The Final Call

[The following is Episode 16 of my 16-part documentary series entitled Larger than Life, about the role that beliefs play in shaping the events of our civilization.]

Welcome to the final episode of this series, “Larger than Life”.  I’d like to begin by going back to the questions that I asked at the very beginning of the series, about your own personal life.  If you recall, I talked about how each one of us creates our own story, our own legend, that puts our whole life into context.  Although we actually remember very little – at least in our conscious memory – about the events, thoughts, and perceptions that we’ve experienced in our past, we somehow manage to weave what we’ve kept into a tapestry of meaning.  It’s a story of who we were, what we‘ve become, and what we think our destiny will be.  For some, the story is a tragedy, for others, maybe even a comedy, and for others, it’s an epic, a great momentous drama unfolding on the stage of life.  For most of us, it’s probably a mixture, with the comic, tragic, and epic moments rising in prominence at different times and in different situations.  There are probably eras, or epochs, in our past, that mark off distinct “chapters”: childhood, the college years, the first job, marriage.  And there are probably artifacts that are silent monuments and witnesses to those eras: a guitar, a picture, a textbook, a cherished piece of furniture.  These are our own pyramids and monoliths, reminding us of an age in our past that is now only dimly remembered.  Think, for a moment, about your own life “story”, or drama.  Are you a hero in the story?  A villain?  A victim?  Were there great turning points, or other dramatic events, that defined who you are and what you think you’re destined to become?  And what do you believe destiny holds in store for you?  Are you anticipating your own apocalypse, or messianic age, when you will cross some threshold in your life and find a better or more meaningful world?  Perhaps the great event will be a happy marriage, or the right career, or simply that moment of truth when all self-doubts fall away and you truly live and act like the person you believe you were meant to be.  In any case, this story, this drama, is the most important one in your personal life, and you get to be author, actor, and spectator all at the same time.

 

            In this series, I’ve argued that our civilization works in exactly the same way.  Collectively, as a group, we try to make sense of who we are, where we’ve come from, and where we’re going.  And in creating this story, we put the emphasis on meaning, on what makes what we do important, and not just trivial, accidental, or ultimately meaningless.  In one episode I talked about the parable told by the Greek philosopher Socrates about prisoners bound up inside of a dark cave, who can only see shadows flickering on a wall.  In this parable, Socrates was trying to tell us that that’s what we’re really faced with in this existence, a flawed, incomplete perception and comprehension of what’s really “out there”.  Our five senses leave out more than they take in, and even what we do take in, is not always perceived correctly.  We misjudge things, we are fooled by tricks of the light, and sometimes we see patterns in things where a pattern doesn’t really exist.  Even what we take in, let alone take in correctly, is hardly remembered, if it’s remembered at all.  And memory itself usually only adds to the distortion of reality.

            If we were only passive beings, whose sole experience consisted of perceiving and reflecting upon what is really “out there”, we’d be living a pathetic existence to be sure, because we’d be wrong more often than we were right.  Like the prisoners bound up inside the cave, our lives would be wrapped up in illusion, and faulty hints of what reality is really like.  But that’s where the analogy ends, because we’re not just passive beings, like the prisoners in the cave.  We have the ability to react to our environment, affect it, change it, and even create it.  And the true miracle of our existence is that it is exactly this weakness of ours which gives us our greatest strength as creative beings.  When we see patterns that don’t exist, when we perceive things in a different way, or remember them in a unique way, and then act upon these differences, we are giving something back to the universe that is truly novel and original, we are becoming co-creators of existence.  When we create an object, a story, a personal destiny, based upon our unique perceptions and reflections, when we create a pattern that we thought had been provided to us, but we actually invented, because before us it had never really been there, we’re imposing a new kind of order on the universe.  But if it was merely this accidental, flawed, and limited nature of our existence that resulted in creative acts, we would be nothing more than monkeys sitting at typewriters, occasionally, accidentally, typing a page of poetry or a play worthy of Shakespeare.  The difference is that we give value to our projects, and the projects of others who enter into our lives, as well as the products of nature itself.  We say “This is good,” or “This is bad,” or, more importantly, “This is good to me,” and “I like this.”  Sometimes, in the act of creativity, our mistakes and flaws are intentional – we want to imagine, visualize, remember, or contemplate images and sounds that are different from those provided to us in regular daily experience.  And then, like the God of the Hebrews, our creations are not accidental, but deliberate. 

