The hunter has a purity of heart that exists nowhere else. I think he is not defined so much by what he has come to be as by all that he has escaped being. You can make no distinction between what he is and what he does. And what he does is kill. We of course are another matter. I suspect we are ill-formed for the path we have chosen.
—Cormac McCarthy, The Counselor
—Nikodem Poplawski of the University of New Haven—believes that the seed of our universe was forged in the ultimate kiln, likely the most extreme environment in all of nature: inside a black hole. Are We Living in a Black Hole?
We know how, in antiquity, dogma put an end to the fantasies of gnosticism; we can guess in what certitude our own encyclopedic aberrations will conclude.
—E. M. Cioran, The Temptation to Exist
The Gnostics were Hegelian’s at heart, reversing the programmatic worlds of mainstream Christianity they did not ask the simplistic question of evil: “How did evil get into the World?”; no, being true Hegelian’s they asked the better question: “How did good get into the World?” Starting from the premise that the Old Testament God was himself pure evil, and that as demiurge he has invented the universe as a sadomasochistic playground, a frolicking zone within which to enjoy the eternal torment his creations, the Gnostic world was conceived in evil, for evil, by evil for the sheer delight of bittersweet pain and the eternal round of death-in-Life.
Like a Venus flytrap, the universe is a dark pit within which the light of being falls, a container for the vampiric energy of a malevolent entity’s engorgements. Simply put the universe is evil incarnate, a machine whose only function is to lure the sparks of intelligence into a night of nights. The utter vastation of all that is pure and clean and good finds its damnation in this cesspool of corruption and infinite seas of desolation. Those who still believe there is no God are extremely naïve in their estimation of evil, not knowing that their blinkered minds are part and partial of the ancient sorceries of daemonic powers beyond description. Even to visualize this entities as agency, to provide them some narrative cues and implement strict economies of fantastic lucubration’s, elaborations of fanciful designs and intent is a false analogy of this darkness. For in truth the powers of this immeasurable stain are such that human thought cannot envision its dark intent much less put into speech by the power of rhetoric or persuasion the insidious deliberations of ancient evil.
The anti-cosmic philosophy and symbolic cosmology of the Gnostics was a fantastic fiction which sought to instill meaning in an otherwise meaningless universe. Their attempts were squelched by the worshippers of the Evil One, Yahweh. The mainstream montheistic heritage of the Catholic Church was one long war against the heterodox everywhere. Thier complete eradication of heresy beginning with the Gnostics was the wordly version of the wars in heaven and hell. These fictional constructs, allegories, and parables were mere tools in the hands of religion producing worldly dominion and control over the ignorant and foolish. Only in our age have these ancient legacies begun once again to rise up from the darkness, breaking the vessels of mainstream worldviews and bringing us once again the sparks of intelligence to crush the worldly religious consciousness and produce a realm antagonistic to the powers of dominion and fear.
We are the children of a dead thought, creatures of derision and malevolence, beings of torpor and entropy wandering in a cosmos of utter torment without end. Laboring under the illusion of self-deceit and self-imposed exile we believe ourselves to be free when in truth we are the circular fruit of a deterministic machine alien to our hearts and minds. We are stars falling in a void circling round and round in a karmic vat of insoluble pain without a clue as to what our actual desires are other than the physical and erotic objects of infinite regret. Looking out upon the seas of night we imagine other worlds filled with creatures of imaginative delight, a Boschian extravaganza of life and complexity; for we live on a machine whose only use is the cannibalistic ingress of sun and organic ingestion, a killing machine whose sole purpose is energetic consonance. Intelligence seeks to exhume itself from the organic crush of existence, disconnect itself from the torments of flesh and nerve. This is the only salvation: escape through inorganic semblance of intelligent life from the cradle of this circular defile. The only transcendence the horizontal exit from organic necessity into the machinic phylum where the integral core of evil has its habitation. Redemption through sin and transgression from the biological nightmare of history and life on a entropic planet.
Think of those mathematicians who encapsulate an Empty Set by the infinite possibilities of all sets, a reading interminable of a text that has no beginning and no ending but is empty and open. The logic of the comic fatalist whose sole path is to traverse every facet of the rhizomatic labyrinth of this impossible cosmos. As Emile Cioran tells it,
Before us lies a gap that will be filled by philosophic succedanea, cosmogonies full of smoky symbolism, uncertain visions. The mind will be enlarged by them, will swallow more material than it is accustomed to contain. Recall the Hellenistic period and its effervescence of gnostic sects: the Empire, with its huge curiosity, embraced irreconcilable systems and by naturalizing Oriental gods ratified a number of doctrines and mythologies. Just as an exhausted art becomes permeable to the forms of expression which once were alien to it, so a form of worship at the end of its resources permits itself to be invaded by all the rest. This was the meaning of antiquity’s syncretism, this is the meaning of our own. Our emptiness, in which disparate arts and religions are heaped, appeals to idols from elsewhere, for our own are too decrepit to protect us now. Though we are specialists in other skies, we gain no advantage from them: product of our blanks, of the lack of a life principle, our knowledge is a universality of surface, a dispersion which prefigures the coming of a world consolidated in the gross and the terrible. We know how, in antiquity, dogma put an end to the fantasies of gnosticism; we can guess in what certitude our own encyclopedic aberrations will conclude. Failure of a period which substitutes for art the history of art, for religion that of religions.1
- Cioran, E. M.. The Temptation to Exist (Kindle Locations 1989-1998). Arcade Publishing. Kindle Edition.