If you make it to the end of Moby Dick (it’s been done), Herman Melville starts the epilogue with a quotation from the Book of Job: “And I only am escaped alone to tell thee.”
Melville’s readers at the time would have understood the biblical reference, but in 2019 I’d probably better explain it. Job, a good man, suffers a series of disasters, losing not only the livestock that makes up his wealth but also his children. In each case, one servant comes running to tell the story, explaining that he’s the sole survivor.
I used to wonder about sole survivors. I don’t naturally identify with sole survivors. I figured the odds were against being one myself.
But what do you know? I am.
Ideologically, anyway.
Or, to put it another way, in my old age I’m coming to repent my well-spent youth.
Always the rebel, I spent the late ’60s and ’70s not taking drugs and tripping like my classmates but involved in religious ministry. My friends and I didn’t even drink (and no, thanks for asking, we weren’t Mormons). We were against abortion and premarital sex. We believed in traditional families. Homosexuality wasn’t even on our menu.
Today, I am almost the only one out of that group of friends who still believes those things. Virtually all the rest have drifted off with the currents of culture. It’s depressing. My old buddies and I have nothing in common anymore. I’m a fascist in their eyes. I only am escaped alone to tell thee.
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See Also:
(1) Take Note, Democrats: The UK Election Was A Referendum On Progressivism
