A Brilliant Paradox

May 08, 2007 09:49

Then, on that same arid wind, he heard a voice, a different voice than the stentorian one which moments before had praised him. It was a voice the likes of which he had never heard, nor could ever afterward fully describe. It was a voice of stars and of the sea, of volcanoes and spring rain. It was a voice of moments, a voice of eons, of old women and young boys. It was the logos, the voice of the universe.

“Aye, Alexander of Macedon, thou shall conquer Asia, as far as earth-bound men, constrained by time, can every truly conquer. Rest assured that the gods favor you as they favor all strong men. Thou shall have many peoples kneel to you and still more shall tremble at rumor of your arrival. Bactrians and Mallians, Sogdians and Brahmins, Susianians and Gedrosians and untold others shall all know your mighty name. Knowledge shall you bring your subjects peoples, and grace shall you attempt to impart to them. Mighty cities shall you build, centers of learning and art, of beauty and plenty. The benefits of civilization shall be allotted to many, and the innovations and methods of the west shall be accepted, praised, and desired.

“Yet know that even as thou bringeth the ways of the Hellenes and the Macedonians to Asia, so to shall the ways of Asia be brought to you. Long after your cities have crumbled into dust, as all things must, these ways of Asia shall live on in your descendants-if not in their blood, than certainly in their souls. For know that every gift that is given contains also a curse. Our gift to those of the west has been to inspire you with a lust to know the world, to unlock its secrets and understand its peoples. We have filled you with a longing for and a love for the cosmos, a thirsting for knowledge.

“However, in the midst of that desire to know, to appreciate the other, there will grow a neglect of your own people. A time will come when the ways of these others, the ways of Asia and Africa, will become preferable to those of your forefathers. This is your curse. Do you not recognize it, even in yourself?”

And Alexander could see the truth in the god’s words, for though he steadfastly believed in the ways and customs of Macedon, already he had begun to attire himself in Median dress, and affect the speech of the Persians. Politically it had benefited him immensely, yet rumors there were of grumbling amongst his troops.

“Your people will no longer love all, but only the other, neglecting the ways of their ancestors. And therefore, due to immutable laws written in blood and dust, they will consign themselves to extinction, and die out while still young. This is how it must be, for heroic deeds and longevity are incompatible. Your ancestor Achilles was given the choice of seeing his children grow or having generations of men sing his praise. He chose as you have chosen, and as your people, too, will choose.

“Understand, Alexander, that we gods have not given this gift-or curse, if you will-lightly, or gladly. We of Olympus know that while it promises us great glory, it ultimately spells our own doom. For is it not clear that when there are no more Macedonians, there can be no more Alexanders, and that when there are no more Alexanders, there can be no more Olympians? It is a bitter draught to swallow, this, but even we are subject to the laws of the eternal.”

There was silence, silence like that of a sarcophagus. The sweet scent of the herbs had long ago diminished, and surrounding him wa only blackness, and the smell of stone and dampness. Still, he did not move from his cramped position, sword drawn, back to wall. It was a manner unbecoming to him before the eyes of the gods, perhaps, but never had they spoken to him more powerfully. Therefore, he would maintain it. He would maintain it until they gave him the one directive he awaited. The one charge. And even as he thought these thoughts, the voice returned.

“So go, my son, and take Asia…”

And Alexander’s heart leapt like the antelope across the plains of Libya.

“…but know that someday, Asia will also take you.”

(From Men-Art-War, Mikulas Kolya.)
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