            Creation, in fact, is the first thing we really looked at in this series – we began with the beginning, or rather, the “beginnings”, looking at the ways in which the earliest civilizations explained how their peoples, and the world, came into being.  Because our ancestors, in trying to make sense of who they were and the why of their own existence, found the most comforting answer in an explanation of where they came from.  Clearly, this was important to them – important to them that their common story have a beginning.  And in these stories, we can see that they had a sense for, and appreciation of, powers at work in the universe greater than themselves.  But they needed more than this to make sense of their world, and how it came into being.  This power, or powers, had to have intelligence, and even personality.  These gods and goddesses had to be somehow like them – stronger, yes, with talents and abilities of an almost unimaginable scale – but still with enough similarities to humanity to at least make them comprehensible, and suitable characters for creation stories.  Only then could the storytellers talk about the wills, motives, and purposes of these supernatural beings and link these to an answer to the “why” of creation.

            Man desperately wanted to find some sort of affinity with these beings, because, having acknowledged that great powers did exist in the universe, the first order of business was to find a way to relate to them, for the sake of survival, if nothing else.  The ancients appreciated, much more than we do now, that the world is both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.  Amid the beauty of meadows, and singing birds, and picturesque landscapes, there is also the ever-present threat that life can be extinguished at any moment, through lightning, drought, famine, exposure, attack by wild animals, or simply an accidental fall.  By enlisting the aid of the supernatural, one might find protection against these disasters, as well as against one’s human enemies, and perhaps even a means to gain greater power and prestige.  Here was the origin of prayer and supplication, but also the practice of chanting invocations, and wearing special amulets that conferred power and protection.  Religion was born in these rites, but magic and superstition were its elder brothers.  Religion would grow into its own with the introduction of a new feature into the story of humanity.  Some ancient societies, in addition to searching for a beginning, also sought to find a meaningful end in their sagas.  The end could simply be the vision of a personal life after death – pleasant for those who lived a life pleasing to the gods, but much less so for those who didn’t.  But in religions such as Christianity and Judaism, there was an end as momentous as creation itself.  This was apocalypse, a final climax and turning point in the drama of creation, in which God would establish a kingdom of righteousness, and cast out all that had fallen afoul of the higher aims of creation.  For believers in this great and finite plan of creation, a new type of purpose in living was available to them.  They could make it a part of their own destiny to become agents in God’s great plan, subordinating their mortal goals and desires to the perceived ends of the Creator.  Here was the expression of religion in its highest form.  No longer did man look for ways to be aided or served by the gods, but instead sought out methods to become a servant of God.

"Feed the hungry and help those in trouble.  Then your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as day."  Isaiah 58:10

            But there was another way that stories, myths, and religions created meaning – both for the individual and for the society as a whole – and this was through identification.  One could feel a sense of personal pride for his peoples’ ancient heroes, such as Gilgamesh or Theseus, much as we do today for our favorite baseball, football, or basketball teams and their star players.  One could even feel a sense of pride and personal identity with the local ruler, even if this ruler was arrogant, harsh, and remote.  A man might be personally powerless, but still feel powerful because he was in the service of a mighty king or nobleman.  In fact, it was probably this shared sense of glory that motivated the commoners who built the pyramids and other great monuments of antiquity, as they realized that they were participating in projects whose glory would survive for countless generations after their own lives had ended.  And in the mystery religions of Greece, Crete, and Persia, we find the process of meaning through identification reaching its greatest extreme.  Through these practices, one sought to literally merge with the gods, to be possessed by them, infused with their spirit, and linked to them through empathy by participating in their death and rebirth.  In its highest form, this process of identification is a sort of self-transcendence: a true form of mysticism that offers liberation from the finite, time- and space-bound limitations inherent in mortal existence.  But in its baser forms, identification leads to racism, elitism, sexual and national chauvinism, and religious intolerance.  It poisons, rather than purifies, the soul, and has often resulted in the oppression, victimization, and widespread murder of entire populations.

