The meek. Dear Mother of God, save us from them, from those guys, the shy guys, the nice guys.
Always the meek, the accursed meek. I have been meek most of my life, and for most of my life I have been afraid.
The meek live in fear. They are the weakest of us. The most powerless and afraid. Timid. Isolated. They are perennially torn down by those who cultivate wickedness and vie for power.
Those meek men, those shy men - what do they know? What are they? What do they have that is of value?
They say nothing. They do nothing.
The earth they will inherit will be broken and ruined, wasted and wrecked by the selfishness of those who cast off their shyness, their humility, their moral qualms. They are the ones who have ruled since time immemorial. It is the ruthless and the vicious who triumph here, in this place, in this world. The cruel and the soulless who move through life streamlined, not hampered or held back by the universe of moral concerns, of good and evil, right and wrong – they are the ones who get the girls, the money, the glory. They are not handicapped by the moral indecision that captures the minds and actions of the meek.
The meek are paralyzed by their kindness, by their goodness. It holds them in check, it crushes them. The weight of their moral insecurity pins them fast, and they look around themselves and see all that is great in the world, all that is great in their dreams fall away to corruption and decay. They watch their dignity violated over and over, their lives reduced to a level where even they lose respect for their weakness – where even they hold themselves in contempt.
Such terrible defeats. Such indignity. The meek are powerless, and as such, are the punching bag for the very worst that humanity has to offer. The greedy, the cruel, the manipulators, liars, deceivers, betrayers - all these and many more build up their empires of glory and sneering, hate-fuelled hubris at the expense of the one group of people who refuse to strike back. The meek.
Why?
What is it that the meek have been holding on to? What is it that the meek revere so greatly that they have suffered so greatly? Why would anyone do this?
Even cowardice reaches a point where cowering in fear serves it no longer.
And yet the meek remain. Insecure. Afraid. Alone. Broken. Lost. Helpless. Powerless.
Why?
What are they carrying with them? What are they protecting? Why this meekness? What do you refuse to let go of?
What in all infinity could be so precious that it would be worth holding on to, even in the face of humiliation beyond humiliation?
The meek will inherit the earth, they say.
You meek guys. You nice guys. What are you holding on to?
How easy is it to compromise? How easy is it to forget? How easy is it to rationalise away the things you do and create, in an instant, elaborate and convincing fictions to twist the world you see to suit your ends?
How easy is it to lie to yourself? How easy is it to just take that step and let go of all the things you know are true so that you can get what you want?
Why don’t you take it? Why don’t you surrender all insecurity and bask and revel in unbound selfishness?
Every day you meek choose not to. You choose every day to stay in fear. You choose every day to hold on to a hope - a glimmering, ridiculous hope.
That perhaps, just perhaps, humanity is worth something.
That perhaps morality can exist.
That maybe there is something in us all that can be greater than we are.
It is strange, but I have noticed that there is a kind of natural justice to the affairs of men.
The meek have paid a price for something. They paid a price in indignity. They paid a price in failure, and in heartache. They paid that price and saw their dreams collapse, saw the women they loved leave them behind in loneliness to rot.
They paid a high price.
And they bought something.
The meek brought something with them.
This treasure is, from one point of view, really nothing. It has no tangible form. It can purchase no goods. It can win no wars. It is merely a whisper of a hope. The meek bought morality. They carried it with them. All those who have watched their lives fall apart, who have watched opportunities slip through their grasp, who have allowed fear to enter into them - all these people brought something to us.
They carried a torch.
They carry it still.
Those who stayed as nice guys and finished last did so for a reason.
They refused to become bad guys, and let that torch die out. They refused to finish first.
Their integrity was worth more to them than their victory.
Such a sacrifice on so grand a scale is unlikely to go unnoticed.
They carried those torches with them, torches of honour, of mercy, of forgiveness and compassion – they carried these things with them, through centuries unbidden, that one day those torches could unite and spark a mighty conflagration. That one day all those nice guys, those meek guys, would realise that they were not alone. That they would realise that their strength was limitless. That they would fight to discover it. That they would uncover it, and learn to wield it. That others carried it too. That the world did indeed, in some strange way, make sense. That the compassion which they had kept within them could be fused with something else and made into something greater still.
That compassion and strength when combined, form nobility.
And it is nobility that is the birthright of the meek. The brash, the arrogant - right now they hold the reins of this planet. But nobility is something only the meek can truly aspire to. And through nobility, through strength and compassion, through discipline and honour, unity, courage and purity of heart, those meek men could reforge this world. They could create new rules, new and better ways.
I believe that they can. They can and they will.
The meek, my friends, will inherit the earth.
Viva la revolution.
