I’m a religious liberal. That’s not a confession. It’s not an apology. They’ve tried to turn the word liberal inside out, to equate it with moral depravity—you know who they are. They are the mind managers; the language manipulators.
Let’s do a little dissection—let’s look at the parts and see what makes us tick–those of us who call self-identify as religious liberals.
I use the word liberal as an adjective to describe an approach to religion—an approach to religion that does not rely on outside authority for my personal belief system. I use the word liberal to suggest that the ultimate source of authority is vested in the individual as opposed to an outside authority.
I use the word liberal as a way of distancing myself from words like dogma, orthodox, rigid, authoritarian.
So let me say what I mean as directly as possible: what I mean by calling myself a religious liberal is first and foremost an affirmation of that aspect of life we call the religious or spiritual, having nothing to do with denominationalism; having nothing to do with religiosity— the practice of one’s particular religion, as important and relevant as those things are.
I use the word liberal to distance myself from fundamentalisms of every stripe—from the brand of religion espoused by some Christians, some Jews, some Muslims, some Hindus and others who claim to have a corner on the religious market, who claim to speak for God who has somehow invested them with His authority; those who accuse anyone who doesn’t assent to their beliefs as a heretic or an infidel, and who are destined to spend eternity roasting in the fires of hell…and so forth.
Liberal religion is an approach to religion practiced by some Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and others; religious liberals, by definition, do not claim to have a corner on the religious market—a monopoly.
It has been said that a liberal is someone who thinks they might be wrong.
Just as there are religious fundamentalists in all the major faiths, just as there religious liberals; there are fanatics in all the major faiths, just as there are moderate Christians, Jews, Muslims and Hindus. The moderates warmly embrace their own religious heritage without denying the same rights to others.
I’m not a moderate—though I’m sometimes tempted; I do respect and appreciate the moderates; I even identify with them. But I’m a hopeless case—an unrepentant religious liberal; I stand outside the boundary circumscribed by any and all religious groups. For that reason I put myself in the category of religious liberal.
Last month a moderate Christian, who happens to be a political conservative, penned a piece that was printed in the op-ed page of the New York Times. John C. Danforth is an Episcopal minister and former Republican senator from Missouri.
Onward, Moderate Christian Soldiers, John C. Danforth, June 17, 2005.
“It would be an oversimplification to say that America’s culture wars are now between people of faith and nonbelievers. People of faith are not of one mind, whether on specific issues like stem cell research and government intervention in the case of Terri Schiavo, or the more general issue of how religion relates to politics.
‘In recent years, conservative Christians have presented themselves as representing the one authentic Christian perspective on politics. With due respect for our conservative friends, equally devout Christians come to very different conclusions.
‘It is important for those of us who are sometimes called moderates to make the case that we, too, have strongly held Christian convictions, that we speak from the depths of our beliefs, and that our approach to politics is at least as faithful as that of those who are more conservative. Our difference concerns the extent to which government should, or even can, translate religious beliefs into the laws of the state.
‘People of faith have the right, and perhaps the obligation, to bring their values to bear in politics. Many conservative Christians approach politics with a certainty that they know God’s truth, and that they can advance the kingdom of God through governmental action. So they have developed a political agenda that they believe advances God’s kingdom, one that includes efforts to “put God back” into the public square and to pass a constitutional amendment intended to protect marriage from the perceived threat of homosexuality.
‘Moderate Christians are less certain about when and how our beliefs can be translated into statutory form, not because of a lack of faith in God but because of a healthy acknowledgement of the limitations of human beings. Like conservative Christians, we attend church, read the Bible and say our prayers.
“It would be an oversimplification to say that America’s culture wars are now between people of faith and nonbelievers. People of faith are not of one mind, whether on specific issues like stem cell research and government intervention in the case of Terri Schiavo, or the more general issue of how religion relates to politics.
‘In recent years, conservative Christians have presented themselves as representing the one authentic Christian perspective on politics. With due respect for our conservative friends, equally devout Christians come to very different conclusions.
‘It is important for those of us who are sometimes called moderates to make the case that we, too, have strongly held Christian convictions, that we speak from the depths of our beliefs, and that our approach to politics is at least as faithful as that of those who are more conservative. Our difference concerns the extent to which government should, or even can, translate religious beliefs into the laws of the state.
‘People of faith have the right, and perhaps the obligation, to bring their values to bear in politics. Many conservative Christians approach politics with a certainty that they know God’s truth, and that they can advance the kingdom of God through governmental action. So they have developed a political agenda that they believe advances God’s kingdom, one that includes efforts to “put God back” into the public square and to pass a constitutional amendment intended to protect marriage from the perceived threat of homosexuality.
