In his essay, “The figure a poem makes,” Robert Frost describes a process we know well. Frost [1874-1963] writes, “The poem begins in delight, it inclines to the impulse, it assumes direction with the first line laid down . . . and ends in a clarification of life . . . a momentary stay against confusion.” Like Frost, we attempt to recognize ourselves, together with our existential situation, in the play of our deliberations.
It’s true that sustained deliberation is not immediately easier than writing a poem that clarifies a moment of life. Just beginning to deliberate requires a pause, a settlement, an attentiveness. Though once we get the hang of this sustained effort—even amid worldly or subjective tumult—it promises a blissful clarification. Gratitude. And delight!
This transformable nature of human intelligence—our intelligence—is universally available. Metaphorically speaking, our minds are a window to our souls (see my post dated 12.08.14). However, not all of us avail ourselves of the agility and resource accessible via this intelligence.
What almost makes sense is why we might withdraw ourselves from, or fail to explore, this intelligence. Life can be ruthlessly competitive and antagonistic. Its exhaustive social demands are endless and judgmental. To this coercive pressure we may respond by becoming unapproachable, rigid or passive, that is, distant from our transformable natures, our transcendent possibilities.
Preoccupied with self-doubt, negating the present (allowing the present not to be), not knowing we’re not really living at all, we may just hope it will all work out. And for the time being, we may say, nobody will know what is going on with the withdrawn self-annihilating conversation we are having with ourselves.
Retrenching from life is a means to getting by. But it is also a self-limiting stance that may leave authenticity and intimacy out of reach. Moreover, family, friends and peers usually see the inhibition as arrogance or rigidity. And, of course, that is the exact opposite of the emotional receptivity and flexibility we would like to project, and to experience, for ourselves.
The way out of the trap is complex, and it requires nerve and a willingness to breach the inhibited or defensive range of our being-in-the-world presence. In addition, despite the perspective and insight that our best deliberations yield, in life, as in a poem, the clarification is provisional. Finality or certainty is endlessly elusive. Each realization, resolution or reconciliation will be confused by life’s curve balls.
Yet the greater possibility of who we are—the elite range of human autonomy—is worth the continuous affirming effort required. When we put our intelligence to the test, when we attempt to recognize ourselves, to examine who we are in tandem with our existential situation, the result is enlivening and expansive. It’s as if we come to know ourselves for the first time.
Are you interested in having more autonomy in your life?
Here's a plan of action! Examine our website. If you find it interesting, do the Retreat Workshop. If your interest continues, do our Advanced Classes. Thank you.
Arnold Siegel is the founder of Autonomy and Life and the leader of its Retreat Workshops and Advanced Classes.