The Canterbury Tales

I like to read old books. I just read Pater Ackroyd’s masterful prose retelling of The Canterbury Tales, first penned by Geoffrey Chaucer in the late fourteenth century. With all the wild naughty stories of mistaken identity, folly, fornication, and flatulence, you have to remind yourself that you’re reading stuff written two hundred years before Shakespeare and six centuries before such storytellers as Neil Simon and John Updike. It’s a “retelling” published by Viking not long ago, which is a touch beyond a loose translation or tight paraphrase, simply because not everyone wants to wade through:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licóur

Of which vertú engendred is the flour;

But my favorite lines in the original prologue, sampled here, are:

And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open ye,

So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages …

The 436 pages of tales are full of wisdom about our earthly plight, as well as its entertainments and wonders. A group of random pilgrims is traveling through England on their way to a holy site, when one of the group suggests they all tell engaging stories to help pass the time. And they’re off to the racy races. Who knew? But under all the off-color marvel and merriment, there is indeed a lot of insight. In The Knight’s Tale, you come across this rumination on how little we know, and the wisdom of not rushing to judgment. He says:

<<Why do so many people complain of the actions of providence, or the decisions of God Himself, when their eventual fate is better than they could have imagined? Some men long for riches, but at the expense of their health and even of their lives. Some men desire to escape from prison, as I once did, only to be murdered in the households of their kin. We do not know the answers to our prayers. We fare as one who wanders drunk through the streets; he knows that he has a house, somewhere, but he cannot remember the name of the street. His is a long and wayward journey. So do we fare in this fallen world. We search for felicity down every lane and alley, but often enough we take the wrong path.>> (38)

And consider these cautionary words on the wheel of fortune, the ups and downs of life, spoken by “The Man of Law” among them who tends to emphasize the lows:

<<Woe is always the consequence of bliss. Sorrow follows prosperity, and suffering succeeds joy. That is the way of the world. Follow this advice for the sake of your well-being. If you ever experience happiness, keep in mind the day when it will end. Nothing abides.>> (127)

Debbie Downer has an ancestor. Later he says again:

<<The joys of this world do not endure. Life changes, like the tide. After the brightness of the day, comes the darkness of the night.>> (143)

And later, the Squire, in his own tale, remarks:

<<But nothing lasts forever. Fortune turns the wheel.>> (273)

And later, the Monk says:

<<Who can trust the dice that Fortune throws? Anyone who makes his way in the difficult world must know that misfortune and disaster are always at hand. The only remedy is self-knowledge. Beware of Dame Fortune. When she wants to mislead, or to deceive, she chooses the least predictable path.>> (357)

And later, the Nun’s Priest, in his tale says:

<<The end of joy is always woe. God knows that happiness in this world is fleeting.>> (382)

You want to say, "Cheer up! It goes the other way, too!"

On the topic of wealth and poverty, the Wife of Bath speaks about rags and riches in a way that could get us talking for an hour. She says:

<<Seneca and other philosophers tell us that cheerful and willing poverty is a great blessing. Whoever is satisfied with a slender purse, even though he does not have a shirt on his back, I hold rich indeed. He who is greedy is wretched; he longs for that which he cannot have. He that has nothing, and wants nothing, is a man of wealth; you may call him a knave, but I call him a spiritual knight. Poverty sings. You may know that quotation from Juvenal, to the effect that a poor man whistles and dances before thieves. Poverty may seem hateful but it is in truth a blessing. It encourages hard work. It teaches the wise man patience. It teaches the patient man wisdom. It may seem miserable. It may be a state no one wishes. But it brings us closer to God. It brings us self-knowledge. >> (174)

The Clerk speaks about the masses of people in his time, and in a way that may resonate a bit too much in our own day:

<<Oh, fickle people, people of the wind, unsteady and unfaithful! You are as ever changing as a weathervane. You delight only in novelty. You wax and wane as does the moon. You gape and chatter, much to your own cost. Your opinions are worthless, and your behavior proves that you are never to be trusted. Only a fool would believe anything you say.>> (228)

And the Pardoner could be speaking for certain self proclaimed religious figures in our time, if they would ever confess to their own methods, when he says:

<<That is how I retaliate against those who defame me. I spit out my venom under the cover of holiness. I seem virtuous, but seeming is not being. I will tell you the truth in one sentence. I preach only for money. I want their silver pence. That is why my theme has always been, and always will be, the same. “Greed is the root of all evil.” It is suitable, don’t you think. I preach against the very vices I practice! It saves time. And even though I may be guilty of that sin, I persuade other folk to repent with much wailing and lamenting. But that is really not my intention. I will say it one more time. I preach only for the cash.>> (309)

And in the Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale, a fake expert is unmasked, a sharp conman who seems to be able to fool an inordinate number of otherwise normal people. The teller of this tale tells us of the man, a real life individual, and thereby anticipates several bestselling authors and gurus of our time:

<<No one would be able to describe his infinite tricks and subtleties. You could live a thousand years and not be able to fathom all of his craft. No one is his equal in falsehood. He is so sly in his use of words, so slippery in his language, that he can make a fool of anyone he talks to. He could beguile the devil, even though he is one himself. He has duped many people, and will carry on deceiving them as long as he lives. Yet this is the curious thing. Men travel for miles to consult and converse with him; little do they realize he is a swindler in disguise.>> (412)

But perhaps that’s enough. I’ll save all the bawdy salacious bits and pieces of narrative for your own deep dive into this breezy and often insightful text. But don't say I didn't warn you!