            Another popular belief that held great appeal for many was that of a lost, golden age, in which the peoples were happier, more advanced, or more enlightened than those of contemporary times.  Atlantis is probably the best example of this – its enduring legend continues to offer a vision of a powerful, advanced, and even utopian civilization that once dominated the world.  Often in our history, the hope has been entertained that there were survivors of Atlantis who passed on its legacy in secret doctrines to fortunate individuals who were able to comprehend them and preserve them.  The existence of Atlantis is still just a matter of speculation, but in Rome we find a great civilization whose existence is beyond doubt.  And for the peoples of the Renaissance, a return to the greatness that had been Rome – a recovering of lost glory - was one of the greatest incentives to achievement.  For the Jewish people, hope and inspiration could be found in the tales of King David and King Solomon, and the nation of Israel.  In the centuries of persecution that they faced after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem by the Romans, as they lived scattered among the emerging nations who came into being in the aftermath of Rome’s fall, Israel was a focal point of hope, with its promise that a happier place and time once existed for them, and could someday exist again.  Closer to our own time, the legend of Arthur provided an inspiring picture of a kingdom held together by a great leader, and bound by a code of conduct that encouraged both bravery and gracious behavior among its strongest toward those less powerful.  But why do these stories of lost ages, or civilizations, have such a hold over persons of later ages?  Their power probably lies in the belief, and the promise, that something has already been attained, and therefore may someday be attained again.  For it is hard to convince someone that something can be achieved, if there is no evidence that the achievement is possible.  On the other hand, if we see that somebody else has done it, or if we believe this to be the case, it gives us a greater faith, and a greater incentive to strive for that lofty goal.  Probably the best example of this in recent history is the achievement of Roger Bannister.  From the days of the ancient Greeks, the quest to run the mile in less than four minutes was one that seemed unattainable, and a general belief evolved that it was a natural barrier that could never be exceeded.  And then on May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister ran the mile in less than four minutes, shattering this so-called barrier.  But what is even more remarkable is that within a year of Roger Bannister’s breaking this record, thirty-seven other runners also ran the mile in less than four minutes.  And three hundred others broke the record within a year after that.  So this simple belief, that something had been done, provided sufficient power and inspiration to others to make what had once seemed impossible, possible.  Even if Atlantis, and King Arthur’s court, had been fictions, illusions, the belief in their existence, in a similar way, has impelled civilization forward, in an effort to recover the lost glory of a bygone age.  Individuals who today are remembered as great pioneers in scientific discovery, like Kepler and Newton, derived much of their inspiration from a fascination with esoteric doctrines, such as astrology and mysticism.  Perhaps their work began as part of a youthful quest to rediscover lost wisdom of the past.

            In the Age of the Renaissance, the dream of recovering the glory of a lost age found its fullest expression, and most tangible success.  For a Europe that had been plagued for centuries with war, disease, famine, barbarism, and superstition, a new hope was restored that mankind was fulfilling a special destiny, and was moving closer toward a richer and more inspired existence.  But with the scientific advances that began to reshape our civilization’s views of the universe in the sixteenth century, many of the most cherished beliefs and assumptions that gave humanity a special place in that universe were shaken to the core.  For although the twin legacies of Greek philosophy and Jewish monotheism clashed in many respects, both had passed on to us a common belief that humanity had a special place in the cosmos.  Earth was the center of the universe, and human beings were its most important occupants, fulfilling a unique role in the process of creation.  Christian tradition had assigned some guilt to that role, emphasizing humanity’s responsibility for introducing sin into the world, but this only served to reinforce the belief in man’s ultimate importance to God’s plan, rather than undermine it.  The new worldview that came out of science changed all that, in very profound and ultimately unsettling ways.  The work of Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo made a convincing case that the earth was not a stationary object, with everything in the celestial heavens revolving around it.  The Earth was but one of the many planets revolving around the sun.  Three hundred years later, Charles Darwin would make popular an alternative theory about the origins of the human race, which would explain the emergence of man in terms of biological processes – adaptation, competition, heredity – processes that all species on the planet share in common with humanity.  While these new worldviews comprised a more rational way of looking at the world and man’s place in it, they undermined those beliefs that had most supported man’s faith in his ultimate personal value and special destiny.  No longer a central actor in the drama of creation, he was now an insignificant entity in an immense, and ultimately indifferent, universe.  And the new science had not only taken away man’s sense of uniqueness, it had taken away what had always been the most tangible evidence of God.  That evidence had been the remarkable order, complexity, and apparent design that existed on the earth and in the movements of the celestial bodies, but now science asserted that all of this was the product of impersonal, mechanical forces.