‘Moderate Christians are less certain about when and how our beliefs can be translated into statutory form, not because of a lack of faith in God but because of a healthy acknowledgement of the limitations of human beings. Like conservative Christians, we attend church, read the Bible and say our prayers.
‘But for us, the only absolute standard of behavior is the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. Repeatedly in the Gospels, we find that the Love Commandment takes precedence when it conflicts with laws. We struggle to follow that commandment as we face the realities of everyday living, and we do not agree that our responsibility to live as Christians can be codified by legislators.
‘When, on television, we see a person in a persistent vegetative state, one who will never recover, we believe that allowing the natural and merciful end to her ordeal is more loving than imposing government power to keep her hooked up to a feeding tube.
‘When we see an opportunity to save our neighbors’ lives through stem cell research, we believe that it is our duty to pursue that research, and to oppose legislation that would impede us from doing so.
‘We think that efforts to haul references of God into the public square, into schools and courthouses, are far more apt to divide Americans than to advance faith.
‘Following a Lord who reached out in compassion to all human beings, we oppose amending the Constitution in a way that would humiliate homosexuals.
‘For us, living the Love Commandment may be at odds with efforts to encapsulate Christianity in a political agenda. We strongly support the separation of church and state, both because that principle is essential to holding together a diverse country, and because the policies of the state always fall short of the demands of faith. Aware that even our most passionate ventures into politics are efforts to carry the treasure of religion in the earthen vessel of government, we proceed in a spirit of humility lacking in our conservative colleagues.
‘In the decade since I left the Senate, American politics has been characterized by two phenomena: the increased activism of the Christian right, especially in the Republican Party, and the collapse of bipartisan collegiality. I do not think it is a stretch to suggest a relationship between the two. To assert that I am on God’s side and you are not, that I know God’s will and you do not, and that I will use the power of government to advance my understanding of God’s kingdom is certain to produce hostility.
‘By contrast, moderate Christians see ourselves, literally, as moderators. Far from claiming to possess God’s truth, we claim only to be imperfect seekers of the truth. We reject the notion that religion should present a series of wedge issues useful at election time for energizing a political base. We believe it is God’s work to practice humility, to wear tolerance on our sleeves, to reach out to those with whom we disagree, and to overcome the meanness we see in today’s politics.
‘For us, religion should be inclusive, and it should seek to bridge the differences that separate people. We do not exclude from worship those whose opinions differ from ours. Following a Lord who sat at the table with tax collectors and sinners, we welcome to the Lord’s table allwho would come. Following a Lord who cited love of God and love of neighbor as encompassing all the commandments, we reject a political agenda that displaces that love. Christians who hold these convictions ought to add their clear voice of moderation to the debate on religion in politics.”
Thank God for the moderate voices within Christianity, Judaism, Islam…the moderate voices who warmly embrace a particular religious heritage without wishing to impose it on me and on you.
In his book The Way of Man, Martin Buber, the well-known Jewish theologian who has informed and inspired many of us in the liberal religious camp, tells a story he calls Here Where One Stands. It’s a story about about Rabbi Bunam, who used to tell young men who came to him for the first time the story of Rabbi Eizik, son of Rabbi Yekel of Cracow.
“After many years of great poverty, which had never shaken his faith in God, he dreamed someone bade him look for a treasure in Prague, under the bridge which leads to the king’s palace. When the dream recurred a third time, Rabbi Eizik prepared for the journey and set out for Prague.
“But the bridge was guarded day and night and he did not dare to start digging. Nevertheless he went to the bridge every morning and kept walking around it until evening. Finally the captain of the guards, who had been watching him, asked in a kindly way whether he was looking for something or waiting for somebody. Rabbi Eizik told him of the dream which had brought him here from a faraway country.
“The captain laughed: “And so to please the dream, you poor fellow wore out your shoes to come here! As for having faith in dreams, if I had had it, I should have had to get going when a dream once told me to go to Cracow and dig for treasure under the stove in the room of a Jew — Eizik, son of Yekel, that was the name! Eizik, son of Yekel! I can just imagine what it would be like, how I should have to try every house over there, where one half of the Jews are named Eizik and the other Yekel!” And he laughed again.
“Rabbi Eizik bowed, travelled home, dug up the treasure from under the stove, and built the House of Prayer which is called “Reb Eizik Reb Yekel’s Shul.”
“Take this story to heart,” Rabbi Bunam used to add, “and make what it says your own: There is something you cannot find anywhere in the world, not even at the zaddik’s, and there is, nevertheless, a place where you can find it.”
