The pitch-black clouds had come rolling in the entire afternoon.
Slowly rising higher and higher, they eventually covered the
entire sky and darkened the earth. One could literally feel
the pressure building up. As the humidity rose, so the noises
coming from the school building and the adjacent olive tree
grove subsided. The teachers had stopped their various lessons
and all students had gathered at the front of the School of
Philosophy. A storm of this magnitude was a potent reminder
of the all-encompassing power of nature (according to some
teachers) or the gods (according to other teachers). Finally,
a series of mighty lightning strikes seared across the sky
eerily illuminating the darkened land. With a booming roll
of thunder the heavens unleashed their power. Rain pelted
down and struck hard. Trees swayed from the sudden onslaught
of water whipping their branches. Wind stirred up dust only
to be relentlessly pounded back to the ground by the driving
force of water. The teachers and the students looked at the
display in awe. They were safe from the rain under the roofed
veranda; however, the drumming noise of the water hitting
the roof were a powerful reminder of how unpleasant it would
be to be caught by this late summer storm in the open. All
this was underlined by the eerie darkness that had descended
on the land. ‘Actually, why are storm clouds always
dark?’ a student, known for his inquisitiveness, asked
aloud. Out of courtesy, everybody waited for the Master of
the School to reply first. The Master, stroking his white
beard, carefully adjusted his toga around his considerable
waist before answering: ‘A good question, and one that
would generate a plethora of answers if every teacher in this
school volunteered his personal opinion.’ A sudden bolt
of lightning followed by a tremendous crack of thunder momentarily
silenced the Master. Once the thunder had passed, he cleared
his throat and spoke once more. ‘As a matter of fact,
let’s make this the question to ponder in this afternoon’s
class. Tomorrow morning we will all meet and discuss the results.’
With that the Master turned and went back to his classroom.
Everybody understood that to be the signal that classes were
about to resume, even though the storm had not yet shown any
sign of subsiding. Water was still ferociously whipping across
the darkened land and no beast ventured outside to dare the
force of nature.
The next morning was as bright and lovely as the previous
afternoon had been dark and eerie. Birds were chirping, insects
hummed while whizzing by and the landscape looked fresh and
inviting. The students and teachers of the school had gathered
under a huge olive tree to compare the results of yesterday’s
discussion. Basically, there were two camps. One set of teachers
and their students claimed that the darkness of the storm
clouds reflected the anger of the gods. The other teachers
and their students had a somewhat different opinion. To them
the dark colouration was a result of the high water content
of the clouds; they compared it to the ocean. At the beach,
where seawater was shallow, one could see straight through
to the bottom. Out on the high sea, however, the water was
as dark and foreboding as a dark storm cloud on a late summer
afternoon. There the ocean was literally bottomless. On and
on the discussions went with neither side wanting to give
way. The Master was very impressed with the level of discussion
and, finally, decided to end the debate. Adjusting his toga
he rose, clapped his hands for attention and thanked everybody
for the interesting morning. The classes were to adjourn this
afternoon.
The teachers and students rose and dispersed, with student
members of the opposing camps still engaged in private discussions.
Adjusting his toga once more, the Master noticed that the
student, who had asked about the cause of the colour of storm
clouds yesterday, was still sitting under the olive tree.
He was leaning against the trunk of the tree and seemed somewhat
troubled. The student had picked up a handful of rich soil
still soaked with water from yesterday’s downpour, and
had started to form a ball with it. The Master approached
the student, whom he knew to be a keen observer of nature.
‘What is troubling you?’ the Master said while
sitting down next to him. As if awoken from deep contemplation,
the student turned to look at the Master and gathered his
thoughts before replying: ‘Master, I joined this School
because I searched for answers to questions that have troubled
me for as long as I can think. Yet every lesson, every question
answered does nothing but generate more questions.’
The Master nodded silently indicating he was listening intently.
‘This morning’s discussion was a prime example.’
the student continued, ‘All my life I was told that
a storm means the Gods are angry, and dark storm clouds like
yesterday’s signal great anger on behalf of the Gods,
although I have no idea what they are angry about. However,
it is so much more logical that the water content of the clouds
affects their colour. The proof is the ocean as was explained
this morning very eloquently. So what am I to believe, Master?’
There was a hint of despair in the student’s voice.
The Master smiled inwardly. This student reminded him of his
own start on the road of knowledge so many years ago. As befitting
the occasion, the Master cleared his throat, and asked the
student to hand him the mudball he had handled all this while.
Holding it up with his right hand, the Master answered: ‘Tell
me, at a glance, does this mudball not look perfectly round
and solid to you?’ The student nodded in agreement.
The Master lifted the mudball and held it closely in front
of the student’s eyes. ‘Yet, if we dare to look
closer we see plenty of irregularities, dips, crevices, troughs
and peaks and realise that the mudball is anything but round.’
The Master took aim and smashed the mudball against an olive
tree close by, where it scattered into a multitude of pieces.
‘Does not look that solid either to me.’, the
Master continued. ‘So what is your mudball then: round
and solid - or irregular and fragile?’ Not waiting for
an answer, the Master elaborated: ‘Your curiosity will
drive you to question all that other people don’t bother
to question. You will find that often that which is explained
has really no answer at all. The search for truth can sometimes
be a very lonely business but you have to make the decision
for yourself whether to continue questioning or not. It is
much easier and comforting to accept given solutions and live
in ignorance. However, I for one believe the pursuit of truth
is ultimately much more rewarding – but it brings with
it inherent uncertainties one has to learn to live with.’
The Master rose and added: ‘That is the real challenge.’
The student sighed and nodded smilingly. He had understood
– uncertainty was the price of the pursuit of knowledge.