            Faced with a new, mechanistic model of the universe, many of civilization’s most eminent thinkers tried to find a way to restore a special place for humanity.  Philosophers such as Hegel and Bergson tried to develop new worldviews that combined evolution with spirituality, envisioning an ongoing plan of creation that spurred development in both the world of nature and in the souls of man and society.  But for other philosophers, such as Karl Marx, souls, either world souls or personal souls, were no longer a necessary part in the mechanism of the evolving universe.  He argued that the same lifeless, mechanical processes that produced order in nature were also responsible for the evolution of social order, and of civilization.  Nevertheless, Marx and the materialist philosophers tried to retain one of the most compelling elements of the Judeo-Christian model, that of apocalypse, and a future utopia.  All of the features of the Jewish and Christian worldviews that gave man a sense of meaning and purpose were preserved, except the belief in God and the human soul.  But for many, this new, secular humanism did not provide a satisfying substitute for the traditional means to find a sense of personal destiny.  If there was no hope of reward in an afterlife, and no means of self-transcendence and merging with the divine, the rewards of participation – even active participation – in an impersonal process of evolution seemed hollow, and not worth any meaningful sacrifice.  For those who did not see the attraction in being anonymous supporters of a possible future secular utopia, another, more personally satisfying alternative offered itself.  This was the lure of power, the temptation to become – as far as possible – godlike, in a world in which it was demonstrated that no real gods existed.  This was not a new or novel idea.  From the days of the earliest civilizations, one avenue along which men might move closer to gods was through the acquiring of power, either real, physical power, or secret knowledge that would confer god-like abilities upon the adept.  If self-transcendence were not possible, then perhaps self-transformation was.  If man could not become a god, then perhaps he could at least become a superman, and enjoy a larger measure of the fruits of existence. 

            A more benevolent form of this doctrine expressed itself in the creative aspirations of artists, composers, and architects.  And with the rise of the Industrial Revolution, another by-product of the new age of science, men could be inventors, creators and architects of new industries, and also masters of men, wielding power through their commercial organizations.  A new philosophy of personal success arose from the feats of these individuals, offering promise to those smart enough, brave enough, and strong enough to practice it, which would allow them, at least in some measure, to rise above the impersonal forces that controlled the lives of their fellows.  This new philosophy of success, however, with its premise that the opportunity to rise to a higher station in life was open to anyone willing to practice it, had a darker side:  It removed a measure of guilt over the conditions of those who were not successful in society.  It suggested that those who labored on farms, worked menial jobs, or spent long hours toiling in factories had, at least implicitly, chosen their fates.  Because of laziness, timidity, or lack of ambition, those who appeared to be less fortunate in society had actually settled for a less challenging, if admittedly less pleasant, existence.  It was probably a belief such as this that accounted for the apparent disparity in behavior of many of these “captains of industry”, such as Andrew Carnegie, toward their fellow human beings.  On the one hand, Carnegie had been a generous philanthropist, making abundant charitable contributions, building libraries, and supporting other selfless causes.  On the other hand, he had been an uncompromising employer, allowing his executives to resort to the most extreme measures, even violence, to keep his laborers in the steel mills in check.

            But if the lure of the superman presented a dark side in business, its manifestation in the realm of politics was far more sinister.  The twentieth century, in particular, saw the rise of leaders who had no scruples about sacrificing countless human lives as means to an end, whether this end be some utopian vision of a worker’s paradise, or the securing of world domination under the control of a master race.  Like the industrialists, these leaders saw themselves as architects who legitimized the subordination of large numbers of human beings in the service of a great enterprise.  But unlike the industrialists, they created little, and, through the mechanism of war and political repression, destroyed much, much more.

            If Darwin took the soul out of nature, and God out of the cosmos, he still preserved one of the most endearing myths that provided consolation to humanity.  This was the idea that the world was evolving, improving, and perhaps moving toward some ideal state of order and harmony.  But for our civilization, this idea received a shattering blow early in the twentieth century, when the most powerful, and apparently most enlightened, nations of Europe engaged in a devastating, horrendous, and ultimately pointless war.  The horrors of that century that followed in its wake only served to confirm what the Great War had demonstrated – that the advance of science, and the waning influence of religion, had not moved humanity onto a higher, more rational, plane.  On the contrary, it made possible the commitment of atrocities on an unprecedented level.

            The astronomer Carl Sagan once referred to our present age as one of technological adolescence.  What he meant was that, like a human adolescent, we as a civilization are now confronted with great powers and abilities that we have not learned how to harness and control.  Because with these new powers have also come powerful passions, and a confused sense of identity and purpose.  It is an optimistic analogy, because for the normal individual, adulthood brings the maturity needed to channel the passions and drives of youth in the service of a rational, personal goal, and divert energies that could be potentially very destructive – to oneself or others – into the service of this objective.  Even this series, with its episodes organized to suggest a forward, progressive movement in time, has succumbed to that optimistic model of history as a record of progress and development.  In spite of the increasing level of destruction and human violence that we have seen over the past century, we still doggedly want to believe that somehow, in some way, civilization is evolving, maturing, improving.

