A word that circulate #2 — and digs into a real question!
Dialogue between two readers on spiritual discernment and the revealed Word. When the Comments section becomes a genuine place of thought!
When I opened these Dialogues to your contributions, I didn’t yet know what form this shared discourse would take — nor how deep it might go. I only knew that a true dialogue calls for more than marginal comments, however precious they may be: it calls for voices that engage freely with one another, respond patiently, and accept that they cannot conclude where honest thought forbids a conclusion.
The exchange you are about to read originated in the Comments section of the french version of my article The Wound of Duality—and the Return (1/3), the first text in a three-part series devoted to mapping non-dual paths within spiritual traditions. The series traverses six millennia-old traditions—from Sufism to Kabbalah, from Advaita Vedanta to Buddhism, from Taoism to Christian mysticism—before giving voice to two contemporary voices: the Revelation of Arès and the Dialogues with the Angel. It was precisely this last choice—treating these contemporary Words as fully-fledged paths in this mapping, on par with the millennia-old traditions—that lit the fuse!
Alexander Djis, an attentive and philosophically discerning reader, then pointed out in a comment what he calls “the subtle flaw” in this series of articles: I had not explicitly raised the question of the epistemic status of a Word that presents itself as received, transmitted, revealed. By granting it a structuring place in my comparisons, I was implicitly taking a position on its admissibility—without ever setting forth the criteria underlying that position. This is a fair observation, and it deserves more than a simple acknowledgment. It will be the subject of a future article.
But it was Patrick Thazard, a reader of the Dialogues and a pilgrim of Arès, who first took up the gauntlet—not to answer in my place, but because the question touched him in his own life. A conversation then unfolded between them, spanning four days of exchanges in the Comments section of the article. With uncommon rigor and fraternity, it perfectly illustrates what I hoped for when I opened the Dialogues to your participation: letting the diversity of your approaches and the richness of their encounters run freely.
Patrick and Alexander do not reach an agreement. The central question Alexander poses with disarming clarity — do there exist shareable criteria of discernment between contradictory revealed claims, or does spiritual truth remain irreducibly personal? — remains open at the end of their exchange, as it should when thought is honest. What develops between them is not a consensus, but something more precious: a space of mutual understanding, patiently achieved, sentence after sentence, without reduction or evasion — a genuine dialogue that advances reflection rather than closing it off with slogans and postures, which is unfortunately so common today.
I thank them both for agreeing to let me move and republish their comments here as they are, in the form of a full-fledged article—preserving their living dynamic, with its advances, its corrected misunderstandings, its rephrasings, and that beautiful final moment where fraternity takes over without erasing any of the differences that remain.
It falls to me, once this exchange has been read, to respond to the direct question Alexander addresses to me. I have begun to do so in response to his initial comment — but this will be the subject of the article announced above.
For now, I leave you with them. Feel free to continue the dialogue if you wish — here are their Substack profiles: Alexander Djis · Patrick Thazard.
Jérôme Nathanaël
The article and comment that sparked the exchange
And here is Alexander Djis’s initial comment, which serves as the starting point for this exchange:
“Dear Jérôme, your work on non-dual approaches in spiritual traditions has the merit of naming the fractures that persist between them rather than dissolving them, and in that it is precious. But since the first article, a tension persists in the reading, linked to a subtle flaw that perhaps deserves to be exposed in turn for this last article: that of the very status of contemporary revealed word.
The two texts you highlight as “contemporary paths” are not merely modern spiritual meditations. They carry a specific claim: that of a word received, transmitted, and given. By granting them such a place in your comparison, you are not merely making a documentary choice; you are engaging, even implicitly, a position on the admissibility of this type of source.
Yet this position, in your text, remains in the background.
This is a decisive point. For what authorizes us today to take a contemporary revealed claim seriously? The depth of the text? Its coherence? Its existential fruitfulness? Its transformative effect? Or the explicit recognition of an always-living possibility of revelation?
