We have been taught to call it progress. It is a convenient name, like a sheet thrown over a corpse. The truth is another, and we feel it turn into a scream in our guts, every time the news shows us yet another war for profit, every time an algorithm decides who we are and what to desire. We are inside a perfect machine, oiled by consensus, which has three main gears. The first, the crudest and most powerful, is the economy. Not the economy of bakers and carpenters, the one that feeds and builds. No. This is a theology in reverse, a Saturnian cult that devours its children. Its god is profit, sole and unique, its liturgy is written in incomprehensible balance sheets, its hell is poverty. The second gear is political power, no longer a counterbalance, but the praetorian guard of the first. Institutions, those that should be the bulwark of law, are courtesans. They prostitute themselves to the highest bidder, who is always, unfailingly, the multinational of the day, the financial conglomerate, the faceless entity that holds the true scepter. And the third gear, the one that should be the brake, ethics, has been reduced to an ornament, a drawing-room conversation, a luxury for beautiful souls. An ethics without a backbone, without a foundation other than the opinion of the day. This is the impure triad that governs our time. A Moloch that demands human victims, but not on the altar of faith, but on the banal and ruthless one of the dividend and capital.

And yet, in this night, a seed endures. It is an ancient seed, forgotten, trampled by the passing of tanks and stock market transactions. It is that feeling that inhabits us, that primordial vibration that tells us, without words, that good and evil exist. That a human life has a specific weight, an absolute value that is not negotiable. This is not an emotion. It is an ontological datum. It is the proof that we were forged by a hand that is not the same that forged the machine. To welcome this energy is not a mystical act; it is the only truly revolutionary act we have left. It is the radical refusal of the yoke. It is recognizing that there exists a Love that precedes every merit, that cannot be bought or sold. A Love that is Source, that is Logos. Not an abstract principle, but a creative and impersonal force that attracts us not for what we have done, but for what we are: needy, fragile, imperfect beings. It is from this need, from this wound, that true strength can spring.

Those who do not understand this, who set themselves up as priests of Moloch, who place power, success, money before this elementary principle, are not simply mistaken. They are an enemy of the human. They are a traitor to the species. Their guilt is not ideological; it is biological. They are like a cancer that, forgetting it is part of a single body, begins to devour it believing it is affirming itself. The good of the individual is the good of the community. It is a truism, and yet it is the first to be sacrificed on the altar of ideology, be it that of the market or the totalitarian state.

We are still primitive. Not for the lack of technology, but for the excess of it at the expense of consciousness. We live in a prehistory of the spirit, domesticated by millennia of traditions that have extinguished the radical question. The perfect slave is the one who loves his chains. Today the chains are digital, they are psychological, they are pre-packaged existences that distance us from our analog nature, made of flesh, of gazes, of shared silences. This creeping transhumanism, this digital identity, is not progress. It is an escape. It is the desperate attempt of the machine to replicate itself, to eliminate the human element, unpredictable and disordered. If not governed by a consciousness that has come to terms with the Source, this thrust will lead us not to enlightenment, but to self-destruction.

A way out exists. It is narrow, impervious, and does not pass through the palaces of power. It passes through the daily, humble, obstinate choice to orient one’s life towards what is good and right. And what is good and right? It is that which, if done by all, builds and does not destroy. It is the act that, in its completion, does not create a victim. It is the recognition that my good is inextricably linked to yours. It is the refusal of every distinction. There is no “us” and “them.” There is a single human community, fragile and magnificent, which has the supreme duty to protect every single one of its components. Only this awareness, which is at once personal and collective, can make the hidden seed sprout. It can make us leave prehistory. It can give us back the mastery of an existence that, otherwise, is nothing but a script written by others, for others. The golden yoke of finance or the harsh freedom of the seed. The choice, in the end, is always and only ours.