Weak is the man who forever endeavors “to know”, presumably, what “actually is” with regards to truth and reality; the weak man who can and will only believe a thing if it is corroborated by the consensus in the concrete world of men and things, his trust therein which is usually blind because the object of his deference is believed to hold some sort of externalized authority, the corroboration of which must also be validated by one’s own personal experience; the weak who, looking beyond himself as the source, arbiter, and ultimate artist of his own truth, will never – as long as he externally seeks – be satisfied by the innumerable artifacts he acquires along the way in his search but whose lusts will grow ever more voracious and ravenous for increasingly extreme and exotic nuggets of “insight”, the mounds of its incoherent rubble that he will become dependent for the continuance of his own life and reason for being, inasmuch as such artifacts – raw, unintegrated, and incomprehensible to the outsider observer – will indeed compose the structure of his existential framework by which he will make sense of the world and his place in it; the weak who, in a word, are dependent and self-insufficient, unfit not only for life but for truth in even its most rudimentary and superficial form and are thus deserving of their fate (which is the vast majority of the world) to be continually tossed and turned, coerced and manipulated, bewitched and bewildered by both the gatekeepers and disseminators of the “knowledge” they long and cling, as well as those supposed “powers”, “rulers” or whatever term the gatekeepers of the consensus grant them who are – either directly or through the insinuations that the weak and common bestow upon them – the authors and ultimate directors whom the knowledge allegedly concerns.
For truth cannot be “found”, nor can it be “given” – either from “on high” or as the externalized reward at the end of a long journey, no matter how arduous, challenging, and, by it, also fulfilling.*
No, truth, unfortunately, is an internal act of will and act of the spirit of the individual man, “useful” in most cases only to the man who creates and refines it, so as to better enable such a one to create more devastating works of truth by the sublimation of one’s highest, hardest, and most profound experiences. That another man accepts or embraces the Truthful Man’s truth provides little benefit for both the Truthful Man or his “followers” and, in fact, enfeebles the latter to become ever more dependent on the former insofar as such a one does not learn to do and create truth for himself; the latter who runs the risk of also becoming dependent on his followers for his own validation and affirmation, those mutual lethalities which must be resisted and repulsed lest the faith one has in himself is bestowed upon others outside his body of work, that which he will find irrevocably tainted by filth, weakness, and dependency.
All of this might seem paradoxical insofar as it appears to render truth infinitely subjective, relativistic, and therefore universally false and unreliable (not to mention condemn the profound works of the great minds of the past whom I have indeed gained a great deal), but it is not the products of the path to Truth that are ultimately valuable but the process of the path itself out of which those products spring; those truths that can only be glimpsed subtly and with the utmost astuteness, refinement, severity, and sophistication by He who is also endeavoring upon the Path. Every Truthful Man is the same, never mind the apparent divergencies of their insights which always accentuate themselves in accordance with the particular spirit of the times that each man lives and labors.
*This statement is a lie and deception, for Truth can only come from “above”; from the Source of all Truth who is Himself also a person, namely, the Christ.
Devil walks into bar. Orders drink. Asks Philosopher sitting next to him: “And what do you do?”