I haven't based any of the philosophies of this chapter on anything; this is my own story. Also, bear in mind they aren't all conventional concepts for the Jedi (as you'll discover when you read). Iolis is also not a real character. I have no idea who the first Jedi really was.
Basically, I'm making lots of assumptions.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy.
Jedi use their powers to defend and protect, never to attack others.
Jedi respect all life, in any form.
Jedi serve others rather than rule over them, for the good of the galaxy.
Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training.
Even as he read the words, his mind echoed them, repeated them automatically, impulsively. For even Yoda, close to 900 years old, had lived through the very same rigorous training routine as every other apprentice throughout those years. This included the continual recital of this simple passage, over and over, until it became a solid block of information, immovable, unforgettable, lodged in the mind.
Before him was this translated version, and the original. It was the oldest document in Jedi history, in verse, written on parchment, in a language that had been dead for eons.
Few understood it. Yoda was one of the few.
He had sat in the sterilised chamber, with this parchment, and the translated version on a computer screen, for three hours, and discovered nothing. Just the same as every translator, and thinker, and intuitive Jedi over the countless millennia of that time. The translation and the original bore no significant differences.
So why was he here?
He couldn't explain what drew him to them; which in itself worried him, for he was perhaps the single wisest creature living.
Enough to say it called to him, not in words but in something more than material or scientific. He surmised that it could be nothing short of the force itself.
Wait!
There was one difference. The original was signed. Staring down upon that spindly, barely legible text, he felt something stirring, for this was the last thing in existence which Iolis, first and wisest of the Jedi order, the greatest prophet ever to live, had touched.
And the restless calling soared upward and vanished. He was as close to the answer as it could guide him.
He had studied every work that Iolis had created in 90 years of the man's sane life, and then the 10 years of his insanity. Sifting through the vast documents in his mind he could find nothing out of place, but then he didn't know what he was looking for.
So, with Ki-Adi Mundi, he descended to the great Temple Library, to read once again every work that the first of their Order had ever written, in the original, very first versions, safely preserved in sterilised rooms.
The old prophecies truly were to be revisited.
Iolis said many great things, but it seemed that, now, only the convenient ones tended to be remembered. He had said a very great deal that the Order now disagreed with. He was the first, but does that make him infallible?
Perhaps not, Yoda considered, but he invented every philosophy that the Jedi based their lives upon. Some, it seemed, were just not worth taking to heart:
A true Jedi knows that he sacrifices very much, for very little gain. Our achievements are small and often inconsequential, for we fight to protect freedom, which no-one cares for, and peace, which is the hardest state of being of all. Yet the true Jedi is willing to give every ounce of his strength and will into this, which he has chosen to fight for, even if it comes to nought. He could have tried no harder, and that is enough.
This inconvenient truth was all too often ignored. As he read on, the words simply refreshing themselves in his mind, he began to grow sombre. All around him he saw passion and dedication, from the novice on his first day, until that novice became
someone like Mace or Ki-Adi.
But even these masters denied their sacrifices. They gave up so much, without even realising it.
What was more, the training regime, though still fiercely hard, was becoming gradually easier. It had been decreed necessary some fifty years ago, with the Jedi numbers running steadily lower.
"Necessary?" he had said, "not necessary. Merely desired. But never necessary."
But he had allowed it.
Slowly he worked through the a words, losing track of time, all worldly needs receding.
You are not Jedi merely by wishing to be, but equally any who dons our robes are not made Jedi. It is not a title to be won. It is an ideal.
For many, these lines had become a central core of their beliefs. Few Jedi truly understood it, however, or else ignored its real meaning. Indeed, it had taken Yoda close to one hundred years in isolation to discover its message, that could be summed up in a single line: You do not become Jedi for you; you sacrifice everything you could have had for others.
The little things do not make us better men. We do not call ourselves Jedi because we wear the robes and live without wealth or power. Any who feels pride over this is a fool. That is the path he has chosen. He was not forced to bear these things, he accepted them. It cannot be a badge.
Emotion is not an enemy. You must learn to calm yourself, to be stoic, unyielding, rational, logical. But sometimes there is reason in madness, because you only do as your crazed mind tells you. Bear in mind, this: I would never have founded our order at all without blind passion- and this is the opposite of reason.
And then came some of the most controversial lines in the Jedi archives. It was the last document written by Iolis to escape the brand of his insanity. It was so inconceivable, however, that many claimed that he must have been mad already.
Religion is not the great arbiter of truth. Neither does it decide good and evil. We claim that only the Sith deal in absolutes; but we live in the certainty that we fight for the force of good. How could we know? You cannot simply choose to be good or evil. Every man believes he does right. For us, it is enough that we have chosen a side. Most men never even choose.
It could only be the work of a madman. What had the Sith ever done, except seek to rule? To slaughter? They were all tyrants, and any life form, anywhere, would agree.
But it didn't help him. It merely augmented his sobriety.
He sat and thought for some time. It was difficult to discover anything, because Iolis' language was so different from those of the modern day, bearing little or no resemblance. Words in these documents could often contain multiple meanings, or affect the meanings of others. Often the only way to tell a sentence's meaning was by trying to guess the tone in which it had been intended to be read.
The old language made no distinction between running in glee and running in terror; it was merely running.
This of all else confused matters, for Iolis' words were cryptic, confusing and often completely antithetical. His clauses often appeared to make no sense together at all, so translation became difficult.
But this was hardly a problem. A sneaking feeling told Yoda, with absolute certainty, that Iolis had known he would peruse his work as he did know, so many millennia later. He would have made it obvious.
There was one thing he hadn't seen.
Ki-Adi was known for his logical thinking. It rarely failed him, and his thoughts and ideas were always rational, conceivable and based on knowledge and reasoning. So he had seen no reason why Yoda had wished to see Iolis' final works, The Ultimatum. He had correctly pointed out that it was for the most part the ranting of a madman. Little or none of it bore any substance or grounding in the real world, and much seemed to openly conflict with his previous teachings. Indeed, the name itself dealt an absolute: agree to our terms, or we go to war.
But Yoda had been adamant. Those old, raving writings had been brought before him.
Ki-Adi was right, of course. The Ultimatum was seemed like nonsense from every word after the first paragraph he read:
We Jedi have forged ourselves a myth. Through our code, and our morals, we have come to believe that we are good men. Why? Our religion does not make us superior. Neither does our order. Indeed, arrogance like this should be for the lesser men. Any who read my work from here on, has come far.
Occasionally, throughout the long hours, he would stumble upon something that seemed to say something. One line particularly interested him:
The truest warrior of good will suffer my confliction.
It seemed to relate to the chosen. But the rest was such rambling that it was difficult to propose that this was any different.
Soon he found himself skim-reading, then flicking pages openly. He glanced at the words, but could see only nonsense, until the last paragraph, which stopped him with impossible force.
If my powers of prophecy remain sharp, you obviously don't approve. But believe me; he feels more than he sees, and in this way is not blinded by the shroud thrown up around the Jedi order. He shows you the way. You needn't trust him, but, for it all to end well, you must follow his lead.
Flicking back, he began to read the incoherent periphrastic nonsense of The Ultimatum. For in the last paragraph he had found a clue so obvious that only the veil of lunacy could conceal it from the trained eye. Knowledge hit him like a hammer blow, momentarily filling every recess of his mind.
I have my doubts about this chapter. Not a lot happens so I hope it is still interesting enough to read. All the philosophies presented here are pretty important to the story.
R&R… Please.