“In your drama of life, [your] three acts are all the play… Pass on your way then, with a smiling face, under the smile of him who lets you go”.
-Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations, XII.36
“Father… Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
-Dylan Thomas
A man laid down. He was old and torn and battered. A spirit came down from the heavens and spoke, “Man, you have fought and loved. Made peace and war. You defied the heavens and built cathedrals for your own. Knowing you could not escape the hellfire, you crafted quiet and accepted your fate. However, not even in your stillness were you content, and so the cycle continued. But can’t you see, pitiful creature, that you were never truly happy?”. A flash of pain crossed the man’s eyes, his hands reached out to the sky. The spirit spoke once more, attempting to appease the small lump of torn rags that laid at his feet, “Perhaps, I am mistaken. Man, you are about to die and I wish for you to do one more deed before your rest. Tell me, which one made you the happiest? Defiance or peace?”. The spirit was curious, and Man intrigued him. He said, “Because you see, great ape, defiance is illusion! Misfortune catches us all. All that is good falls, it never triumphs. Why? Because there is no good! Can’t you see, king of the animals, that your precious nobility is arbitrary? Would you not rather make peace with the void? Accept meaninglessness, accept the chaos. Ah yes, but there is the catch. What would make you happy about that?”. The spirit was growing relentless, but the only response from Man were his hands, thrown to the heavens. “What keeps you going ape? Tell me, if entropy looms over you, why live to old age? You can not possibly have both defiance and peace. It is discontent that they both breed.” the spirit spoke. Man’s eyes burned with rage, his hands became fists that he shook to the heavens, but his face wore a smile. The spirit shrieked in fear, and the man, old, torn, and battered, died. The man’s eyes died fixed to the spirit’s own. In the man’s there was a look of pity, of indifference. Terror tainted the spirits face, and in that moment he knew Man did not care for the void, or meaninglessness, or chaos. Man had created an antithesis to the void and doing such, had replaced the old gods. Man rebelled. He waged war with chaos, and his sword had been acceptance, indifference, peace.
Peace through defiance, defiance through peace.
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