The Second Discourseman
‘When I had done all that, I got him oats from the neighbouring bin; for the place knew me well, and I could always tend to my own beast when I came there. And as he ate his oats, I said to him: “Monster, my horse, is there any place on earth where a man, even for a little time, can be as happy as the brutes? If there is, it is here at The Sign of The Lion.” And Monster answered: “There is a tradition among us that, of all creatures that creep upon the earth, man is the fullest of sorrow.”’
From At The Sign of The Lion, by Hilaire Belloc
The Equidae are mournful and sensible creatures, as any adventurer in Narnia can tell you, or perhaps – for the more cultured – one who is acquainted with Winnie the Pooh’s dear friend, Eeyore. Before these, though, came Monster, and riding on him Hilaire Belloc, the great essayist of the early twentieth century. Monster is, of course, a Talking Horse, and Belloc a Talking Man, who Talks much on the passage of time into eternity and such things. At The Sign of The Lion is nothing less than fresh, rich fodder for a conservative like myself, and indeed it is a beautiful read for anyone. But such human diversions are interrupted by a horse’s voice, and human hearts are held.
For man is always diverted by what concerns man. We are occupied with our own experiences and emotions, never more than when we are sad, such that no exercise in comparison with others’ suffering may soothe us. And this is not immediately wrong; it is striking that, to the best of my knowledge, only once does Scripture explicitly relativise hardship, in Hebrews 12 v 4 [1]. We are to be thankful in all things, indeed we are to rejoice always, but this is not because we have no cause for sadness. However, it is also the case that we can be unduly self-centred in our sorrow. It is with a hint of this attitude that Belloc, surveying the loss and change of the world, turns to his horse. Sadness, he says, belongs to man, and it is a rare occasion which sees man’s depths satisfied to the same extent as a simple, happy animal.
But that is not quite the case, replies Monster. The beasts have a tradition which concerns sadness, and which they share among themselves but not with man, their fellow creeping creature. It is a humbling inversion. We are not the only ones who understand such things, who have plumbed these depths. Generations of other humans have endured much more than what I endure, and all in a world which knows in its own secret way the effects of the curse. None of this belittles what we feel, but it rebukes pride and self-pity. A friend of mine often warns that people take themselves too seriously; an answer from a talking horse is a helpful antidote.
And yet what is this old tradition? It is that sadness is indeed the lot of man, to an extent which does dignify us beyond mere animals. To use the phrase of today, it is valid. Monster’s wisdom keeps us from being protective or self-centred with our pain, and allows us instead to understand it more fully as part of the human condition and a fallen world. It allows us to offer it up to God, in Whose image we are made such that we can feel these depths. The dignity in our suffering is no more and no less than the dignity given to us by our Creator.
In all of this, there is the pattern of the cross. Rather than being self-pitying, Christ occupied Himself with our sorrows, bearing our penalty for sin. I think that this is the truth in those difficult lines,
‘He had no tears for His own griefs,
But sweat drops of blood for mine.’
He suffered immensely, but rather than withdrawing into His own sadness, the Man of Sorrows entered ours. And, as the grain which falls into the earth dies and bears much fruit, so Christ’s abasement became the highest dignity, such that we may cry:
‘Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honour and glory and blessing!’
[1] Please correct me if there are other examples; however, I think that this is generally true of the approach of Scripture to human sadness.
The Four Discoursemen 