"Tell me Master, what are masters
for?" asked a young monk in all his
juvenile candor.
Father D'Evry smiled and replied,
"Well, they're for nothing at all. They
teach you what you already know, and
show you what you have already seen."
These words filled the disciple with
confusion. He thought intensely,
eyebrows furrowed, and then asked, "But
Master, how does that help me? How can
I learn from what I already know? Are
you saying that a Master is useless to
his disciple, and that I should be my
own guide?"
"Well, not exactly," Father D'Evry
replied. "Consider this example: have
you ever been captivated by a painting?"
"Yes, I have," the young monk said.
"I remember one painting that used to
hang over the altar in my church at
home. It was of a magnificent sunset,
painted by a famous Italian artist, I
forget his name now..."
"And what did you find so interesting
about the painting?" the Father asked.
"I don't know... the details, the
colors, the overall impression it
gave. It was like having a model of a
sunset right there in front of me."
"But haven't you ever seen a sunset
before?"
"Yes, of course, but they were not as
real."
We often don't understand the value
of having a guide or master, and resist
accepting that someone knows more than
we do.
And yet, guides and masters are more
intelligent and more gifted than we
are. They are more complete, and their
purpose is to awaken us.
In this text the artist, through his
painting, taught the young monk how to
really see a sunset, by attracting his
attention to what was essential. Of
course the painting was a reproduction,
but to the young monk it was more real
than reality, than what he saw (or
didn't see) with his own eyes. A
master, and not his teaching, brings to
light what we already know.
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