If we take the point of view that the social organisation of all traditional civilisations was intended to facilitate and accommodate for this kind of self-realisation and expression in all members of the community, we may - not without reason - feel a sense of injustice and deprivation from our own less-than-favourable circumstances, but even so, wherever we are, each one of us can still be assured that the particular place he occupies in this world is of necessity the one best suited to his own nature.

The situation of the being in its milieu is ultimately determined by its own nature, the elements that it borrows from its immediate environment and also those it draws in some way from the indefinite whole of its domain of manifestation must necessarily be in correspondence with this nature, otherwise it could not effectively assimilate them so as to make as secondary modifications of itself.2

Yet despite this, it remains true now as it was in any more enlightened period that, for as long as we remain subject to the individual condition, we are strictly confined within the boundaries that delimit our environment, and our desire for the wholeness of our being is checked by the inherent disorder of the world.

Disorder is in a sense inherent in all manifestation, for manifestation, considered apart from its principle, that is to say as non-unified multiplicity, is nothing but an indefinite series of ruptures of equilibrium.3

And so, just as Truth is limited to a relative and imperfect formulation in human vocabulary, so the true being finds an imperfect expression in the human condition.

There is a sense in which one can say that the being really experiences the influence of the milieu in its manifestation; but it is only insofar as this influence is envisaged by its negative side, i.e. insofar as it properly constitutes a limitation for the being. This is an immediate consequence of the conditioned nature of every state of manifestation: the being is subjected to certain conditions which have a limiting role, and which include firstly the general conditions defining the state under consideration, and then the special conditions defining the particular mode of manifestation of this being in this state.4

According to various traditional doctrines,5 the possibilities encompassed by Time exist in a state of synthesis that causally precedes their manifestation in successive mode, such that one thing may be causally anterior to another, yet find its expression further on than it in the course of time; for example, Man is said to contain all earthly life within himself in principle, yet be made last of all creatures. So it can occur that so many facts in the life of an individual assume a secondary and derivative significance in relation to what he will become in the process of fulfilling his destiny, which will be the fullest expression possible, given the circumstances and his own ability, of the divine attribute that is his very being.

The First Cause of the existence of things, or in other words their possibility, is often called ‘God’, but also ‘Being’, ‘Life’ or ‘Nature’ (natura naturans). This First Cause whether philosophically ‘absolute’ or mythically ‘personified’, is the direct cause of the being of things, but only indirectly of the manner of their being. The manner of their being (according to which they are distinguished as species) is determined by the Mediate Causes, known or unknown, of which the result is the production of the given species or individual at a given time or place.6

Historical facts are secondary; they are incomplete and imperfect actions calling for a before and after, historical consequences built on historical antecedents, and are, as such, only accumulations of sins and sufferings that are senseless unless they point inward to central meanings […] historical facts disclose the eternally recurring mythemes of history and of our individual souls. History is but the stage on which we enact the mythemes of the soul.7

Whatever meaning colours the individual’s life and renders it intelligible will depend entirely on this First Cause, such that what is most meaningful8 in his life should ontologically precede the periphery that facilitates it. Similarly, the whole array of compossibles that come to form his life will have meaning only insofar as each one expresses this cause, yet, the latter being inexpressible, the representation must stand indefinitely far apart from the represented.

This being so, in all aspects of life, from the least to the most meaningful, we mustn’t be deceived into thinking our pursuit in this world of that relative order and perfection we call destiny will come anywhere close to Order and Perfection in an absolute sense; in order to avoid frustration, disappointment, and the loss of much precious time in an idealistic pursuit of the impossible, each person must factor into his consideration all the elements that make up the circumstances in which he finds himself situated, wherein lies the whole justification of ritual activity and the very idea of a spiritual ‘work’ that mediates an apparently linear realisation.

The ineluctable operation of mediate causes […] may help or hinder our destiny, but […] we can only submit with a good grace, endeavoring to fulfill our destiny as best we can.9

Is it confusing the contingent and the absolute to take into account the conditions of the human state, since it is from this state, itself contingent, that we are currently obliged to start for the conquest of higher states, then of the supreme and unconditioned state?10

In all truth, however, there can of course be no real duality between the immanent world of mediate causes and the transcendent Reality that is the First Cause.11

Thus the principle of universal manifestation necessarily contains multiplicity, all the while being one and even being unity in itself; and multiplicity, in all its indefinite developments, realized indefinitely in an indefinitude of directions, proceeds in its entirety from primordial unity in which it remains ever contained, and which cannot in any way be affected or modified by the existence of this multiplicity in itself, for it could obviously not cease to be itself by an effect of its own nature, and it is precisely insofar as it is unity that it essentially implies the multiple possibilities in question.12

Failure to recognise this deludes the individual, and whatever action he takes under the influence of such mistaken premises must consequently be misdirected and as such impede self-realisation, potentially only multiplying the disorder that surrounds him.

An individual who is acquainted to some degree with notions of pure form and transcendence, or even simply influenced by partial intuitions of these in his own psyche, yet intolerant of or unwilling to accept the imperfection of the contingent circumstances he’s been dealt will be rendered inert and effectively incapable of moving forward at all; whether the end of this motion be the goods of this world or even the attainment of that very Good which has left him thus stunned, nothing that lies in front of him will suffice, or if he is to be granted such good fortune as would gratify his lofty disposition, he will naturally fall into destructive excess and delusional pride.

On the other hand, one who cares only for the material, his gaze fixed on the dirt beneath him, must lead a sordid and animalistic life with no purpose but the hunt for measurable, external gain and no meaning beyond quantification.

From the point of view of analytical psychology, these two inverse ways of going astray have been connected with the phenomenon of so-called ‘possession’ of the psyche by a particular archetype; in the first case, the individual’s understanding of reality and especially of his place within it and identity has unconsciously become bound up with the symbol of the eternal child (puer aeternus), a symbol not unrelated to the evergreen, perennial, and immutable purity of the Principle. In the second case, it has become dominated by themes corresponding to the archetype of the old man (senex), one that relates to the Principle in its indefinite expansion.

Yet the Eternal is by no means young, encompassing not only all of history but also the whole of what will become in the future, nor is it old, occupying but one ever-present moment with no before or after. The real issue in both cases might then be said to be the disunity and fragmentation of the two archetypes as operative in the person’s psyche.

One cannot walk, the other can only fly. The deformity points to their each being only half of a whole reality.13

Perhaps, then, its inaccurate to charge our earthly lives and situation with ‘imperfection’; rather, each possibility, for its part, looked at absolutely, cannot be other than what it is - perfectly - regardless of any deficiencies or cruel fate that oppose its self-knowledge. The real source of the disorder can only be that deficiency of knowledge which begets the dualistic point of view. The rectification of our own relative disorder should run parallel to our realisation of the total Order, the pursuit of destiny giving way to voluntary participation in an ineluctable fate, but these ideas are really beyond the scope of this essay.

Starting from the individual point of view as is necessary, if we wish to rectify our outlook, make life meaningful, and make meaning lived, we must first seek to resolve the conflict that disturbs our own psyches, treating any and all rigid dualities with suspicion and seeking to find unity within and without.

Though polarities may split into contradictories and even strive against each other as in all the classic puer-senex struggles, they may also be re-approximated. […] Our attempt at rapprochement shall go by way of returning to the original condition of the archetype before it has been broken apart and turned against itself.14

Special caution must be maintained regarding the urge of the divisive and centrifugal ‘ego’ to dominate the powers of the psyche; make of it what you will that, among symbols of divine youth and old age, a recurring theme is silence and anonymity.

For psychology, the ontological basis of polarity is ego-consciousness.15

The Holy Old Man as Attik  is concealed and as Saturn has his head covered or cloaked; Harpocrates, the boy, is hooded, faceless or covered; so, too, are Attis  and Telesphoros […] Saturn is taciturn and guards secrets; Harpocrates has his fingers to his lips.16

So, then, uniting the idealism of youth with the pragmatism of old age, it is up to each individual to strive to live authentically, while under no illusions regarding the demands this will make on his virility.

The fragment of world which he, like every man, must encounter again and again is never quite the right one, since it does not fall into his lap, does not meet him half way, but remains resistant, has to be conquered, and submits only to force. It makes demands on the masculinity of a man, on his ardour, above all on his courage and resolution when it comes to throwing his whole being into the scales.17

It is up to us to endeavour to manifest the divine Will in the mode possible and to the extent possible given our circumstances, and we can rely on nothing but our own virtue in order to become determining factors in our environment, at least as far as we can in accordance with what’s expedient and reasonable, striving to establish order and unity wherever we exert our influence.

Yet, as pure contemplation is the principle of action, this effort of harmonisation must inevitably begin with the unification of our own scattered psyches and the resolution of conflicts and errors in our understanding of reality and the perspectives from which we see and engage with the world; it is this internal orientation that will instruct the activity that is to follow for better or worse.

Above all else, man must constantly strive to realize unity in himself, in all that constitutes him, through all the modalities of his human manifestation.

René Guénon (The Symbolism of the Cross, Ch.8)

Many of the ills affecting humanity in the modern world could reasonably be traced back to our confusion as to who we are and the desperate struggle for identity. If a man is unable to find a sufficient answer to the question of his being, he is left with a void in his soul that cries out to be filled - a vacuum the sort of which nature abhors. And so, lacking a better answer, he will define himself by his political views, his daily activity, his place of birth, or perhaps even the faithfulness with which he imitates other, more influential individuals. Some maintain their identity by reassuring themselves of their superiority to others and so build a habit of mistreating people. Some rely on their belief systems and become rigid fanatics, dedicated more to their own fixed impression of a doctrine than the doctrine itself. Yet no such constructed personhood is firm enough to hold together the varying tendencies and competing opposites of which the soul is made up, and the soul of one whose sense of self depends on such useful lies is liable to fall into pieces as soon as reality begins to expose them.

The problems that inevitably arise from a scattered psyche are innumerable.

During a state of fragmentation, in addition to a lack of identity and lack of sense of self-worth, the individual also experiences a sense of inner conflict. No energy is available for goal-directed activities, and though action is possible, an intense inner pressure to act in a multitude of directions is nonetheless felt. He says, “I don’t know what to do with myself.” Although the ego is intact, the Self1 is not. No single functioning unitary motive exists, but rather a multiplicity of urges based on the fragmented, independently functioning instincts.2

A person suffering from such a fragmentation will remain depressed, sullen, or angry regardless of attempts to undo the damage.3

If we recall the inherent Unity of the Good; that things in this world possess being only insofar as they participate in the One Being, and that multiplicity can only arise from a deficiency - one that generates more disorder the further it multiplies - it will not be hard to believe that the merit of an individual can be measured solely by the extent to which the elements of his soul cooperate with each other.

[The wicked] are at variance with themselves […] their soul is, as it were, rent by faction, and the one principle, by reason of the depravity in them, is grieved at abstaining from certain things, while the other and better principle is pleased thereat; and the one drags them this way and the other that way, as though actually tearing them asunder […] It is plain then that the wicked man cannot be in the position of a friend even towards himself, because he has in himself nothing which can excite the sentiment of Friendship.4

The Antichrist must evidently be as near as it is possible to be to ‘disintegration’, so that one could say that his individuality, while it is developed in a monstrous fashion, is nevertheless at the same time almost annihilated, thus realizing the inverse of the effacement of the ‘ego’ before the ‘Self’, or in other words, realizing confusion in ‘chaos’ as against fusion in principial Unity; and this state, as represented by the very deformity and disproportion of his bodily shape, is actually at the lower limit of the possibilities of our individual state, so that the summit of the ‘counter-hierarchy’ is indeed the place that really befits him in the ‘world upside down’ that will be his.5

If we wished to find something meaningful in our personhood, recognising that purpose is contrary to accident, it would be vain to look to effects before considering causes. That is to say, our concern must be with the principle of our selfhood before anything else, and the principle of a multiplicity is, naturally, its unity. This synthetic, principial fusion is not equivalent to the ‘functional unity’ between cooperative yet distinct parts that results immediately from it, yet the former cannot be reached without passing through the latter; things find their common principle in their common centre, where the whole reality is located, but should any of these things pull away in some other direction, it will sabotage the whole effort of resolution. In this way, conflict between parts accelerates the descent towards the relative, whereas cooperation is a step in the direction of the absolute. Hence the following experience:

When the psyche is functioning in a stable and harmonious fashion; when there is a relationship amongst its parts, a functional unity exists and is perceived by the ego as the sense of identity.6

Yet, as we have stated, this ‘functional unity’, insofar as it is functional, is entirely dependent on something that transcends its own constituent elements, even if this transcendent principle be only vaguely sensed.7 After all, what could carry the individual from one moment to another if not the atemporal? What could give shape to his mind and body if not the supra-formal? What in him could experience objects if not the indefinable?

This treasured “personality” of ours is at once a prison and a fallacy, from which only the Truth shall set you free: a prison, because all definition limits that which is defined, and a fallacy because in this ever-changing composite and corruptible psychophysical “personality” it is impossible to grasp a constant, and impossible therefore to recognize any authentic or “real” substance.8

We are therefore left to say with the Buddha, “This is not my self”;9 Attachment to the ‘ego’ or any other reductive conception of the personality can only lead to its disintegration.

In order, then, to ‘Know Thyself’, to sustain an inner unity and stability, a certain denial of the contingent individual will and contingent individual selfhood is in order; these accidents must be confined to their proper place to make room for the Truth. Yet

There is no question of a suppression of the outer man, but only of integration, only of the substitution of autonomy for the subjection to his ruling passions that l’homme moyen sensuel suffers from. When the peace has been made, friendship and co-operation replace conflict.10

Nor ought this to be at the expense of happiness. Quite the opposite.

The man self-naughted is a happy man; not so those still conscious of their human ties.11

Indeed, Aristotle and the Bhagavad-Gita are in agreement that man’s highest fulfilment is the result of an act, external goods being merely peripheral.

[Happiness, Ευδαιμονία] is a working of the soul in the way of excellence or virtue of a certain kind.12

He from Whom is the emanation of beings, by Whom all This is pervaded, by worshipping Him in his own duty a man winneth perfection.13

And without sacrificing the egoistic quest for momentary pleasure, we’re deprived of any chance at attaining the supreme pleasure of the Self’s Eternal Moment. If, as Aristotle claims, every well-done work is consummated by pleasure, which “perfects the act of working not in the way of an inherent state but as a supervening finish”14, what could be more pleasurable than to attain the state of pure Act? If a desire fulfilled is satisfying and the zenith of pleasure is reached during the process of fulfilment, what could be more pleasurable than the state beyond time, in which the fulfilling and the state of fulfilment are ever united in unfaltering synthesis?

To have all that has being and is lustily to be desired and brings delight; to have it simultaneously and partless in the soul entire and that in God, revealed in its unveiled perfection, where first it burgeons forth and in the ground of its essence, and all there grasped where God grasps himself,—that is happiness.15

In the final analysis, the only definitive response to the question “who am I?” must be “I am Brahma.”16 But these words can only belong to the Self; as for the name-and-form, if ever he claims to be anything, he is telling a half-truth at best and risks invoking great distress from the other, unspoken half. If he wishes to be honest with himself, he can only say, “I am nothing.”17

What this means practically is not easy to say, but it will here be best to present the following words with which Coomaraswamy concluded an essay on this very subject:

Few or none of “us” are yet qualified to abandon ourselves. As far as there is a Way, it can be trodden step by step. […] But a long stride has been taken if at least we have learned to accept the idea of the naughting of self as a good, however contrary it may be to our “natural” desire. […] For if the spirit be thus willing, the time will come when the “flesh,” whether in this or any other ensemble of possibilities forming a “world,” will be no longer weak. The doctrine of self-naughting is therefore addressed to all, in measure of their capacity, and by no means only to those who have already formally abandoned name and lineage. It is not the saint, but the sinner, that is called to repent of his existence.18

There is no reason human beings could be any exception to this rule, and thus there is said to be a proper end and goal of humanity, of any given human society, and of any given human individual, in the pursuit of which consists all that is right and proper in human beings.

The object aimed at as end (τέλος) is best, and the cause of all that comes under it, and first of all goods.1

Strictly speaking, life has but one ‘end’. Hence, it has been said that ‘death is the final goal of life’, whether it’s specifically the death of the body that’s considered or otherwise ‘death to the world’. This fact may help us to understand an interesting phenomenon of human psychology: that the mental health of those past the midpoint of their life seems to depend more than anything on embracing death and the afterlife as an end to strive towards rather than, as is often the case, some lurking threat to be pushed to the back of the mind for as long as possible.

As a physician I am convinced that it is hygienic—if I may use the word—to discover in death a goal towards which one can strive; and that shrinking away from it is something unhealthy and abnormal which robs the second half of life of its purpose.2

For this reason, spiritual life has been deemed essential for human wellbeing even from a purely psychological point of view, and all spiritual traditions affirm that man’s highest end lies outside of this world. In fact, it’s not uncommon for spiritual life as a whole to be thought of as consisting essentially in a withdrawal from the world. In this respect, there is an analogy between the beginning and the end of life3 - which is no wonder as the same One Principle, containing the fullness of life within itself in unmanifest mode, is its only possible origin and end - an analogy which, as observed by Jung (loc. cit.), corresponds symbolically to the rising and setting of the sun on opposite horizons.

However, just as the proper end and form of activity is different for different species of being, we cannot suppose that the moment of final dissolution for the human individual should have the same relevance for those in the morning of life as it does for those approaching death’s door, and psychology confirms as much:

To the psychotherapist an old man who cannot bid farewell to life appears as feeble and sickly as a young man who is unable to embrace it.4

Or would it be preferable for children to never change at all? Should we suppose that a grown man might still preserve the innocence of childhood by abstaining from going out into the world or that the energy and enthusiasm for life that exists in so many young people is at odds with nature and justice?

Such notions seem untenable; if there really is a correspondence between the life of a human being and the daily course of the sun, the annual changing of the seasons, and other seemingly universal symbols of life and death; if even the initiatic ‘work’, through which a person is to transcend earthly existence, is rightly said to imitate the cosmic phases of manifestation and dissolution, we cannot ignore in either case that period of ‘coagulation’ in which the first half must consist, as with any creature’s lifespan or of any productive process in general. What other reason could there really be for the Hindu doctrines choosing to reserve the eremitic life for the elderly? Perhaps some would say that the institution of the Āśramas was aimed simply at preserving the stability of the wider community, yet even to recognise the merit in maintaining a community bound to someday fall apart would seem to lend support to our point.

In view of what’s to follow, it will be worth recalling that just as Janus, the keyholder of the dual gates of the afterlife, is depicted as double-faced, so Death has two aspects, heaven and hell being but two experiences of one reality.5 It is a small portion of humanity that is destined to tread the ‘path of gods’ (Dēva-Yāna), while the great majority must be dragged along the ‘path of ancestors’ (Pitṛ-Yāna).

There can be a return to another cycle of manifestation for the being who is only united with Brahma in passive mode.6

The Principle, if it’s anything, is One, yet it can be looked at from two perspectives depending on whether we are considering its relationship more specifically with beginnings or endings. On the one hand, it is the potential in all that is possible; on the other hand, it is the ultimate, purely actual Reality of the All. To see that this is necessary, it’s enough to observe that, once human ignorance and the obscurity of time are removed from the equation, no distinction can any longer be drawn between the possible and the real.

The embryonic state corresponds to the pure potentiality of Prakṛti, the passive principle of boundless possibility, and it is in a state of passivity, dependence, and ignorance that each child is born, with all his hope and all his virtue resting in his potential, yet, as Coomaraswamy says:

The final purpose of life is to be, not a passive subject, but ‘all in act’.7

Those who fail to sufficiently actualise their potential during their youth inevitably find themselves unready when the time comes to start thinking about death. Death does indeed find them, but scarcely as a friend.

If these persons had filled up the beaker of life earlier and emptied it to the lees, they would feel quite differently about everything now; they would have kept nothing back, everything that wanted to catch fire would have been consumed, and the quiet of old age would be very welcome to them.8

The actualisation of an individual’s potential is difficult in part because it appears to him as a limitation and a reduction of overall potential, and, should he hold on to the obscure memory of pre-natal, blissful abundance or feel any lingering attachment to the infantile life, a time when his own mother acted as a vehicle for the nurturing Providence of Mother Nature and as an image of the latter supplied all his needs at no expense, such constraint and apparent deprivation will feel intolerable; the endless fecundity of his own fantasy life and versicolour hopes for the future must be sacrificed for just one narrow possibility - the only one properly so called - to become actual, as an ancient Greek verse of unknown origin states:

Men may be bad in many ways but good in one alone.9

To be ‘good’ then involves a process corresponding to the ‘squaring of the circle’, which has its macrocosmic equivalent in the life cycle of the world from genesis to rapture, beginning with its centre at the Terrestrial Paradise and ending with the predominance of the Celestial Jerusalem. At the very instant of this final completion, the latter becomes a beginning in itself, whence the unity of beginning and end, past and present, is revealed in the eternal now.

The presence of the same ‘Tree of Life’ in the center in each case shows clearly that it is only actually a question of two states of one and the same thing, the square here representing the accomplishment of the possibilities of the cycle, which were in a germinal condition in the circular ‘organic girdle’ of the beginning, and are subsequently fixed and stabilized in a state of definition so to speak, at least in relation to the particular cycle concerned.10

Dante refers to a ‘terrestrial’ and ‘celestial’ paradise in connection with two distinct end goals of humanity: the one pertaining to death and the afterlife, which, according to Jung, would be of particular concern in the second half of life, while the other pertains to the good of life on earth and would thus ideally reach its culmination before the midpoint of life.

Two ends, therefore, have been laid down by the ineffable providence of God for man to aim at: the blessedness [beatitudo = ευδαιμονία] of this life, which consists in the exercise of his natural powers, and which is prefigured in the earthly Paradise; and next, the blessedness of the life eternal, which consists in the fruition of the sight of God’s countenance, and to which man by his own natural powers cannot rise, if he be not aided by the divine light; and this blessedness is understood by the heavenly Paradise. But to these different kinds of blessedness, as to different conclusions, we must come by different means. For at the first we may arrive by the lessons of philosophy, if only we will follow them, by acting in accordance with the moral and intellectual virtues. But at the second we can only arrive by spiritual lessons, transcending human reason, so that we follow them in accordance with the theological virtues, faith, hope, and charity.11

It is ‘midway upon the journey of his life’ that he begins his descent into Hell in the Divine Comedy. He describes Jerusalem as being situated at the entrance of Hell and directly opposite the Terrestrial Paradise, which he can only reach by following the path that leads to the frozen floor at the core of the earth and continuing through to the other side.

It is noteworthy not only that the midpoint of his life corresponds to Jerusalem, which we have seen corresponds to the state of maximum concretisation and fixation of potential, from whence all that’s left is to return to the Terrestrial Paradise that was the birthplace of humanity, but also that the midpoint of the journey through the earth is “the lowest point[,] … where density and solidity are at their maximum”12 and that he inevitably must pass through this point to reach the other side.

A descent into the underworld or corresponding state of death is one of, if not the most, frequently recurring themes in the rituals of the various initiatic traditions. According to Guénon, it is

on the one hand like a recapitulation of the states that logically precede the human state, that have determined its particular conditions, and that must also partake in the ‘transformation’ to be accomplished; on the other hand, the descent allows the manifestation, according to certain modalities, of the possibilities of an inferior order that the being still carries in an undeveloped state, and that must be exhausted before it can attain the realization of the higher states.13

Failing this, the being is unable to accomplish the horizontal ‘amplification’ which forms an essential part of the full realisation of his possibilities across all three axes of the symbolic 3D cross, a realisation by which he is identified with ‘Universal Man’ according to the symbolism of the cross expounded by Guénon in his book of the same title.

Returning to Dante, it is his opinion that, in order for a human being to fulfil his potential and arrive at that end in view of which he came into being, he must be engaged in action.

God and nature make nothing to be idle. Whatever comes into being, exists for some operation or working. For no created essence is an ultimate end in the creator’s purpose, so far as he is a creator, but rather the proper operation of that essence. Therefore it follows that the operation does not exist for the sake of the essence, but the essence for the sake of the operation.14

We suspect many of those reading this article will be familiar with the similarity of the former doctrine with that of the Bhagavad-Gītā.

