HELPLESS
The human race is in a serious mess. Here we are, helpless and miserable, battered and bruised, hopeless beyond words. Ages have come and gone but our shackles have lingered. Day by day, our pains surge. Our maladies remain. Hither and thither, evil acts abound. Our best efforts end in misery; our best minds stink. Our technologies, our inventions, all our fine theories and logics, our greatness and grandeur, only pave way for greater despair. Every new policy draws us to the brink of nuclear war. Every path leads to doom.
Our heads bloat with ideals; our tongues flourish with promises of paradise and Utopia. We long to live in the stars, to sail accross galaxies, to rule over the universe. We dream and dream and never stop dreaming. "Better world! Better world!" We cry out. "Change! Change! Change!" we keep crying. But has the world gotten even an inch better? Has anything really changed since the days of Napoleon or Hitler? We say we're wise and able, but life tells us we're vile and feeble. We dream of lofty things but end up in the grave. We keep failing and falling and crumbling in grand styles.
Still, we refuse to seek help! We refuse to accept that humanity has a creator who demands our worship ad submission. We refuse to submit to anything or anyone besides ourselves. Our pride knows no bounds. Our arrogance is vast. All that is in time and space has failed, yet we refuse to look up to that which is boundless, that which conforms not to the laws of physics and biology. The truths we throw into our books have led us astray, and astray we keep going. That which is indeed true, we call myth; that which is truly liberating, we call superstitious; that which can enlighten our dark hearts, we treat with disdain. We call God and idea, and label the Son of God, a master charlatan, a trickster.
Where do we now turn to for help? Whose counsel do we seek? Is our redemption in the hands of science or philosophy or in some dark arts ? Of what use are the ravings of Stephen Hawkins, or the rantings of Richard Dawkins to this present desolation of ours? Will our positive thinking alone deliver us? Will the UN, in all its feebleness, save us from this growing menace? Where lies our hope? Humanity, tell me: if God's help seems unworthy of our attention, if His loving grace makes no sense to us, where then lies our hope? Where do we run to?
Our heads bloat with ideals; our tongues flourish with promises of paradise and Utopia. We long to live in the stars, to sail accross galaxies, to rule over the universe. We dream and dream and never stop dreaming. "Better world! Better world!" We cry out. "Change! Change! Change!" we keep crying. But has the world gotten even an inch better? Has anything really changed since the days of Napoleon or Hitler? We say we're wise and able, but life tells us we're vile and feeble. We dream of lofty things but end up in the grave. We keep failing and falling and crumbling in grand styles.
Still, we refuse to seek help! We refuse to accept that humanity has a creator who demands our worship ad submission. We refuse to submit to anything or anyone besides ourselves. Our pride knows no bounds. Our arrogance is vast. All that is in time and space has failed, yet we refuse to look up to that which is boundless, that which conforms not to the laws of physics and biology. The truths we throw into our books have led us astray, and astray we keep going. That which is indeed true, we call myth; that which is truly liberating, we call superstitious; that which can enlighten our dark hearts, we treat with disdain. We call God and idea, and label the Son of God, a master charlatan, a trickster.
Where do we now turn to for help? Whose counsel do we seek? Is our redemption in the hands of science or philosophy or in some dark arts ? Of what use are the ravings of Stephen Hawkins, or the rantings of Richard Dawkins to this present desolation of ours? Will our positive thinking alone deliver us? Will the UN, in all its feebleness, save us from this growing menace? Where lies our hope? Humanity, tell me: if God's help seems unworthy of our attention, if His loving grace makes no sense to us, where then lies our hope? Where do we run to?
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