For the book, click HERE.

The Slings and Arrows and You

The Vicar of Wakefield. Today's Great Book was amazing! I found a hard copy at a used book sale and had no idea the treasure I had discovered! Written by Oliver Goldsmith and first published in 1766, it's chock full of lessons and encouragements for us today.

There may be no better and more entertaining novel about appearances and realities, along with the ups and downs of fortune, and how a proper worldview can sustain us through anything. The Reverend Charles Primrose and his family seem to have a wonderful life. Then something bad happens. Something worse follows and they are greatly reduced in their means. And yet, their happiness translates well into their new and much more modest circumstances. Until something else bad occurs and something worse follows yet again, but it's just the prelude of the truly disastrous, which serves as mere prologue to the unspeakably awful. And so it goes. If you have read Phil Knight's account of trying to create the shoe company Nike, in his book Shoe Dog, and have gone away thinking "No one ever had such a string of bad luck as that poor man," then you haven't read The Vicar of Wakefield.

I promise it will surprise you many times and in the end bless you deeply. And more than that. Some excerpts:

It has been a thousand times observed, and I must observe it once more, that the hours we pass with happy prospects in view, are more pleasing than those crowned with fruition. In the first case, we cook the dish to our own appetite; in the latter, Nature cooks it for us. (48)

Conscience is a coward; and those faults it has not strength enough to prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse. (67)

(Ok a longish one)

‘Both wit and understanding,’ cried I, ‘are trifles, without integrity: it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without an heart? An honest man is the noblest work of God.

‘I always held that hackney’d maxim of Pope,’ returned Mr Burchell, ‘as very unworthy a man of genius, and a base desertion of his own superiority. As the reputation of books is raised not by their freedom from defect, but the greatness of their beauties; so should that of men be prized not for their exemption from fault, but the size of those virtues they are possessed of. The scholar may want prudence, the statesman may have pride, and the champion ferocity; but shall we prefer to these the low mechanic, who laboriously plods on through life, without censure or applause? We might as well prefer the tame correct paintings of the Flemish school to the erroneous, but sublime animations of the Roman pencil.’

‘Sir,’ replied I, ‘your present observation is just, when there are shining virtues and minute defects; but when it appears that great vices are opposed in the same mind to as extraordinary virtues, such a character deserves contempt.’

‘Perhaps,’ cried he, ‘there may be some such monsters as you describe, of great vices joined to great virtues; yet in my progress through life, I never yet found one instance of their existence: on the contrary, I have ever perceived, that where the mind was capacious, the affections were good. And indeed Providence seems kindly our friend in this particular, thus to debilitate the understanding where the heart is corrupt, and diminish the power where there is the will to do mischief. This rule seems to extend even to other animals: the little vermin race are ever treacherous, cruel, and cowardly, whilst those endowed with strength and power are generous, brave, and gentle.’ (77, 78)

The less kind I found Fortune at one time, the most I expected from her another; and now being at the bottom of the wheel, every new revolution might lift, but could not depress me. (111)

“I ask pardon, my darling,” returned I; “but I was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow defense against trouble, though at last a sure one.” (130)

“Our happiness, my dear,” I would say, “is in the power of One who can bring it about in a thousand unforeseen ways, that mock our foresight.” (140)

“Oh, my children, if you could but learn to commune with your own hearts and know what noble company you can make them, you would little regard the elegance and splendor of the worthless. (143)

“Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and themselves the travellers. The similitude still may be improved when we observe that the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going towards home; the wicked but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going into exile.” (143)

“With such reflections I laboured to become chearful; but cheerfulness was never yet produced by effort, which is itself painful.” (152)

The greatest object in the universe, says a certain philosopher, is a good man struggling with adversity; yet there is still a greater, which is the good man that comes to relieve it. (186)

For the book, click HERE.

The Only Real Secret

Impact. Excellence. Legendary greatness. Happiness. Contentment. Fulfillment. A wonderful life and legacy.

Whatever ideal states you seek, there are people who for a price will tell you the five or seven secrets, or, perhaps the one that will deliver all. And when you learn these secrets, or this one big thing, you quickly discover that they aren't secrets after all. Either they're true and widely known. Or they're false and better ignored.

The only real secret is this: Get out of your own way.

We all have inner blockages to the ideal states we aspire to achieve. There was a childhood wounding. There's seething anger. There's a lack of education. There's an inability to really connect with others in a loving and compassionate way. There's self imposed stress. There's anxiety that will not let go. Your self esteem isn't what it should be. You don't have the confidence you need. You have this drive to be important, or the center of attention, or loved by everyone.

Get out of your own way. Uproot the obstacle. Tame the wild animal. Then, the purpose and passion and energy and excellence can flow through you. You can't attain any ideal without being a conduit to something greater than yourself. This is the universal testimony of those recognized as greatest in pretty much every field of human endeavor.

In basketball, a bad free-throw shooter has to practice and practice and practice and practice, so that the power of habit will come to smooth out his rough edges, and set up new inner patterns to allow him to get out of his own way.

A salesperson who blows ever call has to tame the inner worry and get out of her own way so that her personality and product can shine. So does an entrepreneur. So does an author.

We think we need to develop and grow. And we do. But the secret is that done right, these things help us to get out of our own way, so that we can shine with an authenticity we could never just manufacture. Be a conduit. Be a door. Get out of your own way, and enjoy the amazing results.