Without clarification, an ambiguity remains: these texts seem to play a more structuring role than mere modern testimony, without the position that renders this use fully coherent being laid out.”
Spiritual discernment and revealed word: dialogue between Patrick and Alexander
Patrick Thazard: It is of course not my place to answer on behalf of Jérôme Nathanaël, but I thank you for this pertinent question.
To your question “what authorizes us today to take a contemporary revealed claim seriously?”, it seems to me that nothing conceptually clear authorizes it... no more, for that matter, than the contemporaries of the Buddha or Jesus had a conceptually clear criterion for deciding on their personal relationship with them... Some contemporaries were “touched” back then, and many others were not, and this does not seem different to me today regarding contemporary revelations.
Of course, false prophets have existed in every age, just as they do today, and the more or less clear answer lies within the intimacy of each individual’s consciousness.
Personally, I am not at all bothered by someone telling me that my faith in “The Sign, or the Revelation of Arès” is a complete illusion, and for me it is not a matter of convincing them but of seeking what we can do together in peace. Every human relationship founded on unconditional love can only respect each person’s freedom.
Alexander Djis: Thank you for your response, which I understand and respect in its personal dimension. But it seems to me that it slightly shifts the initial question.
I was not asking why some people are touched and others are not, but whether there exist criteria that allow us to distinguish, beyond individual feeling, a word that is potentially true from a word that is simply lived as true.
In other words: can the fact of being inwardly touched suffice as a criterion of validity, or must it be supplemented by other forms of discernment?
For without this, all revealed claims — including those that contradict one another — become equally legitimate by the sole fact that they are sincerely lived, which makes the very question of truth difficult to formulate.
For my part, I have developed certain criteria of discernment. The question I raise here is therefore also: do others have them? And notably Jérôme, insofar as these texts occupy a structuring place in his approach?
Furthermore, regarding the idea that “the contemporaries of the Buddha or Jesus had no criterion,” it seems to me that there existed at least implicit forms of discernment: coherence of discourse, observable transformation, progressive recognition, confrontation with other schools, testing through time.
It was therefore not purely subjective, even if, over time, these criteria can dilute and be replaced by a more diffuse adherence. Looking forward to continuing the exchange.
Patrick Thazard: I think we have understood each other, my dear Alexander.
When I answer “no” to the existence of these famous objective criteria of discernment — therefore universal ones — I do not mean that faith is entirely subjective; I mean that faith has a large subjective dimension that is supported within the conscience by “objective” criteria provided by each person’s rational intelligence... As you say regarding yourself, this objectivity remains for me a personal and deeply intimate construction.
I do understand, however, your concern for objective criteria. This, of course, raises the question of truth in a strikingly obvious way—that is true... In the “spiritual” realm, the scientific approach carries no legitimacy for me — I say this as a former engineer. Nothing is provable, and this is in my view even an assumed choice of the Absolute...
Let us note that this question of truth is about to become further complicated by the imminent emergence, I believe, of false prophets conceived through AI — which I call Algorithmic Instinct, in order to leave intelligence to humans. We are not out of the woods yet.
It remains that your direct question to Jérôme Nathanaël is chiefly aimed at clarifying his approach in your eyes, and I can only leave him to respond if he so wishes.
Alexander Djis: Thank you for your response; I believe we do indeed understand each other on what is at stake. I nevertheless perceive a point of tension that remains open.
When you evoke “objective” criteria constructed inwardly by each person, it seems to me that we are shifting registers: what is then called objectivity becomes in reality a stabilized subjectivity. This is not a problem in itself, but it makes it difficult for truly shareable criteria to exist — ones that would allow us to distinguish between potentially contradictory revealed claims.
My question, therefore, is not so much about the content or sincerity of the experience, but about the conditions that make possible a discernment that transcends the individual. It is within this framework that I introduce another angle: that of the very architecture of revelations.
