It may be that the restorationist is able, like Pygmalion, through divine agency and fervent affection, to bring to life the dream of the world he made. Yet such affection belies his original hatred of the world, where, had it been complete, there should never have been the natal dream that awakened him to hope. Perhaps a labor of such intensity can come from hate. After all, the devil is no idler. But from such hatred never proceeds the faith to kiss and to caress, to animate what could only ever be silent stone. Hope is the great master emotion of the West, whereas of the East it is quiescence, acceptance. Can there be faith absent hope? It is unlikely, for faith, absent hope, it simply knowledge, obtained by effort and craft, but never in doubt within its compass. One trusts knowledge, but only to its terminus, beyond which is abyss. But hope gives flight, to lift us beyond the limits of ourselves and our time. It is the sentiment of the spirit, of eternity, not of procedure, not of mastery, and European Man is its regent.
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