“Virtue! a fig! ’tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus.
Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills
are gardeners.”
—Othello, William Shakespeare
“Virtue! A fig!” We grasp the hoe and dig.
The dirt we turn is taken from ourselves.
We chop the trunk and bough; then clip the twig,
and this way prune the molecule and cell.
The slender stalk, the brown and drooping blooms
obey the will within our working hands.
But evening falls and weariness consumes.
Both self and garden disobey commands.
O faithless workers, wake! The Gardener prays
while you sleep sound as seeds inside this wall.
The weeds take root; the best earth turns to clay.
What dirt-clad Adam sowed becomes our Fall.
We’re the compost, fools; we’re “the fig.”
The time is short. Come grasp the hoe and dig.
—Marjorie Maddox
Letters—August/September 2026
My first thought on “Boomer–Zoomer Housing War” by Carmel Richardson was the title; my second thought after…
The Scandal of Jewish Belief
The Gospel of Matthew ends with this promise of Jesus to his disciples: “Behold, I am with…
The Sudden Death of the African Church
Total civilizational collapse is unusual. In the West, continuity exists between the Roman past and our contemporary…