So should we call morality a dialectic of fiction
and need, storytelling and sorrow? Should we,
now, call it that? An odd habit of evasion
spoken at difficult moments? But I, I, I...
the many Iís, hear the ancient voices, the cries
of the silenced, the distant, dimmed choruses
of the underworld. We hear the beating wings.
And though we despair of reason itself, and faith
has failed all save the eternally faithful, our trip
to the dead ends with the living. We carry
the harvest. We know our own deception.
And here philosophy is reborn. It dares.
Philosophy dares and dares again.
As once there was a compassionate god,
and once the winds of inherent progress,
so we dare again, for we, and our children,
are not unworthy of life, our poverty the proof.
charles moyer wrote:
> I can give you Ovid's answer.
> "victa iacet pietas, et virgo caede madentis
> ultima caelestum terras Astraea reliquit."
> -Metamorphoses Book I l.149-150
> "Pity lay vanquished, and the maiden Astraea, last of the immortals,
> abandoned the blood-soaked earth."
> "Astraea redux" has been proclaimed in the past. Caesar had the vanquished
> pass under her yoke. No evidence she was really there.