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I woke up this morning thinking about the almost INEXPRESSIBLE DESPAIR which hangs over late Greco-Roman antiquity.
Pilate’s simple “What is truth?” manages to convey it.
Pilate’s simple “What is truth?” manages to convey it.
A clear sign of this is the trajectory of Plato’s Academy, which by late antiquity had embraced Skepticism—“Academic” had become s synonym for “skeptic”!
The school of PLATO!
The school of PLATO!
The Stoics did the best they could do, the best anyone could do—but Stoicism in the end could manage only a noble resignation, what Kierkegaard call an infinite resignation.
But hope? That was beyond them.
They were shoring fragments against ruins.
But hope? That was beyond them.
They were shoring fragments against ruins.
Christianity struck the ancient world like a blinding flash of lighting, searing the eyes and heart.
Today that light has faded—or rather our eyes have become too weak. When the sun never sets, we forget the darkness of night.
We’ll find out though. We’ll remember.
Today that light has faded—or rather our eyes have become too weak. When the sun never sets, we forget the darkness of night.
We’ll find out though. We’ll remember.