The spiritual treasure is right here, where you stand; but you have to do your own digging.
The story talks about recurring dreams: Joseph Campbell says, “A dream is a private myth; a myth is a public dream.”
A religious liberal affirms the value of mythology. As a religious liberal I read all the stories as marvelous myths; if you look closely and carefully at a myth you see yourself; you also see that we’re all in the same boat, we humans. We struggle to make sense of this life we’ve been given.
As a religious liberal I’m amazed that so many people seem to take the mythologies in the Hebrew literature, the New Testament, and the Koran as being literal truth. It stretches my credulity.
My professor of Old Testament at Boston University School of Theology, Harrel Beck, said that “The Old Testament is one long warning against the dangers of idolatry.”
I’ve been passing that assertion through the ‘fire of thought’ since hearing it more than 35 years ago.
Buber’s parable of Rabbi Eizik affirms the inner life, and says, “Pay attention to what’s going on down there…that’s where the treasure is.”
It doesn’t deny the value of telling stories, but it suggests that all the stories, all the mythologies, are, in the final analysis, about the inner workings of the mind; they are about us.
In Buber’s story Rabbi Eizik had to leave home—he had to wear out some shoe leather, to ‘make the effort.’ To leave home is a metaphor for the willingness to change your mind—to look at things from the other guy’s point of view; to consider alternatives.
Rabbi Eizik got a ‘hint’ from the friendly palace guard, who didn’t realize the deeper significance of what he was telling Rabbi Eizik. He helped Rabbi Eizik to realize that the treasure about which he dreamed was under his own stove, in his own home, which is to say, ‘here where one stands.’
(You never know how something you say might have a lasting effect on another person.)
One point in Buber’s little story is that we need one another. We don’t always know the influence we have on one another. But something happens in the process of speaking and listening with one another—there’s a synergistic quality to our interactions…a stimulation…or a challenge.
The spiritual treasure isn’t something you dig up and discover, all at once. The spiritual treasure is discovered little by little, and over and over, in the process of living. It’s an accumulation of your own personal experience, but filtered from the depths.
To leave home is to take an adventure. The modern Greek Constantine Cavafy wrote about Odysseus’s journey back home to Ithaca—it was a favorite of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis—she asked that it be read at her funeral.
“When you set out for Ithaka
pray that your road’s a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops, angry Poseidon –
don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare sensation
touches your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops, wild Poseidon –
you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside of you,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Pray your road’s a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbours you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfumes of every kind –
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from those who know.
Keep Ithaka always in mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what an Ithaka means.”
The journey to Ithaca is an inward journey—it’s a journey home. But arriving there isn’t the point—it’s about life as the great adventure, ‘full of discovery.’
The Laistrygonians, Cyclops, wild Poseidon—the scary mythological creatures—are carried inside and they have to be encountered. The Chinese have a term for it: we have to ‘shake hands with the dragon.’
The spiritual treasure isn’t something you dig up and discover, all at once, like the treasure under Rabbi Eizik’s stove. We have these little epiphanies, and some seem so big that it feels like a re-birth—what some call the born again experience.
For the religious liberal the search never ends—there is no final answer, once and for all. What’s required is a willingness to keep searching, and, if you’re fortunate, to weave together an unending string of those little or big epiphanies…born again and again.
Spiritual truths are discovered little by little, and over and over, in the process of living. A single meal cannot provide nourishment for the body for the rest of your life—neither can a single insight, belief or experience. A well-nourished spiritual life needs to be fed. Cummings’ poem feeds me; all the old mythologies feed me; stories like Buber’s feed the spiritual hunger.
Watching someone else eat a meal does not satisfy my hunger; but it might whet my appetite.
This, I think, is the essence of liberal religion, and it stands in contrast to the more traditional, or orthodox notion: that your religion is a set of beliefs which are carved in stone, and come from some outside or higher authority—a Bible, or Koran; a priest, minister or rabbi; an imam, or guru, or some imagined Buddha.
Any and all of those sources may stimulate your thinking, may provide the provocation you need at that moment. But they are like fingers pointing to the moon.
Liberal religion says, “Don’t confuse the finger pointing to the moon with the moon.” That’s like seeing a road sign that points to a place and sitting up on the sign post believing you’ve arrived!
An essential ingredient to liberal religion, as I understand it today, is captured poetically by Whitman in the following lines from his signature poem, Song of Myself:
“Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? Have you reckon’d the earth much? Have you practiced so long to learn to read, and have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun…You shall no longer take things at second or third hand. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, but you shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.”