Perform thou right action, for, action is superior to inaction, and, inactive, even the maintenance of thy body would not be possible.15

We, as contingent beings, are composite individuals in a composite world, torn in two and pulled back and forth by the primordial duality of the Principle’s act and potency. Both of these principles, when separated from each other, are without action, inasmuch as they are independent of the whole realm of becoming, but it is the ‘actionless activity’ of the active principle that determines and ordains the unfolding of manifestation. Amidst the interplay of the active and the passive principles, a given thing will participate to a greater or lesser degree in one or the other of the two natures depending on its particular constitution. While pure activity is effortless in itself, if we human beings are to free ourselves from our characteristic pitiful helplessness and identify ourselves with the active nature, we must do so by struggling against heavy resistance from our lower, passive natures until we have subjugated them and - like the heroes which incorporate their defeated enemies or make use of them as vehicles in myth - we have established a clear hierarchy of command and obedience, such that what is purest and consequently most independent and active in us, the Intellect, reigns supreme; reason becomes a tool by which it translates truth into temporal thought rather than something used to rationalise passions or neurotic inclinations; and the body and emotions obey reason.

The following excerpt from Aristotle may shed some light on how the supreme agent within us, that which is best in us, active by nature, is only accessible by action and can only effectively perform its task if we make an effort, though this task by no means be unnatural.

The Virtues then come to be in us neither by nature, nor in despite of nature, but we are furnished by nature with a capacity for receiving them, and are perfected in them through custom.

Again, in whatever cases we get things by nature, we get the faculties first and perform the acts of working afterwards; an illustration of which is afforded by the case of our bodily senses, for it was not from having often seen or heard that we got these senses, but just the reverse: we had them and so exercised them, but did not have them because we had exercised them. But the Virtues we get by first performing single acts of working, which, again, is the case of other things, as the arts for instance; for what we have to make when we have learned how, these we learn how to make by making: men come to be builders, for instance, by building; harp-players, by playing on the harp: exactly so, by doing just actions we come to be just; by doing the actions of self-mastery we come to be perfected in self-mastery; and by doing brave actions brave.16

This deliberate, active effort is that of “sattva as tension in relation to tamas as relaxation.”17 On the macrocosmic level, it is this ‘tension’ by which the activity of the Principle holds all things together in Harmony and preserves the stability of the cosmos, something closely related to the function of Dharma.

These worlds would fall into ruin, if I did not perform action.18

“Eὐτονία” (root τείνω, Sanskrit tan) “tone,” “ten-sion,” “in-ten-sity,” is the opposite of the slackening (ἐπιχαλῶν) of the tendons (τόνοι) of the soul that Philo condemns elsewhere. Eὐτονία presupposes the traditional ontology and psychology in which the Logos or Spirit is the bond (δεσμός) or chain (δειρά) or cable (ὁρμίσκος) or thread (sūtram) on which all things are strung and by which they are moved. In this “thread-spirit” (sūtrātman) doctrine, God’s omnipresence “is not locomotion but an act of tension (τονική) ... by way of the mind’s power of intension (τονική) which it extends (τείνας) through the perceptual functions (διαισθήσεως = prānāh, indriyāni) … [for so it is said that] God extends (τείναντος) His power through the median breath (διὰ τοῦ μέσου πνεύματος = madhye prāne) even unto the material-substance-of-things-perceptible” (ἄχρι τοῦ ὑποκειμένου). [Legum Allegoriae I.30-37]19

Participation in the divine Will is therefore a kind of ‘tension’.

The same holds true in cases where the course of action most suited to a being’s individual nature involves a withdrawal from the world; this withdrawal must be undertaken with an active mentality and the resolution (or in-tention) that it will be used merely to facilitate the proper development of the individual’s inherent intellectual and contemplative potential and therefore be considered moreso as a beginning than an end. Least of all should it be motivated by weakness; we human beings will go to great lengths to devise ways of escaping our problems and the work that needs to be done; be it travelling the world, distracting ourselves with pleasure, or even building our lives around activity that’s not really suitable for our own particular nature, but whatever specific means we use, however inventive, we will always find our problems and unaddressed work catching back up with us. In order to reach that end goal of our existence, to reach that state of ‘goodness’, we must throw ourselves into the flux of a universe determined by an indefinite number of mediate causes with obscure ends and unseen effects, and there can be no escape - in life - from the unending chain of karma.

As to μοῖρα (“share,” qismet and bhagam) and εἱμαρμένη these represent our participation in the divine nature, and our “freewill” is as to whether or not we shall consent to and cooperate with the will which these imply, whether we seek or not to reach our destination. Nothing could be more un-happy than to be ἄμοιρος. Μοῖρα as will and destiny then corresponds to dharma, of which each one’s allotment is his sva-dharma, vocation, the natural means of his entelechy. On the other hand, ἀνάγκη represents the ineluctable operation of mediate causes, and corresponds to karma, which may help or hinder our destiny, but with respect to which we can only submit with a good grace, endeavoring to fulfill our destiny as best we can.20

Consenting to the Will of the divine, participating in our allotted portion of its ‘free will’, living in accordance with our Dharma, and pursuing our natural end goal as human beings therefore all mean the same thing from a practical point of view. It is a kind of activity that may change markedly over the course of an individual’s life, but the principle is the same. Anyone who wishes to overcome the passive state of dependence and bondage inherent to his current nature and at last reach that Perfection which is the only pure, self-sufficient Good to which all other good must be referred, will be required to make a real effort to bring his unique individual potential into act, subjecting his lower nature to the ‘igneous’ ‘tension’ of the ‘activity of heaven’. Should he leave potential unactualised and work unaccomplished, he will find himself standing at the gate of death with much yet to be done.

Concerning the traditional forms that have come to fulfil this function in recent millennia, without uncovering their shared use of common symbolism or the agreement they share regarding many deeper cosmological principles, there is one fundamental point in regards to which even the skeptic must admit the consistency and concordance of all the ‘major world religions’: they all ask of us that we renounce this world.

As Christ says:

Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.1

So the Buddha says:

Finding no core in attachments, rid of desire for things they’ve acquired, independent, needing no one externally but to guide them, [the ascetic will] rightly wander the world.2

This has led us to wonder if these doctrines, insisting as they do that the wise and upright man is one who occupies the world externally but maintains an inner attitude of detachment and aloofness, at all contradict the observations of psychologists, who demonstrate that an attitude of reservation and hesitancy to engage fully and intentionally with the world is a pernicious vice inevitably bound to infect a person with mental illness and neurosis.

If one cuts off the wholeness of the experience, one cuts oneself into bits and remains split because transformation can only take place if one gives oneself completely to the situation.3

In general, a neurosis is a replacement for an evasion, an unconscious desire to cheat life, to avoid something.4

In order, then, to try and reach an answer to this dilemma, let us first elaborate on the justifications for a renunciate attitude.

It is natural that as contingent beings we should be reluctant to abandon the comfortable illusions that sustain and delimit our understanding of reality as well as the petty attachments around which our lives revolve, but we mustn’t allow this to discourage us from considering what’s truly in our best interest or from persisting in our search for a way of being beyond the conditions of animal life, free from the ignorance and half-truths of manifest and determined existence.

The reader will easily recall some time when inertia stood in the way of his doing some productive thing, yet nonetheless dissolved away as soon as he rose up and began his task, however reluctantly. In such cases as these, we are almost always left with a light, reinvigorating, and refreshing feeling of contentment once we’ve done what needed to be done, in stark contrast to the angst we felt in our idle procrastination.

We also often see children or immature adults suffer with comically disproportionate intensity at the prospect of some minor difficulty or when deprived of some brief and insignificant pleasure, yet everyone who has moved beyond this way of experiencing the world can agree that being unaffected by such preoccupations as trouble only children is a perk rather than a downside of maturity.

It is plain enough to see that the attachments we have to this terrestrial life are entirely irrational and contingent. It is merely the tyranny of Necessity and the obscure, unconscious tendencies and forces produced by it that sustain our imprisonment in cages of delusion and mania.

But by simply acknowledging this world for what it is and maintaining awareness and clarity of mind, we are promised, for starters, a transcendent bliss utterly incomparable to the psycho-physical pleasure of earthly joy.

Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.5

Regarding the immersion that does not lean forward or pull back, and is not held in place by forceful suppression. Being free, it’s stable. Being stable, it’s content. Being content, one is not anxious.6

There does he find the supreme delight which the Intellect can grasp beyond the senses.7

And beyond this, such prizes are laid out before the vigilant ascetic as the total and absolute divine omniscience of the All; unconditioned power and autonomy; and irreversible Liberation from any and every possible bond or limit.

For beings caught up in the relentless flux of time, every moment, be it pleasant or painful, is washed away by the sheer quantity of other experiences had before and to be had after, just as the good or bad fortune, thriving or struggling of one individual has no more value than that of any of the other indefinitely multiple beings who occupy the various states of universal Existence. Yet we who place so much importance on our earthly lives will much more readily opt to delude ourselves and ignore these facts than sacrifice our manias and obsessions.

We rightly look down on the livestock we see in fields living from meal to meal or the dogs we see running around after sticks and tennis balls in parks, and we justly extend our pity to the mentally unwell who panic and obsess over non-existent problems or the addicts whose lives are stolen away by craving. We are all doubtless glad if fate has been kinder to us, that we are able to see things clearer and thus pursue a superior, more rational, more spiritual form of living. Seeing, then, how worthwhile it would be to exchange a life of suffering supported by base and short-lived pleasures for one of greater virtue, should we not jump at the opportunity to sacrifice every irrational pleasure we’ve grown accustomed to chasing and single-mindedly pursue that One end which need not sell itself? After all, those who direct their strength towards the things of this world exhaust themselves quickly as they increasingly sense that their efforts are in vain.

All that is of this world ultimately falls apart; it is dissolved. It is up to us to concede it all voluntarily, on our own terms, in exchange for that which has no beginning and no end and which is untouched by death and ignorance, rather than continually being dragged around by fallacious hopes or deficient and unenduring satisfaction.

Separating ourselves from such things is indeed difficult, but as Guénon says:

If tapas often acquires the sense of a difficult or painful effort, this is not because a special value or importance is attributed to suffering as such, or because this latter may here be regarded as anything more than an ‘accident’, but because, by the very nature of things, detachment from contingencies is inevitably difficult for the individual, whose very existence also belongs to the contingent order.8

And, just as a person playing a video game or watching a film cannot begin to properly engage with the real world until they’ve disengaged from the fantasies that have captured their attention, a human being couldn’t possibly cross beyond the boundaries of this contingent earthly existence without leaving behind the equally contingent habits of desire and aversion that are inseparable from it.

By drawing a comparison between all the various forms of vice and disgrace to which those devoted to their individual identity and the pleasures of the senses subject themselves with the calm dignity of those who’ve abandoned all and become ‘dead to the world’ or the sidereal majesty of those sages who’ve reached adepthood, we can assure ourselves with all the more certainty that the wisest course of action by far is to follow the examples set by the latter, abandoning the pitiful neediness of our old selves as a necessary precondition for acquiring something much greater.

We find, in fact, throughout the Vedic tradition a regularly recurring and logical sequence of ideas represented by the use of the roots śī (‘lie’), hā(‘abandon’)…sthā (‘stand up’)… and car (‘proceed’).9

It does indeed seem more or less certain from the considerations explored so far that the most rewarding and worthwhile disposition one could adopt is one of maintaining an interior distance from the world and directing one’s intention solely towards that which is beyond it.

However, we should nevertheless be cautious here; an often cited Buddhist text warns us that

These teachings wrongly grasped will bring harm and suffering for a long time.10

On the one hand, any desire to escape the world, any drowsy yearning to let go of oneself and sink into the void, or any attempt to withhold oneself from the world out of aversion and fear of difficulty or pain must be vigilantly guarded against if a basic level of psychic health is to be conserved. This is that ‘living with reservations’ against which the psychologists warn, as does the Buddha:

When knowing an idea with the mind, equanimity arises for the unlearned ordinary person—a foolish ordinary person who has not overcome their limitations and the results of deeds, and is blind to the drawbacks. Such equanimity does not transcend the idea. That’s why it’s called domestic equanimity.11

If an individual is still at a stage where falling into such indifferent passivity as results from ignorance and unconsciousness can pose a legitimate risk, it is far more beneficial for him to build up strength by facing the world with attachments than to persist in his daze without them.

Now, to move on to another issue, the question must be raised as to how much straining and exertion is appropriate for this work of inner detachment. Of course nothing will happen automatically, and the greater the hold that the unconscious instincts and tendencies of the animal psyche have on the being, the more tirelessly the Will must be at work to secure the uncontested dominion of the Self.

However, it’s reasonable to question to what extent a forced and coercive action of repressing the natural inclinations of the individual soul could really differ from that unnatural physical coercion and mortification of the body condemned by so many traditional authorities, and to what extent, being nothing more than another form of contingent activity arising within and acting upon the contingent soul, it could be any more effective than these methods at leading to the Absolute. In any case, is not the natural harshness of the world enough on its own without us adding to it through a vain and fruitless smothering of the self? Are we so proud, so convinced of our radical uniqueness among human beings that we hope to wage war against our own natures but preserve our inner stability all the same, escaping the mental turmoil that typically results from such activity? Why? Because our Self is fundamentally different to others’? Because our self-denial is in accordance with doctrines of which they’re unaware? This is at least clearly insufficient on its own. If nothing else, let it be said that, in order to avoid any adverse effects, this work cannot be approached carelessly.

The principles upon which a prudent and properly handled asceticism must be based are well summed up by Guénon in the following excerpt:

The ‘greater holy war’ is man’s struggle against the enemies he carries within himself, that is, against the elements in him that are opposed to order and unity. There is however no question of annihilating these elements, which, like everything that exists, have their reason for existence and their place in the whole; what is aimed at is to ‘transform’ them, by bringing them back and as it were reabsorbing them into unity. Above all else, man must constantly strive to realize unity in himself, in all that constitutes him, through all the modalities of his human manifestation: unity of thought, unity of action, and also, which is perhaps hardest, unity between thought and action.12

The approach itself and its results are summed up here by Coomaraswamy:

There is no question of a suppression of the outer man, but only of integration, only of the substitution of autonomy for the subjection to his ruling passions that l’homme moyen sensuel suffers from. When the peace has been made, friendship and co-operation replace conflict.13

Just as those ‘elements’ to which Guénon alludes cannot be destroyed, so the contingent being cannot ever cease to be contingent. The Self always was, is, and will be the same, but the individual soul, however placid it may have been rendered, being composite and abstract, bound to constant change, lacking any reality outside of our own conception of it, can only play a provisional role in the realisation of this Self at best, such that no activity - or supression of activity - arising within the individual soul can ever amount to anything more than a preparation aimed at securing more or less favourable conditions for a realisation that will ultimately occur independently of it. The same applies to any kind of action whatsoever, and it should be remembered that attachment to ethical precepts and ritual activity is listed as one of the ‘ten fetters of becoming’ in Buddhist doctrine.

Insofar as the human being has an animal dimension, this part of him will remain animal regardless of how well disciplined it is or how firmly it has been brought under the control of a higher governing principle. So can it really be an obstacle to the harmonious relationship of self with Self if the former is left some room to develop its own nature? Not even the most strictly disciplined, victorious Thoroughbred abstains from neighing and eating grass.

And at no point is the taming or training of the horse at odds with Nature; as Quintilian says:

Verily that is most natural which nature most allows to occur.14

It was by way of concession to human nature that the perfect man was able to feel ‘earnest desire’15 for His last supper, not ceasing to be sinless while so doing. Just as the finitude of His ‘human knowledge’ did not encroach upon the absoluteness and Infinity of His divine Knowledge.

According to the Hindu doctrines, the relatively contingent life objectives of material, psychic, and spiritual well-being can and should be cultivated in harmony with each other while simultaneously striving for total Deliverance - without the former constituting any obstacle in the way of the latter whatsoever.

As for the first three goals, which all relate to the manifest, artha includes all that is good of the corporeal order; kāma is desire, whose satisfaction constitutes the good of the psychic order; since dharma is superior to this, its realization must be considered as properly pertaining to the spiritual order, which accords with the character of the universality that we have recognized. However, it goes without saying that all these goals, including dharma itself, being always contingent as they cannot be envisaged beyond manifestation, can never be but subordinated to the supreme goal [mokṣa], to which they are in fact only means. Each of these same aims is also subordinate to those which are superior to it.16

The following considerations are offered by the writer Vātsyāyana regarding the harmonising of these ‘objectives’.

Pleasures, being as necessary for the existence and well being of the body as food, are consequently equally required. They are, moreover, the results of dharma and artha. Pleasures are therefore, to be followed with moderation and caution. No one refrains from cooking food because there are beggars to ask for it, or from sowing seed because there are deer to destroy the corn when it is grown up. Thus a man practicing dharma, artha, and kāma enjoys happiness both in this world and in the world to come. The good perform those actions in which there is no fear as to what is to result from them in the next world, and in which there is no danger to their welfare. Any action which conduces to the practice of dharma, artha, and kāma together, or of any two, or even one of them, should be performed, but an action which conduces to the practice of one of them at the expense of the remaining two should not be performed.17

So traditional doctrines have been known to sanction a healthy, moderate pursuit of pleasure, but does this not come into conflict with the attitude of detachment that they more frequently encourage? Were you to ask Coomaraswamy, his answer would be negative.

Non-attachment is a greater quality than non-participation. Where life is transparent, the enjoyment of life is never a spiritual bondage.18

We are, however, compelled to make one more vital distinction: while, for example, the doctrines of the Buddhist Mahāyāna accommodate for human idiosyncrasies amply, the Hīnayāna is clearly far less generous, and it would be deceptive to pretend that anything short of an uncompromising eradication of every conditioned impulse is in line with the latter.

Our interpretation of this fact will depend on our interpretation of the distinction between the two branches of Buddhism more broadly. Do we go with Guénon, who in the end decided that

It is the Mahāyāna alone that can be regarded as truly representing a complete doctrine, including the properly metaphysical aspect that constitutes its higher and central part; by contrast, the Hīnayāna appears as a doctrine reduced, as it were, to its most external aspect and going no further than what is accessible to the generality of men.19

Or do we rather support the view that

It follows from the in-depth investigations of these three men [René Guénon, Marco Pallis, Ananda Coomaraswamy20] that… the two ‘vehicles’ of which [Buddhism] was originally comprised corresponded in a certain way to an exoterism and an esoterism.21

If it’s true that the range of the Mahāyāna reaches greater heights on paper, the very refusal of the Hīnayāna to adapt ineffable Truth to the conditioned minds of ordinary human beings would seem to favour the second view (taking for granted that the so-called ‘Narrow Way’ must be the esoteric of the two, although this is not explicitly stated in the work cited.)

If we stick with this view for the time being and thus conclude that a fuller and more perfect renunciation is appropriate for an advanced kind of spirituality but not broadly applicable, we will perhaps find ourselves in agreement with the Hindu doctrines, where the teaching is often put forth that renunciation - at least external renunciation - is improper for all but the advanced in age.

When a householder sees his skin wrinkled, and his hair white, and the sons of his sons, then he may resort to the forest.22

By this teaching, two things are implied: that a renunciate lifestyle, in which focus is shifted away from such objectives as artha and kāma, is more favourable for the attainment of mokṣa than a life conditioned by worldly preoccupations, but that - unless we’re to suppose that the teaching was put forth with purely social or moral considerations in mind - it is preferable to undertake this renunciate lifestyle having already arrived at a favourable point of development. After all, we can all agree that to impose a strict ascetic regimen upon a child, chastising him if ever his expression were to betray emotion, would be cruelty pure and simple, nor would anyone expect it to benefit the child spiritually, while the elderly tend towards austerity quite naturally.

I have fed you with milk, and not with meat: for hitherto ye were not able to bear it, neither yet now are ye able.23

Additionally, the transition from family life to ascetic renunciation in the series of the Hindu Āśramas is facilitated by an intermediary phase known as the ‘way of the forest’, so as to be carried out all the more conveniently.

The Great Work that would take a youth many years of hard concentration and unwavering persistence to accomplish would perhaps be rendered significantly more simple if, having lived a life of virtue, he began his effort in its later stages, but this is just speculation, and we are cautioned against excessive procrastination by the following verse of the New Testament.

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.24

We are in an awkward position seeking to find a resolution for this article; if we are not careful, we could be seen to argue for an excessively passive and lax attitude to life that does not much differ from that of the great mass of people who are thus drawn into eternal wandering and ragdolled by the tides of pleasure and pain, desire and aversion. On the other hand, we could just as easily end up encouraging such an attitude as leads to self-torment and coercion, quickly giving rise to an acute and deep-rooted internal pain while gradually increasing the burden under which the individual’s sanity is at last buried.

We will therefore simply draw what conclusions we can to the best of our ability and exhort the reader to use his best judgement.

The most important thing is, without a doubt, that a hierarchy be maintained among the individual faculties, such that affectations and instincts are subordinated to reason, reason to Intellect, self to Self, and so on, but that this hierarchy be one of balance, harmony, and cooperation, as such is the only way that the hierarchy can be genuinely real and effective, rather than purely conceptual and imagined as it must be when based on a supposed destruction of elements that are indestructible as long as the individual continues to exist as such.

As is stressed throughout Guénon’s works on spiritual realisation, the most favourable circumstances for a development of this kind differ from individual to individual; what benefits one will harm another and vice versa.

Those who are capable of a perfect renunciation will doubtless proceed the furthest, but if those who are unqualified attempt to imitate the former, they will - it is equally certain - end proceeding in the wrong direction. Hence arise those gurus who, having strained themselves in vain and spent a great deal of misguided effort towards a poorly handled asceticism, must convince themselves, by way of consolation, that various perfectly ordinary psychic phenomena which they experience are really enlightening spiritual transformations granting them with new, profound insight and are thus irrevocably diverted away from the possibility of a true metaphysical realisation while their understanding of Reality is clouded by fantasy.

It seems worthwhile to suggest, as a sidenote, the possibility that the less far the being has come and the greater his involvement with the world, the greater his need for ritual supports. In any case, it shouldn’t be forgotten that such factors as these often play an essential role in this work, and despite the fundamental place that detachment must have here and the focus we have placed on it in this article, it may not be wise to content oneself with psychological considerations alone.

It also seems worth noting that, in many cases, it is better to focus on becoming wiser in order to develop a virtue than to seek to capture the virtue by force, hoping that wisdom and understanding will follow.

In any case, it is advisable that anyone with spiritual aspirations invariably remains vigilant and seeks to maximise his own rightness, but the extremity and intensity of an individual’s self-denial will need to be carefully weighed against his own capabilities as he understands them or as they are judged by a suitable authority, without letting pride or delusion enter into the equation.

So much, then, for the attitude of detachment from the world; it is a desirable one and necessary at that, but, if understood correctly, it need not signify a violent self-repression; still less a passive aversion from life. Those advanced in age and/or exalted in spirit may have less need to placate the lesser self and are generally freer to pursue Liberation with single-minded focus, but a more moderate approach is likely advisable for those who are unqualified, lest they corrupt their mental stability while simultaneously erring from the only path that would justify their efforts.

Whoever finds his fulfilment at a certain level would make a very great error to try to pass beyond it.25

From waking up in the morning to returning to sleep at night, each day, each person will take tens of thousands of breaths, but keep your attention focused on just ten and observe how relatively slowly the time passes by; your mind is captured by thousands of different thoughts and ideas through the day, but observe these consciously for as long as you can stand to and observe what little time you can cover in so doing.

The reader will obviously have lived for many years up to this point and will, in all likelihood, carry on charting his way through many more decades after having reached the end of this article.

