No Lighthouse

In General

I return to write. I ask you: What can one now hold onto? Many people spend their entire lives in this circus-metropolis we call the Western World: And though we are led to believe that our educational institutions are the finest existent - Most people are still idiots. Self-trumpery betrays to me lack of culture: And our 'culture' positively bursts with it. And in fifty years men and women of my generation will bemoan loss of the old ways. This I cannot stomach. And the Western world - What of it? What for? - Where to? A few centuries will pass, and some poet will turn the sweat of years into a derisive quip. Gazing out over sprawling hovels and dirty skyscrapers, our poet muses: 'Not one brick ought to have been moved. Not for this.'

But why do I talk of the future? Larkin has already done this. His 'Whitsun Weddings' says it all. The croaking toad.

Fundamentally

Animal existence is little more than an interlude in the course of infinity. What to make of it, then? Perhaps I am the first to anathematize infinity as baneful and destructive. Others would lie as cowards, and prostrate themselves before it. But what is the infinite to me? Or indeed to anyone else? We are finite. The infinite is that which cannot be attained. Thus do I advise the religious-minded.

Specifically

The Lions Wisdom. Fight only those who are worthy of fighting you. Do not raise a hand against the petty, with their petty objections - Let that be your benevolence.