Yet even so, truth is very beautiful; more so, as I consider, than justice–today’s pursuit–which easily puts on a false face.  In the nearly seven decades I have lived through, the world has overflowed with the bloodshed and explosions whose dust has never had time to settle before others have erupted; all in purportedly just causes.  The quest for justice continues, and the weapons and the hatred piled up; but truth was an early casualty.  The lies on behalf of which our wars have been fought and our peace treaties concluded! The lies of revolution and of counter-revolution! The lies of advertising, of news, of salesmanship, of politics!  The lie of the priest in the pulpit, the professor at his podium, the journalist at his typewriter!  The lie stuck like a fish bone in the throat of the microphone, the hand-held lies of the prowling cameraman!  Ignazio Silone told me once how, when he was a member of the old Comintern, some stratagem was under discussion, and a delegate, a newcomer who had never attended before, made the extraordinary observation that if such and such a statement were to be put out, it wouldn’t be true.  There was a moment of dazed silence, and then everyone began to laugh.  They laughed and laughed until tears ran down their cheeks and the Kremlin walls seemed to shake.  The same laughter echoes in every council chamber and cabinet room, wherever two or more are gather together to exercise authority.  It is truth that has died, not God. -Malcom Muggeridge, Chronicles of Wasted Time

I find it interesting that long before the tirade against Christianity issued forth from Neitzche’s pen.  Before the madman ever appeared on the cobblestone village streets with his lantern to prophecy the death of God.  History showed that we in many ways had the death of truth.  Even more interesting was the lack of show and pomp that followed Truth to her grave.  While the world was busy watching God’s funeral procession, no one stopped to play a lament for His forerunner: Truth.  I am sure that Truth’s sepulcher still stands with the words inscribed upon the headstone: Homo Mensura (man the measure).  Man once bound by order is chained in chaos.  God in men’s minds may have died, but I am sure that Dionysus (god of wine and gluttony) or Plutus (god of riches and wealth) will do us just fine.  Man may not look to these deities as gods, but all the better when they cannot be seen and acknowledged for what they are; their rule is sure to go on unchallenged.

I take my following thoughts from G.K. Chesterson, that tower of a man, whose eyes would see well beyond their times.  As with every revolution there is an emancipation.  Emancipation of both virtue and vice.  Remember though that emancipation does not necessarily mean freedom.  The former is to have been bound, but no longer; whereas the other, in its truest sense, is to never have been bound.  Chesterson is right to point out that with such revolutions both vice and virtue go mad.  Whereas justice was always accompanied by truth, both wander now freely.  Love in its excesses has turned erotic and abusive.  Gluttony in the mean time is no where to be seen. Aldrous Huxley in the Brave New World, envisioned that men would not be overcome by violent forces outside of them, but rather that men could be chained by their own desires.  Our age has seen no freedom (men will never be autonomous) no matter how loudly they cry.

G.K. Chesterson is most insightful at this point.  With the madness of virtue came their excess.  Humility is not lost among men, but glorified.  We fault pride for having made men unwilling to acknowledge the truth, but why not his modesty?  Is it not heard loudly in halls of learning, “But even I don’t know. . .”  In hopes of being humble, he modestly makes no claims.  What right do I have to to say such things? It is said that if one were to take two crabs and place them in a crate with no lid one would not need to fear that they would escape.  If you observe closely, whenever one crab attempts to climb out the other pulls it back in.  Neither escapes.  So it is with man.  In his demand for humility he has demanded all be as he is.  Humility if we have not noticed has changed her name as of late: tolerance.   Could it be that fear of pride stops us from claiming any inheritance?  Is knowing to great that in claiming to know I have sided for arrogance?  Maybe for some it is the pride of humility unchecked that willingly brandishes the sword of skepticism.  We play to this madness when we punctuate our statements with, “Well, that is just my opinion or feeling. . .”

We should not fail to notice that it is in Christianity that we can lament such loses of virtue.  I am afraid that for the materialist or atheist not one tear can be shed.  Their world cannot justify such noble things.  What is love if not a chemical reacting to another one?  Justice, that act whose purpose means nothing more than survival?   Truth, which can only be that which works?  It leaves both nature bereft of wonder and man bereft of greatness.  To the atheist we must ask why care if we believe in God, if nature is free to determine us in this way?  Why argue when even your arguments cannot change this natural fate?  Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Nature made me this way.  This shall be the greatest defense and who can argue?  Nature makes a savage god, and she has not made man “a little lower than the angels”, but rather lower than dirt.  For at least dirt is not aware of its futility, but for this man is most to be pitied.

To the atheist we have only to ask how they propose to bandage such deep wounds?  Their world makes no place for man.  It was the French poet, Eustache Deschamps, who penned this dirge:

Why are the times so dark

Men know each other not at all,

But governments quite clearly change

From bad to worse?

Days dead and gone were more worth while,

Now what holds sway? Deep gloom and boredom,

Justice and law nowhere to be found,

I know no more where I belong.

I know no more where I belong. That is the cry of our age.  With the death of truth came the death of man. Men must rediscover truth or any act to survive is useless.  Truth when it can take its rightful place amongst the virtues is then able to bless all God’s creations.  We read:

So Pilate entered his headquarters again and called Jesus and said to him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus answered, “Do you say this of your own accord, or did others say it to you about me?” Pilate answered, “Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered you over to me. What have you done?”  Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.” Then Pilate said to him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.” Pilate said to him, “What is truth?”

After he had said this, he went back outside to the Jews. . .

If only Pilate had stopped to listen to the answer, I am certain that he would have heard Jesus’ simple answer: ““I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”  For man he road back to truth begins with a cross.

You know they say that the color of a rose often symbolized something.  Most often adorn their loved one’s graves with white flowers, but I wonder why not others?  For the lavender rose it meant enchantment, white for innocence and purity, pink the symbol of elegance and grace, yellow for happiness and warmth and orange for desire and enthusiasm.  However, it is the red rose that symbolizes the best of love when given to our loved ones.  Do you think that Truth would like red roses?

I think they will do just fine.