Living a Purposeful Life. Kalman J. Kaplan

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      The fate of a nation was riding that night;

      And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,

      Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

      He has left the village and mounted the steep,

      And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,

      Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;

      And under the alders, that skirt its edge,

      Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,

      Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

      It was twelve by the village clock

      When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.

      He heard the crowing of the cock,

      And the barking of the farmer’s dog,

      And felt the damp of the river-fog,

      That rises when the sun goes down.

      It was one by the village clock,

      When he galloped into Lexington.

      He saw the gilded weathercock

      Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

      And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,

      Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

      As if they already stood aghast

      At the bloody work they would look upon.

      It was two by the village clock,

      When he came to the bridge in Concord town.

      He heard the bleating of the flock,

      And the twitter of birds among the trees,

      And felt the breath of the morning breeze

      Blowing over the meadows brown.

      And one was safe and asleep in his bed

      Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

      Who that day would be lying dead,

      Pierced by a British musket-ball.

      You know the rest. In the books you have read,

      How the British Regulars fired and fled,—

      How the farmers gave them ball for ball,

      From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,

      Chasing the red-coats down the lane,

      Then crossing the fields to emerge again

      Under the trees at the turn of the road,

      And only pausing to fire and load.

      So through the night rode Paul Revere;

      And so through the night went his cry of alarm

      To every Middlesex village and farm,—

      A cry of defiance, and not of fear,

      A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,

      And a word that shall echo forevermore!

      For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

      Through all our history, to the last,

      In the hour of darkness and peril and need,

      The people will waken and listen to hear

      The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,

      And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

Paul Revere’s career and reputation were somewhat tarnished in the latter part of the war,25 but he went back to his family business, and broadened his metalworking to include a bell foundry in 1792. He helped provide a replacement bell for his congregation to which he belonged, the New Brick Church in Boston. Between 1792 and his death in 1818, Revere’s company—Revere and Son—made more than one hundred bells.

      The difference in these two legends is very much the point of this book. We must ask again, why did the Greek Pheidippides push himself beyond his endurance to be the first to announce the Greek victory over the Persians? Why did he need to be the first to announce this news? Did this act which led to his death really have any obvious instrumental value? The Greeks had won. What secondary gain did Pheidippides derive from this action that led him to so overtax himself that he collapsed and died? Why did he run rather than ride a horse? Finally, were Pheidippides’ actions indicative of an ancient Greek way of looking at the world and indeed of constructing meaning? Seemingly, for the ancient Greeks, nothing could be nobler than dying after performing a heroic deed for one’s country. But was this really what was going on? Why did Browning romanticize Pheidippides’ fatal run?

      Contrast this to the story of Paul Revere, who had a much more pressing message to transmit. He needed to warn the revolutionary militia that “the British were coming.” Yet Paul Revere did not seem to be looking to be a hero. He was living within himself, simply doing his job, and afterwards seemed quite content to go back to his own life. This is where the biblical Paul Revere seemed to find his purpose. He lived within himself and did not need to search for meaning in exaggerated activities. In contrast, the ancient Greek Pheidippides extended himself beyond his endurance, collapsed and died. Was this difference incidental, or was it indicative of the difference in the different ways classical Greeks and biblical Jews understood purpose and meaning?—two terms which are often used interchangeably, but which we will are argue are quite distinct live motives.

      This is not to say that we all don’t want to lead fulfilling lives and to leave some mark or legacy after we pass from this earth, indeed have some sort of purpose. But people without an inner sense of purpose seem to often choose very dangerous and even destructive activities in their attempt to find meaning. This search for the heroic may well shorten their lives or leave them injured badly, either physically or spiritually, or both.

      1. Camus, Stranger.

      2. Camus, Myth of Sisyphus.

      3. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning.

      4. May, Existential Psychology, 41–42.

      5. The reader is referred to an excellent book by Vincent Bugliosi, lead prosecutor in the Tate–LaBianca murder trial, to explain the series of murders committed by the Manson Family. Bugliosi described his theory at trial and in his 1974 book, Helter СКАЧАТЬ