“.
. . Look upon the expanse of heaven, the strength with which it stands, the rapidity
with which it moves, and cease for a while to wonder at base things. This
heaven is not more wonderful for those things than for the design that guides
it. How sweeping is the brightness of outward form, how swift its movement, yet
more fleeting than the passing of the flowers of spring.
“But
if, as Aristotle says, many could use the eyes of lynxes to see through that
which meets the eye, then if they saw into the organs within, would not that
body, though it had the most fair outside of Alcibiades, seem most vile within?
Wherefore it is not your own nature, but the weakness of the eyes of them that
see you, that makes you seem beautiful.
“But
consider how in excess you desire the pleasures of the body, when you know that
howsoever you admire it, it can be reduced to nothing by a three-days' fever.
“To
put all these points then in a word: these things cannot grant the good that
they promise; they are not made perfect by the union of all good things in
them; they do not lead to happiness as a path there; they do not make men
blessed.”
—from
Book 3, Prose 8
I need
to remind myself quite regularly that the secret to a good life is hardly a
secret at all. Yes, all of us are called to be philosophical, but this isn’t in
the sense that we might be used to.
To
engage in philosophy is not to sound profound, or to meddle in obscure
complexities, or to acquire hidden knowledge available only to the select few. It
is not merely an academic exercise to puff up our sense of self-importance.
To be
philosophical is to come to understand oneself and one’s world more richly,
more deeply, more fundamentally. It is an attitude of looking for what is
ultimate over what is immediate, for what is on the inside and not just the
outside, for the whole instead of just the part. In this we discover our
meaning and purpose.
This
isn’t just one of things we can, or even should, do in life; it is the only
thing that really matters, because everything else hinges upon our awareness of
what is true, good, and beautiful.
Yet what
do I so often find myself looking at? A shallow appearance, not the inner
reality. A pretty face, not a virtuous character. A passing fancy, not a
lasting bond. I am still drawn to such things not because they have any real
goodness to them, but because of a weakness in my vision. If I commit to
focusing more closely, the proverbial scales will fall from my eyes.
I have
long adored the ancient and medieval legend about how the lynx has such
powerful vision that it can even see right inside solid objects. This is
figuratively what we are also called to do when we examine something beneath
the surface.
One
doesn’t need to be clever or educated to discern how things that are actually
quite weak come to appear so strong. In fact, being clever or educated can
sometimes only make the illusion worse. We are distracted by only one charming
aspect, magnify it out of proportion, and neglect all the rest. We glorify the outer
form of human body, when it is really a bag of blood and bones, subject to
disease and death, able to be snuffed out in a moment. We worship wealth, fame,
and power, though by doing so we enslave ourselves to lifeless trinkets that go
as quickly as they come. If I look with a sharper eye, I know it to be true.
Things
sometimes seem to offer rewards they can’t provide, just as people sometimes
make promises they have no intention of keeping. We are quite able to see right
through this, because something incomplete and imperfect cannot offer anything
complete and perfect, just as a dishonest character cannot speak words that are
true. They are already showing us what they really are, if we only look behind
the mask.
As they
say, if it looks to good to be true, it probably is.
So when
I find myself tempted by a pleasure of the senses, or longing to acquire more
possessions, or scheming to improve my reputation, I am always best served by
remembering all the other times when those imposters told me their sweet little
lies, and then left me high and dry. A moment of calm reflection will assure me
that they are now just as shifty and fleeting as they were every time before.
The glittering prizes are nothing but tricks of the light.
Written in 9/2015
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