michael-dean-k/

A conclusion I’ve been sitting with recently is the very real idea of possibility that there is no eternal Heaven. I’ve known this rationally, but it’s always come with a, “yeah but there’s a DMT-adjacent afterlife as part of dying, where the 3 minutes pre-death feels like 300 years. That may be true, conditional, or false, but in the end we all end in blackness, back to dust. Yet, I’ve also now reconciled this with Christian theology; “The Orthodox Way” has gotten me to believe that this eternity thing is a massive unchecked axiom, and almost obviously a pacifier. ie: The existence of an eternal soul is something you have to build into your foundation, because without that comfort there would be an unbearable existential anxiety. But recently I've found comfort in the idea of dying, specifically, because if you can really accept the permanent end of everything, it brings a presence to the life you have. Maybe this is heaven. In any case, the point of a theology/cosmology is to properly attune yourself to your situation, and so if the lack of eternity brings you peace, doesn't that sort of accomplish the mission?

The value in a theology should be the direct effect it has on your character and being. The idea of a heavenly body prevents a boyish, primal, universal anxiety of our annihilation, but what good does it bring? ie: Is heaven a catalyst or xanax? What I mean is, if you accept Nothing, and really try to hold nothing in every frame of your being, and to realize the sadness of it all, but to not see it as sadness, but as a reminder, a shock for life and vitality and spirit and spontaneity, then doesn’t Nothing bring out a fuller you? One that will not wait to say what has to be said? And the whole DMT thing, does that not also demand courage and virtue of you? For if every frame of that Odyssey (and Odyssey really is the perfect word for it) is determined by the seeds sowed of your lived moments, then every moment is consequential. If the afterlife is not an eternal heaven, but a DMT Odyssey that mirrors your soul, then sin is consequential! It's hard threshold to cross, and requires a lot of work. The Christian eternity, alternatively, has a bunch of easy thresholds. Are you baptized? Are you generally a good person? (ie: have you not stolen or murdered?) Good, you’re set for eternity. These are weak standards! Think of Montaigne’s scrutiny. We are all wicked beasts, self-deceiving, and we flounder daily, multiple times, and we scrounge our potential, and we shy away from glory and courage and such, and are those all not damnations? Should we not see them as damnations? Should we not expect greatness within ourself, and see that not as shame, but as a call to personal glory? I suppose the greatest call to adventure is to be a hero, to “save” the Other, whether it is your family, or community, or however large a concentric ring you aspire to help, and is to be a saviour not the Hellenistic pre-Judeau name, “Christ?” Should we not aim to be a Christ to the extent that we can? I find the more I withdrawn from Christianity, the more I am drawn to Christ.

I think I’m close to making a breakthrough here, but to follow through would be something like a rupture in my charisma and actions. And through writing, I can do it. I think years 1-17 were a phase of coddling. puberty and ego. From 18-35, I went through my initial Maslovian initiation (lol sry, refers to "Abraham Maslow," a psychologist). But from 36 on, this could be another era, one where I strive to be radically aware and honest and beholden of the true nature of reality, that this all really is a fleeting dream, that death brings Nothing, a true annihilation of Ego, but I am not I, as in, the true I is not the self contained within small Michael, but a parcel of the greatest It, the universe, and I welt melt into a dust that is eternally churning, recycled into food for worm swarms for millions of years until I aid in the ascension from the Earth into some other marvelous species. The fact that I am a human, now, in this very moment, IS, heaven. This is the pinnacle, the is the realization to carry from room to room.

(Edit: To synthesize all this, I find comfort not in the eternal Ego, but in the eternal Engine, as in, some force outside our universe that continuously generates new space-time fabrics and all life within it. To realize that you are not separate from the Engine, but are one with it, and even on the its cutting edge of its biological complexity, is to appreciate and identify with the whole enterprise of Life. Knowing that life will continue, despite the extermination of species and the heat death of this particular universe, is a better kind of immortality.)

The full-stack of religion: cosmology > scripture > practice > ethics > liturgy. We have a metaphysical impulse to make sense of our reality, and in a moment of “gnosis” someone writes it down, and then builds a series of personal practices around it, which starts to answer the question of how to live, and these ethics are legible to others who then may join in their liturgies through a church. This captures the process from which metaphysical musings conglomerate into an institution.

