The tragedy of modernity is that, turning its back on tragedy, it moves along with reckless abandon and in the process forgets the wisdom of the ages. Even its attempts to proceed with caution, entrusting history to the guidance of reason, all too often misfire, for what does reason have to say about where we should be headed? Are we to do what makes rational sense for each of us as isolated individuals? Should we act for this historical moment in which collectively we find ourselves? Or is the proper goal the ultimate good of humanity, as might be realized in an idealized and thus infinitely remote future? Given the impossibility of ever answering that question on the basis of reason alone, it is little wonder that we end up resorting to the pseudo-wisdom expressed so well by Mephistopheles:

On the face of it, the advice is good. Hamlet showed us the tragedy of reflection, why not now opt for action? The answer, of course, is that there too, tragedy rears its head. Accomplishing great things on the field of action is a good thing (what is the great if not a surplus of the good?). Even so, great deeds require the capacity for reckless abandon. Intelligent and gifted souls who are averse to risk should join Wagner and remain confined within the walls of the university; greatness is for those who dare to abandon the safety of the shore. To make the venture, to attempt the truly great deed, is to place oneself directly in the possibility of tragedy. This cannot be denied.Faust knew this well enough. He placed himself in the possibility of eternal damnation—and acted. That consequences both good and bad resulted is clear enough. On the essential question, however, the jury is still out. Was Faust in fact what Goethe said it was: eine Tragödie? I think it was.

To render the thought plausible, I propose that we begin by considering, like Faust (and at that very moment when Mephistopheles arrives on the scene), the greatest deed imaginable, the creation of the heavens and the earth (“Im Anfang war die Tat!,” 1237).