Sir Percival on His Quest
The Quest
You can distill existence down to just three fundamental questions:
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What resides within my inner world?
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What comprises this immense universe, of which I am but an infinitesimal speck?
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And ultimately, what am I?
There are two distinct factions of humanity. Those driven by a relentless pursuit of truth, and those who have simply capitulated.
The latter, having surrendered, passively accept the repetitive patterns of their internal landscape, choosing not to confront them. They observe their place within the cosmos and opt for uncritical acceptance rather than inquisitive investigation. They have, in essence, chosen cessation; they have chosen not to truly be. Their existence, in the opinion of the former, is a profound tragedy.
Truth-seekers are singularly focused upon the acquisition of knowledge. Upon reflection, it is clear that the knowledge they seek pertains either to their inner world, or the external world, or their very being.
Consider it thus: I inhabit an internal, psychological realm. Impressions—along with breath and nourishment—enter this inner sanctum.
What is it, precisely, and how does it function? And what, indeed, am I within its confines?
This inner world, in turn, is merely a minor constituent of an immense external universe.
What is this encompassing outer world that contains my inner world, which in turn contains “I”?
Knowledge
The “Work” itself doesn’t dispense knowledge; it merely provides signposts. Highly valuable signposts, mind you –we can leverage these in our relentless quest for understanding.
One such signpost unequivocally states: “The outer universe works in exactly the same way as the inner universe.” It proclaims, “As above, so below.” This particular signpost carries significant weight because it directly engages our intellectual faculty. If accurate, it compels us to reframe our thinking. And this, incidentally, is the singular purpose of all such signposts: to provoke new modes of thought.
Living in this intellectual epoch, we might mistakenly assume that “knowing” is solely the domain of the thinking mind. But this is a grave error. Knowing permeates every center of our being. The emotional center, too, yearns to know; it possesses its own intellectual component and longs to feel the truth. The same holds true for the moving center; it craves to experience the truth. Not all signposts are exclusively for the rational mind.
Can we simply believe these signposts? This is a crucial consideration. Signposts are not entities to be believed or disbelieved. They are not, and can never be, the truth itself. Furthermore, there is always the risk of misinterpreting them and veering wildly off course. Sometimes, it necessitates multiple readings of a signpost to ascertain its precise direction. Signposts are either useful or they are not. After years immersed in the “Work,” one might come to regard all of them as useful. This is known as valuation. You don’t believe these signposts, but you value them.
All signposts point towards knowledge. And they share another common characteristic: they possess the power to trigger a new way of thinking within us. For instance, we likely don’t perceive ourselves as being held captive by falsehoods. Yet, through rigorous observation of our inner world, we eventually confront the unsettling realization that we are, in fact, chained by lies. It is inherent in our nature, for example, to unquestioningly accept what we’re told by an “authority.”
If you believe something, you cannot truly know it.
The vast majority of our beliefs are nothing more than emotional affirmations of untruths. There is a profound deception embedded within this. Consider the concept of “mechanicality.” Let’s say, when discussing this, I speak of my mechanicality as a verifiable reality. Whenever the topic surfaces, I glibly declare, “Yes, I am mechanical.” I utter this because I’ve encountered it countless times from a “good authority”—who could be a more esteemed authority than Gurdjieff himself? But I do not, in the slightest, know this within my inner world. I have not witnessed it. Therefore, the statement “I am mechanical” can be both a lie and a truth.
All of this underscores the inherent problem with answers. Answers are, more often than not, fabrications. Ask a contemporary scientist how the universe was formed, and he will undoubtedly deceive you. He is widely regarded as an authority, and consequently, people echo his glittering “answers”—they teach them and preach them. And should anyone dare to challenge the veracity of such an answer, the preacher merely gestures towards this authority figure, implying that anyone who doubts the pronouncements of such a “great man” is an imbecile.
The acquisition of knowledge demands Work. You follow the signpost, and you rigorously observe what you uncover. You embark on this journey armed with questions.
Three critical elements are indispensable:
- The capacity for observation.
- The ability to cultivate sincerity with yourself.
- The courage to question.
This is a quest, make no mistake. Envision yourself as a knight, astride a noble steed (representing the emotion of sincerity), and armed with keen, incisive weapons (your questions).
This quest is a relentless pursuit of knowledge, and knowledge is sought at every stage of the journey. To acquire knowledge necessitates the ability to observe. Can you do this? Yes, you can, but your proficiency is severely limited. You become identified, much like a guard who simply nods off. You impulsively leap into imagination, like a guard abandoning his post. You forget your intentions, leaving you utterly unprepared when challenged. The very struggle of this quest involves learning to simply watch and do nothing else.
To acquire knowledge demands sincerity. Can you do this? Yes, you can, but again, your capability is significantly constrained. Certain knowledge directly challenges your cherished self-image. But you cling tenaciously to this image, and consequently, knowledge slips through your grasp. Your cherished self-image is a deception, yet it is your first love—and, perhaps, your only love. So you attempt to strike a bargain.
To acquire knowledge requires you to question. Can you do this? Yes, you can, but your effectiveness is hampered. You are burdened by so many convenient, pre-fabricated beliefs that you find it incredibly difficult to relinquish them. There is a method to this madness. Return to the three foundational questions, and regardless of your specific quest, relate it back to one of them:
- What is my inner world?
- What is this vast universe, of which I am such a small part?
- What am I?
Now you possess your armaments. Now you can truly struggle. And perhaps, just perhaps, you can attain the purity of heart, like Percival, who ultimately succeeded in his quest for the Holy Grail.