            And where does America fit into this picture?  What is our role in this story - we, who currently consume one-fourth of the world’s energy supply and an equally significant share of its other natural resources?  Are we truly the living heirs to, and the crowning achievement of, the progress of history?  Or are we merely a nation of self-involved, ignorant, overweight, and gluttonous individuals, squandering the world’s resources while whiling away much of our time in escapist entertainment or wrapped up in the mundane daily dramas of our own exaggerated self-importance?  Should we consider it fortunate that we live in a country that, as the result of some happy accidents, great men and women who shaped it in its early days, and abundant natural resources, has produced for us wealth unimagined since the dawn of civilization?  Perhaps we feel it is presumptuous for anyone to suggest that our better circumstances give us an obligation to others outside of our borders.  We might even be tempted to say to the rest of the world, “Too bad for you, but you can at least take consolation in knowing that somebody on this planet had the ability to truly enjoy life, and live it to the fullest, with great food, great entertainments, relative comfort and security.”  Perhaps we are content if our politicians and leaders are merely good at keeping the rest of the world at bay, allowing us to continue to enjoy our happy existence without letting any evil or envious people elsewhere in the world jeopardize that existence.  After all, doesn’t that mean that it really wasn’t all for nothing, since if it isn’t possible for every human being to live a good, happy life, it was at least possible for a few?  But the fact is that few people in America – even the wealthiest – are very happy, if they are happy at all.  They are obsessed with personal anxieties, daily conflicts, and a strange mix of stress and boredom.  Their lives are empty and unfulfilled because, after all, they have no ultimate purpose, and with no ultimate purpose they have no sense of significant personal value.  Do we, as Americans, have a national legend, a common destiny or myth that provides a context for our privileged existence?  Or is it just a glorious accident?  Will some future age look back with wonder at this strange, short episode in world history when a country once existed, powerful, affluent, with all of the races of the world living together peacefully in freedom and relative security?  Where the world believed – at least for a time – that humanity really was progressing toward a state of greater perfection, peace, and civility, and that America was leading the way?  Or will our country look like an Atlantis, or an Israel under the glorious reign of King David, or the great city of Troy, lands in whose greatness lie the seeds of their own downfall?  Will idealistic persons in that unknowable future - perhaps descendents of the real Americans - secretly harbor a hope that that idealistic, golden age that once existed in the distant mists of the past might someday return?  These latter day devotees to a lost civilization might commit their lives to studying the events, beliefs, and knowledge of the Americans, trying to understand what made the land great, and what led to its demise.  In this future world, which might be in the grip of a bleak, dark age, more grim and chaotic than the centuries following the fall of Rome, the legend or lost secrets of America might provide a blueprint for the hopeful on how to recover some purpose, or at least some means of comfort, to suffering humanity.

            But to determine our place in this story of civilization, it is probably best to take one final, cursory look at how our past has influenced, and is influencing, our present – how the legacies of Sumer, Egypt, Troy and Israel, Greece and Rome, Christ and Darwin, Washington and Napoleon, Carnegie, Rockefeller, and J. P. Morgan define our lifestyles, and shape our worldview.  From Sumer, we have the sixty-second minute, and the sixty-minute hour, and from Egypt, the belief that there were ancient civilizations as great as, or greater than, our own.  The refugees of Troy, and the Hebrew slaves who defied an Egyptian pharaoh, set history on a course that would lead to Caesar, Christ, and King Arthur.  The Greeks bequeathed a philosophical outlook that remains unrivalled to this day.  Machiavelli was the prophet of a new order of national politics, and Washington and Napoleon, in their own unique ways, shaped the forms that America and Europe would take in the modern age.  Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo, and Darwin demonstrated that the majesty of the universe, with all of its order and complexity, could be explained in terms of impersonal forces that did not require a god, or a central role for humanity.  And the great inventors and industrialists of the past two centuries, along with the great dictators, demonstrated the awesome power now available to ambitious human beings to both create and destroy, and in either case to affect millions of human lives, for better or for worse.  Myths, legends, and core beliefs, both personal and national, can have distinctly different consequences.  They can provide the hope, inspiration, and driving force to attaining some higher end.  They can offer a kind of harmless lie, giving one a sense of importance, or belief in a future, that is entirely fictional.  Or they can be pernicious and destructive, to oneself, and to others.  Our civilization has fallen under the sway of all three of these types, and we may never develop the capacity to fully recognize and distinguish them.  Perhaps we shouldn’t, because without the capacity to dream, and to succumb to dreams, we would also lack the capacity to create, and to find higher truths.