Regardless of their content or resonance (which will always be culturally situated), a discrepancy remains that puzzles me: a claim to universality carried by modes of emergence that are systematically localized, singular, and uncorrelated with one another.
If one supposes a supra-human source, the question then becomes less “what is said” than “how it is made manifest.”
Why an isolated revelation, inscribed in a single psyche, a single language, a single culture, rather than a simultaneous, multi-conscious emergence allowing a form of cross-validation without constraining individual freedom?
My inquiry does not aim to invalidate these texts, but to understand whether their mode of appearance is coherent with the universal claim they bear. And here the engineer certainly has an idea on this, especially if his thinking has become systemic. For if we view a revelation as a transmission system, does its architecture not already in itself carry information about its nature? In other words, regardless of the content, does the fact that it is localized, non-redundant, dependent on a single recipient, and lacking independent cross-validation not represent something worth questioning — especially if it lays claim to universal scope?
Patrick Thazard: Thank you again for this pertinent question.
To attempt an answer, I will take an example: the miracle of Fátima. I copy here the opening of the Wikipedia article:
“The Miracle of the Sun, or the dance of the sun, is a celestial phenomenon said to have been observed on October 13, 1917, in Fátima, at noon (solar time, or 1:45 PM legal time), in the context of the Marian apparitions of Fátima, by 40,000 to 50,000 people.”
Good grief, 40,000 witnesses, some of whom came specifically to mock it! How was this interpreted?
Among this crowd who witnessed the impressive “miracle,” the details of which I will skip, committed materialists estimated that this event, inexplicable by the science of their time, was of natural origin — regardless of whether there is still no clear explanation in 2026; science might find one in 3026, who knows? Other witnesses converted to the Catholic faith, and others simply decided to tuck this memory away at the back of their minds to avoid the headache... What a diversity of interpretations! Fátima is only one example I could multiply across every religion.
And I, a century later, acknowledge the likely existence of a miracle at Fátima, but the bare fact does not convert me to the Catholic faith. Like every human being, I am free to use my subjectivity and my intelligence to form an opinion or an attitude toward this “miracle” backed by solid testimonies.
I sometimes say that the human being is an incarnated god who fears his own divinity. This is subconscious of course, but this fear is respected by the Creator, by Life, in every era. Life speaks to us with Love through the means of prophets, all the while knowing that Humanity has moved away from It through a more or less conscious and gradual choice made long ago. Human freedom produces an infinity of sensibilities that Life respects infinitely.
The form of “cross-validation” you speak of is perhaps the desire to rationalize an existential choice that is, for me, far more than rational — like falling in love commits a life and is not rational. Moreover, even a pure atheist is not rational when he stakes his life on the non-existence of God, for he cannot prove it logically; his atheism is a form of faith. But nothing of course prevents you from seeking this cross-validation if that is the criterion you set for yourself in your personal journey.
Frankly, my response may be totally off base, but I did my best...
Alexander Djis: Thank you for your response; it is very insightful and I better understand your position. It seems to me, however, that we are not quite speaking on the same level.
The example of Fátima is interesting, for it shows that a phenomenon, even one shared by a large number of witnesses, can give rise to divergent interpretations. But this does not directly answer the question I was raising, which does not bear on the interpretation of an event, but on the status of a word that presents itself as universal.
When you evoke freedom of interpretation or the existential nature of choice, I partly agree with you. But this amounts to situating the question of truth at the level of the individual relationship, whereas I am questioning the possibility of a discernment that goes beyond that framework alone. In other words: does the fact that an experience is sincere, profound, or transformative suffice to consider it as potentially true beyond the one who lives it?
When you mention freedom of interpretation or the existential nature of choice, I agree with you in part. But that amounts to situating the question of truth at the level of the individual relationship, whereas I am questioning the possibility of discernment that goes beyond that framework alone. In other words: is the fact that an experience is sincere, profound, or transformative sufficient to consider it potentially true beyond the person experiencing it?
