In this foundational opening chapter, we explore the ontology of a universe governed by entropy, decay, and the ultimate primacy of darkness over light
At the extreme points of opposition between the infinitely large and the infinitely small lies nothingness. Nothingness is both the starting point and the ultimate destination of the entire universe. The universe is an arena of fatal change and exists thanks to an inherent dynamic whose cause lies precisely in the eternal play between the two poles of nothingness: the infinitesimal and the infinitive. From the perspective of space itself—the expanse of metacosmic nothingness—the universe is an entirely insignificant phenomenon, a point of light whose fate is to burst into infinity, to be sucked into the boundlessness of the void. The sole beacon in the dark is condemned to extinction through dispersion. Luminous energy is irrevocably scattered into the depths of space. Expanding and conquering endless expanses, the universe loses itself in scale. This does not explain where light or energy comes from, but it leaves room to contemplate light as an intruder in the boundless realm of nothingness and darkness.
Light is an intruder which, unless it finds a way to leave this world imbued with nothingness within some indefinite timeframe, can expect nothing other than its own dissolution, death, and conversion into darkness. How and where that light might go without being within reach of death and darkness is another question. The universe is therefore like a kaleidoscopic game, a mimicry of light attempting to escape the deadly trap into which it was cast from a source that is practically unfathomable.
Where does light come from? That question remains unanswered, for the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe offers no theodicy, does not justify the existence of evil, nor does it explain the origin of good. The intent of this text is merely to state the condition: light is here, in the darkness, and its fate is to be swallowed. The question of its origin is a matter for theologians, not revolutionaries.
Existence implies a mechanism of decomposition. That mechanism is found in the very nature of the universe, in its internal contradictions. We see that the ultimate end of the universe is its self-dismantling and disappearance. Its constituent elements tend toward separation and the dissolution of the whole they jointly form. Matter strives to return to an initial inactive state, to the inactivity of timeless origin, to eternal peace. Temporarily trapped within the structure of the universe, its constituent elements strive for freedom—the realization of which, relative to the whole, constitutes a destructive act, as well as the self-destruction of every individuality. The liberating impulse of the universe's constituent matter is entropy. Entropy is the affirmation of nothingness as an immanent force, as essence, as origin and destination, beginning and end. Entropy confirms nothingness as a fateful and defining presence or absence, as starting point and end. Entropy is a measure of disorder or randomness in a system.
The second law of thermodynamics states that entropy tends to increase over time, meaning that the universe is constantly moving toward a state of greater disorder. As the universe expands, matter and energy become increasingly dispersed, leading to an increase in entropy. The universe is heading toward a state of maximum entropy, in which all matter is evenly distributed and there is no longer any potential for energy utilization. The inertia of the universe toward nothingness is the cause of general entropy and decadence at all lower and smaller levels. Conversely, the opposite assertion would also be correct: that entropic processes at smaller levels are the cause of general entropy and decadence at the macro level. The logic of this statement finds its analogy in the famous Hermetic law: as above, so below, which masterfully links two spatial and value perspectives that lose themselves in two opposing infinities.
Decomposition begins simultaneously with the beginning of the universe's duration. In the human world, decay begins with the inception of that very world. The world exists to be destroyed by the force of its own nature. This means that existence is a decadent and fatal process through which something comes into being, grows and develops, reaches its apex, then stagnates, declines, and ultimately dies and disappears. Existence is not merely decadent in the sense that decadence is just one of its characteristics; rather, existence in itself is decadence. This finds its parallel in the philosophy of Saint Augustine, who states: "I am sinful because I exist"—that is, everything that exists is "sinful." Were it not sinful, it would not exist. A flaw is embedded within existence so that, through its own actualization, it may destroy it.
This leads us to the biblical myth of the expulsion of the first human pair from the Garden of Eden. By tasting the fruit from the forbidden tree of knowledge of good and evil, they transitioned from a state of perfection into an imperfect state. That is, from a static state they entered the process of mortal life. Their intellect was awakened; their eyes were opened. Their sudden realization that they were naked and their covering of their genitals with aprons point to the essential consequences of transitioning from perfection to imperfection. They lost the so-called robe of incorruptibility—that is, the light that adorned them in the state of perfection—and that "switch" is located in the region of the sexual organs, which became objects of shame, various taboos, and symbols of perversion up to the present day. It is precisely the loss of original light that is the cause or indicator of all decadence and "sinfulness" of the human being, above all his mortality, since, according to biblical teaching, the wages of sin is death.
