Know Thyself, er, Myself

You say ...   Nadine Ens

I was contemplating success the other day, specifically whether or not my father and mother had lived successful lives. I gave that up pretty quickly; there just aren't any solid criteria for measuring success, although there are any number of debatable ones, like wealth, health, achievement, happiness, fame, etc.

              Perhaps I was thinking about my parents because I wasn't prepared to think these thoughts about myself, an 80-year-old who sleeps in a recliner because of a worn-out spine and who breathes like one who has inhaled far too much smoke, pollen and chemical fumes over four-score years.

              Standard advice is that we do ourselves a disservice when we waste our time on regrets. But I slip into regret territory from time to time. My regrets seem to centre around all those questionable criteria of success, primarily on the achievement/recognition side. For instance, I wrote 3 books; they never went anywhere after their birth. So the most persistent regret for me comes from the realization that what I had thought was quite remarkable on my part was actually decidedly average, normal, unextraordinary. The desire to be famous, at least to be recognized, appears to be a universal longing.                  

               The fact, though, is that we finally bury the famous at the same depth as the average.

              This is not a treatise on aging gracefully. I'm ill-equipped to give advice on that subject—as you've probably guessed. Having passed a milestone, crossed a threshold "gracefully," there's always been the nagging realization that more grace would have been possible.

              But … I can pass on the wisdom of others, such as the inscription above the gate of the Temple of Delphi (generally attributed to Socrates): "Know Thyself." I used to think that the tidbits I'd garnered from reading made me a success in the knowledge department. A facet of "Know Thyself," though, is the recognition—for everyone including me—that the ocean of our ignorance is far greater than the puddle of our knowledge. I've learned much of this in the hours of forced contemplation resulting from age and the pandemic.

              "Know Thyself" has a partner called "Confess Thyself." It's not written on the lintel of any temple; I just made it up. This sequence makes sense: learn thyself, then admit thyself and finally confess thyself—to thyself and openly.

The prophet Micah sums up what God requires of us: do justice, love mercy, walk humbly. I'd often been puzzled by his placing of humbly alongside the weightier justice and mercy. I now see it as an even-more-ancient-than-Socrates' know thyself maxim. Swimming the English Channel in record time, or writing a best seller are nowhere mentioned in Micah.

              Did my parents live successful lives? Am I? It's probably the wrong question. I should probably contemplate whether or not they loved and were loved. I know the answer to that. I think.

              I could be wrong.