Pacing through the rain, one hears the Taylor Swift song Hoax in the background, a melody that accompanies a sorrowful downpour. With spring approaching and the casualties of war in the east and south growing, the darker side of history returns with a cruel, knowing smile. The verses of poets bear witness to humanity, yet they cannot redeem the original expulsion from Eden. Tasting the forbidden fruit resembles discovering the nakedness of our own emotions. When masks fall away, one confronts the horror of misery. It is the mournful countenance of Paul Klee’s Angelus Novus, as Walter Benjamin echoed in one of his most cited philosophical pages. The Angel of Time beats its wings, generating seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years, the ages and eons. The wind carries dust and ruin, destruction, rage, and corpses that slowly rot beneath the rubble. The stench of decay rises to the heavens and reaches the astonished angel who watches the consequences of that labor. Whose children are we, one might ask. It is not surprising to read that the earliest Christians prayed for the arrival of the Apocalypse. In the believer’s soul, the Parousia blends with the heart’s own hope. A respected writer once suggested that space would someday tremble with weakness, a thought that offers solace to the powerless victims of power’s machinery.
Although averse to victimhood as a form of resentment, one cannot ignore the authenticity that emerges from silenced voices. They test us and remind us how hollow any social depiction of success or failure can be. These unheard voices challenge the doxa that dominates, whether it is capitalism, socialism, nationalism, or any other ideological construct. The Greek term doxa traces back to ancient roots and emphasizes the weight of commonly held beliefs or, more broadly, the opinions publicized. For Plato, such beliefs were linked to sensory perception, changeable and deceptive, guiding thought. In contemporary times, the sociologist and anthropologist Pierre Bourdieu showed how Greek doxa represents unquestioned convictions — everyone knows what they are — the orthodoxy that defines and constrains thought and the perception of reality within a given social sphere. His analysis revealed how doxa is maintained to preserve power and domination. Truth often hides behind appearances, forever just beyond reach.
The rain has not stopped on reaching home. Why should it? The melancholy waltz that drenches the streets also waters fields parched by drought. The tears born from love, observed in an ancient Jewish tradition, ennoble and save those with dry eyes, whose anger stirs the inquisitors. It is the accusers who plant death through their doxa. In contrast, those who cry offer comfort to the afflicted. There may be a grand mystery here, yet the simpler truth remains: persistent rain reminds that human hope resides in the heart.