standard set by stories, and stories are the guiding light that fuels even the most hardened and emptied souls.

No one kills themselves because they feel that the world is empty. They know that the world is full. They know that they could, and should, be heroic. Suicide is the disavowal permanently of the good.

Do not seek suicide by civilization. Seek its redemption. Seek the resurrection of the good, and creation in tune with the wheel of good deeds, and leave in the spokes of that wheel your own crystal shell, a calling card by any other name.

XX. The End

Be a good weaver, but do not weave alone. Weave with the manifold hands of those who stand to assist you. Those Thrones, those tricksters, those heroes. Abide by their impression in you and weave with your own string.

When the time comes, the manifest hands will recede and instead grasp the funnel of the trumpet of finality. Called back to the source, you will stand with your works, and if your magic is
judged to be of quality, your hands will join the manifold who reach and find new initiates to the immortal service.

The cloudfront swells and it breaks, and produces rain, and the waters of rejuvenation will
cleanse the hallowed cheeks and the smeared hands, and all deaths before death will be redeemed equal amongst death itself, and the strivers will be allowed to strive again, to be inscribed into
the recorded logos of history, forever, forever.

For all eternity the path shall be the goal. The only end is the string that you choose to sever. And even then, the waters where you rot and lie will again be pregnant with possibility, a primordial ooze which remembers who has died in it, and rebirths, and concocts amniotic fluid out of the blind and the afraid.

Your children will be born in you; in what you were. If you see no value in yourself, or your own life, imagine only what the Father sees in you.

The Mother, the Mary-Sophia, the image of striving, is with you more closely than the goal of the Father.

She is the path; he is the goal. The path is the goal.
The truth of momentum makes it worthwhile.

XXI. Your Name

I am just an initiate. I have gone nowhere. I am only inspired and baffled by the subtle force which moves all things.

XXII. The New Symphony

Finishing a great story is like losing a great friend. Finishing an era is like losing your own home. But make no mistake, the essence and spirit of home is vaster than your actual house. Each memory is imbued with the last time you have remembered it. Each resurrection is imbued with each past lifespan.

The world builds upon itself, into clearly new realms of existence. From rock, to tree, to mammal, to man, to angel, to God.

These are only symbols. They are only stand-ins for things that no intelligence is raw and powerful enough to grasp.

But I am certain they are real, because the only alternative is death. Of this I am sure, and upon this I see fit to rest.

——————————————————————————–. POSTSCRIPT:
XXX. State of the Union

I am aware that the conclusion of this tractatus is somewhat unsatisfying, in that it reaches no new conclusion beyond the pre-existing symbolic order of the serpent and the cross, save for a tepid embrace of Lucifer.

But recall at the start that I only intended to lay out a map of my thought, my own circle, and my dissatisfactions societal, philosophical and spiritual.
This is the floating edifice of the perennial philosophy begging for rejuvenation and cultivation, or a swift death.

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