Sadness often acts as a badge of honor for the bereaved, for the deprived. When our own walls crumble and fall, do we not wish to have outside eyes gaze upon us and weep? Is it not more painful to be invaded in the dead of winter, surrounded by the cold and unfeeling force of ice, than it is to feel the momentary breeze of one’s door being kicked down in a sweltering heat?
Indeed, we have not forgotten the war horse of Achilles weeping for us–for you, too. One moment, a moment in which nature itself was allowed to weep for us, lives in the annals of our great history for a reason! For it showed all of Western man that we, above all else, are pitied by reality itself. Can carrying such a burden be met with anything other than honor? Are all other reactions–anger, hatred, resentment–not the very definition of sin?
There are those who have come to believe that honor in sadness is merely a sign of weakness. To carry difficulty with pride is merely a fool’s errand that must be abandoned if we ever wish to overcome. Overcome?
Is this not the true fool’s errand?
Indeed, to believe we can overcome this earthly toil is to ignore our being ushered into History as punishment for original sin. To believe we can overcome our humanity is to fully ignore the human. To believe we can be anything other than what we are is to ignore the edict of the Gods and of God made flesh, alike. To perceive our reality as something to be stepped out of at a whim is to believe Eden a mere stone’s throw from one’s own doorstep. Well, then, step! Such a step will be as easy as stepping out of the eye of a hurricane into a peaceful renaissance!
By the way, History is such a force; she is akin to a typhoon or a flood. History is something that happens to us and cannot be controlled. It cannot be escaped from, either. Yet the confused and the unlearned persist. They believe themselves balls of clay, yet refuse to fix their own lame, inadequate selves. They believe the potential of man infinite, yet drag their feet through the daily doldrums of modernity.
In all actuality, the uncultured and the forgotten do not truly believe they can escape, do not believe they can change. They have just been told by the wicked and evil that they should believe in such things. If the seeds of such an idea actually flourished the resulting flowers would create, produce, innovate, and imagine beyond the mass of men’s wildest dreams. Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Donald Trump… These are the modern men who live the idea that they are only limited by what they attempt to achieve.
To great men, there are mountains insurmountable. But that is not to say that they are afraid to traverse the course, gazing up as they pass through the mountain ridge, imagining some day that their own heir will reach heights they themselves could not.
Today’s screaming hordes–as ugly in spirit as in physical form–do not look up and dream. They dare not look beyond the tip of their own noses. For to look beyond would be to observe their own sadness, of which they cannot wear with honor. They are incapable. They are of a dull stock. They are of a stock who have accomplished nothing. Accomplishment is a throne reserved for a lone people group who the whole world has come to despise for it: Christians.
In fact, those who believed the time for wrestling with God was over harkened the message of God made flesh. As Matthew 4:18-20 states, “Now as Jesus was walking by the Sea of Galilee, He saw two brothers, Simon who was called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea; for they were fishermen. And He *said to them, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Immediately they left their nets and followed Him.”
When it was time to follow God, we followed. When it was time to kneel, we kneeled. When it was time to praise and to exalt and to worship, we did them all. Our reward was greater than we could have ever known.
On this Earth, we would come to know beauty not even the Greeks ever knew. We would come to know peace not even the Romans ever knew. We would come to know virtue not even those deep within the Confucian Orient ever knew. We would come to know a depth of spirit not even the greatest of Hindu Yogis ever knew.
Indeed, all of this was ours to behold and protect. Somewhere along the way our ancestors fell asleep for I have yet to observe such beauty. I have witnessed with mine own two eyes retired technae, and with mine own two hands rubbed their marble flesh, but what of my contemporaries?
Where has the beauty gone? Where have the beautiful gone? And thus, the question that remains is: to where must I go to behold and protect? For if I have no mountains upon which to gaze, I am nothing more than an automaton waiting to fall apart and be replaced.