Work Without Signatures

First, a reminiscence of a great civilization:

The works of man are wind, once the spirit had died.

The same for a civilization: where there was once beauty and hope and holiness,
is now naught but a pile of stone. After all, the most modern intellectuals insist
that there is no such thing as meaning or justice or law, outside of what (the Right Sort of)
men say it is.

If this be so, why dream vast dreams, why aim high, why push for greatness – when the only form of greatness that means something is more wealth, more power, more pleasure, and hearing your name in the mouths of other men, in the here and now?

“Perhaps a man’s name does not matter all that much.”
This is true, if the work stands on something other than your own name.

I hope that my work does not rest on my own name – which will be forgotten, soon enough – but on the name of Christ.


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