Sacrifice is meaning. When the petal and the perfume, the shape and the colour are thrown into the fire of knowledge, you know something that you call the rose, or what you call knowledge itself. When at the fire sacrifice, the Brahmins chant, and you throw faggots and honey and butter on the flaming Agni, the fire god, the chief Brahmin, he, he sits silent. The fire outside is the knowledge within, the silence which is knowledge, the knowledge, where, as in the coronation, the Brahmin, the symbol of the Ultimate, the male principle, marries the king, herein represented as the feminine principle, the receiver and the expression—while the silence, the Brahmin being the non-giving giver, the non-moving cause, if there is a cause, the essence which does nothing, because even in doing there is essence. We are all worshippers at this fire of knowledge, otherwise we would not be able to live. Every action is a moment of sacrifice, to know the table, the stone or the star is all in the fire of knowledge, Calvary is everywhere. To know that you are you, even this you know in the fire of knowledge. The king becomes king by knowing he is king, the fire says so, and the silent Brahmin reveals it all by his silence. The silence which is meaning be the symbol of the true kingdom, the Kingdom of God, the City of God of St Augustine. The king rules because, in every hearth of his kingdom, the fire of sacrifice sends up its smoke to the skies. That, says the Indian texts, that kingdom is prosperous and bright, where the smokes of sacrifice rise and curl from every household. The king, or president, or prime minister, should be he who helps every citizen or subject to understand understanding. He, the feminine principle who rules, gets his power to rule, from the silent Brahmin, the Supreme Court, the president of the republic, or the chairman of the party. Kosygin does what the silent man in the Kremlin decides in his impersonal silence. But when the silent man thinks he the ruler is the high priest, he, Stalin or Khrushchev or I, Woodrow Wilson, then the silence arises and dissolves the cult of personality. And silence reigns again. Only the impersonal can reign. The personal must always seek back to man’s silence within, his high priest within, his party chief within before action. For all personal action is unfree, fantasy-born, disastrous in result, as the object must dissolve in light, and not seek itself away from light. Colonel House has not to be sent away, otherwise the League of Nations will die. You don’t send Trotsky away, he the high priest, or Stalin, becomes Ivan the Terrible, he will murder everyone in his own name. Once, the party chief, the silent man in the Kremlin, is listened to totally, the presidium, which like the Supreme Court or Colonel House, decides in the name of the ultimate law, the president or prime minister has to obey.