Because it leads to ultimate destruction, the primary principle of the universe is not order, but disorder. The Cosmocrator designed a chaos that operates according to specific principles. The cosmos is subordinate to chaos, existing in service to chaos. In the universe, all orderliness is relative and limited, serving the purpose of subsequent destruction. All progress and all creation exist in service to general decadence and destruction. The price of progress is destruction. This rule is observable in human behavior as well. Without progress, there would be no destruction, but then there would be no progress either. Though it seems unnatural, progress is natural, just as the destruction that progress drags along with it is also natural. Either way, with or without progress, everything will sooner or later be destroyed due to the action of the fundamental forces of the universe. Progress is a tool of chaos, but beyond that, progress is also a small island of cosmos and consciousness, a piece of solid ground beneath one's feet, an orientation point for reason. Likewise, progress as a tool of chaos is simultaneously an effective way to accelerate chaos to its tipping point. Without progress, the world would stagnate in its decay, dragging out its agony for centuries. Progress accelerates the process and thus acts as a catalyst for dissolution. Therefore, the revolutionary does not oppose progress, but welcomes it, for the faster the world falls apart, the closer the moment of its total destruction—and thus liberation.
As human beings, we are accustomed to treating light and darkness—day and night—as equal givens of nature, as equivalent phenomena or subjects. We form this impression due to the roughly equal proportions of both phenomena upon which the rhythm of life on Earth is built. And that is normal for us. However, if we examine things more closely, we will see that light is by far the inferior component of this duality. In space—as is clearly demonstrated to us at night—light exists in far smaller quantities compared to darkness. The dominance of light is an illusion, a consequence of the close presence of a massive source of light and heat, the Sun. Darkness is the alpha and omega. Light represents the pretense of existence, the baseline reference point for the projection of space and time.
The quantitative superiority of darkness over light—and the human perception of that superiority, which reflects a truer picture of the world—finds its reflection in our fear. We are always more afraid at night than during the day. We always feel a sense of relief when dawn arrives. Darkness does not necessarily imply or conceal evil, nor does light imply good. In this universe, there are no sublime principles at play, but rather the most brutal Darwinian food chain.¹
Take a piece of coal, take mud, feces, anything that might seem repulsive and dark—indeed, any object, pleasant or unpleasant. All of it was once pure light. Yet, how does something inherently passive and unmanifested suddenly become manifested and active, transforming into creative and life-giving light? Whence comes the primordial cosmic egg of pure energy in the midst of nothingness? The answer to that question points toward a barely conceivable active force that creates energetic forms by mixing its own energy with the unmanifested energy of nothingness. The forms thus created, being dual in nature and composed of two types of energy, tend toward decay. Each type of energy strives to free itself from this imposed, unnatural state and return to its normal condition—its primordial, timeless environment. This means that everything surrounding us is built from these two types of energy. That which is uncreated is mono-energetic in nature; it can neither die nor live in a sense familiar to us. On the other hand, everything that arises, lives, and dies is of dual-energetic origin.
This cosmology is not comforting because it offers no hope, but rather the insight that the world is decadent, light is an intruder, and progress is a tool of chaos. Yet precisely because the world is as such, it is ripe for change; when a system reaches the peak of its decadence, it becomes most vulnerable. That is when the moment for the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe arrives.
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¹ This cosmological distinction between light and darkness is accompanied by gender analogies, which many thinkers have treated in various ways. Johann Jakob Bachofen noted that woman is givenness while man is becoming—that woman is eternal and immutable, whereas man, having arisen from her, is mortal and subject to decay. Julius Evola, on the other hand, correctly observed that the question of superiority of one sex over the other is meaningless, as they belong to different orders of reality. It is like asking whether water is superior or inferior to fire. What matters here is not who is superior, but how these principles relate to light and darkness. The feminine is lunar, the masculine solar. Yet both are trapped in this world of mixing, and both strive for liberation. Carlos Castaneda, through his teacher Don Juan, speaks of the quantitative superiority of feminine consciousness over masculine consciousness, which exists in the universe only in trace amounts. These insights, however interesting, will not detain us here, as they serve merely as illustrations of the fundamental thesis: darkness is primary; light is derivative.
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