Note: theology is nested within cosmology, as it’s a common experience to feel the presence of an anthropomorphic Creator, but you can also have models of your reality that are non-theistic.

Where atheists go wrong is that they challenge the cosmology, but then throw out the entire branch (no scripture, no practice, no liturgy), and assume individualist secular ethics don’t require the entire stack. Modern spirituality is possibly worse, because they also throw out the entire religious stack, but the ethics they vaguely aspire to are less rigorous than even an atheist.

Where I stand: that the architecture of religion is extremely important—we need religious institutions—but our existing religion have been faulty in their conception, and have been “captured.” The overall challenge in being a heretic, in a religiously-inspired eccentric lonewolf kind of way, is that it’s very hard to concretize your own musings into liturgy. It is an isolating thing. Unless, I suppose, your system works, to a degree that your ethics are so unique or so marveled at, or, you are just a good marketer of your own scripture, that you can get maybe 100 people to “follow” you, but at that point, what you really have is a small cult, and that’s a dangerous thing too.

And so the solution, I think, is to not actually invent some New Age religion, but to create new sects of existing religions, making them more participatory higher up in the stack. To me, this is about understanding the elements of, say, Eastern Orthodox Christianity, and reworking them, recombining them, and then experimenting on the resulting scriptures, practices, and ethics, in an almost scientific way, and you’ll learn the flaws in your original conceptions, and then you have to return to the source and try again, over and over, slowly accumulating your own personal relationship to a larger, shared, historical universe, and of course any orthodox Christian, and probably most Catholics too, are very much against this.

I’m talking about questioning the root level assumptions, as in, maybe Christ did not literally resurrect, and maybe God is not a conscious agent that listens to us, and maybe there is no eternal Heaven, however, maybe Christ is a mythical embodiment of the supreme ethics we should all be living, and so what if there were a sect that very rigorously tries to live as Christ, while acknowledging he does not need to be anything beyond a historical-literary figure?

When someone is squeamish about this, it seems to me there’s a great deal of fear in the resistance, a fear that was dispelled, because a supernatural Christ is the answer to that painful and existential void of what happens after death, and I just wonder if there’s room for a rich, religious life, filled with agapic love and community service, that doesn’t require infinite existence in a Kingdom of souls.

In fact, the indefinite preservation of ego beyond death might be one of the most unChristly things I can conceive. To die for good means real stakes exist. Is not the Christ who permanently dies and still chooses love anyway far more radical? More selfless? Does the resurrection not cheapen the sacrifice? Is the crucifixion without the resurrection not the braver story? (If it turns out that Christ was actually modeled off of Jesua, the righteous leader of the Essene cult that was crucified along with all the men in their group in 83 BC, and they passively accepted it, then that may be the true and ultimate crucifixion.)

Personally I think it’s more romantic to dissolve my architecture of self back into the dirt, knowing I will become fertilizer to feed bugs, and then in 10s of millions of years, all my energy will be reincarnated into the matter that makes some other unknowable being, whether fauna or mammal ... And FWIW, I am by no means anti-supernatural. I am enamored by hallucinations and dreams, and equal part terrified. I think there is an afterlife, a 3-minute DMT-odyssey that feels like 300 years, equal parts heaven and hell, built into human biology (so long as you don’t disintegrate via nuclear annihilation), but I share this I suppose to show I’m not a square Cartesian. Or maybe, in some ways, if you follow rationality far enough, it eventually becomes inconceivable and super-natural. I think there's a big difference between a rationalist who poo-poos anything but known science, and a rationalist who uses reason to plunge into the numinous (ie: Pythagoras, the alchemists, Jung, etc.). Whether “hallucinations” are actually part of a materialist reality or an “antenna” matter less to me than the idea that non-rational states of consciousness are on par, if not more important to waking states …

Again, all this to say, these are the proto-musings of a Heretic. I do believe I’ve told Taylor once that I have a budding and embarrassing dream to start a new sect of Christianity. On reflecting on it more, it's also a dangerous position to take, more of a threat than an atheist or an outsider, for a non-believer is deemed a fool, but one who reinterprets the same source material is a deranged competitor.

