What merriment can be derived from a land bereft of song and how oft does one hear the uninhibited singing of the common man? Songs, of a certainty, are plentiful, but singing… well that is something in terribly rare supply! And what of this common man, surely, he is part and parcel of the problem. What is the common man? Who is he? Not but an illusion, a romanticized ideal, a muck racking agrarian with a hearty smile, perennially wise in his hermetic isolation. In all reality the common man is just that, a man that is common. Much like sense. You’ve heard the phrase, surely, “Let’s try and use common sense about this-” Oh, what a travesty of thought!
Why would you wish to think like the prevalent man when his sense are like as his station! When desirous of wisdom one does not willingly, as his first, second nor third choice, seek out the mediocre magi, nor the middling philosopher, least not men of uncommon sense, the most sensible of men! Why then would such a pilgrim seek out sense of middling character? The question is far from rhetorical.
In successfully striping away the illusory trappings which ostentatiously garb most ideologically driven methodologies one is all too often left to wander a barren waste of fathomless horizonticality. But rather than traversing this desolate desert most merely take up residence upon the highest rock to bask underneath the sun, unconcerned or unaware that but a scant few miles in any given direction lies a plethora of caverns, moist and tenebrous. All too soon they are naught but wind scabbed shells and later, bones, acid etched by sand and scattered to the land’s endlessly avaricious maw.
I, for one, immeasurably prefer the cool, sanctuary of the cave, despite how deep or dark or twisting and bewilderingly labyrinthine it might happen to be. This, in short, is, or should be, the essential trajectory for upright character for the New Magisterium. For the phoenix made man.
We must first cast our eyes not backwards, nor forth, in time but inward. For the man that can not master even himself, surely, can not master any man other.