The Low and the High

Perhaps the most important concept in sorting out the problems and opportunities of life is that of hierarchy—but the word is repugnant to many. It suggests authority or dominance. Images of ranks appear, prelates in robes and pointed hats, generals bristling with stars and decorations. And the word itself is ambiguous. It comes from two Greek roots of which one is “sacred” (hieros), the other is “ruler” (archon)—so the meaning of holiness is present in it but deformed by the concept of compulsion—because a ruler never stops at leading by example but will have masses of cops and soldiers to carry out his will, whether we like it or not. Thus hierarchy is all tangled up with one level of experience for most—the social. Once it was more closely associated with social mind control, thus with religious ideology. In a secular era the word itself has been secularized to mean any kind of authority. A non-starter for people.

In my personal lexicon the word has lost these connotations long ago. I tend to use the word simply to mean “a structure of values”—and more precisely the notion that all experience manifests itself in layers, from coarse to fine, from gross to subtle, for simple to the complex. And this layered arrangement behaves, in actuality, in a fashion which is precisely the opposite of a human, social, power structure.

What I mean by this is that the highest of values are the least compelling and the lowest the most authoritarian. We disobey our body’s demands at our peril—and often obey involuntarily—whereas we follow our highest callings only ever voluntarily. Similarly, in ordinary experience, the lowest has the most noticeable positive and negative feedback; the highest demands a high level of cultivation even to perceive—and ignoring it carries no sanctions whatsoever—beyond leaving us at a lower level where we’re evidently quite content to be—just keep the beer coming.

I myself think that this arrangement works with the same lawful force as gravity’s. One of its consequences is that no one goes to heaven unless he or she chooses; no one is sent to hell; he or she prefers it. At the same time—and here a subtle distinction also appears—souls may want to go to heaven, but when they arrive, they don’t like it there.

Compulsion rules the world, but freedom rules the spirit. Religion represents a transitional ground. When compulsion is present in it to any degree, it is still merely a social phenomenon no matter what concepts it deploys in its persuasion. When it begins attracting the individual soul by its subtle force and more or less veiled message, it becomes a personal quest and the mechanics of the religion itself will become less and less relevant and, indeed, unimportant. Separating the social compulsion in religion from its inner life is the most difficult task of all—the more so because those who succeed in doing so will be, without fail, expelled from the reservation. But if they are genuinely qualified, they won’t mind this in the least. Threats and seductions will repel the adequate—but may shape and purify those as yet stuck in the world of compulsion. And therein lies the positive work of religion.

The secret also hides itself effectively. What I say here will resonate with some, will cause others to feel opposition—as if I were attacking something holy. The holy is beyond attack. It also can’t be bought and sold.

The principles I have just sketched also work with the same precision in every corner, including the most hidden, of ordinary life as well. There too the coarse will only beget the coarse, force will only ever generate a counterforce, and only dedication will produce rewards that those on a lower level won’t even envy—because they can’t perceive them.