So drawn out, so complicated, and so densely packed are our earthly lives, and we are urged by any prudence we have whatsoever to regard them with appropriate respect, lest we find ourselves unprepared to handle the many intense and unpredictable experiences to which this world can subject us; while a withdrawal from earthly activity aimed at seeking the All and becoming “all in act” is without a doubt the most noble of all ventures, a psychological flight from reality attempted while dreaming of a dissolution into nothingness can suffice to produce only a feeble melancholy in the present and a manifold amplification of suffering in the future as the being finds himself unable to escape an itinerancy that has no end any more than it has a beginning. In the former case, the immanent world is experienced as an integral aspect of the Transcendent, the tribulations of which are endured all the more easily as the being progresses further in his ascent. Only in the latter case is it truly neglected entirely, whence it comes back round to torment the being ever worse, as psychologists have observed:

If one cuts off the wholeness of the experience, one cuts oneself into bits and remains split because transformation can only take place if one gives oneself completely to the situation.1

But for all this time, effort, attention and intention given away to the world, it remains glaringly apparent that the latter is by nature illusory, contingent, and fractured, severed from the meaning that gives it its reality. The individual is absorbed by the endless weeks, months, and years across which his busy existence is stretched, but what comes before and after time? He makes his way through all the space the events of his life carry him through, but where is the beginning and the end of space? And what’s on the other side? He is inextricably tied up with the interplay of causes and effects, but what causes the First Cause?

Clearly something is missing from the point of view of we who experience these incomplete realities, and the most fundamental laws of metaphysics do indeed prove to us that what we perceive in separativity can only ever constitute the partial reflections of a principle that is really Whole and One.

The endless Serpent, who for so long as he was one Abundance remained invincible, is disjointed and dismembered as a tree is felled and cut up into logs.2

So, then, the Hindu doctrines teach us, for one, that all objects of sense perception are united in principle; just as every colour, shade, and tone expresses an aspect of white light, in varying degrees of presence and absence, every particular sound is said to express some aspect of sound in its principial oneness, the perception of which may indeed be recovered through contemplation so long as the practitioner is able to free himself from the distractions set in his way by sporadic noises conceived of as separate.

In the same way, it must be that any given ‘moment’ in time expresses some aspect of the eternal present, which never ceases to be. In fact, as time is indefinitely divisible, it is arbitrary to single out any section of it as a moment. As long as time is perceived in succession, the present remains elusive, yet if there was really anything separating one moment from another, the continuity of the two would be ruptured. If we were only less distracted by what we call ‘moments’, we might recapture the sense of the real, constant moment that never left.

Atma is an ever-present Reality. Yet, because of ignorance It is not realised. On the destruction of ignorance Atma is realised.3

Each one of these conditions only exists insofar as it is perceived. Therefore, it is the Intellect, the seat of ‘awareness’, in which all is united. This is where the Self, understood as pure Knowledge, is expressed in the manifest being and therefore constitutes the point of departure from which he may transcend the entire domain of universal Existence.

Atma does not shine in everything although He is All-pervading. He is manifest only in the inner equipment, the intellect (Buddhi), just as the reflection in a clean mirror.4

To realise the Unity of all things and reassemble the ‘dismembered Serpent’, which is both purely active and purely intellectual, an active and intellectual effort must be made by the individual, for whom alone a separation of self from Self can exist. He would therefore be dangerously mistaken if he hoped that Providence might do the work for him.

The success that the individual will achieve in such an endeavour unfortunately depends on factors that are ultimately contingent, such as the presence within him of certain tendencies and aptitudes and the fortune to which he is subject.

Search then with eyes aloft and, when found, duly pluck it with your hand; for of itself will it follow you, freely and with ease, if Fate be calling you; else with no force will you avail to win it or rend it with hard steel.5

Nor should it be forgotten that the totally unfeeling and amoral processes according to which universal Possibility unfolds are necessarily indifferent to our benefit and detriment, such that the passive attitude of one who places all his hopes in divine guidance has the potential to become a source of great disillusionment, all the more so for us moderns, whose very birth in these inauspicious times is not the most favourable of indications.

Nonetheless, the influence of the supreme Good, the ordering principle, does indeed stretch to even the lowest crevices of the manifest universe, and it is therefore not impossible that with discernment, having silenced the nagging voice of the illusory ‘I’, we may open ourselves up to some insight from that same Principle which is responsible for all that is well with the world and which lays a path in every land and for every people along which they may be brought closer to It.

Perhaps it is not without interest to mention that the ‘idea’ or the ‘archetype’, considered at the level of supra-formal manifestation and in relation to each being, corresponds in fact, despite the different mode of expression, to the Catholic conception of the ‘guardian angel’.6

As contingent beings operating within the realm of manifest possibles, we are inevitably exposed to an indefinite variety of external influences; it’s up to us to give ourselves only to the superior among these. But if and when we wish to make the final jump from the finite to the Infinite, as the latter could not possibly enter into any kind of mutual relationship with us, we will only be capable of doing so by our own effort.

All the same, the more we foster within ourselves a disposition that is truly active in the right way; the more we strengthen and fortify ourselves against the difficult aspects of reality; the more we accept the necessities of reality in its partial aspects, all the while seeking to know the Whole and fixing our attention to it, the better it is for us. Perhaps, in the end, we will indeed go so far as to reach that immutable point at which the immanent is united with the Transcendent, becoming with Being, and the self with the Self,

having become which, there is no more becoming.7

This birth, life, and death necessarily take place by the Will of the Principle, as do all things.

In connection with the divine triads of certain polytheistic religions, we have previously1 alluded to three divine attributes or functions by means of which these processes are effected, and it’s these that we will aim to explore in this article.

The reoccurrence of divine triads, the members of which always bear similar traits, throughout Indo-European religions has been observed by Georges Dumézil, who takes special care in emphasising their connection with the tripartite social division of the Proto-Indo-Europeans, but Guénon cautions against placing too much importance on this point.

It also seems that he tries a little too hard to reduce everything to a social perspective, which risks quite easily leading to a reversal of the real relationship between principles and their applications.2

Bearing this in mind, we can get an idea of Dumézil’s observations in the passage that follows.

The conceptual religious structure which is manifested in these three hierarchized terms is now familiar to Indo-Europeanists. It can be observed, with the special peculiarities of each of the societies, among the Indians and Iranians as well as among the ancient Scandinavians and, with more pronounced alterations, among the Celts… I have proposed, for the sake of brevity, to call this structure “the ideology of the three functions.” The principal elements and the machinery of the world and of society are here divided into three harmoniously adjusted domains. These are, in descending order of dignity, sovereignty with its magical and juridical aspects and a kind of maximal expression of the sacred; physical power and bravery, the most obvious manifestation of which is victory in war; fertility and prosperity with all kinds of conditions and consequences, which are almost always meticulously analyzed and represented by a great number of related but different divinities, among whom now one, now the other, typifies the whole in formulary enumerations of gods.3

Following considerations of a metaphysical order expounded by the Hindu doctrines and discussed by Guénon, we will opt for a slightly different perspective. What Dumézil refers to “sovereignty with its magical and juridical aspects” we will instead relate to the ‘Creator’, who, in his dual aspects of ‘Lord’ and ‘Father’, constitutes the common principle of the regnum and sacerdotium. In place of “physical power and bravery”, we will focus more especially on the transformative force of Death. And we will consider “fertility and prosperity” as gifts bestowed upon humanity by the Preserver or Saviour, who manifests the Good in all things and brings them into Harmony with each other.

We realise that some of the language used here may call to mind other traditional forms than those we propose to deal with, namely, Christianity. The presence of the Holy Trinity in the latter could indeed easily entice us to look for some connection with the triads we’re currently exploring, but we should recall Guénon’s confirmation that

The aspects are not the same in the two cases; in no way can it be said that their differentiation reflects the same point of view; and it is therefore quite impossible to bring the three terms of the one ternary into conformity with the three terms of the other.4

Now, since we intend to discuss cosmogony, beginning from the true First Cause will make certain things much easier to explain further down the line. It goes without saying that all things require some principle for their being (e.g. there could be no colours without light), and it can be deduced that all things must ultimately be derived from the same first Principle. This Supreme Principle will admit of nothing to exist outside of itself and will therefore be totally unconditioned. Consequently, there will be nothing whatsoever that limits universal Possibility - and everything truly possible is necessarily realised by virtue of being such.

Whatever does not happen was not really a possibility, but only ignorantly conceived to have been so.5

We should also establish that, since nothing exists outside of the Supreme Principle, cosmogony cannot truly involve the production of one thing from another separate thing; rather, each product will only ever represent a particular ‘aspect’ of its principle to the exclusion of others, which will amount to nothing more than a privation and limitation of perspective, itself only apparent and in no way affecting the ‘non-duality’ of the Real.

The first of these products of which we can speak is pure Being, or Īshvara.

The consideration of Īshvara therefore already implies a relative point of view; it is the highest of the relativities, the first of all determinations, but it is nonetheless true that it is ‘qualified’ (saguna) and ‘conceived distinctively’ (savishesha), whereas Brahma is ‘unqualified’ (nirguna), ‘beyond all distinctions’ (nirvishesha), absolutely unconditioned, universal manifestation in its entirety being strictly nil beside Its Infinity.6

It is a direct and immediate consequence of universal Possibility, a contingent and infinitesimal element not really distinct from the possibilities of non-being apart from our own conception of it as such. The only possibilities that can really be said to be distinct from each other are those of Existence; that is, Manifestation, the chain of the worlds, the great chain of being, or, in other words, all those possibilities which participate in Being, but are not identified with it.

These are indefinite in number, but the greater part of this indefinitude is made up of supra-formal - or supra-individual - states, such as the pure Intellect, which contains within itself, transcendently, all formal - or individual - worlds and beings, these latter being those which involve ‘life’.

We can thus say that Īshvara creates all living beings through and in the Intellect. But in order to do so, he must ‘become’ manifest as the Trimurti or ‘triple manifestation’, the three intellectual beings under whose guidance all life is created, sustained, and destroyed.

This triad is one of the type which Guénon represents by an upwards-pointing triangle.

Here, the ternary arises from the polarisation of one principle into two derivative terms, while the first term nonetheless remains unaffected by this polarisation in itself, thus combining with its products to make three.

In the Trimurti, Brahmā is the one from whom Vishnu and Shiva are derived, and he thus encompasses and transcends them both. He is a direct projection of Īshvara and therefore a relative ‘expression’ of the Supreme Principle.

[Brahmā is the] determination of Brahma as effect, kārya7

He is the Creator. Among his equivalents would seem to be Jupiter/Zeus, Mitravarunau, and Óðinn.

He is called Prajāpati, a name expressing ideas related to generation (prajā, cf. ‘progenitor’) and lordship (pati=lord). As Lord, he is often depicted wearing a crown. It is thus no wonder that Jupiter is ‘father of the gods and king of men’.8 Also noteworthy is the Dagda of Irish mythology, who is simultaneously king, druid, and ‘all-father’. He is the archetypal priest-king in whom spiritual authority and temporal power are united.

As Creator, he is also associated with Hiranyagarbha, the ‘cosmic embryo’ or immediate principle of this world. The one who succeeds in identifying his own being with Hiranyagarbha reaches the Brahmā-loka, a realm associated with the primordial state of man, in which the individual assumes the place of the ‘centre of the world’. He can thence proceed further to identify this state with the centre of universal manifestation, around which all of the worlds revolve, and thus become identified with the ‘world axis’.9

Just as the center of each state of a being contains the possibility of identification with the center of the total being, so the cosmic center where Hiranyagarbha dwells is identified virtually with the center of all the worlds: that is to say that for the being that has passed beyond a certain degree of knowledge Hiranyagarbha appears as identical with a higher aspect of the ‘Non-Supreme’.10

The ‘Brahmā-loka’ is thus a point of departure from whence the being identifies himself with ‘Universal Man’.

We will now proceed to discuss the divine function of ‘preservation’ on the grounds that it follows immediately after creation in the course of events, although we have no intention of ranking it above that of ‘transformation’ in terms of importance.

Firstly, it would be impossible for anything to exist in time, indefinitely divisible as it is, without some source of constancy to carry it from one moment to the next; Vishnu is the bestower of this constancy. Among his equivalents would seem to be Quirinus, Pluto, Freja, and Nāsatya.

To better understand this function, it will help to briefly touch upon the nature of the primordial duality, from which results that of stability and instability.

Just as the Supreme Principle is both total Possibility and Infinite actuality, Being is said to have a potential and an actual ‘aspect’. As a result of this, all manifest beings participate simultaneously in two distinct natures, possessing both a ‘substance’ and an ‘essence’. A being’s substance consists of whatever in it exists circumstantially or ‘accidentally’ on account of its being possible, whereas its essence is the direct projection of Being from which it derives all of its reality. As should become clear in light of what has been discussed above, substance cannot have a positive existence in itself and really amounts to nothing more than a limitation of the being’s perspective, ultimately reducible to Essence, with which it is united in Being.

If we accept the Hindu teaching that all experience is simply the self-knowledge of Brahma, we might think of substance as that which is known and essence as that which knows.

Essence participates in the immutability of the Absolute, whereas participation in substance guarantees a state of constant flux. Essence is the source of all order and stability, whereas pure Substance is pure Chaos. All possibilities revolve around Essence as the source of their reality, and it is in reference to Essence that they are brought into Order, thereby becoming ‘intelligible’.11

The ‘actionless activity’ of Essence in the world is known as Dharma, “a principle of conservation of being, and therefore of stability”12

It is this activity, and voluntary cooperation with it, that is referred to by such names as ‘Justice’, ‘Harmony’, and ‘Order’.

This is why all things are said to be ‘good’ in their essence, evil being purely negative and therefore unreal.

Even Satan is still virtually Lucifer, being fallen in grace and not in nature.13

Vishnu is the Principle (here understood as Īshvara) as sustainer of all things and world-preserver, who saves Brahmā’s creatures from perdition through the maintenance of Dharma. He is responsible for all the goodness and beauty in the world, providing these qualities in abundance by maintaining a connection with the One source of all quality.

He rescues humanity from ignorance and death through the gift of Wisdom.

The Matsya-avatara [the first avatar of Vishnu] has yet another aspect which is particularly worthy of note: after the cataclysm, that is at the beginning of the present Maha-Yuga, he brings mankind the Veda, which must be understood, according to the etymological signification of the word (derived from the root vid, to know), as the Science of sciences, or Sacred Knowledge in its entirety. This is a very clear allusion to the primordial Revelation, or to the ‘non-human’ origin of Tradition.14

But regardless,

All conditioned things are impermanent.15

And when a thing has exhausted all of its possibilities, it must necessarily undergo a final dissolution. Whether this takes the form of an active reintegration into and identification with its principle or a passive submergence into the infernal ‘waters’ will depend on the degree of effective knowledge achieved by the individual during its lifetime. This will consist to a large extent in the sacrifice of his own sense of individuality, through which he achieves ‘death before death’.

If you die before you die, then you won’t die when you die.16

What metaphysics understands by immortality and by eternity implies and demands of every man a total and uncompromising denial of himself and a final mortification, to be dead and buried in the Godhead.17

Whatever the case may be, this death is always and invariably effected by the Principle as Shiva, among whose equivalents would seem to be Poseidon, Mars, Thor, and perhaps Indra.

If Brahmā is responsible for ‘coagulation’, Shiva is responsible for ‘solution’, through which all things return from whence they came, their “principial origin and final destiny”18

Kāla is strictly ‘all-consuming Time’; but by transposition it also designates the very Principle itself insofar as it is ‘destroyer’, or rather ‘transformer’, in relation to manifestation which it reduces to the non-manifested state by reabsorbing it, as it were, into itself.19

In the Kabbalistic terminology, Vishnu is responsible for ‘Mercy’, whereas Shiva is for ‘Justice’.

Both Shiva and Poseidon, the god of earthquakes, hold tridents. The trident is a symbol of the ‘triple time’, in which past and future are united in the eternal present. Shiva is said to contemplate this eternal moment with his ‘third eye’, one glance from which is sufficient to efface (or ‘destroy’) the entirety of manifestation.

From the point of view of Life, it is our passive bondage to ignorance and mundane existence that can truly be called ‘death’. It is this condition that ensures a being’s repeated birth, life, and death, or growth, decay, and transformation, again and again through a series of endless cycles until he manages to free himself. It is an unavoidable fact that the experience you and I have of individual existence - a consequence of the insufficiency of our knowledge - will at some point come to an end. Whether we pass through the ‘gate of the heavens’ along the ‘path of gods’ or the ‘gate of the underworld’ on the ‘path of ancestors’ will depend, perhaps more than anything, on our willingness to sacrifice our own selfhood, doing away with all that in us is passive and exchanging our fickle and arbitrary individual desires for the immutable and eternal Will of heaven. After all,

The final purpose of life is to be, not a passive subject, but ‘all in act’.20

Yet despite all this, they still recognised among themselves a certain common identity and unity, and it was this unity that would save them from a dilemma between submission to the Persian Great King and total annihilation, that would save them from mutual destruction through common law regarding war and peace, and that would save myriads of souls from perpetual wandering by bringing the rites of the mysteries within the reach of all states.

As with many ancient peoples, such as the Celts for example, it’s difficult to explain the unity of the Greeks by reference to purely ethnic factors, and while the consideration of cultural similarities may bring us somewhat closer to an understanding, we cannot reach the heart of the matter without reference to something more fundamental, something more essential and therefore more stable and constant. We are referring, of course, to the genuine unity of nature between individuals to which corresponds the spiritual unity of a shared tradition.

The oldest, most foundational element in the traditional heritage of Greece was transported directly from the primordial spiritual centre; Apollo was the son of Leto, who resided in Hyperborea before she travelled to the island of Delos1 and gave birth to him. He in turn would visit his ancestral homeland after every Metonic cycle, a nineteen-year period during which the phases of the moon shift through all points of the year until they’ve returned to their starting point. In his absence from Hellas, no oracles were uttered, but upon his return, the Greeks would unite in celebrating the festival of Theophany at his sanctuary in Delphi, the ‘centre of the world’.

He took the epithet Λύκειος, ‘wolf-like’, from the entourage of wolves that accompanied his mother to Delos. The symbolism of the wolf is closely connected to the polar constellation and therefore to Hyperborea, but besides this significance, the word Λύκειος has also been connected to the morning twilight (λύκη), Apollo being the god of light; and, concerning cosmogony, the Greeks took the relative point of view where ‘chaos’ is seen as the starting point of manifestation, so it’s no wonder if the god of Being was associated with such light that emerges from darkness.

The Pythagoreans were said to have understood the name Apollo as meaning α-πολλόν (’not multiple’) as a name of the One without parts. In order to indicate the metaphysical significance of this concept, we will reference the following words from Guénon:

Being is one, or rather it is metaphysical Unity itself; but Unity embraces multiplicity within itself, since it produces it by the mere extension of its possibilities; it is for this reason that even in Being itself a multiplicity of aspects may be conceived, which constitute so many attributes or qualifications of it, although these aspects are not effectually distinguished in it, except insofar as we conceive them as such: yet at the same time they must be in some way distinguishable for us to be able so to conceive them. It might be said that every aspect is distinguishable from the others in a certain respect, although none of them is really distinguishable from Being, and that all are Being Itself.2

Another form of ‘α-πολλόν’ is ‘α-πολύς’, which perhaps lends credibility to a connection made with ἀπολλύς (’destroying’, ‘destroyer’) or Ἀπολλύων (the ‘Destroyer’), although Plato does not favour this interpretation, instead expounding the following meanings.

First, he is the purifier or purger or absolver (ἀπολούων); secondly, he is the true diviner, Ἄπλουν, as he is called in the Thessalian dialect (ἁπλοῦς = sincere); thirdly, he is the archer (ἀεὶ βάλλων), always shooting; or again, supposing alpha to mean ὁμοῦ, Apollo becomes equivalent to ὁμοῦ πόλησις, which points to both his musical and his heavenly attributes; for there is a “moving together” alike in music and in the harmony of the spheres.3

Every four years, the Peloponnesians would hold a festival in honour of Apollo Karneios, which name Guénon connects to the root KRN, “which expresses essentially the ideas of ‘power’ and ‘elevation’.”4

The same root is shared by Kronos.

In its meaning of ‘elevation’, the name Kronos is perfectly appropriate for Saturn who, in fact, corresponds to the highest of the planetary spheres, the ‘seventh heaven’ or the Satya-Loka of the Hindu tradition. Nor must Saturn be considered as being solely or even primarily a malefic power, which sometimes seems to be the tendency; for it must not be forgotten that he is before all else the regent of the Golden Age, that is, of the Satya Yuga or of the first phase of the Maha-Yuga which coincides precisely with the Hyperborean period, thereby proving that Kronos is rightly identified with the god of the Hyperboreans. It is moreover probable that the malefic aspect in this context results from the very disappearance of this Hyperborean world. It is in virtue of an analagous reversal that every ‘Land of the Gods’, seat of a spiritual centre, becomes a ‘Land of the Dead’ when this centre has disappeared.5

It is this Hyperborean current from which the Pythagorean lineage is said to have originated, the man himself being as an image of Apollo on earth.

In this connection, let it be noted that the ‘golden thigh’ of Pythagoras which made him appear as a kind of manifestation of the Hyperborean Apollo himself, relates to the symbolism of the polar mountain and of Ursa Major. On the other hand, the serpent Python has an especial connection with Delphi (which was called Pytho in ancient times), sanctuary of the Hyperborean Apollo; hence the designation of Pythoness, and also the name Pythagoras itself, which is really a name of Apollo, ‘he who guides the Pythoness’, that is to say, the inspirer of her oracles.6

In addition to Plato’s own initiation into Pythagorism, it is interesting to note what he has Socrates say in Phaedo (85b).

Since [swans] are Apollo’s birds, I believe they have prophetic vision, and because they have foreknowledge of the blessings in the other world they sing and rejoice on [the day of their death] more than ever before. And I think that I am myself a fellow-servant of the swans; and am consecrated to the same God and have received from our master a gift of prophecy no whit inferior to theirs, and that I go out from life with as little sorrow as they.

To turn now to the secondary currents that formed the Hellenic tradition, the beginning of Ancient Greek history proper is usually understood as being marked by the arrival of the Mycenaeans, a warlike Indo-European culture, onto the peninsula.

The supreme authority of a Mycenaean city-state was the priest-king known as the Wanax (ϝάναξ). His palace, situated at the summit of a hill, was the grandest building in the city, at the centre of which lay a circular hearth surrounded by four columns. Seven such palaces have been discovered, and certain Hittite tablets hint at the possibility of the existence, among the Greeks of the Mycenaean age, of a Great King who presided over all the other lesser kings and would thus have played a role analogous to that of the Palatine Hill among the seven hills of Rome, as discussed in our previous historical article.

Certain Mycenaean elites were buried in domes resembling beehives. The former thus symbolically occupy the centre of the cosmos, between heaven and earth in a state of involution.

The predominance of the warrior element of society was paired with a special importance attributed to Poseidon, the god of earthquakes who brings about great cataclysms that transform the face of the world. Holding the trident, he resembles Shiva, the ‘destroyer’. It’s tempting to speculate that this predominance may have been at the expense of the priestly element. In fact, in his essay “The Wild Boar and the Bear”7, Guénon offers several reasons for why the slaughter of the Caledonian boar by Atalanta in Greek myth might be taken as a symbol for the revolt of the warrior caste against the priestly caste. In this regard, we might also attribute the introduction of elements from the Atlantean tradition into Greece to the Mycenaeans.

As would befit such a warlike and heroic culture, it is thought that single combat was more prominent in the Mycenaean age than in later Greece. This is a purer kind of warfare that more faithfully imitates the opposition of inharmonious cosmic dualities.

It is also in this era that the mysteries at Eleusis had their origin, as well as many of the myths told and gods worshipped in later Greece.

It is the inexpressible (and not, as is commonly believed, the incomprehensible) that was originally designated by the word ‘mystery’, for the Greek μυστήριον derives from μυειν, which signifies ‘to be silent’, ‘to hold one’s peace’. Also connected with the same verbal root mu (whence the Latin mutus, ‘dumb’) is the word μύθος, ‘myth’, which, before being diverted from its meaning to the point where it merely designates a fantastic story, signified that which, since it could not be expressed directly, could therefore only be suggested by a symbolic representation, whether verbal or figurative moreover.8

Many of the gods worshipped in Mycenaean society had feminine counterparts, comparable to the ‘Shaktis’ or ‘Powers’ of certain Hindu Devas. For example, corresponding to Poseidon (Posedao) was Posidaeja, and to Diwe (probably Zeus), Diwija.