            But as the result of all of this, we live in a society with a plurality of ideas, where God and science exist side by side in an awkward coexistence.  Most of us believe in evolution, and science, and yet doggedly retain religious beliefs that we vocally profess, at least one day a week.  Somehow, in our universe, God exists, and affects destiny, and cares about how we live our lives, at the same time that vast, impersonal forces move the earth, the planets, and the stars, and leave human civilization as an insignificant event in the cosmos.  Like the ancient Romans, we are exposed to a veritable marketplace of alternative beliefs and spiritual disciplines, and thanks to our highly evolved commercial economy, these can be presented to us in books with catchy titles, and affordable video and audiotape series that we can listen to for enjoyment as well as inspiration.  Many of these are little more than modern renditions of the lure of practical magic – answering the ancient desire to control one’s destiny through soothsaying, or by learning simple tricks and formulas that will make one more powerful, or change one’s fate.  If one visits the philosophy and mysticism sections of most modern bookstores, one will probably be just as likely to encounter books on Tarot cards and astrology as on Plato and Immanuel Kant.  And not only higher truths, but the more banal entertainments of sex and violence are packaged and promoted in movies and television programs that vie for our attention.  We enjoy the spectacle of the coliseum, without having to endure the guilt of knowing that human beings are actually being brutalized.  Our jobs are routinized and standardized, and a rigid work schedule is imposed upon us.  Wealth and power is still controlled by a select, elite group, but the rest of us are no longer peasants.  Most of us are employees who earn our keep by doing something we feel is beneath us, but at least is not intolerable, and allows us to afford our entertainments.  And in spite of all this, we still try to find meaning in our lives.  We want to believe that life has a purpose.  We try to find it in those philosophies of personal success and self-improvement, or in the spiritual doctrines that are sold in marketed tape series and best-selling books, or offered in seminars.  We have sufficient free time to at least harbor the hope that we might do something, someday, that is generally creative and meaningful, after retirement, if not sooner.  We want to believe that America really is a beacon on a hill, in spite of the fact that our leaders often treat it as a fortress instead, to be defended against a myriad of pernicious threats, that originate from both the inside and the outside, like drugs, and terrorism.  What is the story that you believe in?  Do you believe that God will intervene, that the Christian apocalypse will still happen?  Or do you believe that the impersonal forces of evolution are driving us forward to some as yet unimaginable final destination?  Or is it some combination of these – is it a world soul evolving, and raising the spiritual consciousness of humanity?  What is your role in this drama, if any?  Do you choose to ignore this, and focus on your personal destiny, and whatever success that you can attain in this life, perhaps with the hope that other rewards lie in the afterlife?

            In any work of history, the weakest chapter is always the final one, in which the author attempts to extrapolate from the important trends they've identified, to some future innovation, resolution, or continuation of what has taken place in the past.  Without exception, these forward looks are always wrong, and as the future audience ponders over these faulty predictions, they often question whether the author’s view of the past was flawed in the first place.  It is no consolation to accept that any view of a pattern in history might be an illusion, and that progress might be a myth.  It goes against the grain of our belief to consider such a thing.  Somehow, the faith in an encompassing story seems to be a source of sustaining energy and power for us, as important as the light of the sun – that celestial body that was revered by so many of the ancients who gave us our earliest such stories.  And so we strive to believe that history moves forward, and that in some way we are a part of that process.  But for those who insist on this view, the belief presents a special obligation.  It means that each of us bears the burden of stepping outside of ourselves, and making some contribution to that destiny.  We can turn to our own heroes, and see in their examples a demonstration of how the greatest among us have done exactly that.  Or we can search for a link to some greater power that will guide us, and inspire us.  There is, of course, always the temptation to shrink from the task, and to limit our concerns to our own personal problems, or worse, to lash out at a universe that we feel has not given us a sufficiently prominent place.  But if we want to believe that each of us truly has the capacity to write the story of our collective destiny, then that is a luxury that none of us can afford.  Like Moses, we must accept that the call to freedom can be terrifying, but that only by answering that call can we find a meaningful answer to who we are, and what we are meant to be. 

 

            I thank you for following this series, “Larger Than Life”.  May your own journey be an interesting one, and your story a happy one.