God always strives together with those who strive.

The ancient tragedian Aeschylus declared, “God always strives together with those who strive.” These words echo with the solemn strength of Greek wisdom, reminding us that the divine does not shower blessings upon the idle, nor crown the slothful with glory. The gods, he teaches, do not move the world for those who sit in despair, waiting for fortune to descend. Rather, they align their power with the human spirit that rises, labors, and dares. To strive is to summon divine partnership, for heaven itself bends toward the hand that works.

This teaching is as old as humanity. The ancients believed that destiny is a woven tapestry, yet one that requires human effort to bring forth its brightest threads. Striving—the act of labor, endurance, and determination—calls down the favor of heaven. The farmer who tills his soil invites the rain. The soldier who raises his shield invites victory. The student who opens his scroll invites wisdom. It is not the passive but the active who find that unseen forces walk beside them.

Consider the tale of Joan of Arc, a young peasant girl of France who heard the voice of God calling her to save her nation. She might have dismissed the vision, shrinking into obscurity, but instead she strove. She led armies though untrained, she lifted the banner though unprepared, and with each act of courage she drew strength beyond her years. Many said it was miracle, but Aeschylus’s truth resounds here: God strove with her, because she first strove herself. Without her will, the divine will could not have been revealed.

The Greeks themselves revered such truth. Think of Odysseus, wandering after Troy, shipwrecked and weary. The gods did not simply carry him home; they tested him, demanded his wit, his courage, his endurance. He strove, and because he strove, the gods guided his path, sent him aid, and at last returned him to Ithaca. Aeschylus, in his tragedies, often showed mortals crushed by fate—but he also showed that those who resisted, who fought with heart, became the very instruments through which the gods acted.

The meaning is clear: faith is not passive. To wait and to wish without action is to dishonor the divine order. To strive is itself an act of faith, a proclamation that life has meaning, that effort is not wasted. The divine presence, whether we call it God, destiny, or the will of heaven, is most fully revealed not in idle dreams but in courageous deeds. To act is to open the gate through which the eternal flows.

The lesson, then, is this: when hardship comes, do not pray only with your lips—pray also with your labor. Rise, act, endure, and trust that your striving will summon unseen strength. The one who does nothing invites nothing, but the one who strives invites both human victory and divine assistance. In this union of mortal effort and divine support lies the mystery of triumph.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: never despair that you are alone. When you lift your hand to work, a greater hand joins yours. When you rise to struggle, the heavens rise with you. But first you must strive—first you must commit your heart, your body, your will. Only then will you discover the eternal truth of Aeschylus: “God always strives together with those who strive.”

If you would live this teaching, begin today by facing one task you have delayed, one burden you have feared. Approach it with effort, not excuses. As you labor, remind yourself that each step is accompanied by forces unseen. In time, you will feel it—that you are not striving alone, but that life itself, mysterious and divine, moves with you.