Among the symbols that held special importance for the Mycenaeans were the octopus, whose eight legs extend from the round centre like rays from the sun, symbolising the ‘projection’ of manifestation from Unity; the swastika, which symbolises the ‘action’ or ‘impulse’ of the Principle, the unmoved mover, that provokes the unfolding of all things; and the double axe, a symbol of the dual power of the Principle to create and destroy.

And the civilisation It created through the Mycenaeans It would eventually destroy at the fall of the Bronze Age. If it’s true that the various palatial centres of this age were united politically, this unity would not persist among the poleis of the Iron Age.

Yet these circumstances would not affect the greater unity that persisted among the Hellenes throughout antiquity, and the coming centuries would bring with them the construction of the temple of Apollo at Delphi, upon which was inscribed the precept “Know thyself”. The name ‘Delphi’ has been connected with ‘δελφῑ́ς’ (dolphin), the latter being a symbol of the Principle as Preserver and source of all stability.

As with many spiritual centres, where sacred stones are seen as the dwelling place of divinity, the exact centre of the world was marked at Delphi by the ‘ὀμφαλός’ or ‘navel’, a large, oval-shaped, white stone purportedly decorated with images of mermaids and eagles.

Delphi was also the site of the Delphic Amphictyony, a Pan-Hellenic spiritual authority with the power to issue fines and declare exile for certain religious offences as well as to declare and regulate holy wars.

Other sources of unity stemming from the Hellenic tradition include the sacred Olympic Games and the poetry of Homer, which is replete with esoteric meaning.

In the article linked above, we discussed the hypothesised equivalence of certain divine triads, especially among the Indo-Europeans, which symbolise the divine functions of creation, preservation, and transformation. Among the Greeks, these three functions would seem to have been symbolised by the three brothers Zeus, the ‘father of the gods’; Pluto, whose name relates to wealth; and Poseidon, whose symbolic attributes we indicated above.

The many children of Zeus may perhaps be interpreted as so many secondary powers and attributes of the Principle, especially those operative in the psychic realm; for example, Athena, born from the head of Zeus, is almost certainly a symbol of the mental faculty.9 This is all the more apparent when considering the Italic names given to the same goddess, which are derived from the root *men, whence Manas and Manu in Sanskrit.

As time went on, the art of Greece would shift gradually further away from those static and fixed idols that depict venerable and immutable divine principles towards aesthetically orientated and dynamic representations of ordinary human beings; the wisdom of Greece would slip from the tongues of bards and be reduced to the scrolls of librarians; and the narratives told around Greece would be altered to the point of losing all esoteric significance in exchange for fable and fantasy.

With the Greeks, individual fantasy soon began to give free rein to all forms of art, which, instead of remaining strictly hieratic and symbolic, as among the Egyptians and peoples of the Orient, soon took a completely different direction, aiming much less to instruct and more to please, resulting in productions which are almost devoid of any real meaning where we find no trace of this eminently ‘exact’ science that is true symbolism.10

A low point was reached in late classical Greece with the Peloponnesian War, in which alliances shifted back and forth like money changing hands; treaties bound by oath were scarcely adhered to; and utility was preferred to Justice.

You know as well as we do that justice, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power, while the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.11

It was in this climate that a chance encounter would occur amid the sacred rites of the Samothracian mysteries between Philip II of Macedon, the man who would effectively pacify Greece, and the mysterious Dionysian devotee, Olympias.

From thence would be born Alexander III, who would himself join his father in establishing Macedon as chief over the Greek states and finishing the wars that had disturbed her for centuries.

It’s well known that he was educated by Aristotle, a successor of Plato’s, but certain indications from Plutarch may help shed further light on the extent of this education.

It would appear, moreover, that Alexander not only received from his master his ethical and political doctrines, but also participated in those secret and more profound teachings which philosophers designate by the special terms ‘acroamatic’ and ‘epoptic,’ and do not impart to many. For after he had already crossed into Asia, and when he learned that certain treatises on these recondite matters had been published in books by Aristotle, he wrote him a letter on behalf of philosophy, and put it in plain language. And this is a copy of the letter. “Alexander, to Aristotle, greeting. Thou hast not done well to publish thy acroamatic doctrines; for in what shall I surpass other men if those doctrines wherein I have been trained are to be all men’s common property? But I had rather excel in my acquaintance with the best things than in my power. Farewell.” Accordingly, in defending himself, Aristotle encourages this ambition of Alexander by saying that the doctrines of which he spoke were both published and not published; for in truth his treatise on metaphysics is of no use for those who would either teach or learn the science, but is written as a memorandum for those already trained (πεπαιδευμένοι) therein.12

The effects of Alexander’s conquests of course stretched far beyond Greece, producing more intimate exchanges than ever before between diverse peoples, causing global political and economic shifts, and, most significantly of all, transforming the Hellenic tradition and laying the foundations for its replacement with the doctrine of Christianity.

This would mark the end point of ‘Ancient Greece’, at a time when, as in Rome, the Hyperborean tradition of the North and Atlantean tradition of the West, having degenerated to a point of disrepair, would recede to make way for a new tradition from the East.

It’s no doubt this difference in perspective that’s responsible for the divergent lifestyles of the two; Guénon, who affirmed the necessity of attachment to a regular traditional form, left his home country and became integrated into the Islamic milieu of Egypt, allowing him to completely dedicate himself to spiritual life as conveniently as possible. On the other hand, Evola, who believed that realisation is the prerogative of the individual, spent the majority of his days in Rome, involving himself in all kinds of external action and seeking in the very decadence of the modern world new paths for spiritual conquest and the exercise of the Will.

While it’s important to bear in mind the differences between individual natures to which different paths must be accommodated, it will nonetheless be interesting to think about the reasoning behind these two divergent approaches to living in an age of decadence - that is, a sort of assimilation on the one hand and a complete separation on the other - and we will therefore seek to explore these ideas in the following dialogue.

The same reservations we made last time (that we do not aim to exhaust all possible arguments or to accurately represent the views of any particular individual) remain applicable here.

We will start with the same background as before:

Following several days of westward travel, the group takes a detour to explore the ruins of an ancient temple. The figures and inscriptions adorning it are relatively well preserved, something likely aided by its remote location and relative simplicity, which in combination discourage most would-be tourists from bothering to make the trip. Bright green shrubs surrounding the edifice reflect the midday sun, and here the group sits on the remains of an old wall to rest and hydrate, although it’s not long before Georges gets back up from his seat. He begins circling the same patch of ground and staring into the shaky desert horizon before turning back to the others and speaking as follows.

“How different things were then compared to now! I mean, I can’t help but feel strange standing here looking at all this. It’s enough to think we stand on the same ground as they did, but to look at, to touch the work conceived in their minds and built with their hands is something difficult to quite comprehend. Do we share any common term with them? Is our experience at all comparable to theirs? I’ll say this: I can’t see how anyone, coming thus face to face, as it were, with the world of former human beings, could deny that we moderns are deprived of something very profound.

If I’m to give my honest opinion, however, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, before rushing to make judgements, sincerely consider the points I’m about to make: never has there been a more decisive opportunity for a man to affirm his own inner autonomy, never a greater crisis, never more ample material for heroic action. The order that sustained the world has crumbled, the laws and institutions that guided mankind are lost, every man is left to himself, but buried in the same grave is dependency, the need to look outward, to be supported by external crutches, and there’s no more apt method for the affirmation of one’s inner order than to thrust one’s outward self into the depths of chaos, leveraging every kind of material resistance to exercise and strengthen the spirit. After all, is this not the very point of convergence for the greater and lesser holy wars? Moreover, when a man is left to place all of his concern and all of his faith in his own Self, what obstacle could prevent his using this unique opportunity to taste the fruits of external action and secure the beatitude of internal realisation in conjunction?

In any case, what is the external world if not inanimate and lifeless, yet plastic, malleable possibility - material the use of which depends on its handler? And is it not true that even the cheapest, most degraded, even grossest material is often used to produce works of great utility and beauty? Has it not also often been affirmed that any external action whatsoever can serve as the basis for a realisation, which it may well take as circumstantial support, but is in any case achieved separately from it?

Either way, that the inner activity is what’s really essential is something well known to us all. There are certain sacred texts that go so far as to assert the power of inner detachment to redeem even the lowest of sinful actions. This detachment alone is seen as enough to liberate the being from both agitation in the present as concerns worldly action and any future consequences of these actions in the spiritual domain alike, besides one consequence that inevitably results from such detachment (really no consequence at all, situated at the level of the first cause): complete liberation and the realisation of the Supreme Identity.

Other beings can flee to monasteries or out into the wilderness all they like; if it’s what suits their nature best, it will surely go a long way, but what about the rest of us, for whom the practical need for sustenance is accompanied by a psychic yearning for action? I think everyone here can see the absurdity of telling such individuals as we to renounce the world; it would only lead to psychological turmoil and spiritual frustration as we try to fight against our own nature and walk a path better suited to someone else.

Speaking of individual natures, if we wish to learn something about our own, we need look no further than our situation in the modern world. That is to say, if the possibilities that these times express weren’t the same possibilities that are inherent to our own nature, we would necessarily have been born in some other time. And don’t think that these possibilities are to be shunned because they’re limited to the individual domain. On the contrary, if a realisation of the total being is to be hoped for, a horizontal development of potential is indispensable; is this not why every initiation is preceded by a descent into the inferior portion of the psyche, so that the elements situated therein may be reclaimed and redeemed, neutralised and pulled upwards, prevented from exerting any downward force on the initiate further down the line as they inevitably would if left unaddressed?

The end that this initiate looks towards, towards which he tends, is the profound Peace that unites all contraries in eternal Harmony, so what use can it be to ignore the world that lies in front of us, rather than seeking to integrate it as an extension of ourselves, assigning to it its proper place in subordination to the Spirit?

Now, if we need reassurance on this point from some source of wisdom, let us look no further than the motifs recurring throughout the mythology of the Indo-Europeans - some of the oldest symbolic narratives attested by history. One of these that is found with notable frequency involves the reconciliation and unification of two warring factions into a greater, harmonious order, such as the Romans and the Sabines or the Æsir and Vanir in Nordic mythology. Perhaps if the same wisdom had been better preserved for the Greeks up to the Peloponnesian War, they would have made better use of the countless opportunities they had for reconciliation. Perhaps then Sparta could have focused its attention on preserving internal stability and thus avoided catastrophe. Perhaps the other Greek states could have avoided becoming vassals of Macedon just a few generations later. Perhaps they all could have better defended themselves against Rome further down the line. But instead they chose to hold on to their grudges and insist on coming out on top, only to find themselves united in rapidly descending towards the bottom.

Can we individuals at least learn from the mistakes that polities couldn’t? Do we have the prudence to make peace with the modern world and preserve our own internal stability? Or will we close our eyes and deny our surroundings, seeking a realisation of universality by hiding from partial instability?

I say let us take responsibility for ourselves. Let us do away with concerns for conventions and formalities that have no relevance for us. Let us bravely face the anarchy of the world by finding our own law within ourselves. Let us subject the world to our own will and relate to it on our own terms, enjoying its fruits while rejecting its power to confine us.”

He was now more ready to rest and began to feel the need to hydrate, and so Mohammed took his turn to speak.

“If I could offer my opinion, I would say that yes, the external world is lifeless material, as devoid of quality as is the concept of ‘matter’, but that this is, if anything, proof of its uselessness to one with spiritual aspirations, in itself at least. Where spiritual influences are absent, the external world can only produce effects in the external world; whatever great works of art can be produced from cheap material, no material can be transported from one world to another, and this is the least of what we seek to do with our very being.

If this is taken as sufficient grounds to avoid wasting one’s time with profitless activity, where does hiding come into it? People engage themselves in escapism to avoid things that are really unavoidable or that are necessary to produce some benefit that they ought to desire, but the firm and resolute renunciate successfully withdraws himself from profane activity with ease, eventually attaining the supreme of all benefits and the fulfilment of all desire.

The Unity of contraries of which you speak is not syncretic but synthetic; thus, it is both whole and pure, and purity cannot be achieved through the means of defilement. No one would seek to procure a healthy body by consuming unhealthy food, nor would anyone attempt to construct a stable dwelling with whatever material he happens upon.

The Supreme of all end goals, the true summit of the initiatic work, is both the All and ‘not so, not so’; the unconditioned can only be discovered through negation and deconstruction.

Now, as concerns making peace with the modern world, if you want to know where it leads, take a look at any contemporary religion, all of which have reached their current state of decadence through a series of compromises to the modern mentality.

And I don’t mean to imply by all this that everyone should become a monk or a hermit, but that it benefits no one to indiscriminately take part in whatever forms of action present themselves. If an individual has a ‘psychic yearning for action’, let him satisfy it by exploring healthy outlets that conform to Traditional activity as much as possible. Should he do so, while keeping his attention fixed on Truth, he will be minimally affected by the desire to enjoy transient pleasures. Should he have the urge to seek such pleasures, we can be sure that his attention is not fixed on Truth. Therefore we can forget the idea that such actions can be performed with detachment or that they can lead to anything spiritual. In any case, no one is forced to seek pleasure, so there is no necessity to do so, nor indeed any shame in abstaining from it.

As for the so-called anarchy of modernity, it doesn’t as much as affect the natural laws of corporeal existence, let alone the eternal spiritual Law from which no being escapes.

At the lowest stage of decadence in history, the lower portion of the individual is ever more effective at dragging him down, and the instincts of the animal psyche constitute an ever greater obstacle to spirituality. Let us then be ever more resolute in rejecting these infernal tendencies; let servitude to the mind and body be spurned, and let the evanescent excitement of pleasure be traded for the constant bliss of virtue.”

Georges was quick to respond.

“Yes, let servitude to the mind and body be spurned, such as would convince the individual that he could be affected by such things as pleasure and pain, whether sought out (as he’s incited to do by the expansive tendency of possibility) or otherwise. Let the constant virtue of the Self remain secure in its own incorruptibility and engage with the world freely, knowing that it’s unaffected by it.

A realisation of the total being involves both ‘exaltation’ and ‘amplification’. How then can the development of possibilities constitute an obstacle? It would seem, on the contrary, to be a necessity. If there’s an obstacle, it’s the self-denial and mortification of renunciates, who fear pleasure yet accept pain. Such methods are clearly exposed as tamasic in the Bhagavad-Gita and equally rejected by Buddhism.”

Mohammed began in turn.

“You mention the Self, but have you any experience with it? As incomplete beings, we require something more than our own sense of self in order to be made whole. After all, what’s inside must be kept in harmony with what’s outside, and if modern man lacks certain essential qualities with regards to his spiritual development, he cannot find his complement in the modern world, which is equally lacking. Mustn’t he therefore seek it in the traditional institutions that alone claim a supra-human origin?

As for mortification, it is indeed rejected by Buddhism, but a relatively pain-free withdrawal from worldly activity is not. If suffering is a concern, the last place one should turn to is action in the modern world, which almost always ends in suffering - or perhaps I speak too moderately - is characterised and defined by the most widespread suffering and discontent of any period of all time. Peace and happiness can only be found when these obstacles are removed.”

By now, no one present wanted for this conversation to take up much more of their time, so once again, a third person attempted to round it up for the time being.

“It would seem to me that, in this case as always, it’s best to take a balanced point of view. There is certainly a need for many, in these times, to engage in some degree of profane activity. There is even good reason to find enjoyment where it can be found insofar as it doesn’t cause harm to the being spiritually or constitute too great a distraction, but there are also certainly many kinds of activity which must be avoided, among which, for those to whom such a path is unsuitable, is the renunciate lifestyle itself.”

For the time being, all accepted this answer and began preparing to continue their journey, but they knew that this was likely not the end of the conversation.

The fact that there is not one thing in this universe that can truly be called spontaneous, and that every effect must be referred back to a cause that produced it, may help us understand the best approach towards living and acting in the world, the approach that could most effectively minimise the danger of suffering and maximise the tendency towards higher, more worthy prospects.

The cause behind the actions we take is always and invariably the will, which finds its own origin in our general disposition, and it’s in this connection that Aristotle notes the similarity of the words ἔθος (ethos) and ἦθος (ēthos), from which we get ‘ethics’. These two words are basically interchangeable, both expressing ideas of habit, custom, and ways of being, but the second can also be applied to notions of morality, a word which is also ultimately derived from the Latin mos, an exact equivalent of ἔθος.

This is all to emphasise the essential role that our orientation plays in determining our fate; it is inevitable that we proceed in whatever direction we’re facing.

As for the most beneficial orientation, this is undoubtedly the orientation towards truth. In this world, the most confused and deluded suffer the most and the worst. To give an example, while most of us can always find refuge from external misfortunes, even if it’s only temporary and partial, by turning inwards, no such consolation exists for the paranoid or the schizophrenic, who are oppressed unceasingly by nothing other than their own delusions. Additionally, those who are well in touch with reality can take a measured and logical approach to solving their problems, but those with their head in the clouds are helpless both in freeing themselves from unwanted troubles and acquiring desirable things, let alone grasping what is and isn’t truly desirable.

An often cited gospel verse affirms the power of truth to set a person free, but it’s perhaps not always understood just how fundamental this law is to the very nature of human existence.

The individual who maintains an awareness of truth and fixes his attention to it is neither distressed by pain nor distracted by pleasure. He is neither carried away by anger nor restricted by fear. As for the one who has reached an effective knowledge of Truth, it would be impossible to express the good he enjoys with human language.

Both embody all virtue as a consequence of their knowledge, free from the petty vices of the ignorant. They are equally free from childish and escapist fantasy as from soulless and empty frivolity, equally free from animalistic thirst as from weak inertia.

They are free from all worldly concerns, none of which can escape looking absurd when placed under scrutiny; we desire for people to think well of us, but we know that what people think affects neither us nor them; we seek to gratify the senses, but we know that the pleasure derived thereby does not reach the core of our being and that what it does reach is affected only partially and only briefly; and we carefully avoid pain and danger, yet, seeing what others have endured and how bravely they have done so should make clear to us just how illusory our conception of pain is.

Understanding all of this, those who remain grounded in truth enjoy a peace and serenity within themselves that no external contingency can disturb, seeing all things for what they are, as they are, and living up to what is greatest and highest in themselves. They are blissfully aware.

Beyond this, for those who have attained an effective knowledge, all the pleasures of the world and the wants of all beings are enjoyed in their principial synthesis, of which sense perception expresses only one possibility among an indefinitude of others.

This possibility, moreover, is by its very nature illusory when isolated from the whole of which it is a ‘part’ and in relation to which it derives whatever reality it has. To remove all doubt on this point, if there could be any, it’s only necessary to demonstrate the obvious relativity of even the most fundamental conditions that define this world: space cannot find its source in space, time cannot find its beginning in time; not even the law of cause and effect can amount to more than a contingency for the ‘first cause’, which must necessarily be uncaused and transcend all of its effects.

Among things that fall short of absolute Truth, it is that which is most intelligible1 and possesses the greatest degree of order and equilibrium that must be considered ‘truest’, occupying the upper half of a hierarchy that ranges from the purest intelligence to the most obscure ignorance.

And, in this world, what is most in harmony is most exalted and most blissful, whether it be the internal constitution of an individual or the external organisation of a group - an unmistakable sign of the equivalence between order, exaltation, and beatitude, all corresponding to Truth.

While passive submission to the various distractions that take hold of the mind and senses binds the being to unending cycles of change in the realm of contingent possibilities, an active recognition of the supremacy of the transcendent Will (the fruit of the purified will and equivalent of the Intellect) and constant reference to it will invariably lead the being to truth and freedom.

There can’t, therefore, be any higher course of action in this world than to single-mindedly seek the truth, staying firmly on guard against all forms of delusion, which ultimately lead to nothing but suffering, while guided by the liberating knowledge of the pure Will.

This artificiality extends to the unordained authorities we look up to and the values they invent for us, the most widely heard of which is ‘equality’.

But what does ‘equality’ really mean in this case? It surely doesn’t mean the homogeneity of a world where all beings jointly occupy the summit of human possibilities; while this was possible in a very distant age, the differences in capability among individuals in any time outside of prehistory are plain for everyone to see. And it’s certain that those whose capabilities are the lowest can’t be forced beyond their own nature, so it must be that all others are brought down to their level. Or rather, below that level; if those of more elevated rank, the spiritual authorities and temporal powers that once uplifted their subjects and brought order to the world, are removed from their stations, the quality that was then maintained even at the lowest level must inevitably fall apart.

What’s left is - not the unity of things with a common centre - the uniformity of things that share only a complete lack of quality. This is the uniformity seen in all the lowest things in this world: ants, dust, bacteria, to name a few. All qualities, even if they appear opposed2, are resolved in the oneness of the Principle but oppressed by the sameness of the infernal.

To those who would object that the hereditary systems of the past deprive the individual of the freedom to pursue options, we respond that nothing is free but the Absolute, least of all those beings who, lacking a knowledge of their true nature, are led by desires, whims, and the persuasion of others to act in a way that’s contrary to it. If an action is not informed by wisdom, it’s coerced by ignorance; pleasure makes the gluttonous destroy themselves, fear makes the anxious act rashly, delusions make the insane commit all kinds of evil.

If, for the sake of convenience, we attribute a certain freedom to human activity, it should be understood that this theoretical freedom is extremely relative, yet if the minds of all were liberated by wisdom, all would be virtuous. And virtue, properly understood, is equivalent to following one’s own svadharma:

An idea of ‘virtue’ can apply here only insofar as it indicates that the actions of a being are in conformity with its own nature, and, by the same token, with the total order that has its reflection or its image in the nature of each being.3

That each being could follow its own nature and thereby fulfil its highest potential was ensured by the institutions of practically all traditional societies, in a way similar to what was envisaged by Plato in his Republic. There were the caste systems of India and Persia, the tripartite social division of the Celts, the feudal systems of mediaeval Europe, and many others.

Beings integrated into such systems were not arbitrarily forced to fulfil a task more suited to someone else (something much more common today). Quite the opposite, they were furnished with the environment they needed to truly fulfil their own nature - that is, the authentic and superior part of their nature, which cannot reliably be judged by self-assessment but can be deduced from the conditions of birth.

There is not only a physiologic heredity, but also a psychic heredity, both of which are explained in exactly the same way, i.e., by the presence of elements coming from the specific milieu in the constitution of the individual when the being’s birth took place.4

It is only by living in accordance with one’s true nature that an effective knowledge of Reality can be approached; any other way of living binds the individual to illusory activity in an illusory world, coloured by a subtle sense of inner dissatisfaction.

With the understanding of psychic heredity and the institutions that accommodated for it in former times now lost, all are left to work things out for themselves. The result is most often a drifting from thing to thing before settling on whatever circumstances demand, and, as it happens, this is almost invariably some form of servile labour. Study, action, creation; they have all taken on the character of ‘work’. What were once supports for self-realisation now revolve purely around the ‘creation of value’ and a ‘progress’ considered purely in relation to material convenience. But how many people still believe in ‘progress’ in 2026?

If ancient civilisations are criticised most heavily for integrating slavery into their societies, how terrible must our enlightened societies be, where practically everyone lives the life of a slave? All the more so when they were guided by sacred authorities in the service of a greater order; we’re guided by whatever we see online and on TV.

The call to ‘Know thyself’ was famously inscribed on the temple of Apollo at Delphi; there is no more important task for a human being. Additionally, a general knowledge of human possibilities could prove useful for a number of reasons. Therefore, in this article, we will aim to explore the nature of different human types following the fourfold division found most famously in India, as this, with or without the addition of the final caste (the śūdras), could be described as the most universal.

But before discussing the types applicable to ordinary people in modern times, we will deal with the principle that encompasses them all: the primordial state of man.

Before the multiple human faculties were scattered across different castes, they were encompassed by the fullness of man in his primordial state: what Taoism calls ‘True Man’. He is the pinnacle and centre of human existence, for whom alone a passage to supra-human states can be effected.