Liberal religion acknowledges that the source of all poems—the source of all the religions of the world, have come from the depths of the human experience…one might say that they have come from what we call ‘inspiration.’
The deepest truths—the buried treasure—do no come easily or automatically. This, I think, is one of the great misunderstandings of liberal religion: that it’s easy.
For the religious liberal, the Bible is a collection of poetry, mythology, history and legend, written over the course of many hundreds of years, drawn from many cultures, is a book written by people like you and me.
For the religious liberal it becomes sacred literature to the extent that we’re able to understand the myths—to see the stories as ways of revealing us to ourselves.
My friend and colleague Forrest Church defines religion as “our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die.”
While I appreciate Forrest’s definition I prefer to define religion by looking at its literal meaning. The world religion is rooted in the Latin verb legare, which means to bind, or to connect.
To me religion is the accumulation of the experiences that have helped me to realize and to affirm my connection to others. We call that realization and affirmation by various names: love, friendship, bonding, support, encouragement, respect, appreciation, sympathy and compassion, to name a few.
Religion is the accumulation of the experiences that have helped me to realize and to affirm my connection to the natural world—my relationship with animals—with animals in the wild and with pets; my relationship with the ocean, the moon and stars and planets, the forest and rivers, the wind and rain, the snow.
Whitman titled his book of poetry Leaves of Grass, emphasizing that relationship between nature and spirituality.
Religion is the accumulation of the experiences that help me to feel reconnected to an ever-evolving, ever-changing self.
Forrest’s definition describes the underlying reason for the invention of most of the religions of the world—the need to deal with mortality. Most religions place a heavy emphasis on death, offering a front-row seat to some imagined after life–a ticket for true believers.
Cynicism sinks in when the front-row seats are reserved for the biggest financial contributors. That, indeed, is what drove Martin Luther’s Reformation. He was a religious liberal because he didn’t believe you could buy your way out of hell and into heaven with indulgences—you remember what indulgences were—they were contributions made to the church in order to pay off the gods to reduce the sentence, the time some loved one was presumably roasting.
I am a religious liberal because I believe that all the religions of the world are right and true, but none is entirely right, nor does any religion have a corner on the market of truth.
I am a religious liberal because I believe that religious literature is poetry—not literal truth, and certainly not history, as if God intervened in time, created the world in six days, and parted the Red Sea, and so forth. As poetry, those stories help us to feel God’s active presence in the world right now as the ongoing creative energy we call love.
I’m a religious liberal because I read the story of Noah and realize that this is the ark. We’re on it, now, floating on the sea of time, and we have to be responsible mariners—environmentalists, taking care of the earth; and we have to be responsible economists, finding equitable ways of distributing the food, all of which comes from the earth and the sea; finding creative ways of helping people to find meaningful work, and so forth.
I am a religious liberal because my sacred literature is an ever-growing collection of poems and stories that speak to my heart, and when a poem or story speaks to my heart it’s as though God is speaking directly to me…because when I read such a poem or story I realize I’m not alone…I can feel my connection with other souls who were born into this world the same as I was, and who struggle to find meaning, the same as I do.
The true word of God is no different than truth that comes through in any form—the truths of science, for example. God’s work is being done by scientists who are trying to learn how stem cells can be used to cure some devastating diseases. It’s so ironic that other apparently well-meaning people are trying to prevent progress in the name of God.
I am a religious liberal because I believe we each have to ‘seek the truth.’ It’s not delivered to us with the morning paper—that’s for sure; it’s not miraculously passed on to us by Bibles or Bishops or Chautauqua lectures.
As a religious liberal I say that the big question isn’t whether there’s life after death, but whether there’s life after birth: what kind of life are you putting together?.
As a religious liberal I say we have a responsibility to help one another along the way—not to convert others to our beliefs or our way of thinking—our opinions. But to be there for them, to listen, to create a caring atmosphere characterized by mutual respect rather than agreement about the Bible or what Jesus really meant.
As a religious liberal I generally avoid putting a name on God– on that which is in truth beyond my capacity to understand, rationally or intellectually. I like the opening lines of the Tao Te Ching: “The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name.”
Do you see the paradox in this statement?
On the one hand, it sounds like Lao Tze, it’s supposed author, is agnostic, saying that we can’t know. On the other hand, however, he’s clearly suggesting that there is something beyond what we can name; but not beyond what we can know or realize.
The Buddhist says, “Those who know, don’t say. Those who say, don’t know.”
Jesus said, “Beware of practicing your piety before men…like the hypocrites who want to be seen in the temple.”
