Top o’ the Heap Is Still a Heap

I am on page 311 of the Contemporary Classics 40th Anniversary edition of The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck.  For those of you who may not have this edition, that means that I’m not quite to the end but I’m past the part where O-lan and Ching and the old man die and now Eldest Son is spending all of Wang’s silver on Second Son’s wedding—quite against the wishes of Second Son.  If you’re still a little unclear about where we are, check out SparkNotes’ summary for a good explanation of what’s going on.

In my own words: Wang has found the bitter end of man’s dreams for himself.  Once a poor farmer, through an elixir of his own sweat, his wife’s obedience, and the gods’ fickle luck, he now sits in the highest seat within his reach.  With great wealth of land, no need to labor, courts in country and town, and a grandson newly-born, Wang has been through every tragedy man fears and come out with every reward man covets.

And yet, he is unsatisfied.

Because, Beloved, we were made for true greatness.  And the more I read, the more I think, the more times I get up in the morning to go to work, the more I am convinced: this Earth ain’t it!

The depth of human despair and the sublimity of human elevation—neither plumbs the accurate dimensions of our existence’s possibility’s.  And, yes, I realize that sounded like an inspirational poster on crack.  But truly, I say unto you, why the fuck wouldn’t there be more to life than land, lineage, love, and literacy?

Fred Astaire is crooning to me as I write this, and I find myself agreeing to put all my eggs in one basket: I believe in eternity.

Not a kind of bureaucratic honey-hive of people functioning at the maximization of their unique talents.

Not a kind of capitalistic aggregation of multiplicity that erases the human element.

Not a kind of euphemistic belly-rub by all the beasts of the field who finally got rid of the damn human footprint.

Not a kind of orgasmic retinue of rituals that relive the drama of past ages.

No.

I truly want a new heaven and a new earth.  A new order of things.  Where greatness isn’t measured by the difference in stature between the One and the Other.  Where tears are not needed as a divine dichotomy to define laughter.  Where evil needn’t exist to cast a shadow that demarcates the various levels of goodness.

Surely no one can know what this life may be, but, God, I hope the calibrations used to measure greatness are different than the calipers we’re using right now.  To quote an Anna: “What didn’t fulfill in this life is not going to fulfill in the next life when we experience the same thing for all time.”

May the old greatness pass away and all greatness be made new.