Since he is in the human state, his special perspective naturally endows that state with a preponderant importance which it cannot have from the standpoint of pure metaphysic; and this preponderance will be justified a posteriori, so to speak, in the case when the being, after taking the state in question as his starting-point and basis for realization, succeeds in really making it the central state of his totality… This implies, in the first place, that the being in question has been reintegrated into the centre of the human state itself (it is in this reintegration that the restitution of the primordial state consists), and thereafter that the centre of the human state itself has become identified, for this being, with the universal centre. In the first phase the integral human state is realized, in the second the totality of the being.5

This state directly reflects the nature of pure intellectuality under the conditions of individual existence. It is a state of ‘embryonic simplicity’, yet it contains within itself all human possibility in principle, possibility that extends far beyond what’s experienced in ordinary waking consciousness.

Since man occupies a ‘central’ position in this world, ‘True Man’ encompasses within himself all beings that exist within it. These latter emanate from him and reflect his potency, while governed by his ‘action of presence’.

By virtue of his ‘inwardness’, which embraced his entire state of existence just as Heaven embraces all manifestation (for in reality the centre contains everything), he included these beings in himself as particular possibilities inherent in his own nature.

He has passed from the circumference to the centre, from the ‘outer’ to the ‘inner’, and so truly fulfils the function of ‘unmoved mover’ in relation to the world that is his. And the ‘action of presence’ belonging to this function imitates in its particular domain the ‘actionless’ activity of Heaven.6

By reaching the primordial state, the being achieves ‘virtual immortality’ and the ‘sense of eternity’.

And it’s no coincidence that all human beings existed in this state at the beginning of time, as all things must proceed from their principles, and all true principles must contain their consequences in themselves. To give an example, while it’s possible to produce colours from the combination of other colours, all colours and all their combinations (all that is visible) are necessarily contained in and derive from the unity of white light.

The development of possibilities unfortunately gives rise to degradation and disintegration for those who experience things in separativity. Thus the fullness of primordial man is distributed hierarchically and partially throughout the castes. According to the fourfold division previously mentioned, these are the priestly caste, the warrior caste, the caste of ‘producers’, and the servile caste. But this separation did not occur as an immediate process, and, just as the existence of ‘True Men’ on earth remains a possibility in all times, the existence of men who combined within themselves the priestly and warrior natures is seen throughout history. Priest-kings were, for example, an essential element of Proto-Indo-European society, vestiges of which are seen in the Vedic royal sacrifices, the Roman ‘Rex Sacrorum’, and the etymology of the word ‘druid’.7 In later times, there were the Roman emperors, and later yet, the Templar Knights: in the words of Guénon, ”knights who were at the same time monks”8.

Such beings were, in places, looked upon as human images of the divine, insofar as they possessed within themselves the source of both spiritual and temporal law.

A description that seems quite characteristic for such a being is provided by Evola in relation to Julius Caesar, who was both a decorated general and chief priest.

Too overlooked are the words which Caesar once said in his youth to express the “race of the spirit” to which he felt he belonged: “Est ergo in genere (meo) sanctitas Regum qui plurimum inter homines pollent, & ceremonia Deorum, quorum ipsi in potestate sunt Reges.”9 (“In my lineage there is both the sacredness of kings, who are so powerful among men, and the dignity of the gods in whose power the kings themselves stand”). Another characteristic testimony: the attribute of sidereus was often given to Caesar. It refers to the stars (sidera), but condensing various meanings: the idea of a cold and hard splendour, of something bright, firm and inaccessibly remote in relation to the heavenly, uranic region.10

If they were so inaccessible to the world, it was because they were equally detached from it.

If in Warriors, as mentioned, inner asceticism is the necessary foundation for the development of their activity, this is even more rigorous in the Leader, who must negate any individuality within himself to make justice and the sure norm of empire triumph.11

Naturally, this unity of spiritual authority and temporal power was to be almost universally separated, leaving the domains of contemplation and action to the priests and warriors respectively, and leaving a gap where it left.

Such a separation can be considered the mark of an organization that is incomplete at its summit, so to speak, since there we do not find the common principle from which the two powers regularly proceed and on which they depend, the true supreme power having therefore to be sought elsewhere.12

Despite this, all true hierarchy involves the gradation of successive principles and their consequences, and just as wisdom is the source of true strength13, the priest contains as potential certain virtues which are more developed in the warrior.

It is said that the Brahmin is influenced especially by the nature of Sattva.

Sattva, conformity to the pure essence of Being (Sat), which is identical with the light of Knowledge (Jnâna), symbolised by the luminosity of the heavenly spheres which represent the higher states of the being.14

Thus grounded in the immutable centre of his being, he is himself immutable (sthavara), detached from the senses, the passions, and activity in the world. He isolates himself like the boar, which is the symbol of the supreme spiritual centre and, by extension, of the priestly caste, which ensures that a regular connection with said centre is maintained, imparting the knowledge received from it to the other castes in the way suited to their nature.

In his state of isolation, he enjoys a tranquillity that reflects the ‘Peace’ of the ‘Divine Presence’.

The Arabic term Sakīnah, obviously identical to the Hebrew Shekinah, translates as ‘Great Peace’, which is an exact equivalent of the Pax Profunda of the Brotherhood of the Rose-Cross; and on this basis one could doubtless explain what the latter meant by the ‘Temple of the Holy Spirit’, just as one could also give a precise interpretation to the numerous Gospel texts in which ‘Peace’ is mentioned.’15

He approaches the heavens directly, through the path of Knowledge, (jñana yoga), unlike those belonging to other castes who take the ‘circumferential’ path, to which we will return later.

His svadharma is to mediate between heaven and earth, holding his hand out to the other castes and raising them up towards his level.

The true function of the priesthood is therefore, above all, a function of knowledge and teaching, and this is why, as we said above, its proper attribute is wisdom; certainly, certain other more external functions, such as the performance of rites, also belong to it, because they require knowledge of the doctrine, in principle at least, and participate in the “sacred” character which is inherent in it; but these functions are only secondary, contingent and in some way accidental.

If the priesthood is, in essence, the depositary of traditional knowledge, this does not mean that it has a monopoly on it, since its mission is not only to preserve it entirely, but also to communicate it to all those who are able to receive it, to distribute it in some way hierarchically according to the intellectual capacity of each person… and what appears to be more particularly reserved for the priesthood, because of its character of pure intellectuality, is the upper part of the doctrine, that is to say the knowledge of the principles themselves, while the development of certain applications is more suited to the abilities of other men that their own functions bring into direct and constant contact with the manifested world, that is to say with the domain to which these applications relate.16

It is this caste in particular that is acquainted with the metaphysical dimension of the tradition.

An outline of some of the activity proper to a Brahmin is outlined in the Kurma Purana as follows:

There are six types of action that are recommended for Brahmanas. These are yajana (performing sacrifices), yajana (acting as priests at sacrifices), dana (donation of alms), pratigraha (receiving gifts), adhyapana (teaching) and adhyayana (studying). A brahmana who performs these tasks well attains the wonderful place known as prajapatya.17

That is, the heaven of the Progenitor or ‘Creator’, the Ancestor of ancestors.

As transmitters of the ‘light’ of knowledge, the Brahmins were known as the ‘white’18 caste. Similarly, the Pope wears white, as did the druids.

On the other hand, the Kṣatriyas formed the ‘red’ caste. They are the ‘mutable’ beings (jangama) who experience emotions with greater intensity. In the domain of action, this manifests as the blood frenzy of battle. In the spiritual domain, as devotionalism. Thus the path of bhakti is especially suited to the Kṣatriya.

The word bhakti means primarily a given share, and therefore also the devotion or love that all liberality presupposes; and so that inasmuch as one “gives God his share” (bhagam), i.e. sacrifices, one is his bhakta.19

Although, like all beings, he benefits from the cultivation of Sattva, he is naturally influenced in particular by rajas.

rajas, the urge that provokes the being’s expansion in a given state, in other words the development of those of its possibilities that are situated at a certain level of Existence20

He is thus naturally compelled to act, and it’s only by action that he can begin his spiritual development.

Thus, bhakti-yoga is the complement of karma-yoga, the path of action. The Kṣatriya who follows this path knows the Spirit as the Will, the Will of the true being which emanates from the Divine Will. It is by surrendering all of his action to this Will and disregarding the allure of individual desire, which seeks to enjoy the ‘fruits’ of action in the world, that he approaches the domain of the Spirit.

While engaging with the changing tides of the world externally, he stays detached from it internally. While the individual will would act and react sporadically, the action of the divine Will is one of pure presence, which manifests Order as a natural consequence of its own nature.

The spirit is neither born, nor does it ever die; nor having once existed, does it ever cease to be. The spirit is without birth, eternal, immortal, and ageless. It is not destroyed when the body is destroyed.

O Parth, how can one who knows the spirit to be imperishable, eternal, unborn, and immutable kill anyone or cause anyone to kill?21

Thus, the Warriors submit to an inner discipline, a true asceticism that involves their purification from passions. When they kill, they must know that they are killing themselves; when they win, they must know that they are conquering themselves. They see the enemies as sacred victims, respecting them as they respect themselves. They pass through the carnage with love that redeems, through contamination with purity that justifies, and through death and the cruelty of death with the awareness that nothing can truly die, for nothing can be born.22

It is through this complete detachment from action, in which all action becomes a sacrifice, that war becomes for him a path to heaven; in addition to the well-known Nordic Valhalla, there is the Aztec ‘House of the Sun’, the Hindu Indraloka (the heaven of the Powerful):

The death that a Kṣatriya meets with at home is censurable. Death on one’s bed is highly sinful. The man who casts away his body in the woods [like an ascetic] or in battle after having performed sacrifices, obtains great glory,... Abandoning diverse objects of enjoyment, I shall now, by righteous battle, proceed to the regions of Indra, obtaining the companionship of those who have attained the highest end.23

The heavens in Rome:

In flight death is disgraceful; in victory glorious; for Mars himself is wont to claim out of the battle-line the bravest as his own. The impious, then, whom you have slain will even among the shades below pay the penalty of their treason; but you who have poured out your last breath in victory have won the seats and the abodes of the pious.24

As well as the heaven of Christianity and Islam.

No one must doubt that if he dies on this expedition for the love of God and his brothers, his sins will surely be forgiven and he will gain a share of eternal life through the most compassionate mercy of our God.25

It is most of all among the Kṣatriyas that the gods of death find their devotees. These gods represent the divine attribute of ‘destroyer’, the function of the Principle whereby it reabsorbs those possibilities which have exhausted their destined course of development. An example is the

‘monster’s head’ which, in various forms, often more or less conventionalised, is to be found in the most widely different lands where it has received correspondingly diverse names, such as Kāla-mukha and Kirti-mukha in India and T’ao t’ieh in China; it is likewise to be found not only in Cambodia and Java, but also even in Central America, nor is it alien to European art of the Middle Ages.26

Similar symbols were often embossed in armour and painted on shields in antiquity, most famously among the Greeks and those influenced by them.

The ‘destroyer’ is, properly speaking, the ‘transformer’, and it is in the intensity of battle that the warrior undergoes his transformation.

The “greater holy war” is man’s struggle against the enemies he carries within himself, that is, against the elements in him that are opposed to order and unity. There is however no question of annihilating these elements, which, like everything that exists, have their reason for existence and their place in the whole; what is aimed at is to “transform” them, by bringing them back and as it were reabsorbing them into unity. Above all else, man must constantly strive to realize unity in himself, in all that constitutes him, through all the modalities of his human manifestation: unity of thought, unity of action, and also, which is perhaps hardest, unity between thought and action.27

But if war could take on a spiritual character in the circumstances provided by traditional societies, the chances of modern warfare effecting anything similar are very slim.

Killing must be done with one’s own hand or with a sanctified weapon. The enemy must be visible and nearby; otherwise, it would be an outright murder instead of a purification act.28

It is strange that people should talk so much about ending all war at a time when the ravages it causes are greater than they have ever been, not only because the means of destruction have been multiplied, but also because, as wars are no longer fought between comparatively small armies composed entirely of professional soldiers, all the individuals on both sides are flung against each other indiscriminately, including those who are the least qualified for this kind of function.29

A warrior initiation is attested in many historical societies. These initiations often attributed special significance to the notion of ‘Power’, such as the Shakti of Tantrism, and therefore spent more time on the development of faculties in the psychic domain; it is said that magic as a science is most relevant to Kṣatriyas.

There was also a focus on action; hence, the warrior initiate took the ‘circumferential’ path, symbolised by the winding staircase of masonry30, developing his possibilities in various hierarchically situated states of being before finally reaching the top: the primordial state. It is up to this point that ‘power’ can be a legitimate motivator.

Those others who are moved by their love and wisdom to perpetual activity — in whom the will to life is dead, but the will to power yet survives in its noblest and most impersonal forms — attain at last the same goal.31

In the same way that, in certain cases, glory can constitute a legitimate motivator for his worldly activity.

In the spirituality of the warrior type, which pertains especially to the cosmological domain, a significant role is also often played by the notion of ‘Love’. On the one hand, it pertains to certain forms of action which he incorporates into this spiritual work;

Anything at all can, according to the nature of the individual, provide the occasion and starting-point for a spiritual development, and this may be true of an earthly love as well as of any other circumstance (all the more so as what we are dealing with here, lest we forget, can be characterized as a path for the Kshatriyas).32

On the other hand, it is not without relevance to the pronounced ‘emotional’ dimension of this type. There is also the connection it has to feminine symbolism, which is closely connected to the notion of the divine as Power. Such symbolism does in fact pervade Kṣatriya spirituality, something Guénon connects to the passive role they must play in relation to the priestly caste.

A ‘chivalric’ tradition always requires the preponderance of a principle represented as feminine (Madonna) as well as the intervention of an affective element (Amore) in order to adapt to the nature of the men to whom it is particularly addressed.33

The dharma of the Kṣatriya is expounded by the Kurma Purana as follows:

The duties of kṣatriyas include dana (donation of alms), adhyayana (studying) and performing yajñas (sacrifices). But their primary duty is to take up arms and fight; it is their job to punish the evil and protect the good.34 A kṣatriya who performs these tasks well, attains Indra’s residence of Indraloka.35

The next caste is that of the Vaiśyas, the yellow caste. They are said to be influenced in equal part by rajas and tamas.

tamas, obscurity, assimilated to ignorance (avidyā), the dark root of the being considered in its lower states.36

Across civilisations, they are associated with multiplicity, abundance, and wealth. The very multiplicity inherent in their nature gives rise to a plethora of attributes; they are associated, among other things, with peace, beauty, pleasure, and nature.

…the natural ties existing in Rome between fecundity and pleasure, between the flowering of nature and the sensual pleasures of men, areas which other Indo-European societies also combine in the third function.37

There is an obvious connection with the symbolism of the earth, but for the Indo-Iranians, this function was associated with both the earth and the waters.

If all castes are particularly inclined to one vice or another, theirs is greed.

In ancient Rome, the god Janus presided over the guilds as well as the mysteries, and we might not need to distinguish the two very sharply; in a traditional society, all activity has a ritual character, and, in the case of the Vaiśya, it is his daily work that serves as the support of the ‘Great Work’.

An artist or craftsman takes raw materials and brings them into order in such a way that, presented before an intelligent eye, they project meaning, just as the influence of the divine brings the chaos of indefinite possibilities into Order, which, for intelligent beings, projects its own meaning. This symbolism played a significant role in the initiations of the third caste, which represent “a restricted portion of the ‘lesser mysteries’”.38

The Kurma Purana describes the primary function of the Vaiśya as agriculture and promises the one who succeeds in carrying out his dharma a place in the realm of Vayu - the god of the winds, related to the subtle/psychic state.

While all three of the above-mentioned castes were offered an initiation, the only caste excluded was the ‘black’ caste, the śūdras dominated by tamas.

They were associated with the ‘asuras’, the ‘demonic’ beings occupying lower states of existence.

These hostile aborigines were designated in the Sanskrit of the Rig Veda as dasyu, i.e., “enemy.” Some epithets which are applied to them are: “prayerless” (a-brahman), “godless” (a-deva), “inferior” (adhara), “inhuman” (a-mānuṣa), “unthinking” (a-mantu), “‘flat-nosed”’ (an-ās), “‘opposed to religious rites” (apa-vrata), “‘stingy” (a-prṇat), ‘‘unbelieving” (a-śrāddha), “not observing religious rites” (a-vrata), “not offering sacrifices” (a-yajiña), “impious” (a-yajyu), “‘easy to be slain” (su-hana), “wicked” (vrjina), “deceitful”(māyāvan), “unkind” (a-Śiva), ‘the black skin” (krṣnā tvac).39

Yet despite all this, they were still integrated into Hindu society in the same way that even the lowest possibilities of manifestation are brought into the cosmic order by the influence of the divine.

Regardless, they were unable to go very far in the spiritual domain due to their preoccupation with lesser things and limited intellectual horizons.

To observe custom in order to take into account an opinion which values only such appearances is therefore properly the act of a Shudra.40

Their dharma is expounded in the Kurma Purana as follows:

Their primary duty is to serve the other three castes. In addition, a śūdra can adopt artisanship as an occupation. A śūdra who performs these tasks well will live with the gandharvas (singers of heaven).41

Thus, they helped to sustain the rest of society by their service, just as almost all people do today, but what heavenly reward does this secure for us?

For the secular rituals we perform each day, we get nothing beyond empty remunerations. Such circumstances can by no means be thought superior to a life governed by the ‘law from above’.

But however that may be, there is one thing that could lead us beyond all this, toward a reward higher than any other: to know ourselves.

To put it one way, Truth is neither up nor down, neither hot nor cold, neither moral nor evil.

It’s then no wonder that the Buddha would have wished to establish a ‘middle path’, or that Aristotle could justify such an approach with words like these:

In all things the mean in relation to us is the best, for that is as knowledge and reason bid. And everywhere this also produces the best state. This is proved by induction and reason: contraries are mutually destructive, and extremes are contrary both to each other and to the mean, as the mean is either extreme in relation to the other — for example the equal is greater than the less and less than the greater. Hence moral goodness must be concerned with certain means and must be a middle state.1

We might therefore expect that Truth lie between two opposed extremes, two contradictory opinions which are united in the one reality.

The principial unity in fact demands that there shall be no irreducible opposition; accordingly, though opposition between two terms can indeed exist in appearance and can possess a relative reality at a certain level of existence, it is bound to disappear as such and to be harmoniously resolved, by synthesis or integration, when a higher level is attained.2

An extreme point of view is taken by those who see an irreducible reality in the sensible world, an illogical and short-sighted point of view which leads to an animalistic existence, where all reference to the supra-mundane is cut off.

An equally extreme point of view is taken by those who, not merely denying what they can’t see, deny even what’s right in front of their eyes, equating the outside world to a dream that will cease to exist if they only pretend it’s not there.

The former are consumed by meaningless activity in the external world, placing all their aspirations in things destined to pass by. The latter are consumed by their own minds, neglecting the very real and highly consequential stakes of things that lie outside of it.

Guénon rejects both of these illusions in clear terms:

The existence of multiplicity is illusory with respect to unity, while of course still possessing such reality as its nature allows.3

And this is elaborated by Coomaraswamy as follows:

Empirical truth (apara vidya) is then not absolutely untrue, but merely relatively true, while the absolutely true (para vidya) embraces and resumes all relative truth; seen from the standpoint of our empirical consciousness it is veritably the Real that is reflected through the doorways of our five or six senses, and takes the forms of our imagination. Here the phenomenal world is not without significance, but has just so much significance as the degree of our enlightenment allows us to discover in it.4

To emphasise these points, we will briefly explore both of the errors outlined above.

The ‘materialist’ point of view is especially prevalent in our times; it could perhaps even justifiably be called a purely modern invention. It is often supposed to be an empirical point of view; what can be observed with the senses is affirmed, and what cannot is deemed improbable. In reality, however, it is contrary to all logic and no more justified by empirical experience. For example, in spite of what certain scientists may believe, whatever correspondence may exist between mental experience and cerebral activity, it is fantastical to equate the two entirely. One is experienced internally, while the other is observed from the outside. One comprises images, ideas, and awareness, while the other consists of flesh and electricity.

It is equally absurd to equate sense perception itself with the bodily activity to which it corresponds; no arrangement of matter can account for vision, no quantity of particles can account for the experience of heat.

It took many centuries for this new, ‘quantitative’ mentality to take its hold on people and for such simple truths to start being ignored. Those who are taken with it are sucked in by external phenomena, to the point that they almost forget their own being, and it leads to an experience of the world that’s barely more conscious than the typical experience of the dream state, such that the world is experienced more like a dream by the materialists than by those who really see it as such.

Where materialism doesn’t produce nihilism, it typically gives way to sentimentalism and romanticism instead, as the individual seeks to find meaning in his experience without reference to the transcendent.

But nothing receives meaning from any other source, and to seek it elsewhere is like seeking nourishment from artificial food; for a time it may help to get by, but it’s no replacement for the real thing.

In truth, nothing of meaning can be sought in the external.

Whatever is ‘divine’ is necessarily ‘internal’.5

But it is equally erroneous to reduce the internal to the psychic or even to view the latter as truly internal. While relatively internal in comparison to the corporeal, it is not the true being and mustn’t be mistaken for it, and as long as the being views the world through the lens of individual consciousness, Reality will necessarily appear as something other than himself.

It is often the case that those who fail to realise this turn to their own psyche as an escape from things outside of themselves; seeing the relativity of the outside world, they conclude, against all other evidence, that it must be nothing more than a phantasm, something entirely nonexistent, from which they can escape by merely taking refuge in their own sense of self-consciousness.

Yet this self-consciousness is powerless to truly affect anything outside of itself, at least without resorting to external action, and so they are left disempowered and unhappy, deprived of strength as well as of any sense of the real. Their imaginary safe haven possesses no more constancy than the world they hide from, and they are inevitably met with shock and frustration as reality begins to deconstruct it.

This point of view is especially prevalent among neo-spiritualists, who often see spirituality not as a way to discover and embrace the fullness of Reality, but as an escape route from It.

Their error is summed up well by Guido de Giorgio in the following excerpt:

Confusing the notion of truth with a nebulous and treacherous mysticism, they denied [sensible] Forms while asserting a reality that, like mist, enshrouds things, blurring their contours, rounding their edges, but submerging and preserving them as such. Such a conception is absolutely erroneous and dangerous, for it confounds the human and the divine through ignorance of both, turning the absolute into an amorphous heap and the relative into the confused elements of a confused whole.6

Rather

In man, man is affirmed, and in things, things are affirmed, not outside of man and outside of things, but by truly affirming man in man and things in things, that is, by placing the one and the others in their true light, we arrive at the negation of man and things, and this negation is the affirmation of the reality of God, which we reach precisely through man and things.7

While the human understanding of the world is missing context and distorts its true nature, there would be nothing to distort if the world lacked all reality. And this applies to the individual psyche as much as anything else; although it’s capable of leading the being beyond himself, it’s equally capable of dragging him beneath himself. This is why there are two serpents on the Caduceus of Hermes and why there are two distinct signs of Mercury; the psychic state houses the gate to the heavens side by side with the gate to the underworld.

The end goal of all spiritual activity is to achieve a total realisation of all that is, and to hide from things can only be detrimental. If someone truly wished to escape from the contingent, he would need to be prepared to embrace the All. There is no final dissolution of things aside from this total restoration. While the destination is the highest Peace, the journey is a violent struggle.

Order only appears when a standpoint is taken that is above multiplicity and from which things are no longer seen in isolation and “distinctively”, but in their essential unity. This is the standpoint of reality, for apart from its principle multiplicity has only an illusory existence ; but that illusion, with the disorder inherent in it, endures for every being so long as he has not arrived in a fully effective manner (and not merely theoretically) at this standpoint of the “unity of Existence” (Wahdatul wujûd) in all the modes and degrees of universal manifestation.8

To conclude, there is a serious danger for anyone who denies an aspect of reality. If they deny the transcendent, they confine themselves to the lower world, but if they deny the imminent, they can never reach a proper understanding of the Real, at least not before their illusions are destroyed by the course of time. Let us then refrain from ignoring what’s in front of us, and let us apply careful judgement when discerning what’s true and what’s not.

