There seems to be a great deal about Balance in movies these days.

I'm thinking of the third Matrix movie, of how Smith turned out to be Neo's opposite number, his counterpart.  Neo asks the oracle what Smith is, and she tells him, "He's you."

I'm thinking of the Star Wars prequels, where the prophecy about Anakin was that he would bring Balance to the Force.  And he did, in a sense--killed off Dooku and Maul, killed off all the Jedi, until there were only two Jedi Masters and two Sith Lords left.  It sucked for everyone concerned, but it was Balance.

I'm thinking of the pop culture understanding of Christian cosmology, with Heaven and Hell evenly matched, with God and Satan as equals, with Balance.  Read Good Omens or Piers Anthony's books about the Incarnations or any such stuff.

This was posted by someone on a Catholic/Protestant discussion forum I frequent.

"I believe that the spiritual world is in balance.
The tree of knowledge has two sides, good and evil. Both limbs are of equal length.
Westand in the crook of this tree seeing both limbs, one on each side ofus. We must start our lessons on good and evil by starting to climbthese limbs. Witch side do we start on. The easy side off goodness orthe harder side of evil.
From Eves point of view, She already has anexample of good in the garden. God has already stated that it was good.Will she chose to learn about something she already knows. In climbingterms one leg is already up on the good side.
The natural progression then would be to climb on the evil side in order to balance.
This is the choice she made and it was the right choice.

Why is it so hard for Christians to understand this simple truth.

This would indicate to us that we must identify evil and name it beforewe can climb the other good side of the tree to find the good answer towhatever was found to be evil. This seems to be the logical thing to do.
Why is this simple fact not understood.

Todo otherwise, or the opposite would make us look greedy for the goodside while letting the evil side go hungry for solutions and answersfrom us. This would cause imbalance and seen in physical terms, theclimber of the tree would have one leg way too high from the other andhis stance is quite uncomfortable.

If Eve simply stayed on theside of good, the tree would eventually bend towards that side andeventually break. Not God’s plan.

She took the right path for humanity..."

It all sounds so right.  Balance.  Gaining knowledge was the right thing to do.  Keeping the peace between the two extremes.

The problem is that it's dead wrong.

...

Now don't get me wrong.  Anyone who knows me knows that I'm all about Balance.  The Golden Mean, the Happy Medium, all that.  I'm a political moderate, a peacemaker, a mediator.  I've been Switzerland in a dozen relational disputes, I've carried messages between and given advice to feuding boyfriends/girlfriends, I'm always careful not to take sides in a fight that's not my business.  The Celtic knot that I use as a sigil--the one that's on my signet ring and on my wallet and that I seal my letters with--is a four-sided knot, symbolic of the four elements or the four seasons or the four winds or the four cardinal directions: equal and opposite forces contained within a whole, oppositing vectors canceling each other out, Balance.

But when it comes to morality, when it comes to alignment, you just don't want your Good and your Evil to balance out. 

Thoughts?

Critiques are welcome: this is still rough.

Weary Hands

 

Hwaet!—now weak    are weary hands

that hardly hold    the hilt of sword.

Hoar-frost on beard,    hoard-silvered head,

and vellumed skin    all sing the tale

of far-fled youth.    Full fifty winters

have I sat     with  crown-ringed brow

since Heardred’s death,    and costly weregild

claimed by spear    from Sweden’s son,

Onela king.    

Then last I drew

a blade from belt   in battle-blood.

Many a battle     won I when young;

now I am old.     I used to swim

all armor-clad     for countless nights,

so strong was I.     I could not now.

And do the sceopes    sing hero-songs

of how the king,    Ecgtheow’s bearn,

sits aging here?

                                    These harrowed nights,

when sweat-soaked dreams    drive waking cries

from shadowed sleep,    I oft bethink

that kinder death    had lingered there

in Grendel’s maw,    or had the hag,

the demon’s dam,    drowned me deep.

Age is more cruel,    a grimmer gaest,

that spills no blood,    yet makes a king

but half a man.

                                    I wait alone.

There is no Cain-kin    left to kill,

and every steadt    is stale with peace.

E’en the wyrm     of Earanaes

a sleeper is,    unsoured by dreams

of youthful years    and waning strength.

My byrnie rusts,    and Naegling’s blade

sticks to its sheath,    as unused as

my fighting arm.

When final breath

escapes my lips,    and leaves me lying

ashen-white,     who will welcome

Geatland’s king,     conquered by years,

overcome by time,    no sword in his hand—

No battle-dirge,    no bloodstained shroud,

no wealth of foes    beneath his feet?

What barrow shall board    this broken body

that fails with age?

                                    Be it not so.

I’ll turn on Time,    that dauntless devil,

and like old Grendel    tear his arm.

He shall not claim me.    To the North,

to Earanaes,     I’ll thrust my thrall

that he may plunder    the wyrm’s warren:

my end be writ     in wrath and fire

before I’ll bow     to Man’s decline.

Drag up the drakon,     the deep-sleeper

from golden bed,    and let us dance.