The Philosophy of Dewey Edward Chester. Truth will not make me rich, but it will make me free!
There still remains a wistful remnant of my early wooing of wisdom. In the June of my life I knew golden days, when philosophy was a fact; what Plato calls, “that dear delight”; when love for modestly elusive Truth seemed more glorious, incomparably, than lust for ways of the flesh.
“Life has meaning,” I felt with Browning —– “to find its meaning is my meat and drink.”
But my life became meaningless; a self-cancelling vacillation in futility; I strove against chaos around me and within; I believed there was something vital and significant about me, could I but decipher my own Soul.
I wanted to understand that life would change into light and flame, what I was or met with; I became Mitya in the “Brothers Karamazov” —– “One of those who didn’t want millions, but an answer to his questions”; I wanted to seize the value and perspective of passing things, and pull myself out of the maelstrom of daily circumstance. I wanted to see things as they would seem forever ——- in light of eternity!
I wanted to learn to laugh in the face of the inevitable, to smile at the looming of death. I needed to coordinate my energy by criticizing and harmonizing my desires; for coordinated energy is the last word in ethics and politics, and perhaps in logic and metaphysics too.
“To be a philosopher,” said Thoreau “is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but to love wisdom and live according to her dictates —– a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity, and trust.”
I believe if I can but find wisdom, all things will be added to me. “Seek ye first the good things of the mind,” Bacon admonished, “and the rest will either be supplied or its loss will not be felt.”
Truth will not make me rich, but it will make me free!