“When a man would sow in virgin soil,
first he clears away the bushes,
cuts the brambles and the ferns,
that the corn-goddess may go forth
laden with her new fruit.
The honey, that the bee has toiled to
give us,
is sweeter when the mouth has tasted bitter
things.
The stars shine with more pleasing grace
when a storm has ceased to roar and
pour down rain.
After the morning star has dispersed
the shades of night,
the day in all its beauty drives its
rosy chariot forth.
So you have looked upon false happiness
first.
Now draw your neck from under her yoke:
so shall true happiness now come into your
soul.”
—from
Book 3, Poem 1
When I
was younger, many of my elders told me that good things never came easy, and
that they may well take some time. I would sometimes resent this, because I was
already a part of a generation that sought instant gratification. If anything
was ever worth working for, the trend was that money and influence were the
only helpful tools for the gratification we craved.
We not
only want what we think is good right now, but we are confused about what is
good to begin with. Perhaps thinking this way is a very part of the process,
where we have to struggle with getting it wrong before we can come to the peace
of what is right. The problem, of course, is actually moving beyond the confusion
to the clarity.
I can
certainly think of many ways that a genuine reward was all the more fulfilling
because of, and in contrast to, the grief and toil that preceded it. It took
the disappointment of false friendship to appreciate true friendship, the
illusion of learning for vanity to discover learning for character, or all the
trappings and diversions of false success to recognize that true success in
life is something very different than I had thought it to be.
There
will be no reaping if I don’t do any sowing. I will not become better if I do
not learn from my mistakes. I will never become blessed without first having an
experience of what is wretched.
Just as
we often want our senses immediately satisfied, we will also want our minds to
be immediately filled with all of the answers. When we don’t get it right away,
we lose interest, and assume it isn’t worth our time. It doesn’t occur to us
that finding something worthwhile often demands patience, and we might have to
travel a ways to get to our destination. There are many steps along the way.
When
people hear that I have a background in philosophy, they will often ask me
profound questions, sometimes just to have a bit of fun, but sometimes out of
genuine curiosity. I will pull my best Socrates, and ask them to clarify their
definitions, work from what they already know to some insight on what thy don’t
know, and break down a vague sense of the whole to a precise understanding of
the parts.
They
usually dislike this and turn to something else fairly quickly, because what
they wanted was just an answer, not the actual working toward an answer. It
doesn’t necessarily occur to them that the answer only is an answer through an
explanation of the reasons why it is
true. This will not come to us right away, but involves a long-term commitment.
There can be no conclusion without the effort of reasoning.
Finding
a life of happiness is one part of that continuing effort, perhaps the single
most important part, because happiness seems to be what we all want, what we
were all made for. But what is it exactly? Should I not ask very carefully what
is good and bad in life, and why that must be so? What do different kinds of
people say about this, and how can looking at that help us toward the truth?
Here is
the clearing of the field, and the planting of the seed, before we can enjoy
the harvest.
Written in 9/2015
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