For if we answer yes, then all revealed claims — even those that contradict one another — become equivalent from the standpoint of truth, which seems to me to pose a difficulty. For example, on what grounds does one distinguish one revelation from another when they do not converge (such as the Grail Message of Abd-ru-shin)?
My question therefore remains open: do there exist, in your view, elements allowing us to conceive of a form of shareable discernment, even partial, or must we accept that this question can never leave the strictly personal register?
And if we retain this second option, another inquiry appears: what then founds the legitimacy of transmission — even of conviction — around these spiritual propositions, particularly when they are embedded in educational frameworks for children, where consciousness is not yet fully constituted (and is still oriented toward the search for recognition from others)?
These questions do not necessarily call for an immediate answer. They chiefly aim to explore the coherence between a claim to universality and the concrete conditions of its transmission.
Patrick Thazard: I do believe there exists “a form of shareable discernment, even partial,” while holding that faith belongs to a very intimate personal register.
My faith is not religious but spiritual — a fundamental difference in my view that would take too long to explain here, but Jérôme Nathanaël’s introductions offer a first glimpse. As the Source of my faith is for me the absolute Good — which is Love and Freedom — it carries no pretension to social universality, even if it does carry a pretension to have a universal impact over the long run without requering a general conversion of humanity. Acts of love are more creative than any faith.
The primary concrete condition for transmitting a spirituality is, in my eyes, to lead by example in one’s life without becoming a moralizer. The rest can become a form of domination, as is done in religions and atheist ideologies.
Transmitting one’s faith to one’s children through an intellectually solid educational framework seems to me to be a profound error. Every religious or atheist morality is an intellectual certainty that confines. I wish for everything to be under the sign of love — therefore of the child’s freedom, in keeping with their personality and their growing capacity for autonomy.
To move beyond generalities: it so happens that my daughters are in their thirties and do not share my faith, without friction or too much disappointment on my part. I believe I was more or less attentive to their intimate relationship with this question. This does not mean that there was no certain suffering for them in adolescence, for thinking autonomously is not always easy when facing a father. Silence was a practical and understandable solution for them.
Alexander Djis: Thank you for your response; it clarifies your position well, and I find it coherent in its intention.
I better understand your choice to situate faith in an intimate register, non-imposable, and to make the quality of acts the true place of expression of this orientation. On this point, I largely agree with you.
It seems to me, nonetheless, that this leaves open a fundamental question we have touched upon: if spiritual truth seeks neither to demonstrate itself, nor to transmit itself as such, nor to impose itself, then it largely escapes any framework of shareable discernment, and approaches an existential orientation rather than a truth in the strong sense.
This is not necessarily a problem in itself, but it changes the status of what we are talking about.
I therefore keep this inquiry in the background: do there exist, beyond the lived experience and the effects it produces, elements allowing us to distinguish different spiritual propositions other than by their personal resonance?
And I also ask myself, more broadly: does spirituality really need to rely on a form of revelation or message from a beyond in order to exist, or can it stand on its own, in a direct openness to what transcends the human?
In other words, from what point does recourse to a revealed word transform a spiritual approach into a form of religion?
Patrick Thazard: You write: “If spiritual truth seeks neither to demonstrate itself, nor to transmit itself as such, nor to impose itself...”
For me, absolute spiritual truth is inaccessible to human intelligence — no revealed word gives it — but relative truth seeks to transmit itself without demonstrating or imposing itself.
You write: “Does spirituality really need to rest on a form of revelation or message from a beyond in order to exist, or can it stand on its own, in a direct openness to what transcends the human?”
For me, spirituality is existential transcendence through acts of love and liberation — it is penitence. It is accessible to the most committed atheist, provided they will it. Louise Michel is for me a spiritual exemplar.
You write: “In other words, from what point does recourse to a revealed word transform a spiritual approach into a form of religion?”