A new prayer I wrote to loop: "Καιρὸν θεωρῶ, ἀγάπην σπερῶ.” It stands for “Kairos I behold, Agapae I will sow,” or in less Greek terms: “I recognize the moment, and will bestow love as a gift.” Each half mapped to an inhale and exhale, sort of like the Lord’s Prayer (in attempt to internalize and associate the prayer as something as automatic as breathing). The first half is on being perceptive, the second on being generative. You watch with gravity, then act with generosity.

Pronounciation:
(1) kai-RON
(2) thay-oh-RO
(3) ah-GAH-peen
(4) speh-RO

On each word:

Kairos is about seeing a particular moment in a particular way, that if acted upon, will change the course of history. It jolts me out of a passivity, about accepting things as they are, and instead to see freshly, to see everywhere the third doors. Christ’s first words in the Bible (after baptism) are, “the kairos is fulfilled."

Thay-oh-RO means to behold, to contemplate, to observe, to truly see the potential of a circumstance. It’s not a casual looking, but a penetrating sight. It’s a perspicacity of vision (an unraveling). (Note: it ties to “theory” but original this word was a way of seeing, not an abstract hypothesis.) It doesn’t mean “I’m an opportunist, but the full weight of my attention is applied to the present. There’s discipline to it, and it’s framed as a sacred rite, an act that changes you.

Agape is the highest form of love. Eros is the lowliest love, the desire to subsume the other into you, passion. Philios is a brotherly love, a reciprocal friendship, a give and take. Agape is a parental unconditional love, where you hope to nurture the other into their maximum potential. This is the origin of this prayer, because it feels like a word that can applies to everything; to mundane moments, to relationships, to creative works, etc. In many important ways, agape is a form of surrender. Agape is the defining word of Christ.

SPAY-roh is “I sow,” but  speh-ROH is “I will sow.” The future tense adds a quality, as in, now that I’ve seen the moment, I commit to sowing love. The word “sow” is specific and special, because sowing comes from spraying seeds, meaning you give love in massive volumes, with no conditional reciprocity, no expectation for return, knowing that one in a few might blossom into something. There is even a “Parable of the Sower” in the New Testament, about broadcasting generously without controlling where things land; you throw seed and trust the ground. Love is something to scatter freely, without a guarantee of return. This spray definition also ties into my latest conception of the root cosmological urge, in a working essay titled “the universe is a cumshot.” As in, God is not a craftsman with a plan, it’s more like the universe is an explosion of matter, and God is the binding force, the emergent order that fuses, harmonize two things for them to transcend to a higher phase of matter. 

Compared to the Lord’s Prayer, which is petitionary (give us, forgive us, lead us, deliver us), asking for repentance and nourishment from a higher power, this one is more about our own responsibility to be like Christ, to have Christ-Conscioussness in each frame of our existence. It’s about internalizing the divine pattern. The Jesus Prayer is a devotional prayer, but this is a participatory prayer. This is “theosis,” becoming by grace what God is by nature.

Silicon Valley has cannibalized The Fountainhead and inverted its meaning. They celebrate Roark-like rhetoric—innovation, disruption, individual genius—but then go on to act like Keating: obsessed with markets, perception, appeasement, hype, status, and conformity. To be Roark is to fundamentally not care what the market thinks or wants, which goes directly against the main ethos of “build things people want.”

Roark had an unshakeable ethical core, a vision for the world that the world didn’t want, yet. He was willing to endure hardship, poverty, and hate, but didn’t despair over it; he had patience, faith in his destiny, and saw no other point than to follow his dream even if all signs pointed to it being a dead end. He stuck to his vision long enough for it to manifest in the world, and eventually others saw the transcendent beauty in it (Roark is modeled off of Frank Lloyd Wright). Roark was a force of nature, understood by no one in his life time, but everyone afterward.

In contrast, Keating is a status-chaser that plays social games. He is practical, while Roark is extremely unreasonable.

The point of Fountainhead, to me, is that Roark tolerated pain without suffering for his virtues, making him far more like a Christ-like character than a capitalist. There is no doubt, anxiety, despair, spiraling. He accepts all pain and does what he needs to; it’s the reader that experiences the pain and questions his almost inhuman reactions.

Faith is overrated, what matters is that you act like Christ. You could have all the belief in the world and go to church every week, but if you haven’t rigorously and honestly observed your own soul under a microscope, you may be missing the point.