“The Fool who persists in his folly will become wise.” (William Blake)
Few archetypal images are as perennial and ubiquitous as that of the Fool. Some variation of this character has appeared in the stories and myths of virtually every culture and tradition from the most ancient times till today. It has also been a staple of both high and popular culture and art for centuries. There are many versions of this timeless archetype: bumbling fools like Inspector Clouseau; madcap fools like the Marx Brothers in Duck Soup; naïve Fools like Forrest Gump; clueless Fools like the fish Dori in Finding Nemo; holy fools, like Mullah Nasruddin in Sufi stories; and, finally, wise fools like the one who accompanies the title character in Shakespeare’s tragedy King Lear.
Twenty years ago, just as I was about to start writing my dissertation, I experienced a remarkable meeting with the Fool, an encounter I still find deeply meaningful all these years later. At the time, I was taking a class intended to help us find inner guidance for this deeply challenging venture. One of the exercises we did was a visualization intended to introduce each of us to a particular archetypal character who would be our guide as we ventured off into the academic wilderness of the dissertation-writing process.
In this guided visualization we found ourselves in a forest standing before an enormous, ancient tree. We were told to walk around the tree and find a door in the other side. then open the door and proceed down a winding set of stairs deep into the earth. There, at the base of the steps, was a curving tunnel which ended in a small room with a door at the far end. We had been told that it would be in this room that we would meet our dissertation guide, mentor, and ally.
When I got there the room was empty, so I called out to see who might appear. Almost immediately, another door opened and in bounded the Fool from the Wider-Waite Tarot deck. He danced over to me dressed in traditional motley, stick and bundle slung over his shoulder, and a little white dog nipping at his heels. He then struck a classic fool’s pose, one hand gracefully on his hip and the other in the high in the air, as he bowed deeply to me, silently miming “TA-DA.”
Imagine my chagrin at this turn of events! Pretty much any archetypal figure showing up at this point would have less disappointing than the Fool. Feeling as incompetent and overwhelmed as any doctoral candidate would be on the eve of starting his dissertation, I was hoping for some serious guidance and support. Instead, here I was staring into the idiotic smile of a character not exactly noted for his intellectual prowess.
Flustered, I started out by explaining that some mistake must have transpired and that this fellow could not possibly be the guide I was meant to meet with. The Fool simply smiled even more broadly and raised his arms toward me as if to say, “Here I am!” The more I tried to explain my problem, the more frustrated I became, the more my silent companion smiled gleefully as he did his little bowing routine. Eventually, of course, I came round to accepting that no mistake had been made. I had, indeed, been paired off by the Universe with the Fool as my archetypal teacher on this last and most crucial leg of my academic journey.
Not surprisingly, it soon became clear that the Universe had chosen well for number of reasons. First, he was a reminder that while pursuing new insights about my topic, it was alright to risk appearing foolish. Next, he inspired the humility to acknowledge how much more there was to my topic than I could ever hope to know. Not surprisingly, he personified the critical importance of maintaining a sense of humor during this process, truly a lifesaver when facing the pressure of producing each new chapter. He also encouraged me to maintain a child’s sense of wonder about what I was studying, something that helped deepen and sustain a passion for my dissertation topic. He served as a master teacher and ally in how to cope a bit more easily with my never-satisfied inner critic. Particularly relevant to this version of the Fool was the reminder that stepping off cliffs is good thing and an apt metaphor for the trust necessary to even start a project like a dissertation. Finally, he was a model for the incredible resilience and balance required to complete a dissertation while still having a job, a relationship, a family, as well as some semblance of a life apart from writing.
One of the assignments in this class involved a creative project aimed at deepening our relationship to our archetypal helper. Once I started working on this project, the following poem – entitled “Invocation to the Wise Fool” — emerged almost spontaneously as my fingers fairly danced over the keyboard:
Oh, fool that I am! Oh, Fool that I long to be!
Teach me to be as nimble and light of step as yours, as daring and as free,
Teach me to see the world with eyes as fresh as yours, eyes wide open and ever full of wonder.
Oh, Fool, who feels the nip of the dog at your heel. is conscious of life’s troubles, yet loves the dog and the troubles and life,
Teach me to turn every sorrow and grief into new experience, experience free of all guilt and shame,
Teach me to carry no more worry or regret than can wrap in a handkerchief tied to a stick slung over my shoulder.
Oh, Fool, who knows of pain and heartache, has been through fire and ice, yet recklessly, wantonly, blissfully, and beautifully goes on with the dance,
Teach me your art of stepping off cliffs, knowing full well the pain of falling,
Teach me your willingness to tread again and again on life’s slick spots, only to fall and rise again and again.
Oh, Fool, whose joy in not knowing, whose love of enigma and labyrinth and paradox transcend any need for assurance or belief or proof,
Teach me to see in every yearning and dream of my soul mystery and more mystery and finally abiding awe and wonder in the face of all that is,
And, finally, guide me always on that path of indirection leading to the place both familiar and unknown which is my place of embarkation, my destination, and my home.
Oh Fool that I long to be! Oh fool that I am!
That this poem ends by invoking “that path of indirection leading to the place both familiar and unknown” feels particularly appropriate given that Faith in the Journey: Personal Mythology as Pathway to the Sacred was theme of my dissertation. “Faith in the Journey” would also turn out to be the great metaphor and symbol for my life, my personal mythology, and my subsequent work as a guide and mentor for other journeyers seeking the mythic and archetypal roots of their lives and stories. Sometimes having faith in the rightness and meaningfulness of our journeys does seem like folly, both to ourselves and others. That said – and with the acuity which only hindsight can offer — I now understand William Blakes’s profound and paradoxical truth that wisdom can come of folly if only we persist in our foolishness long enough.