It is true that this world is a nothing in comparison to absolute reality, but we shouldn’t take this as grounds for holding the former in contempt; as long as we are familiar with this world and ignorant of absolute reality, we can only respond to the knowledge of our smallness with awe for the great.

The proper role of the ‘hero’ is always and everywhere represented as a ‘quest,’ which, though it can be crowned with success, also risks leading to failure; and the ‘quest’ itself supposes that there is, when the ‘hero’ appears, something previously lost for him to rediscover.

René Guénon

There was a time, in the very remote past, when man needed to make no other effort towards transcendence than to simply exist; from the moment of his birth, he perceived the fullness of this world and the world of the ‘universal soul’ directly, presiding over them both as simple extensions of his own potency and passing his days in supernatural bliss.

However, in our times, although there remain a few who, by turning inwards and opening themselves to pure knowledge, might achieve a similar spiritual realisation, the vast majority of beings know only illusion, necessity, and unrest.

But between the sage who is freed by knowledge and the essentially passive being who will never know freedom, there exists a third type, the Vīra, or ‘hero’, who

is distinguished from the paśu, that is to say from the being subjected to the bonds of common existence, less by an effective knowledge than by a voluntary affirmation of ‘autonomy.’1

It is to the action-orientated Vīra that the methods put forth by the Tantras are especially suited, which he relies on as external supports for an internal realisation.

It should nonetheless be understood that, while the doctrines of Tantrism did not develop in act until relatively late (although perhaps much earlier than is generally believed), they cannot be considered a secondary addition to the Hindu doctrines. Rather, they are merely the application of a knowledge adhering in the Vedas from the beginning but which had no practical use before a certain stage of decadence had been reached.

As for the true nature of these doctrines in the deepest sense, being orientated around the inexpressible, it will necessarily elude the understanding of anyone who looks from the outside, but nonetheless, we needn’t thereby lose hope of gaining a rough understanding of the general principles upon which they’re based.

Guénon establishes the foundation for such an understanding in the following passage:

The kind of yoga we are dealing with here is related to what is called laya-yoga, which consists essentially of a process of ‘dissolution’ (laya), that is, resorption into the non-manifested of the different constitutive elements of the individual manifestation, this resorption taking place gradually in an order that is strictly opposite to that of the production (Srishti) or development (prapancha) of this same manifestation. 2

Strictly speaking, anything that ‘exists’ - that is, anything manifest - is by definition illusory. To exist is to become and unbecome, to participate in reality only by reference to something other, and therefore to participate in a partial reality destined to come undone.

For this reason, even those states of manifestation that transcend time are subject to a certain ‘eventual’ dissolution (something we’ll have to be content to not fully understand).

Universal manifestation viewed as a whole is often referred to in Sanskrit by the term samsāra; as we have explained before, it includes an indefinite series of cycles, that is to say of states or degrees of existence, each of which terminates in a pralaya3

That is, a dissolution. Hence ‘laya-yoga’.

Dissolution, understood properly, is only a restoration of particular possibilities into the undifferentiated synthesis of non-manifest Possibility.

This dissolution, if it be accomplished in ‘passive mode’, is no more exalted than deep sleep, the partial return to the non-manifest experienced regularly by all creatures.

Just as there is a return from that state to the individual condition, even so there can be a return to another cycle of manifestation for the being who is only united with Brahma in passive mode.4

As opposed to the total Liberation and Infinite empowerment of a metaphysical realisation accomplished actively.

the only mode which really implies a taking possession by the being of its absolute and final state.5

This yoga of dissolution seems to be portrayed, quite vividly, in the myth of Demophon, the prince of Eleusis nursed by the goddess Demeter. Wishing to bestow divinity upon the infant prince, she discretely carries him to his family’s hearth each night, and, after anointing him with ambrosia and breathing over him her divine breath, carefully lowers him into the fire, gradually burning away his mortal spirit. She persists until, one night, the boy’s mother walks in and, upon witnessing the ritual, lets out a shriek in terror. This angers the goddess and causes her to despair of offering such lofty gifts to as ignorant a race as human beings, who are unable to see past their prejudices and comprehend the workings of the divine.

To be sure, the ‘mortal spirit’ of Demophon is not lost in this process. On the contrary, it is restored to the superior Reality which is its beginning and end, from which it never truly departed save in illusory mode.

Nothing of what is manifested can ever 'be lost', to use a frequently heard expression, other than by its passage into the non-manifested; and of course this very passage (which in the case of individual manifestation is properly a 'transformation' in the etymological sense, that is, passage beyond form) constitutes a 'loss' only from the special point of view of manifestation, for in the state of non-manifestation, on the contrary, all things subsist eternally in principle, independent of all the particular and limiting conditions that characterize this or that mode of manifested existence.6

A passage to the non-manifest is achievable for the simple reason that, according to the fundamental metaphysical law of non-duality, no contingent thing can be anything other than an ‘aspect’ of its immediate principle viewed from some particular angle, and, by extension, simply a particular perspective reflecting the Supreme Brahma, or metaphysical Infinity. The transition, therefore, from a more relative state to a more exalted one and vice versa is simply an adjustment of perspective, although this adjustment must be effective and not merely theoretical.

This identification of one aspect with another higher aspect, and so on through different degrees up to the Supreme Principle, is after all but the vanishing of so many ‘separative’ illusions, which certain initiations represent as a series of veils that drop away in succession.7

Conceived as Infinite Possibility, the Supreme Brahma is identical to Shakti, “Power”, the supreme divinity in most schools of Tantrism.

At a more relative level, Shakti manifests as a ‘cosmic force’ of potentiality, which resides in the human being as a vital force known as Kundalinī.

A certain identity can be established between Kundalinī and the pinda, which Guénon alludes to in the following passages.

To pass on now to the microcosmic application, we need only recall the analogy that exists between the pinda, the subtle embryo of the individual being, and the Brahmanda or ‘World Egg’; and the pinda, inasmuch as it is the permanent and indestructible seed of the being, is identified also with the ‘kernel of immortality’ which is called luz in the Hebraic tradition.8

The luz is said to be located toward the lower end of the spinal column; this might seem rather strange, but becomes clear when it is compared with what the Hindu tradition says about the power called Kundalinī, which is a form of Shakti considered as immanent in the human being.9

The potentiality of the pinda is expressed and actualised by all the manifestations of the individuality throughout its various modalities, but, by itself and in spite of its outward expression, it remains permanently unchanged as principial potentiality, just as pure Being remains unchanged by the unfolding of manifestation.

Perhaps, then, similarly to how pure Being is said to act upon the worlds it encompasses by way of its Essence10, the subtle principle of the individual being could interact with him by way of its energies. Energies which must first be ‘awakened’.

When Kundalinī is ‘awakened’ by the appropriate practices, the description of which we will not enter, it enters sushumna [the subtle channel situated within the spinal column] and, during its ascent, successively ‘pierces’ the various ‘lotuses,’ which flourish as it passes; as it reaches each centre in this way, it reabsorbs into itself, as we have already said, the various principles of individual manifestation which are especially related to this centre and, thus reduced to the potential state, are carried with it in its movement towards the higher centre.11

What’s illustrated here pertains especially to the point of view of corporeal manifestation, but we shouldn’t, seeing this, fall into the error of reducing the entire process to physiology; the latter simply reflects realities that transcend it in its own way, as do all things.

It must be added, because of the correspondences that exist between all states of existence, each of them contains in some way a reflection of all the other states, which makes it possible to ‘locate’, for example, in the field of gross manifestation, whether contemplated elsewhere in the cosmic ensemble or in the human body, ‘regions’ corresponding to various modes of subtle manifestation, and even to a whole hierarchy of ‘worlds’ that represent so many different degrees in universal Existence.12

As the Kundalinī ascends through these centres in the body, the being is gradually reabsorbed into his principle one step at a time.

To give a rough overview, first to be reabsorbed are the five faculties of sensation and the five faculties of action13, which must return to Manas, the mind or ‘inner sense’, which consists of reason, memory, and imagination.

Now residing in the subtle state, the being no longer perceives sensible properties as in the corporeal world, but their essential principles, called tanmātras.

These qualities must be looked upon here as existing in a relatively principial and ‘non-developed’ state only, since it is through the bhūtas [corporeal elements] alone that they will be actually manifested in the sensible order; furthermore, the relation of the tanmātras to the bhūtas is analogous, in its relative degree, to that of ‘essence’ to ‘substance’, so that the term ‘elementary essences’ could be applied accurately enough to the tanmātras14

It is thus that, despite the analogy, sense perception in the subtle state has a character that’s altogether distinct from its corporeal counterpart.

Manas must in turn be absorbed into prāna, the life-giving ‘breath’ that processes elements from the ‘cosmic environment’ and assimilates them to the individuality.

This is all in turn absorbed into Jīvātmā, the ‘living soul’, the integral individuality and principle of life.15 Somewhere around this point, the Kundalinī arrives at the ajna chakra, situated between the eyes, where the being enjoys ‘virtual immortality’ and the ‘sense of eternity’.16 This is the summit of human possibilities and the final object of the hero’s quest.

Throughout his realisation and up to this point, he will have acquired a range of new ‘powers’, but were he to have taken these as an end in themselves, his effort would have taken on a diabolical character and been diverted towards nefarious ends. Similarly, if he chooses to stop here, he awaits an inevitable descent, and, in the end, his work will have been in vain.

The next stage of his work will no longer be properly ‘Tantric’, and he will no longer be able to turn to the same external supports, relying purely on Knowledge to carry him further, but in its current state of self-containment, his individuality is ripe to become transmuted into pure intellectuality (Buddhi) as the Kundalinī ascends from the ajna chakra to the Brahma-randhra at the crown of the head.

His virtual immortality is now actualised, insofar as he need no longer fear a return to the condition of individual existence. However,

The return thence to another cycle of manifestation is still possible; but, since the being is set free from individuality (as distinct from what occurs to one following the pitri-yāna), that cycle can only be a formless and supra-individual state.17

A final cessation of these cycles of change can only occur for the one who has finally transcended manifestation and attained total Liberation. The Kundalinī thence penetrates the crown of the head to extend beyond, as the being penetrates the firmament to ‘exit the cosmos’. He has now achieved all he set out to and more: the Supreme Identity, total Knowledge, and Infinite Power.

Of course such considerations won’t suffice if we wish to comprehend the deepest secrets of Tantrism, secrets that couldn’t ever be disclosed by human language, but, if nothing more, they should at least help us to better understand its approach and hopefully broaden our understanding of Reality in the process.

Yet Hinduism does not favour either of these points of view when it attributes the unfolding of manifestation in equal part to Puruṣa and Prakṛti, nor does Taoism in seeing Yin and Yang in all component things, nor even those philosophical schools of the Middle Ages that spoke of ‘God’ and ‘Nature’ as though they were complementary terms.

To these two ‘poles of manifestation’, Guénon assigns the names ‘Essence’ and ‘Substance’, describing Substance as pure potentiality1, lacking a positive existence in itself, and Essence as a particularised expression of the Principle, a positive and direct reflection of the absolute in manifestation2.

Essence therefore expresses, in the relative way proper to its own level, the nature of the Supreme Principle, the only true Knower, which realises the entirety of total Possibility as a Knowledge of Its Self. In that case, we might explain the relationship of Essence and Substance, and therefore of Providence and Necessity, as something like this: all that can be ‘experienced’ or ‘known’ is realised by the very fact of its possibility3, but it cannot be known if not by a knower, around whom it revolves, falling into place in order to become intelligible and assimilable.

We could perhaps illustrate this point more effectively through the use of geometrical symbolism. If we imagine a point which expands indefinitely in all directions to form a 2D plane, the lines comprised in this plane will extend further and further away from this central point, yet nonetheless, by reference to it, they will remain in harmony with each other. And so, if the point expands equally in all directions, which it must do when this expansion is indefinite, the plane may be thought of as disc-shaped, albeit indefinitely large.

However, the indefinite is merely the product of the finite; without the unit, there could be no sequence of numbers; without the point, there could be no expanse of space, and for this reason, even the indefinite is limited by its very nature. To give a possible example, while the sequence of numbers can always be increased by addition and multiplication, it only exists through its realisation in the world or worlds that accommodate for it4, and its application in these worlds is limited by their finitude. That is to say, while there may not be a ‘highest number’ absolutely, there is still a highest number of things manifested, a number which escapes analysis and is therefore called indefinite.5

It is thus that Guénon, when referring to the geometrical symbolism we brought up previously, is able to say this:

the arrival of these modifications6 at the limit of the circle following the centrifugal radius corresponds to their maximum dispersion, while at the same time necessarily being the stopping-point of their centrifugal movement.7

We now have all the context we need to understand the principles that govern the unfolding of time in our world. In the beginning, the harmonising influence of Essence, which reflects the total Equilibrium of the Principle, exerts itself to the greatest possible extent, before the outward development of things causes its gradual extenuation; with increased dispersion comes increased disorder, and the multiplication of possibilities becomes the foundation of disunity.

Yet, as we stated at the beginning of this essay, nothing can exist without being governed by a higher order, and, as such, from the beginning to the very end, time remains in harmony with cyclical laws. This is the case even when it reaches the ‘stopping-point of its centrifugal movement’ and is reabsorbed into the principial darkness of non-manifestation, a darkness reflected by night in the diurnal cycle. It’s during the night that, following the law of inverse analogy, the ‘spiritual sun’ passes through the heavens, reaching its zenith at midnight.

In the annual cycle, the time of the long night corresponds to the limit of the sun’s southward descent and its subsequent reversal of direction.

The celebration of Christmas occurs during one of the longest nights of the year. Night being synonymous of darkness, it carries a superior meaning along with every symbol when considered from the metaphysical perspective and does indeed particularly symbolize the principle state of non-manifestation.8

The southward course of the sun that lasts from the summer solstice to the winter solstice is, for the Hindus, an inauspicious time of year, corresponding to instability, decline, and the so-called ‘path of the ancestors’, the path followed by those departed souls destined for a return to the bondage of the world. Inversely, the time of the northward solar ascent corresponds to the immutability of the spiritual ‘pole’ and the ‘path of gods’.

Those who know the Supreme Brahma pass away from the world … at an auspicious moment, during the … six months when the sun travels in the north.

The aspirant who passes away from this world … in the six months when the sun passes to the south … again comes back.9

An identical symbolism existed in Ancient Greece, most notably among the Pythagoreans, who referred to the zodiacal signs of Cancer, where the sun resides during the summer solstice, and Capricorn, where it resides during the winter solstice and Christmas, as the ‘gateway of men’ and ‘gateway of gods’ respectively. Each soul was to pass through one or the other at the time of death, depending on whether it was to ascend to divinity or re-descend and pass through an earthly life once more.

But the ‘gateway of gods’, not restricted to the ascent of men to heaven, also provides a passage for gods entering the world of men. As such, in Mithraism as well as Christianity, the incarnation of divinity is said to occur on Christmas Day, both of these incarnations being witnessed by ‘shepherds’.

The narratives surrounding both are naturally rich in symbolism, but we’ll make special reference to the Christian nativity as it concerns the celebration of Christmas more directly.

Of particular note are the ‘three wise men’, whom Guénon identifies with the bearers of the three ‘supreme functions’, the rulers of the supreme spiritual centre, who regulate the affairs of the earth from its interior. These beings resemble ‘incarnations’ and representatives of the three ‘worlds’ respectively, considered in their integrality. That is, universal corporeal manifestation, the ‘universal soul’, and the universal Spirit.

we can now say that in reality these mysterious personages represent nothing other than the three heads of Agarttha. The Mahānga offers gold to Christ and hails him as ‘King’; the Mahātmā offers incense and hails him as ‘Priest’; and finally the Brahātmā, hailing him as ‘Prophet’, or Spiritual Master par excellence, offers myrrh (the balm of incorruptibility, symbol of Amrita). The homage rendered in this way to the new-born Christ by the authentic representatives of the primordial tradition in the three worlds which are their respective domains, is at the same time, we should clearly note, the assurance of the perfect orthodoxy of Christianity in this respect.10

In addition to this, as concerns the scene of the Nativity, he notes that

The ox and the ass placed on either side of the manger at the birth of Christ symbolise respectively the totality of benefic and malefic forces.11

Which are united in Him, the Principle of all manifest things.

Yet, in addition to that which concerns ‘sacred history’, there is also no shortage of symbolism surrounding Christmas derived from folklore, and this latter has the potential to be similarly, even equally, profound.

The people thus preserve, without understanding them, the debris of ancient traditions sometimes even reaching back to a past too remote to be determined and which is therefore consigned to the obscure domain of ‘prehistory’; and in so doing they function as a more or less ‘subconscious’ collective memory, of which the content has manifestly come from somewhere else.12

An example of this is seen in Santa Claus.

Santa Claus leaves the North Pole at midnight, dressed in red and white (symbolizing the colors of life and purity), and descends down the Axis of the World13 bringing “gifts” to the hearts of many. The “gifts” are placed under a Christmas Tree, with a star at its top, covered with lights and Christmas orbs. The orbs, like the “gifts”, represent the fruits of the Tree of Life. These “gifts” from a metaphysical perspective, are intuitive knowledge of the Incommunicable, revealing itself in the hearts of human beings who have reached the Center of the World, on their inner quest for a sense of eternity.14

The use of the tree in celebrations surrounding the winter solstice likely has ancient origins. The trunk of the tree is itself a symbol of the ‘world axis’, its branches symbolising the diversity of worlds that find their origin and their centre in the same source. It will be seen that this symbolism is not far removed from that of the 2D plane alluded to earlier.

Evergreen trees particularly symbolize immortality, as they stand outside the cycle of death and rebirth which is typically associated to other trees. Pine trees, such as the ones used traditionally as Christmas trees, have a naturally definitive triangular shape starting with a large base and ending with a point at the top. The pine tree has therefore the shape of an upward triangle ∆, which is also traditionally used to symbolize mountains, both examples of an Axis of the World. Heaven is said to be traditionally located at the top of the highest mountain, and it is no surprise that a single large star is often placed at the top of Christmas trees.15

With all these considerations in mind, we can easily justify the unique enthusiasm that accompanies the celebrations held at this time of year; the other days of the year, whatever significance they may have, correspond only to so many phases in the life of our world, while the day of the winter solstice corresponds to its final rapture, the twilight of a world condemned to chaos and the dawn of Harmony.

The fundamental difference lies in Evola’s belief that an independent spiritual effort, purely active and free from formalism, is practically the only viable path for the man living in these times to achieve transcendence, and Guénon’s insistence that, on the contrary, it’s now more than ever that man, no longer possessing a natural inclination to higher modes of being, depends on something outside of himself if he is to achieve a spiritual realisation, and that, consequently, attachment to a regular and orthodox traditional form is a non-negotiable for anyone with such intentions.

These divergent points of view continue to provide a source of controversy for traditionalists today and are capable of giving rise to a lengthy discussion in themselves, while also raising further questions on the nature of spiritual realisation, the relationship between the eternal and the temporal, and so on. The main purpose of this dialogue will be to explore some of the arguments put forth by either side on the issue. However, it will surely not exhaust all points with the potential to be relevant to the subject discussed. It also seems worthwhile to clarify that the characters involved are not intended to represent exactly the views of Guénon, Evola, or anyone else, but only to paint a picture of the arguments that might be put forth by one who believes that a spiritual realisation can be effected independently and one who believes that a transmission is required.

With these reservations borne in mind, we can now proceed to the story:

Learning of the death of his former associate, René Guénon, several years after the event, the publisher of a French periodical on esoterism feels compelled to give something in return for the wisdom he’d received from him. He thus resolves to send a parcel of gifts to his family through the intermediary of Mohammed, an Islamic convert living in Egypt who’s in contact with them at the time. Unfortunately for him, he lacks the time to make the journey by himself, necessitating the use of a second intermediary, Georges, who happens to have a flight booked to Cairo a few weeks ahead.

The landing of the plane is bittersweet for Georges, who enjoys the awareness of being thousands of feet above ground, a feeling of freedom compromised only by the presence of others onboard the plane, yet he looks forward to experiencing the spiritual life of the land of pyramids.

He is met immediately at the airport by Mohammed, who rushes to greet him.

“Mashallah, you arrived safely”

A polite nod is given in response.

He jokes, “I’ll thank God if I never have to step foot in a plane again; how typical is it of modern man to be dissatisfied with the means of travel accorded to him by nature?”

After chuckling in response, Georges asks him if he’s ready to take the parcel from there. Mohammed assents and takes it off him, but before leaving he checks, “To be sure, you have arrangements for tonight?”

Georges replies, “I’ve looked into some hotels in the city.”

“Oh no, don’t think about wasting your money; I for one couldn’t leave here with my conscience intact if I knew that’s what you would do. If you have no contacts in Cairo to host you, follow me to my car.”

Georges protests, laughing, “It’s really no problem; I’m looking forward to seeing what this country has to offer for tourists.”

“If you truly want to experience what this country has to offer, you’ll be far more interested in where I’m going than in commercial hotels.”

“Where are you going?”

“Right into the heart of the Western desert. I’ve been travelling around there with the local Bedouins for the past few months. Instead of a rattling ceiling fan, there you’ll have the silent desert breeze, and they’ll be more than willing to receive a new guest such as yourself with every kind of hospitality. If you want to know Egypt, you’ll come with me.”

It’s not the answer he was expecting, but the value of the opportunity is obvious, and so, with little hesitation, he agrees to go.

The drive is long, but any doubt as to its worth is removed as he steps out of the vehicle and onto the sand. The landscape is the same in all directions: sand and sky as far as the eye can see.

It is already evening, and, as promised, he is welcomed warmly and entertained thoroughly. Music is performed, games are played, and much food eaten. Added to this is the conversation, at first light-hearted but increasingly intellectually stimulating as the night goes on. When no one can eat any more, and the view of the horizon is replaced with blackness, leaving only the stars visible besides whatever’s in range of the campfire, Mohammed stands up into the cold and speaks as follows:

“Neither Georges nor I would be here with you all today if it wasn’t for the writings of René Guénon, and so it would seem as good a time as any, if it pleases the rest of you, to say some words in his remembrance.”

With the eager assent of all, he continues.

“Were I to stand here and declare that the insight provided by Guénon was unparalleled, that he lived the life of a holy man, even that he was a saint, I expect my words would be redundant; the profundity of his intellect and the piety of his life are by now well known.

For many of us who are fortunate enough to have discovered his writings, it would be difficult to say where we’d be without him, but I suspect we’d either be practising religions without understanding and without faith or practising philosophy without reference to the sacred; either way we’d be confused.

Truly the clarity, the lucidity, the directness with which he exposed the truth is unrivalled; the firmness, the cold precision with which he exposed falsehoods was a perfect complement to the warmth of his compassion. The latter is confirmed in his letters; ever ready was he to respond to the questions put forth to him, and ever friendly was he in his response, no doubt sympathising with his correspondent’s search for truth.

He first made apparent his intellectual capabilities in childhood, a time when, never ceasing to be troubled by ill health, he never ceased to excel in his studies, regularly the first in his class. His best subjects were, unsurprisingly, religious studies, philosophy, and mathematics. He would receive a baccalaureate in both of the latter two subjects.

While making preparations to apply for two of the most prestigious educational institutes in Paris, he was sabotaged again by ill health, forcing him to abandon mainstream education for good.

He would soon immerse himself in various of France’s occult societies, managing to reach positions of prominence in several, but was inevitably disappointed with what these had to offer him spiritually. Having received initiation into a Hindu lineage, he began to study various traditional doctrines, observing a perfect concordance between them all. His studies were no doubt aided by his linguistic abilities, considering he at least knew French, English, Italian, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian, Latin, Ancient Greek, Sanskrit, Hebrew, Arabic, and Classical Chinese.

Around this time, he also received initiation into Taoism and Sufism. A large portion of his lifestyle involved spending time with his wife and caring for his niece, whose mother was incapable of raising her, while also taking care of the education of students at a secondary school. He would often take walks in the nearby forests, and there is a story that late one night, while on such a walk, he stumbled into a ditch from which he couldn’t escape, suspecting that he may even be left there to die due to the remoteness of the location, until he was rescued by a mysterious man who disappeared into the darkness before he had the chance to thank him.