As a religious liberal I can call myself a Buddhist, without any need to practice someone else’s form of Buddhism; I can find meaning in the Jewish stories and the Jewish holidays and holy days; I can find meaning in the Christian stories and the Christian holidays and holy days; I can claim a sacred status to the poems that speak to me, that reach into the depths of my being and provide nourishment, or healing, or encouragement.
In a deeper sense, I become a religious liberal to the extent that I am liberated, so that I can take the best of the Christianity that nourished me as a child, and with a breath of comfort, blow the rest away. I can let go of the old anger or resentment I felt when I was told that I was not a ‘good Christian’ if I didn’t believe in the Apostle’s Creed—that Jesus was literally born of a virgin and descended into hell and sits at the right hand of the Father. It took me a long time to rid myself of the anger. In truth it took years before I was even aware that the anger was ‘down there where the spirit meets the bone.’
As a religious liberal I can take little gems I discover in Judaism and recite precious poems I find in Islam, like Rumi’s poem:
“Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there’s a field, I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense.”
As a religious liberal I know I might be wrong, but I give myself permission to be wrong. I have seen enough of those who are absolutely certain that they are right, to say nothing of being certain that I’m wrong.
I can change my mind, which is why I like to quote Emerson’s famous line about consistency: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and divines and philosophers. With consistency a great mind simply has nothing to do.”
Not long ago, the very idea of reading the Bible for yourself was considered heretical. By translating the Bible into the vernacular, Martin Luther launched the Reformation. He was a religious liberal. Like Whitman, he was saying that you need not take things at second or third hand…but you should look at all sides–read it–and filter it from yourself.
Notice he didn’t say ‘filter it for yourself.’ He said that you shall look at all sides and filter it ‘from’ yourself; just as those who wrote the poems, the Bible, the Koran and all the sacred books ‘filtered the stories from themselves.’
I know this doesn’t set well with those who want their religion delivered pre-packaged, ready for consumption.
I long ago gave up the notion that as a liberal religious clergyperson that I could be acceptable to all people.
Religious fundamentalists who believe that the Bible is the word of God in a literal and supernatural way have told me time and again that I’m going to wind up in hell. On more than one occasion this prediction has sounded more like a wish; my only concern is that one of them might want to hasten the day; that trick has already been done!
Maybe my problem is that I think about these things too much. I’m reminded here of the guy who wrote about his problem to Tom and Ray, the Click and Clack brothers at Car Talk. His name is Gregory Paul Engel; he wrote:
“I’ve listened to your show for a while now. I must say, I was a lot like you guys. Carefree. Blabbed a lot. This was before my life took a tragic turn. A turn which, I sense, both of you are on the verge of taking. There is no help for me, unfortunately. But perhaps my story will help prevent you from falling into the abyss that I have been thrown.
“It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.
“I began to think alone -“to relax,” I told myself – but I knew it wasn’t true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.
“I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don’t mix, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“I began to avoid friends at lunch time so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, “What is it exactly we are doing here?”
“Things weren’t going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother’s.
“I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss called me in. He said, “Greg, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don’t stop thinking on the job, you’ll have to find another job.” This gave me a lot to think about.
“I came home early after my conversation with the boss. “Honey,” I confessed, “I’ve been thinking…” “I know you’ve been thinking,” she said, “and I want a divorce!” “But Honey, surely it’s not that serious.” “It is serious,” she said, lower lip aquiver. “You think as much as college professors, and college professors don’t make any money, so if you keep on thinking we won’t have any money!”
“That’s a faulty syllogism,” I said impatiently, and she began to cry. I’d had enough. “I’m going to the library,” I snarled as I stomped out the door.
“I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche, with NPR on the radio. I roared into the parking lot and ran up to the big glass doors…they didn’t open. The library was closed.
“To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.
“As I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. “Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?” it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker’s Anonymous poster. Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a noneducational video; last week it was “Porky’s.” Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.
“I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed…easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.
“An integral part of my recovery has been your show. I regret, however, that your show has occasionally caused me to have a thought. Sometimes even two. I have found myself wanting to ask my car mechanic…to ask him…questions! Yes, questions. A sure sign to the presence of a deep process of thinking. I still have work to do on my thinking problem. I regret that unless you turn from the direction you’re headed by answering callers questions in meaningful ways, I will be forced to discontinue my participation in your, until recently, completely mediocre show.
“I hope I have helped. Good luck, Gregory Engel”
I’ll close with a few more lines from Whitman:
“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
those who remain behind you…
Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road — they are the swift and majestic men — they are the greatest women,
Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights…
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you..
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls…
Now understand me well — it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.”