Plato & Aristotle in Raphael's "School of Athens"
An important dictum for all creative writers is to avoid cliches and trite expressions. One I’ve heard a number of times recently is the idea that analysis leads to paralysis, a take-off from the critics of Socrates (as told by Plato) that the over-examined life is not worth living. My own sense is that very few people are in danger of even living the examined life — preferring instead a life of blind instinct, dogmatic truth, or reckless abandon.
Don’t get me wrong … sometimes instinct and immediate action are called for, but these “animal” behaviors rarely pause long enough to ask the why questions about what we do in life. They seem almost to deny the possibility of human evolution, that which raises us above our animal instincts. In mythology, we see this wonderful struggle illustrated by creatures that are half-human, half-beast. Satyrs and Centaurs tend to focus on our sexual lower halves; while Minotaurs focus on our bull-headed stubbornness. Somehow man is caught metaphorically between the beasts and the angels, our better selves.
Stillness, silence, reflection — and dreaming — are at least as important as seemingly certain knowledge and action. The world needs both philosopher/poets and action heroes in order to grow and survive. Interpretation — like prayer — is my way of conversing with the universe and taking time to listen to the response. It helps me confront and understand myself, and it helps me break down the divide between subjective and objective worlds. Risking a trite expression, I become one with the universe — and at least for the moment I become both God and Man, and Beast (since I cannot deny my shadow). For a short time, I forget that there are distinctions … and then a feeling of peace washes over me. Rather than suffering from paralysis, my being becomes expansive and infinite. Then off to work I go …
Journey of the Dragonfly 