Some Further Words

Some Further Words
by Wendell Berry

Let me be plain with you, dear reader.
I am an old-fashioned man. I like
the world of nature despite its mortal
dangers. I like the domestic world
of humans, so long as it pays its debts
to the natural world, and keeps its bounds.
I like the promise of Heaven. My purpose
is a language that can repay just thanks
and honor for those gifts, a tongue
set free from fashionable lies.

Neither this world nor any of its places
is an “environment.” And a house
for sale is not a “home.” Economics
is not “science,” nor “information” knowledge.
A knave with a degree is a knave. A fool
in a public office is not a “leader.”
A rich thief is a thief. And the ghost
of Arthur Moore, who taught me Chaucer,
returns in the night to say again:
“Let me tell you something, boy.
An intellectual whore is a whore.”

The world is babbled to pieces after
the divorce of things from their names.
Ceaseless preparation for war
is not peace. Health is not procured
by sale of medication, or purity
by the addition of poison. Science
at the bidding of the corporations
is knowledge reduced to merchandise;
it is a whoredom of the mind,
and so is the art that calls this “progress.”
So is the cowardice that calls it “inevitable.”

I think the issues of “identity” mostly
are poppycock. We are what we have done,
which includes our promises, includes
our hopes, but promises first. I know
a “fetus” is a human child.
I loved my children from the time
they were conceived, having loved
their mother, who loved them
from the time they were conceived
and before. Who are we to say
the world did not begin in love?

I would like to die in love as I was born,
and as myself of life impoverished go
into the love all flesh begins
and ends in. I don’t like machines,
which are neither mortal nor immortal,
though I am constrained to use them.
(Thus the age perfects its clench.)
Some day they will be gone, and that
will be a glad and a holy day.
I mean the dire machines that run
by burning the world’s body and
its breath. When I see an airplane
fuming through the once-pure sky
or a vehicle of the outer space
with its little inner space
imitating a star at night, I say,
“Get out of there!” as I would speak
to a fox or a thief in the henhouse.
When I hear the stock market has fallen,
I say, “Long live gravity! Long live
stupidity, error, and greed in the palaces
of fantasy capitalism!” I think
an economy should be based on thrift,
on taking care of things, not on theft,
usury, seduction, waste, and ruin.

My purpose is a language that can make us whole,
though mortal, ignorant, and small.
The world is whole beyond human knowing.
The body’s life is its own, untouched
by the little clockwork of explanation.
I approve of death, when it comes in time
to the old. I don’t want to live
on mortal terms forever, or survive
an hour as a cooling stew of pieces
of other people. I don’t believe that life
or knowledge can be given by machines.
The machine economy has set afire
the household of the human soul,
and all the creatures are burning within it.

“Intellectual property” names
the deed by which the mind is bought
and sold, the world enslaved. We
who do not own ourselves, being free,
own by theft what belongs to God,
to the living world, and equally
to us all. Or how can we own a part
of what we only can possess
entirely? Life is a gift we have
only by giving it back again.
Let us agree: “the laborer is worthy
of his hire,” but he cannot own what he knows,
which must be freely told, or labor
dies with the laborer. The farmer
is worthy of the harvest made
in time, but he must leave the light
by which he planted, grew, and reaped,
the seed immortal in mortality,
freely to the time to come. The land
too he keeps by giving it up,
as the thinker receives and gives a thought,
as the singer sings in the common air.

I don’t believe that “scientific genius”
in its naive assertions of power
is equal either to nature or
to human culture. Its thoughtless invasions
of the nuclei of atoms and cells
and this world’s every habitation
have not brought us to the light
but sent us wandering farther through
the dark. Nor do I believe
“artistic genius” is the possession
of any artist. No one has made
the art by which one makes the works
of art. Each one who speaks speaks
as a convocation. We live as councils
of ghosts. It is not “human genius”
that makes us human, but an old love,
an old intelligence of the heart
we gather to us from the world,
from the creatures, from the angels
of inspiration, from the dead–
an intelligence merely nonexistent
to those who do not have it, but —
to those who have it more dear than life.

And just as tenderly to be known
are the affections that make a woman and a man
their household and their homeland one.
These too, though known, cannot be told
to those who do not know them, and fewer
of us learn them, year by year.
These affections are leaving the world
like the colors of extinct birds,
like the songs of a dead language.

Think of the genius of the animals,
every one truly what it is:
gnat, fox, minnow, swallow, each made
of light and luminous within itself.
They know (better than we do) how
to live in the places where they live.
And so I would like to be a true
human being, dear reader–a choice
not altogether possible now.
But this is what I’m for, the side
I’m on. And this is what you should
expect of me, as I expect it of
myself, though for realization we
may wait a thousand or a million years.

 

2001

Advertisements

26 comments on “Some Further Words

  1. Steve says:

    Amen

    Like

  2. Bill, one thing I really like about your daily blog is the way you stretch my thoughts and make me think about my long term opinions about things of life. This post has done just that. Reflections on my beliefs and new knowledge in the present has challenged some of the views about how we should live and how we should treat the earth. The greed of mankind has indeed threatened nature’s balance. Humans have certainly made the world a more toxic place to live. Not just in the physical but also in the way we have been convinced that more is better. It’s difficult to kick against the corporate world’s view of profits and gain. As you well know, to do so is a steep up hill climb. It can be done and I admire those that refuse to give up such and you and Cherie are doing. I encourage you both to never give up striving to educate people in the area of food.

    Have a great day in the garden.

    Like

  3. Aruna says:

    I am so glad I found your blog, I love your thought provoking posts. Thank you for the introduction to Mr Wendell Berry.

    Like

  4. Aruna says:

    Reblogged this on collectedlifecrumbles and commented:
    Thought provoking post from https://practicingresurrection.wordpress.com

    Like

  5. Jeff says:

    My hero. I just learned today that I am part of the 9% of Americans who does not have a cell phone. Don’t want one – ain’t gettin’ one. Move over on the bench, Wendell.

    Like

    • Bill says:

      There is something ironic, I suppose, about praising Mr. Berry on a medium that can’t be seen without a computer. Under the circumstances I like to think he’d excuse us.

      Like

  6. msb says:

    “Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?” T.S. Eliot

    Like

  7. Made my short hairs stand up in recognition several times–wowie!

    Like

  8. Bob Braxton says:

    Long live gravity – the waves go up, the waves go down – all boats float together.

    Like

  9. Yes. A man for the ages …

    Like

  10. avwalters says:

    Thank you for reminding us, in his words.

    Like

    • Bill says:

      I’m glad so many people enjoyed it. I suppose it is natural that a Wendell Berry poem would resonate with readers of a blog titled “Practicing Resurrection.” 🙂

      Like

  11. EllaDee says:

    Wonderful. I’ve not encountered this piece before. All very profound but to me, particularly choosing we are for, what side we are on because by not consciously making a choice we are making a choice.

    Like

    • Bill says:

      Glad to have introduced you to this poem. I’m an admirer of a great deal of his work but this is one of my particular favorites.

      It may be sacrilegious in some sense, but I’m reminded of the lyric from Rush: “If you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.” 🙂

      Like

  12. Martha Caldwell-Young says:

    Thank you, Bill, for sharing this. Beautiful. Powerful. ❤

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s