In any case, he would go on to lecture philosophy at a university in Algeria before returning to France to teach at an all-girls school. But God had other plans for his life: around 1927, he was let go from his job and forced to return his niece to her mother after the death of his wife, a death that came suddenly, just a few days after she had contracted meningitis. These events were difficult for Guénon to deal with, yet the busyness of his life, teaching and writing, left him little time to grieve.

After a few years had gone by, he travelled to Cairo in search of Sufi texts to be translated and published, but there he found himself at home, eventually deciding against a return to France.

As the story goes, he would one day attend a gathering of Sufis in Cairo, where he would recognise the face of one of the Sheikhs: Salāma Hasan al-Rādī; it was the man who had saved him that night in France. Al-Rādī acknowledged him in return, offering him his embrace, yet multiple testimonies confirm the Sheikh had never travelled to France in his life.

The devotion and rigour with which Guénon practised Islam upon conversion was as well known to the Muslims of Cairo as his spiritual advancement, and so they would pay reverence to him every time he entered the mosque. He was described by the Sheikh of Al-Azhar Al-Sharif as a “knower of God”.

On the 7th of January 1951, at the age of 64, he would pass away after consoling his wife, affirming the salvation of his soul, a matter of hours before his beloved cat Uthman would follow suit. He died repeating the divine name “Allah”.

How blessed are we to have access to the wisdom of this saintly man! That something so improbable could happen, that in a time replete with confusion and ignorance the light of truth could assert itself as plainly and as clearly as it does in his works, can only be by the Grace of Allah. There is, after all, no knowledge but God’s Knowledge, no stability but His, and He freely distributes these amongst all of His fortunate children. It is his way of bringing all things into Harmony; even the lowest circle of Hell is subject to His Law. But the world, the contingencies of individual existence, the base, the low, the chaotic – it all comes and goes like the seasons, while the heavens remain immutable and eternal; so destined are we for salvation! Mashallah!”

Cheers of “Mashallah” were let out around the camp before Georges took the opportunity to raise one question.

“Guénon was no doubt an exceptional man, and we are fortunate to have his works available, but I’m somewhat surprised by all the talk of divine Grace; was he not a promoter of an esoteric, initiatic spirituality? I can’t see that any such spirituality, if it is to lead the being to true liberation, could permit a passive devotionalism to an external reference point.”

Provoking the following response from Mohammed:

“How could it be otherwise? Just as darkness cannot produce light from itself, it would be impossible for the ignorance of the individual soul to produce Knowledge from itself. The faculties of action in the world and of contemplation in the individual consciousness can lead only to effects in the world and in the individual domain; if the being is to achieve any degree of spiritual realisation whatsoever, he must find aid in a supra-individual source, which he cannot access in himself as long as he remains subject to the conditions of individual existence. It is God that brings man into the world, and nothing but God can take him beyond it.

If you’ve heard of Guénon, you’re surely aware of the perfect concordance of traditional forms, which express the same facts through the use of the same symbolism, and what is one thing they all ask of us? They ask that we practise their rites, follow their law, and stay firmly within the realm of orthodoxy; just as the Holy Spirit is to be sought in the Church, the Buddha exhorts us to seek refuge in the Sangha. And it is only by submitting ourselves to the law expressed through the revealed word of God that we can avoid our understanding of truth being dictated by our own desires. So what value can a rogue spiritualism have in these circumstances? Logic tells us that the lesser is insufficient to produce the greater from itself, and God Himself affirms as much in the sacred texts of every tradition.”

Once he’d finished speaking, Mohammed sat back down. Georges, asking permission from those present, stood up in his place and began to defend his point of view:

“I believe we’re in agreement that spiritual realisation is the product of effective knowledge; it is nothing other than the removal of ignorance, and so even if rites and other forms of external action offer a support for this effort, they cannot change the fact that the effort is really internal, nor can they affect the presence or absence of the thing to be discovered; darkness does not produce light from itself, but the individual who lives in darkness because his eyes are closed always retains the power to open them. For these reasons, anything external to the being, whether it be the Sangha or even the Holy Spirit, could only ever provide a support or influence at most, but they could not provide a substitute for the work that is to be done internally. And such influences, relevant only to the exoteric religions, are as useless to the spiritually differentiated man as a candle to him who seeks the daylight. They serve to benefit the masses, who lack the initiative for a spiritual realisation, or even the least inclination towards spirituality, but for us, who are content to leave the constant becoming of a contingent and passive existence to these, what value can a submission to external forces offer? And, at that, a submission to the same processes that got us here in the first place; I therefore can’t agree with your reasoning that God brings us into this world, so God will take us out of it. And the traditions of our time, at least in the West, provide little opportunity for even a relative improvement of condition; the Catholic Church risks falling into a state of disunity, and I needn’t mention the domain of initiation.

However that may be, it’s essential to note that activity cannot be the product of passivity; liberation cannot be the product of submission; dare I even say, knowledge cannot be the product of faith. The men of former ages understood this well, and one would be hard-pressed to find anything resembling today’s religiosity in the heroic and solar spirituality of antiquity.

You argue that the faculties of the individual couldn’t go beyond themselves, yet this is not what’s desired; we aim not to develop these faculties but to withdraw from them, allowing room for the transcendent nature of the Self to make itself apparent. And if it’s possible to realise the Supreme Identity in this way, it’s surely possible to achieve a lesser realisation by the same means, as the former comprehends the latter. True spiritual realisation is a quest for eternity, so the affiliations of the individual in time, as well as whatever actions he may perform, are irrelevant in view of this realisation.”

No sooner did Georges sit down than Mohammed stood up once again.

“You are correct to observe that a metaphysical realisation is the privilege of the few, whereas the majority of people must stop short at the more relative realisation proper to exoterism, but I would like to add some emphasis to the fact that, in our times especially, initiation is not only for a minority of beings but an extreme minority at that, such that it can almost be ruled out entirely, especially, as you imply, for those living in the west, and even those who approach it would struggle to get very far if they lacked the foundation provided by exoterism. Even if it could be possible to achieve an absolute realisation immediately, and even if the being who achieved such a realisation would thereby possess the more relative states in synthesis, this doesn’t mean the more relative states could be achieved in succession with the same directness; if it were otherwise, one individual could transform at will into another individual without having reached their common principle, which is a manifest absurdity.

As for the exoteric institutions of our times, we oughtn’t permit ourselves to make judgements as concerns their validity, but we should at least bear in mind Aesop’s fable of the ass bearing sacred objects. To give a summary, some passersby prostrate themselves to these sacred objects, giving the ass the idea that they’re honouring him. He is then chastised by his owner for his arrogance. We can perhaps see here how the degeneration of an organisation carrying a spiritual influence may not be so essential as regards the transmission of this influence.

I also don’t see how the practice of an exoteric tradition can be simultaneously considered as a passive process and an internal effort.

Nor do I see how an individual being, whose entire existence is determined by the conditions of individuality, could simply turn this individuality off as if by the flick of a switch. While it may be true that a spiritual realisation is a negative process, a peeling away of the layers of illusion, by the law of inverse analogy, it necessarily takes on a positive character for the individual, as all traditions agree; it is invariably symbolised as a genesis, an illumination. Accordingly, what appears at first as external will at last become one with the being that has transcended the distinction of subject and object.

The initiatic journey is one replete with dangers; in partially removing illusion, the being removes a source of stability, exposing himself to influences of all kinds. To attempt to embark on such a journey alone is to attempt to pass between Scylla and Charybdis by swimming. While this may have been possible for a certain human type, for all intents and purposes now extinct, this is because this human type already possessed a greater spiritual elevation from birth than we might hope to achieve over the course of our lives, and it is for similar reasons that we cannot compare the spirituality of our own time to that of former ages.

The so-called ‘self-initiation’ is a process that lacks control, lacks hierarchy, lacks order, and lacks any spiritual transmission, so in what respect can it be called an initiation?

It also lacks the ‘means of recognition’ that assure the initiate of the reliability of the path he follows and the reality of his experience. If anyone could lay claim to a spiritual realisation without a regular initiation, how could we distinguish between a sincere adept and a charlatan?

And the ‘second birth’ cannot be effected without a cause any more than the genesis of the human body can occur without conception in the corporeal world, all while the subtle embryo of the being exists independently of this conception.

It seems obvious enough that the only source of reliability when it comes to spirituality is to be found in those organisations that can claim a supra-human origin and that can offer a transmission that brings the initiate into contact with this origin.”

Again, the one sat down and the other stood up.

“There’s no shortage of master masons and Sufi Sheikhs who prove that orthodox lineage is no guarantee of sincerity, but let there be ten thousand charlatans for every sincere adept; confusion and error are inevitable when one looks outward, they’re a risk when one looks inward, yet they’re powerless to affect the nature of the truth.

The partial realisation of exoterism is both a passive process and an internal effort, as all conditioned action is passive to some degree, while pure intellectual contemplation alone has the potential to be purely active. And this could surely be achieved by an act of the individual will to withdraw itself, as there is nothing that stops the body from destroying itself, even though all of its action and its entire existence remain restricted to the corporeal domain.

Despite all this, the Self never changes; it is just the same now as it was in former times and will be in the future, for all human types.

With regards to the practice of exoteric religions, I wonder, if it is the Will of God, omnipotent as He is, to raise beings upwards and bring them towards Himself, if He could not achieve this without the preamble of rites and religious practice?

In sum, I need only state one thing: that the truth is absolute; therefore, no contingent factor should be able to prevent the being from realising this truth.”

He hesitated to sit down, as if there was more he wished to say. Likewise, Mohammed was preparing himself to respond to the points that had just been made, but in order to prevent the night from slipping away with endless discussion, one of the Bedouins present offered his own perspective in the hopes of rounding up the conversation for the night.

“I, for my part, will say this: it’s exceedingly difficult to judge for sure what is and isn’t possible in an absolute sense, but it’s easier to say what can and cannot be hoped for practically, and if we wish to avoid frustration at best and extreme spiritual dangers at worst, we will need to administer careful judgement.

We are inescapably bound on this earth to passivity and ignorance, yet we hope to achieve freedom and wisdom. It’s a difficult predicament, and if it wasn’t so essential for us, we might despair of it.

It’s getting late now; in my opinion, we should finish talking for the time being and reflect on these matters as we pack everything up.”

And so, with no certain resolution, all who were present continued to reflect some more.

One such centre is that which has been called the ‘eternal city’. It first gave birth to a people that spread its law from Britain to the Euphrates, and it later provided the one source of unity for the fragmented and warring kingdoms of mediaeval Europe.

A link between the Roman civilisation and the polar, Hyperborean civilisation that bore the primordial tradition is indicated by the motif of the she-wolf, a symbol of the polar constellation.

In the ancient traditions of the countries bordering the Baltic and Norwegian Seas, the wolf was always considered to be an animal of light, a sort of solar genie to whom the constellation of the Great Bear was dedicated.1

Yet this does not exclude the possibility, alongside the obvious Indo-European migration from the east, of elements present in the Roman tradition derived from the Atlantean civilisation of the west; the name Hesperia, translated as ‘Western land’, which was given to the Italian peninsula by the Greeks, is also the name of one of the Hesperides, the daughters of Atlas, and many linguists propose a special link between the Italic and Celtic peoples.

The Celtic tradition could probably be regarded as truly constituting one of the ‘links’ between the Atlantean tradition and the Hyperborean tradition, after the end of the secondary period when this Atlantean tradition represented the predominant form and, as it were, the ‘substitute’ for the original centre which was already inaccessible to the bulk of humanity.2

Like Jerusalem, Rome was built upon seven hills.3 The hill, like the mountain, forms a bridge between heaven and earth, bringing a multiplicity of directions into a central unity at the summit.

As for the number 7, … all traditions are agreed in regarding it as a sacred number, and we do not believe it necessary to enumerate here all the applications to which it gives rise. 4

Of these hills, six surrounded the city from the outskirts, while one, the Palatine Hill, upon which the city was originally founded, lay in the centre. This Palatine Hill would go on to house the temple of Apollo as well as the emperor’s palace, about which more will be said later.

Adjacent to the city wall was the sacred river Tiber, which carries Aeneas to Latium just as the rivers that flow from the ‘tree of life’ carry those who travel along them to the ‘terrestrial paradise’. And it is Aeneas, the son of Venus, who “brought the gods to Latium”5 carrying his father alongside the sacred objects of their household on his shoulders while leading his son by the hand, who would go on to found the city of Alba Longa.6

In Alba Longa, Romulus is born to the vestal virgin Rhea Silva, a descendant of Aeneas through her father, the king Numitor. He is the son of Mars and thus offers Rome its second claim to divine origin, placing the city in the tutelage of a divine couple comparable to those of the Hindu Trimurti and their Shaktis.

Each of the gods of the Trimurti expresses an aspect of Īshvara, the first ‘determination’ of the supreme Brahma, whereas the Shakti of each is the power or potentiality that manifests its Will, and similar symbolism is found across traditions.

Still in their infancy, Romulus and his twin brother, Remus, are exposed at the bank of the Tiber and left to die at the orders of their great uncle, the usurper Amulius. They are saved when a she-wolf hears their cries and offers them her milk for nourishment, keeping them alive long enough to be discovered by a shepherd who chooses to take them home and raise them as his own children.

Besides the aforementioned connection with the polar constellation, the she-wolf may also recall the rites of the ver sacrum7, a possible vestige of the Proto-Indo-European *Kóryos. In times of danger, certain Italic peoples would resort to dedicating to Mars all offspring born in the following spring, livestock and humans alike. The human children would be raised by the community up to the age of around 20, whence they would depart with their faces veiled, under the protection of Mars and a tutelary animal, often the wolf, until they could find a suitable place to settle.

The role of the shepherd in this story calls to mind the shepherds who visited the nativity of Christ, as well as those who bore witness to the birth of Mithras, who have been said to symbolise the beings occupying the higher states of manifestation. In this case, we can perhaps see a symbol of such a being intervening in the affairs of this world as an agent of the divine Will, as does the angel Gabriel in the gospel and the god Mercury in the Aeneid.

The symbolism of a demi-god hero with a mortal twin is especially frequent in mythology, symbolising the superior and inferior aspects of the being, and Remus is repeatedly shown, unsurprisingly, to be his brother’s inferior. He drives Romulus to take his life when he dares to hop over the unfinished city walls of Rome in ridicule.

Thus, the killing of Remus represents the victory of the sacred over the profane that rises to surpass the limits it is forbidden to exceed.8

Having opened the city gates to asylum seekers, he is able to fill his city with exiles from various Latin tribes, yet there is a problem: there are no women. When the representatives of the nearby tribes, in their arrogance, spurn the Roman petitions for marriages, Romulus is left to resort to force. Hence the kidnappings and subsequent wars that form the basis for Rome’s first conquests. The final and greatest of these wars is the war waged with the Sabines. Inferior to the Romans in virtue, they resort to scheming in order to compete, gaining access to the city by corrupting the daughter of Tarpeius, who governed the citadel on the Capitoline Hill. Their subsequent incursion puts the Romans to flight, yet this flight is reversed by an appeal to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, the ‘father of the gods and king of men’9. Thus having changed the course of battle, the virile and heroic Romans begin to get the better of the materially wealthy Sabines, up until the intervention of the Sabine women, who step between the two opposing armies holding their children in the air, begging their husbands to think of their children and their fathers to think of their grandchildren. This all leads to an integration and union between two civilisations, comparatively masculine and feminine, through which the city of Rome, an image of the cosmos, is able to bring diverse yet complementary elements into unity.

During his reign, Romulus establishes the senate, the council of ‘fathers’, and divides the city into three tribes, which would be distributed into different assemblies that occupied the four quarters of the city. As the rite followed by the Romans in the building of cities involved starting from the centre and laying two roads to form a cross in line with the cardinal directions, the situation of these assemblies was determined by the latter, similar to the habitations of the different castes in Hindu society.

Thus we see again the cosmic symbolism of the Roman city, in which, just as inferior possibilities are brought into a relative order by the governing principle of the cosmos, the institutions provided a place for every type of being. This is reflected at another level in the familia, in which the servi (at least ideally) find belonging as much as the paterfamilias, each in the way suited to their nature.

Romulus eventually vanishes from the world in a cloud of mist. The Upanishads say that, when union with Brahma is achieved, the elements of the body pass into the unmanifest state. In relation to this, Guénon notes:

It may even happen, in exceptional cases, that the transposition of these elements is effected in such a way that the bodily form itself disappears without leaving any perceptible trace. Instead of being left behind by the being in the normal way, it passes over in its entirety either into the subtle or into the unmanifested state, so that properly speaking there is no death; in this connection, we have elsewhere recalled the biblical examples of Enoch, Moses, and Elijah.10

Romulus is succeeded as king by the peaceful Numa, the skilled legislator who establishes the rites that will constitute the main body of the Roman religious practice as well as the collegia, said to be of initiatic character, of which the patron deity was Janus.

Janus is thought by some to have held a position of primary importance among the gods of the archaic pantheon.11 Of his two faces, the one was said to look to the future, while the other looked to the past.

Whenever the symbolism of Janus relates to time, it is important to remember that between the past which is no longer and the future which is not yet, the true face of Janus, that which looks at the present, is neither one nor the other of those that we can see. This third face is, in fact, invisible because the present in its temporal manifestation is but an ungraspable instant; but when one rises above the conditions of this transitory and contingent manifestation, the present, on the contrary, contains all reality.

We have just said that Janus commonly carries two keys. These are those of the solstitial gates, Janua Caeli and Janua Inferni, corresponding respectively to the winter and summer solstices, that is, to the two extreme points in the course of the sun in its annual cycle, for Janus, as ‘Master of time’, is the Janitor who opens and closes this cycle. On the other hand, he is also the god of initiation into the mysteries.12

He is associated with the ‘sphere of the moon’, the ‘cosmic embryo’ which contains the embryonic principles of all the elements that constitute our cycle of existence in subtle form. The beings who are passively integrated into this realm at the time of death pass through the Janua Inferni, whence they proceed to further states of individual manifestation, yet the same realm also provides the one and only access point to the supra-formal states, in which the being enjoys immortality, thus forming the Janua Caeli.

He is also commonly depicted holding a sceptre in one hand and a key in the other, symbolising his role as the common principle of spiritual authority and temporal power.

To return to Numa, Guénon points out that his name can be rearranged to Manu, the ‘cosmic intelligence’ which manifests the Divine Will on earth through its legislation.

Dumézil sees in Romulus a representation of the Proto-Indo-European notion of regality, that is, the union of wisdom and strength, spiritual authority and temporal power. In his closest three successors, he sees representatives of the three social functions of Proto-Indo-European society: in Numa a priest, in Tullus Hostilius a warrior, and in Ancus Marcius a producer.

Guénon offers an additional interpretation:

There are thus grounds for believing that from a certain point of view the seven kings of Rome are only a particular representation of the seven Manus for a given civilisation, just as the seven sages of Greece, when similarly viewed, are a representation of the seven Rishis, in whom is synthesised the wisdom of the cycle immediately preceding our own.13

The earliest Romans, like many Indo-European peoples, worshipped a divine triad. This consisted of Jupiter, the father of the gods; Mars, the god of war; and Quirinus, the god of mankind and social life. There are apparent similarities with the Trimurti; Jupiter, as father of the gods and king of men, plays a role similar to the creator god Brahmā, who is depicted in iconography as wearing a crown; Mars plays a role similar to Shiva, the ‘destroyer’14; and Quirinus, who’s responsible for the material flourishing of the society, could be compared to Vishnu, the ‘saviour’ and ‘preserver’.

Before the use of sculpted icons, Jupiter was worshipped in the form of a stone, and sacred stones are seen as the ‘dwelling place’ of divinity across traditions. According to another symbolism, related to prehistoric flint axes, stones are connected to thunderbolts, the characteristic weapon of Jupiter. His thunderbolt is double-edged, just as the Vajra of the Dharmic traditions, a symbol of the dual power of the Principle to create and destroy, bind and release.

This dual power is recalled by Virgil in the famous verse in which he exhorts the Roman to “spare the conquered and subdue the proud.”15

The same symbolism is associated with the double-axe, which was exported from Etruria to Rome in the form of the fasces held by the lictors, who originally walked alongside the king, and later the consuls.

Mars, on the other hand, was worshipped in the form of a lance.

The lance, in a vertical position, is one form of the ‘World Axis’ which is identical with the ‘celestial Ray’16

Nearly every aspect of ancient Roman life was accompanied by rites; Sallust described the Romans of earlier periods as ‘the most religious of mortals’.17

But this religiosity, proper to its time and place, was not the same as that of our contemporary traditions.

If the ancient tradition, through sacred knowledge, unified all points of cosmic correspondence, establishing a hierarchy of powers through which divine unity asserted itself, the second tradition transcends the sphere of creative manifestation, resolving the expressive plurality into its Principle.18

Perhaps this is because the ancients were able to play a more active role in relation to certain cosmic forces than modern man, who is left reliant on grace and salvation.19

Of course much changed between the founding of Rome and the beginning of the Christian era. The survival of the office of Rex Sacrorum testifies that the kings of early Rome were priests as much as they were warriors, and the rite of the triumph presents them as the images of Jupiter on earth. But the degeneration of the regal office, symbolised by the tyranny of Tarquinius Superbus, necessitated its replacement with the republic. However, according to legend, the quality of the Roman senate led Cineas, a legate of King Pyrrhus of Epirus, to observe that it resembled an ‘assemblage of kings’, and an almost regal majesty was in fact granted to the consuls. Quadrigarius refers a story of the relationship upheld between a consul and his father:

The consuls then elected were Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus for the second time and Quintus Fabius Maximus, son of the Maximus who had been consul the year before. The father, at the time proconsul, mounted upon a horse met his son the consul, and because he was his father, would not dismount, nor did the lictors, who knew that the men lived in the most perfect harmony, presume to order him to do so. As the father drew near, the consul said: “What next?” The lictor in attendance quickly understood and ordered Maximus the proconsul to dismount. Fabius obeyed the order and warmly commended his son for asserting the authority which he had as the gift of the people.20

While receiving an embassy as governor of Cilicia, Sulla chose for himself a seat of honour between the Parthian legate and the former king of Cappadocia, subordinating the latter two to himself. Such was his self-estimation as a Roman senator.

Now, while it was not always the case, especially among later generations, that the Roman people fulfilled the duties of their divinely appointed office in unblemished fashion, it was not simple delusion that led them to so esteem their own virtue, but the experience and memory of courage in war and piety in peace. Nor was Dante talking arbitrarily when he said

It was by right, and not by usurpation, that the Roman people assumed to itself the office of Monarchy, or, as men call it, the Empire, over all mankind. For in the first place it is fitting that the noblest people should be preferred to all others; the Roman people was the noblest.21

To give a couple of examples, we could reference Quintus Caedicius, who led a force of only 400 soldiers against the much larger Carthaginian army22, or Decimus Mus, who pledged his life to the gods of the underworld to secure a Roman victory before charging deep into the enemy lines in a similar act of self-sacrifice23.

These deeds reflect an attitude that was typical among the Roman aristocracy.

In flight death is disgraceful; in victory glorious; for Mars himself is wont to claim out of the battle-line the bravest as his own. The impious, then, whom you have slain will even among the shades below pay the penalty of their treason; but you who have poured out your last breath in victory have won the seats and the abodes of the pious.24

War, therefore, for the Romans, was no more separated from spiritual life than anything else was.

When the heroic climax arrives, the fusion of Rhythms generates the ultimate passion — dedication to the god of slaughter. This leads to the transcendence of normal human faculties, raising them to the supreme intensification of the devouring fire. The Warrior becomes the great sacrificer, the “victimarius,” and the baptism of blood is a catharsis that renews him, releasing him from human brutality, redeeming him like a purifying bath that cleanses horror with pity. His compassion drives him to sacrifice himself and his enemies, seeing his own image in each of them.25

A particularly characteristic representation of the stern virtue the Roman people sought to uphold is to be found in the legend of Atilius Regulus, a legend of a man who felt himself sufficient to endure even the grimmest fate. Here is an indication of the memory which earlier Romans had left in the psyches of their descendants, something the latter felt the need to emulate if they could live up to their auspicious provenance.