It is the lack of penitence... What “The Sign, or the Revelation of Arès” says is that every dogma, every adulated clergy or theologian, every form of power over the people (even political), transforms a belief into a religion when there is not enough concrete penitence among the faithful. This is the sad trajectory of all great religions and all political hopes — and it is for this reason that the Creator, Life, chose to speak anew at Arès. One can therefore be a follower of a great religion and still be a penitent.
Of course, nothing guarantees that the followers — called Pilgrims of Arès — will succeed in maintaining over time their hope outside of religion. That depends entirely on them.
Alexander Djis: Thank you for your response; it clearly illustrates your position.
As I read your words, I seem to perceive a pattern that recurs throughout religious history: a new message comes along to reinterpret, correct, or revitalize older forms that, in its view, have become inadequate or corrupted. This process of reinterpretation and correction is understandable in itself.
But this is perhaps where, for me, a limitation lies: once this dynamic relies on a new revelation to reinterpret previous ones, we enter a realm where discernment tends to fade in favor of an act of adherence.
And at this threshold, it seems to me that two attitudes become possible: recognize the internal coherence of the proposition and explore its meaning, or to refrain from adhering to it — not out of rejection, but because the passage toward the supra-human origin cannot be crossed without a personal commitment that transcends the framework of shareable discernment.
For my part, I remain committed to the idea that human beings can attain a form of righteousness, transformation, and virtue without necessarily relying on a revealed word. Not in opposition to these paths, but independently of them.
This takes nothing away from your path, nor from the sincerity of your search, but it simply marks a difference of position on this precise point, which is no longer shareable.
Patrick Thazard: I am glad to see, my dear Alexander, that we have understood each other.
It is possible that your path of searching for virtue may bring you closer than me to the Creator, to Life, even in unbelief and in unconsciousness of this proximity. It is among other reasons why Jesus said 2,000 years ago: Do not judge.
This resonates with our theme of non-duality: everything that exists is One, is a Child of Love in infinite space.
Thank you for this spiritual exchange.
Alexander Djis: Thank you for this exchange, which will have allowed us to go to the end of a point rarely explored with such precision.
It seems to me that we have reached a structuring limit: the point where the question of truth can no longer be decided without engaging a fundamental posture.
On one side, an assumed trust in the intimate as the ultimate place of validation.
On the other, the search for a discernment that can, at least in part, be shared and confronted.
Between the two, there is not necessarily a synthesis — but a bifurcation.
Each person then advances according to what they are ready to recognize as source.
And perhaps the real issue is not to choose an answer, but to know how far one is willing to question what, within oneself, already gives an answer.
A word of gratitude in closing
Thank you to Alexander and Patrick for the quality of their presence in this exchange — for the patience with which they listened to each other, the precision with which they responded, and the elegance with which they remained open where their paths diverge.
This dialogue was born spontaneously, in the comments, with no staging. That is precisely what gives it its value.
If something in this exchange has passed through you — a question that resonates, a nuance that catches, a perspective you would like to bring — the Comments section is there for you. Alexander and Patrick will be able to respond to you. And if you wish to contribute in turn to these Dialogues, in a more developed form, I remind you that the Community section is open to your voice.
What circulates here belongs to no one — and all the better for it.
Jérôme Nathanaël
Your participation in the Dialogues
This text calls for a continuation that does not belong to its authors alone. Whether you wish to share it, respond to it, or bring your own voice to it — each of these gestures is a way of keeping alive what these Dialogues seek to be.
🔗 Did this text speak to you? Pass it along to someone for whom these questions are alive — spiritual awakening travels best in good company.
💬 A question, a disagreement, a resonance? These Dialogues are not written alone: your remarks, objections, and personal reflections bring them what they cannot contain by themselves.
✍️ And your voice in all this? The Community section welcomes your short texts — one page — in response to the articles, or on the themes running through these Dialogues: awakening and inner transformation, a spiritual gaze on current events, a desire to contribute to the change of the world. If something in you is seeking to be written, send it by email. It will be published with a response — and that is how these Dialogues will become what their name promises.