Happy New Year.
Ever Yours
Jekyll
Always the meek, the accursed meek. I have been meek most of my life, and for most of my life I have been afraid.
The meek live in fear. They are the weakest of us. The most powerless and afraid. Timid. Isolated. They are perennially torn down by those who cultivate wickedness and vie for power.
Those meek men, those shy men - what do they know? What are they? What do they have that is of value?
They say nothing. They do nothing.
The earth they will inherit will be broken and ruined, wasted and wrecked by the selfishness of those who cast off their shyness, their humility, their moral qualms. They are the ones who have ruled since time immemorial. It is the ruthless and the vicious who triumph here, in this place, in this world. The cruel and the soulless who move through life streamlined, not hampered or held back by the universe of moral concerns, of good and evil, right and wrong – they are the ones who get the girls, the money, the glory. They are not handicapped by the moral indecision that captures the minds and actions of the meek.
The meek are paralyzed by their kindness, by their goodness. It holds them in check, it crushes them. The weight of their moral insecurity pins them fast, and they look around themselves and see all that is great in the world, all that is great in their dreams fall away to corruption and decay. They watch their dignity violated over and over, their lives reduced to a level where even they lose respect for their weakness – where even they hold themselves in contempt.
Such terrible defeats. Such indignity. The meek are powerless, and as such, are the punching bag for the very worst that humanity has to offer. The greedy, the cruel, the manipulators, liars, deceivers, betrayers - all these and many more build up their empires of glory and sneering, hate-fuelled hubris at the expense of the one group of people who refuse to strike back. The meek.
Why?
What is it that the meek have been holding on to? What is it that the meek revere so greatly that they have suffered so greatly? Why would anyone do this?
Even cowardice reaches a point where cowering in fear serves it no longer.
And yet the meek remain. Insecure. Afraid. Alone. Broken. Lost. Helpless. Powerless.
Why?
What are they carrying with them? What are they protecting? Why this meekness? What do you refuse to let go of?
What in all infinity could be so precious that it would be worth holding on to, even in the face of humiliation beyond humiliation?
The meek will inherit the earth, they say.
You meek guys. You nice guys. What are you holding on to?
How easy is it to compromise? How easy is it to forget? How easy is it to rationalise away the things you do and create, in an instant, elaborate and convincing fictions to twist the world you see to suit your ends?
How easy is it to lie to yourself? How easy is it to just take that step and let go of all the things you know are true so that you can get what you want?
Why don’t you take it? Why don’t you surrender all insecurity and bask and revel in unbound selfishness?
Every day you meek choose not to. You choose every day to stay in fear. You choose every day to hold on to a hope - a glimmering, ridiculous hope.
That perhaps, just perhaps, humanity is worth something.
That perhaps morality can exist.
That maybe there is something in us all that can be greater than we are.
It is strange, but I have noticed that there is a kind of natural justice to the affairs of men.
The meek have paid a price for something. They paid a price in indignity. They paid a price in failure, and in heartache. They paid that price and saw their dreams collapse, saw the women they loved leave them behind in loneliness to rot.
They paid a high price.
And they bought something.
The meek brought something with them.
This treasure is, from one point of view, really nothing. It has no tangible form. It can purchase no goods. It can win no wars. It is merely a whisper of a hope. The meek bought morality. They carried it with them. All those who have watched their lives fall apart, who have watched opportunities slip through their grasp, who have allowed fear to enter into them - all these people brought something to us.
They carried a torch.
They carry it still.
Those who stayed as nice guys and finished last did so for a reason.
They refused to become bad guys, and let that torch die out. They refused to finish first.
Their integrity was worth more to them than their victory.
Such a sacrifice on so grand a scale is unlikely to go unnoticed.
They carried those torches with them, torches of honour, of mercy, of forgiveness and compassion – they carried these things with them, through centuries unbidden, that one day those torches could unite and spark a mighty conflagration. That one day all those nice guys, those meek guys, would realise that they were not alone. That they would realise that their strength was limitless. That they would fight to discover it. That they would uncover it, and learn to wield it. That others carried it too. That the world did indeed, in some strange way, make sense. That the compassion which they had kept within them could be fused with something else and made into something greater still.
That compassion and strength when combined, form nobility.
And it is nobility that is the birthright of the meek. The brash, the arrogant - right now they hold the reins of this planet. But nobility is something only the meek can truly aspire to. And through nobility, through strength and compassion, through discipline and honour, unity, courage and purity of heart, those meek men could reforge this world. They could create new rules, new and better ways.
I believe that they can. They can and they will.
The meek, my friends, will inherit the earth.
Viva la revolution.
Happy New Year.
Ever Yours
Jekyll
