. . . As we hunt wild beasts with toil
and peril, and even when they are caught find them an anxious possession, for
they often tear their keepers to pieces, even so are great pleasures. They turn
out to be great evils and take their owners prisoner. The more numerous and the
greater they are, the more inferior and the slave of more masters does that man
become whom the vulgar call a happy man.
I may even press this analogy further:
as the man who tracks wild animals to their lairs, and who sets great store on
"seeking with snares the wandering brutes to noose," and "making
their hounds the spacious glade surround," that he may follow their
tracks, neglects far more desirable things, and leaves many duties unfulfilled,
so he who pursues pleasure postpones everything to it, disregards that first
essential, liberty, and sacrifices it to his belly; nor does he buy pleasure
for himself, but sells himself to pleasure.
—Seneca
the Younger, On the happy life,
Chapter 14 (tr Stewart)
I
remember a news story back in the 1980’s, though I hardly know where the facts
ended and the urban legend began, about a yuppie family in Colorado that
decided to adopt a wolf cub. They apparently saw themselves as being very
progressive, and spoke proudly about participating in the harmony of nature.
The only
problem was, that as that wolf cub grew older, he behaved exactly as any wolf
would. One evening, the husband was trying to romance his wife, and the wolf
attacked him. All the Windham Hill music and fancy California wines would not
tame the wolf, because he was challenging the alpha male of the pack for
breeding rights. You can take the wolf out of nature, but you can’t take nature
out of the wolf.
Even the
most domesticated animal is rarely “tamed”. My wife and I still have scars on
our legs from an attack by one of our cats, who suddenly felt that we were
threatening one of our other kittens. Her maternal protective instincts kicked
in for some reason, and I can still vividly recall the feeling of warm blood pouring
down my leg after she had done her business.
A man
can certainly be a part of Nature, but he will never conquer it. Nature is not
about fairies and buttercups. There will be loss, there will be pain, and there
will be death. All of this is a part of how things should rightly be, and each
aspect of the fullness of Nature plays its own distinct role. The role of man
is to understand himself, to rule himself by his own character, and to die
knowing that he has done right.
Now why
should I hunt and pursue other things? I speak not of the entitled or the barbaric,
some of whom believe that simply killing a wild animal somehow makes them
better. I’m speaking about all of us, who are told and tempted to make
ourselves better by conquest and consumption.
Pleasure
is a fickle prey. I may seek my pleasure where I will, in sex, in alcohol or
drugs, in power, or in my reputation. I am not immune because or my background
or class. The beast I am after, the one I wish to tame, is actually after me,
and it will end up dominating me.
How much
of my time and effort have I dedicated to hunting for gratification, for
possessions, for position? In turn, how much have I consequently neglected the
nurturing of my own soul? Why do I permit myself to be ruled by a desire for
the things outside of me, when my complete good is to be found inside of me? As
Howard Jones, one of my old musical heroes, said: “Hunt the Self.”
Written in 1/2012
Image: Raden Saleh, Deer Hunt (1846)
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