Such a sense of superiority over the extremes of pleasure and of suffering alike underlay an almost monastic simplicity of life for the early Romans.

The little country house of Manius Curius, who had been thrice carried in triumph, happened to be near his [Cato the Elder’s] farm; so that often going thither, and contemplating the small compass of the place, and plainness of the dwelling, he formed an idea of the mind of the person, who being one of the greatest of the Romans, and having subdued the most warlike nations, nay, had driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, now, after three triumphs, was contented to dig in so small a piece of ground, and live in such a cottage.26

The Roman people disapproves of private luxury, but admires public magnificence.27

Yet the Roman people was not immune to the general decline of the world.

When, by perseverance and integrity, the republic had increased its power; when mighty princes had been vanquished in war; when barbarous tribes and populous states had been reduced to subjection; when Carthage, the rival of Rome’s dominion, had been utterly destroyed, and sea and land lay every where open to her sway, Fortune then began to exercise her tyranny, and to introduce universal innovation. To those who had easily endured toils, dangers, and doubtful and difficult circumstances, ease and wealth, the objects of desire to others, became a burden and a trouble. At first the love of money, and then that of power, began to prevail, and these became, as it were, the sources of every evil. For avarice subverted honesty, integrity, and other honourable principles, and, in their stead, inculcated pride, inhumanity, contempt of religion, and general venality.28

And when the size of the empire made it no longer manageable in the old way, when the fundamental institutions of the republic ceased to function, when violence ravaged the back alleys of the plebs and vice and corruption ravaged the villas of the elite, when the senate could no longer live up to its reputation as an ‘assemblage of kings’, when nothing short of a major transformation would serve as a sufficient rectification, then, at last, Providence would set in motion a total, polar reversal of direction in the form of a return to unified rule.

The three successive political forms, when understood symbolically, demonstrate the traditional progression from the regal unity to the imperial one, through the republican duality: an opening, a development, and a closing of a cycle, with a return of the final form to the first in the unity of command.29

They thus replicate the coming and going of the worlds that issue from and return to Unity.30

The first stage in this restoration was provided by Caesar, the decorated soldier and general who simultaneously held the office of chief priest. His provenance endowed him with both “the sacred majesty of kings, the chiefest among men, and the divine majesty of Gods”31.

Though not an emperor himself, he was as a prefiguration and principle of all that were to hold this title through the coming centuries, exceeding them all and transcending them all with his god-like magnificence. His name bestowed honour and authority upon those who adopted it from his earliest successors to the Tsars and Kaisers of modern history.

He was the first Caesar and the one whose preparatory work perhaps contributed more to the foundation of the Empire than any other. Moreover, he was the adoptive father of Augustus, and it is worth noting that, in the history of a new dynasty, it is the ancestor of its first representative who is often more important than the latter himself, since symbolically the ancestor is to the dynasty itself what its emperors are to the whole Empire; from this point of view, the emperor becomes the equivalent of Pure Being, while the ancestor corresponds to Non-Being.32

Yet it wasn’t for Caesar to finally fulfil that transformation that Rome was heading for - in fact, the real Julius Caesar was likely not even close to resembling the megalomaniac that popular consciousness chooses to remember.

In later years, especially for men living under the rule of Rome's emperors, some were inclined to see Caesar as aiming at revolution and monarchy from his early youth. No contemporary evidence supports such claims, while his actions certainly give no hint of such plans. A peaceful return to take up a pre-eminent position within the Republic, his prestige, influence and auctoritas acknowledged by all other senators, even those who disliked him, was what Caesar craved.33

The task of permanently reuniting spiritual authority and temporal power would instead fall upon Augustus, the first First Citizen or emperor.

He chose as his seal an emblem of the Sphinx, itself a symbol of the common source from which Knowledge and strength are derived.

He also built the first imperial palace on the Palatine Hill at the centre of Rome, just as the residence of the Chinese emperor, the Ming T’ang (Temple of Light), occupied the centre of the empire and therefore the centre of the world.

The Chinese emperor fulfilled the role of the primordial ‘true man’, regulating the cosmic order from its centre.

During the course of the annual cycle, the Emperor completed a circumambulation of the Ming T’ang in what we earlier called the ‘solar’ direction. He would proceed in turn from one station to the next, each station corresponding to one of the entrances; and at each of the twelve stations he would pronounce the edicts (yüeh ling) appropriate to that month. In this way he identified himself in turn with each of the ‘twelve suns’, which are the twelve adityas of Hindu tradition, and also the ‘twelve fruits of the Tree of Life’ according to the symbolism of the Apocalypse.34

Next to his palace in the centre of Rome, Augustus had a temple built to Apollo, the solar god.

He is famous for establishing the Pax Romana, the so-called ‘Roman golden age’ of peace and prosperity.35

The Emperor, as conceived by Dante, is quite comparable to the Chakravarti or Universal Monarch of the Hindus, whose essential function is to maintain peace sarvabhaumika — that is to say, extending over the whole earth.36

Yet this restoration could only have had a partial and relative character, as its very cause lay in the irreversible decline of humanity, something made quickly apparent by his successors. In the spiritual domain, this descent necessitated at first the assimilation of elements from traditions such as that of Greece and, later on, the total replacement of the ancient tradition of Rome with the doctrine of Christianity.

At the same time the ‘conversion’ of Constantine implied, by a sort of official act of imperial authority, a recognition of the fact that the Greco-Roman tradition had thenceforth to be considered extinct, although naturally some remnants may have survived for a fairly long time—remnants that could only degenerate further and further until they finally disappeared and were later designated by the contemptuous term of ‘paganism’.37

A descent that continues to gain momentum as we approach the ‘second coming of Christ’ and the return of this world to the non-manifest state.

Yet throughout this descent, while humanity continues to drift further and further from Truth, Truth remains unchanged, and the eternal city has remained a testament to the perpetuity of the sacred from the time of the archaic triad to that of the Holy Trinity.

It’s obvious that moral terminology cannot accurately be applied to absolute reality, and while Guénon cautions against the “intrusion of the ‘moral’ point of view into a domain with which it has nothing to do”1, Ananda Coomaraswamy presents us with a range of sources from diverse traditions such as to leave no doubt that God is beyond good and evil:

that point of view is so constantly maintained in the Upaniṣads, Bhagavad Gita, and in Buddhism, that the citation of a couple of passages will amply suffice. He, Brahman, is “other than right and wrong ” (dharmâ-dharmau), and “when a mortal has rent away what is rightful (dharmya) and receives Him as undimensioned (anu), then he rejoices,” Katha Up., II, 13 and 14 : “The Lord of the world emanates neither agency nor actions, nor the conjunction of action and re­ward, but it is each thing’s nature that operates. The Lord accepts neither the ill nor the well-done of any man,” Bhagavad Gita, V. 14-15. In Christianity, besides that “He makes his sun to shine alike upon the just and the unjust,” we find uncompromising words in Eckhart: “I must let go virtue if I would see God face to face,” “God is neither good nor true,” “ the vision of God transcends virtues,” “joys and sorrows are not sown in the ground of eternal truth,” there is “no trace of vice or virtue.”2

But just as Essence is a ‘particularised’ expression of pure Being, possessing a positive reality in itself, in contrast to the purely negative Substance, which is ultimately reduced to the former, pure ‘Goodness’ encompasses good and evil, the latter being nothing but the privation of the former. Evil arises from the potentiality of Substance, whereas good is equivalent to participation in the nature of Essence, and through it, in the divinity of pure Being.

This is so because it’s the ‘organising’ influence of Essence on the cosmos that brings Dharma, which Guénon describes as “a principle of conservation of being.”3 It is the action of the Principle that provides particular possibilities with the stability they need for a full development, without which their existence would no longer be possible, as nothing can exist that lacks all constancy and all stability.

Effectively, it is this idea of the ‘pole’ or ‘axis’ of the manifested world that we must refer to if we really wish to understand the notion of dharma: it is what remains invariable at the centre of revolutions of all things, regulating the course of change by the very fact that it does not participate in it.4

It is closely connected with the symbolism of the fish:

Vishnu represents the divine Principle especially in its world-preserving aspect. This function comes very close to that of Saviour, which is, more precisely, a particular instance of the wider function of Preserver; and it is truly as Saviour that Vishnu appears in some of his manifestations which correspond to phases of crisis in the history of the world. Now the idea of the Saviour is also explicitly attached to the Christian symbolism of the fish, for the last letter of the Greek Ichthys is interpreted as the initial of Soter.5

And it is this preserving action that gives rise to Tradition, the path along which man is pulled back towards his principle, the one and only source of all constancy.

The Matsya-avatara [the first avatar of Vishnu, which takes the form of a fish] has yet another aspect which is particularly worthy of note: after the cataclysm, that is at the beginning of the present Maha-Yuga, he brings mankind the Veda, which must be understood, according to the etymological signification of the word (derived from the root vid, to know), as the Science of sciences, or Sacred Knowledge in its entirety. This is a very clear allusion to the primordial Revelation, or to the ‘non-human’ origin of Tradition.6

It is inevitable that all things must return to their principle, the Alpha and the Omega, and so we can likely also understand Tradition and Dharma as the first stage in this process of return, symbolised by the solution of what’s coagulated, or as inspiration in the two phases of ‘divine respiration’.

The influence of Essence is never absent in any being, yet the one who consciously participates is the one who begins to approach higher degrees of reality, while the one who remains passive continues to develop his possibilities at a lower level of samsara.

The conscious participant will live in accordance with his own proper svadharma by conforming to that which connects him to a superior reality, that particular aspect of the universal Intellect which expresses itself in his own Intellect and diffuses itself through all of the modalities of his individual existence, such that

‘Virtue’ can apply here only insofar as it indicates that the actions of a being are in conformity with its own nature, and, by the same token, with the total order that has its reflection or its image in the nature of each being.7

Such a person will recognise that the Intellect is the source of all that in him is good, and therefore, the more a given faculty participates in intellectuality, the more he will act in accordance to it, such that Knowledge and being will reign supreme, while animal instincts are kept subservient to them as well as to their legate: reason.

We can therefore confidently affirm with Socrates that “Justice and every other form of Virtue is Wisdom.”8 And with Guido de Giorgio that

It’s easy to understand the mutilation of a truth essentially metaphysical when it is confined to the moral sphere, which cannot exist independently from what determines it—knowledge.9

Conformity to the superior intellectuality of one’s own being is the result of participation in the ascending tendency, the Hindu guṇa of Sattva.

Sattva, conformity to the pure essence of Being (Sat), which is identical with the light of Knowledge (Jnâna), symbolised by the luminosity of the heavenly spheres which represent the higher states of the being.10

In addition to this, Coomaraswamy relates a certain understanding of “sattva as tension in relation to tamas as relaxation.”11 That is, as activity in contrast to passivity, such as we see with Evola:

To be able to give shape to life, we must first realise what is beyond life; […] we must be able to reach its height, and this implies asceticism, that is, active detachment, heroic overcoming, an atmosphere of extreme spiritual tension.12

If Being is One, immutable, and ‘active’, participation in Sattva will consist of self-dependency, impassibility, and an active disposition.

Furthermore, since the unity of Being is the principle of freedom in particular beings as well as in universal Being, a being will be free to the extent that it participates in this unity; in other words, it will be the more free as it has more unity in itself, or as it is more ‘one’13

The being dependent only on his own Self will be equally unaffected by good and bad fortune, honour and infamy, pleasure and pain, all of which are of a contingent order. But the being who identifies with the constructed and composite individuality that engages with the world will be made distressed by its shortcomings, its reflection in the opinions of others, and whatever fortune it may suffer, yet

[The immortal principle of the being] is unbreakable and incombustible; it can neither be dampened nor dried. It is everlasting, in all places, unalterable, immutable, and primordial.14

Thus

That person who is not affected by happiness and distress, and remains steady in both, becomes eligible for liberation.15

Hence the virtue of impassibility.

An active disposition involves participation in the ‘self-determination’ of pure Being.

One sees from the preceding that absolute freedom can be realised only through complete universalisation; this will be ‘self-determination’ insofar as it is co-extensive with Being16

The more ‘active’ a being is, the safer he makes himself from the chaotic forces of Necessity; the stronger he is, the better equipped he is against its ‘resistance’.

Only the confused and cowardly leave things upon destiny. Brave men with self-respect do not rely on destiny or luck.17

Yet one reservation must be made here: while primordial man was in possession of all his human faculties from birth and determined the environment around him, modern man is unavoidably determined by his environment and cannot rely on his own faculties to reach transcendence, as these are limited to the temporal and separative order and cannot go beyond themselves. Consequently, he requires Salvation in the exoteric domain and initiation if he belongs to the extreme minority of beings destined to approach the esoteric domain. While the latter will be required to raise themselves up to pure activity, the vast majority of people will be required to play a passive role in relation to the sacred, thereby supplementing their own deficiencies with something other than themselves, just as the warrior depends on the priest, and woman depends on man.

Whoever finds his fulfilment at a certain level would make a very great error to try to pass beyond it.18

Thus, where Knowledge is lacking, there is a need for Faith, one of the three theological virtues alongside Hope and Charity, which rest upon the foundation provided by the four cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance.

Yet all of these virtues are ultimately referred back to Knowledge, and to Sattva, through which the being, following the superior part of his own nature, is conserved by the stability provided to him by the immutable principle of his being, which is ultimately identical to the Supreme Principle of all things.

The Multiple States of the Being is at one and the same time the base and the summit of Guénon’s work, in that it presents the fundamental metaphysical principles upon which anything he wrote elsewhere must inevitably lie, while thereby establishing how we should understand that to which all must be referred, the end goal of all things, in his purest and most lucid exposition of metaphysics and metaphysical realisation.

The study is anchored around the point of view of the human being and the possibilities of realisation that exist for the being residing in the human state, but, by way of analogy between the ‘microcosm’ and the ‘macrocosm’, to study the full range of human possibilities is to study the nature of total Possibility; after all, if we assume non-duality, it is inevitable that

The ‘Self’, as we have seen in the last chapter, must not be regarded as distinct from Atma, and, moreover, Atma is identical with Brahma itself.1

The ‘Self’ is the true principle of the being, for which the manifest being is only one possibility of development, and which remains unaffected by it just as it remains unaffected by the other possibilities that it contains within itself in eternity, these constituting an indefinite multiplicity. Brahma is metaphysical Infinity, the supreme principle of all things, which, admitting of nothing outside of itself, could not be determined in any way whatsoever and is therefore entirely without limits.

As all affirmation implies a negation of anything not included in that affirmation, nothing positive can be affirmed regarding Infinity; if we wish to make any statement about it at all, we must restrict ourselves to the negation of limits, which is the only thing that would allow for the total affirmation of the universal ‘all’.

Many philosophers have sought to answer the question, “Why is there something rather than nothing?”, but Guénon is able to expose the absurdity of this question when the discussion is grounded in proper metaphysical principles. Privation can only take the form of a limit, whereas the absence of limits cannot be applied to anything besides Infinite Possibility, and it is the very nature of true possibility that it must be realised to the extent that it is truly possible; while human beings may speculate about what might be in the future or could have been if things had turned out differently in the past, this speculation can only arise from a lack of awareness regarding the totality of causes that determine the unfolding of existence. For example, when a coin is tossed, it would appear that there is a 50% chance for it to land on either side, but, as it has been tossed from a certain angle, with a certain amount of force, on account of the disposition of the person who tossed it, there is really a 100% chance that it will land on the side that it does. Similarly, if a person sits down to make a decision, the limits of their perspective, the extent of their desire, and other factors determined by the nature of the individual and the situation in which they find themselves determine the decision they land upon; however closely the forces in their mind may be competing, it’s necessary that some of these forces be stronger than others.

Since metaphysics, properly speaking, is the study of that which is beyond succession2, a metaphysical distinction between the possible and the real is ruled out all the more decisively, such that metaphysical Infinity, which is total Possibility, necessitates the reality and actuality of an infinitude of possibilities.

The first of these possibilities which can be spoken of determinately is Being, that which is, but the existence of Being does not exclude the existence of possibilities of Non-Being, that which is not, without this term being understood in a purely privative sense; to negate being is to negate a limit, and therefore, as long as no other limit is affirmed in its place, to affirm all that is transcendent to it. If we take metaphysical Infinity to be beyond being, being cannot occupy a position of privilege amongst possibilities of a different order, as the finite is necessarily nil in comparison to the Infinite. And it’s this fact that allows a possibility such as being to be simultaneously necessary and contingent; necessary insofar as it’s possible, yet contingent insofar as it’s incomparable to the whole.

Being is defined as the non-manifest principle of universal manifestation, that is to say, the principle of all those relative possibilities that can be realised distinctively because they depend on a non-distinct principle for their existence. In fact, pure Being can be considered as merely an ‘aspect’ of non-being:

If we nonetheless still speak of states of non-manifestation, it is not to establish thereby a sort of symmetry with the states of manifestation—which would be unjustified and altogether artificial—but because we are forced to introduce a distinction of some kind, lacking which we could not speak of it at all; however, we must be aware that this distinction does not exist in itself, and that it is we who give it its altogether relative existence, since only thus can we envisage what we have called aspects of Non-Being, even as we admit the inadequacy and impropriety of such an expression.3

The Unity of pure Being is reflected in the Unicity of universal manifestation, in which every possibility is linked in some way to every other possibility. Yet those among these possibilities which are compatible with each other, such as space and time, come to exist alongside each other immanently within a given state of existence. However, the compatibility of one or more possibilities that allows them to be realised alongside each other does not prevent the realisation of other possibilities elsewhere in the way proper to them, any more than the existence of roundness in one object prevents the simultaneous existence of squareness in another, despite the fact that the two qualities couldn’t be simultaneously applied to the same object.

Those states that can be connected to each other by way of certain shared conditions, such as corporeal manifestation with those states of subtle manifestation that also participate in time, as well as those states which share other conditions in common with the latter, could be said to form one ‘degree’ of universal manifestation, or universal Existence, of which there is an indefinite multitude.

Of these ‘degrees of existence’, those which possess form as one of their conditions are defined thereby as states of individual manifestation. Guénon describes form as “an ensemble of directional tendencies”4. To make this clearer, we can observe how, despite existing outside of space, thought is often said to “follow a course”. These individual states come to be as an immediate consequence of the possibilities contained in the universal Intellect, the supra-formal principle of all formal manifestation, a ‘heaven’ of pure Intelligence equivalent to Plato’s realm of ideas.

The human being participates in the nature of the Intellect only through the mediation of the individual consciousness, the principle and the centre of his existence as an individual being. Yet the fullness of this individual consciousness extends far beyond the limits of ordinary waking consciousness, something especially apparent in the dream state, where it controls a variety of characters and scenarios without the full comprehension of the ego. That is to say, although everything experienced in a dream is determined by the individual’s own consciousness, he perceives it as if it were separate from himself. Similarly, in waking existence, he believes the other beings he comes across to be entirely separate from himself, despite the fact that the core of his being is identical to the core of their being.

Individual consciousness is inherent to various species, but what differentiates man from these is the mental faculty, self-consciousness, which gives rise to the notion of the I. 5

This mental faculty consists of reason, memory, and imagination. Reason, the instrument of analytical, discursive knowledge, is only capable of partially reflecting the knowledge of the Intellect as the moon reflects the light of the sun, yet despite the passive role it plays in relation to pure intellectuality, it nonetheless plays an active role in relation to emotion, which is another possibility of subtle manifestation of an inferior order, more closely linked to corporeal manifestation. Corporeal manifestation is in fact permeated by elements of subtle manifestation; as Guénon says:

In truth, there is no reason to separate the corporeal much more profoundly from other individual orders, that is, from other modalities belonging to the same individual state envisaged in the integrality of its extension, than the latter must be separated among themselves, since it is situated on the same level as they in the totality of universal Existence, and consequently in the totality of the states of the being6

So far, we have considered the increasing limitation of the being, which follows a downward course starting from the supreme principle, metaphysical Infinity, and ending at the corporeal modality of the individual, the limit of his ‘fixation’. But the same chain of states that provides the means for this descent may also be retraced ascendingly, and:

The realisation of the total being can be accomplished taking any state at all as a base or point of departure, by reason of the equivalence of all contingent modes of existence when regarded from the standpoint of the Absolute.7

Through initiation and the subsequent initiatic work, the individual will first ascend through a hierarchy of states of subtle manifestation, being born again in each state. The highest of these that he will aspire to reach is the ‘primordial state of man’, the centre of our degree of existence, from which the being encompasses and directs all that is contained therein.

Everything which is manifested in this state proceeds entirely from him and depends entirely on him, and only exists as it were as an outward and partial projection of his own possibilities. It is he who, by his ‘action of presence’, maintains and preserves the existence of our world, for he is its centre and without a centre nothing could actually exist.8

The adoption of this point of view by one being does not prevent other beings from perceiving that same world ‘separatively’ and in succession, as the latter point of view is really illusory, and the various identities unified in primordial man do not really affect the true nature of a being that experiences such an identity as if it were its own.

Primordial man enjoys the virtual immortality provided to him by the ‘sense of eternity’, but the possibility of losing what he’s gained and falling back into the unending cycles of death and rebirth remains a possibility for him as long as he remains an individual being.

In order, then, for his immortality to become effective and final, he must make the transition from formal consciousness to pure intellectuality, the transition from the lower to the upper waters, passing through an intermediary stage

in which at first there is only confusion and obscurity (tamas), until the moment of illumination that determines its harmonic organization in the passage from potency to act, and which results in the hierarchization that will bring order out of the chaos, as does the cosmogonic Fiat Lux.9

This marks the passage from the ‘lesser’ to the ‘greater mysteries’, and it is through the latter that he will accomplish the final transition into non-manifestation, the final restoration into the unconditioned state and the realisation of the ‘Supreme Identity’.

Such a total liberation can only be achieved by knowledge. In fact, knowledge is the only reality, total Knowledge being nothing other than metaphysical Infinity.

Knowledge and truth, envisaged thus metaphysically, are basically nothing other than what we have called rather inadequately ‘aspects of the Infinite’.

Since everything possible is realised by knowledge, this identity [of the possible and the real], taken universally, properly constitutes truth in itself, for the latter can be conceived precisely as the perfect adequation of knowledge to total Possibility.10

True knowledge can only result from identification, if something does not participate in knowing, it must only exist in relation to whatever knows it, and derive all of its reality therein. In turn, the being that knows it knows it only as a possibility for its own development and doesn’t at any point exit itself to perceive an external object that cannot really exist. In this way, the faculties of external perception may simultaneously be considered as entrances and exit ways of knowledge, through which it is simultaneously projected and perceived.

And thus, total liberation is only a question of knowledge, which can be considered as proceeding from subject to object, or from object to subject, but what’s in question here really transcends all duality.

At a more determined degree, Pure Being is limited by nothing outside of its own nature and derives its reality from itself insofar as it’s a possibility containing its own ‘sufficient reason’, unlike the possibilities of manifestation, which exist only by participation in Being - something other than the Supreme. For this reason, Being determines itself as well as the possibilities of manifestation, which are subject to its law. The manifest being can only participate in the freedom of being one’s own law to the extent that it participates in the unity and activity of pure Being, by a process of self-determination. A self-determination that involves the subordination of the passive and contingent will of the illusory individuality to the truly active and pure divine Will, as Ananda Coomaraswamy says:

Man’s free will consists only in a freedom not to will, a freedom to return to the centre of his being, to identify his own will with His Will.11

Inversely, in order to transcend being, he must participate not in self-determination, but in the non-determination of the states of non-being.

One sees from the preceding that absolute freedom can be realised only through complete universalisation; this will be ‘self-determination’ insofar as it is co-extensive with Being, and ‘indetermination’ beyond Being. Whereas a relative freedom belongs to every being under any condition whatsoever, this absolute freedom can only belong to the being that, liberated from the conditions of manifested existence, whether individual or even supra-individual, has become absolutely ‘one’, at the degree of pure Being, or ‘without duality’, if its realisation surpasses Being. It is then, but then only, that one can speak of a being ‘that is a law unto itself’ because this being is then entirely identical with its sufficient reason, which is both its principial origin and its final destiny.12