Relatavism

Relativism lies besieged on every side: what recourse is appropriate
When doctrinaire philosophers (and theologians) assault
Her feeble frame? 'Truth', they say, 'is everlasting,
'Herent in the flux of bodies and the shifts of time. Either
Through tests assiduous and gatherings of much, we can uncover
Under aggregate equations all future combinations, or 'dress
A sturdy law: "All apples course unto the earth, the sunlight by its girth
Warps space and time, all favor-less, unlucky lives decline" –
By thus confining matters to the bounds of truth, we prove
Able legislators, and every beast on earth, all fowls,
The clouds, the blinding sun, air infinite that blasts
The planet's face, will cater to our laws, all caper
At our whim.' 'God's whim', the theologian replies,
'For Mankind lives in revelation of the truth, and reads
In heaven's book the pacts on which to found a life, which,
In accordance with a deity's word, grows strong, but in divisions
Of an unpurged sin, wrecks in itself and falters, trusting
Overmuch to feeble strength.'

How can we reply? Is there a narrow channel
Gracious to life's end, along which thought and action
Ought to wend? And can the tides of truth's vast ocean
Erode a wicked earth? Am I subordinate
To hegemonic laws, and leading into dark horizons,
Margins obscure with the twinkle, slight,
Of unknown stars? Is truth this great reunion
That awaits us, 'gulfs us in our sleep, and clears
Like dawn's accumulations from a sun-drenched eye?
Is there a sisterhood of stars, a winged conspiracy
Past the ether, holding the world to an upright fame?
Regardless I reply that here, on earth, we do the best
We can, consider every argument with sharpened wit
And often, as a blade grows dull in repetitious use,
But shines when burnished to an obtuse grit,
Test ourselves with every strange assertion, use our thoughts
In all preposterous 'climes, until we reach that height
Where we observe first glimmer of impassive light.

Our relatives are wisdom, honed maxims to the changeful shapes
Of observation, molding and evolving as conditions
Ask: it is polite, and life is our reward, lest,
Clinging to presumptions, idle images of God,
Unbending in the ceaseless squalls, torrents of an age
Unschooled in virtues, bent on our destruction,
Like the oak we snap 'neath beating storms.