At some point in all the greatest myths ever written, the hero must pull back the veil that pens in the world of matter and look into the eyes of god. It's as if heroes must be disillusioned of the world before they can move forward. They must see it(more) come apart like a paper-thin sheet of morning mist, they must stand outside and see for themselves as its flimsy craft comes apart in the churning water of the cosmos.
It's a grand re-scaling. They see that everything that ever has been and will be is small. They come to realize that their grandest, most transcendent acts and gestures merely provide an alternate, and perhaps slightly grander, path to the same end. And that, upon their own death, they escalate into nothingness all the faster for having fought off any grand undoings. They must learn that the world unbecomes itself like the taught string of a bow let loose, at sufficient speed for all things to collapse as they would have regardless.
When they return from such places, they see the things they fight for are no longer precious. They realize they fight not because they can, but because they must, because the universe has a certain order of operations that goes with it, and such things, once set in motion, can only end a single predestined way.
So why do they fight?
Those for whom a story is worth something, for whom flesh-bound concepts such as hope, fear, pain, and peace have meaning, fight for our ignorance. Their struggle is a song that lulls to sleep the thousand demons that slaver over our heads, and we let them, because we want to hear it.
And those for whom story-craft is less meaningful than truth-- we never speak of again.(less)