In the great works of literature we discover a deep understanding of man's being and purpose. We discover that the human person is homo viator, a pilgrim or wayfarer who journeys through mortal life with eternal life always in mind. This understanding of who we are has been lost. "The modern man," wrote Chesterton, "is more like a traveller who has forgotten the name of his destination, and has to go back whence he came, even to find out where he is going." In fact, things are even worse than Chesterton imagined because modern man has not only forgotten the name of his destination, he has even forgotten that he has a destination. He does not know that he is a traveller. He is unaware that he is on a journey or that he has anywhere to go. He is not homo viator, but homo superbus, proud-man, a pathetic creature trapped within the confines of his own self-constructed "self," a prisoner of his own pride and prejudice.