Passing through the streets of Milan, I observed a poor beggar. Evidently he had a full belly that day, for he was laughing and joyful. I sighed and pointed him out to the friends around me.
We were burdened with all the sorrows of our frenetic lives. We were goaded by our ambitions to keep up. While I worked I drug along the baggage of my own dissatisfaction, which was only feeling heavier. We hoped one day to arrive at the same state of joy that beggar was showing in front of us. He had obtained, with a few coins he had begged from others, the same state of satisfaction I was planning to gain by many a toilsome turning and winding.
It was all the joy of temporary comfort. What the beggar had gained was not the true joy, but it was just as real as what I was trying to get with my ambitious plans. Certainly he was happy and I was anxious. He had no fears, while I was full of them.
If the beggar had asked me whether I would prefer to be in his merry state or my own fearful one, I would have answered that I would rather be merry. On the other hand, if he asked whether I would rather be a beggar like him, I should say that I would choose to be myself, even though worn out with cares and fears. But was that poor judgment? Was it the truth? Shouldn't I prefer to be like him? I had more knowledge than he but no joy in all my pursuit.
This new understanding was a bone-cracking blow from the club of Your correction. Certianly it makes a difference where a person finds joy.
~ from The Confessions of St. Augustine
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