From Jim McGuiggan... ON BEING TAMED

ON BEING TAMED

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s life story reads like a Robert Louis Stevenson’s adventure. Born into an impoverished aristocratic family in Lyons he was a poor student who failed the entrance exam to the Naval College. A licensed pilot at twenty-two he became an airmail pilot, flying routes over Northwest Africa, the South Atlantic and South America. He later became a test pilot and then a newspaper reporter. He had numerous airplane crashes that left him with permanent disabilities but in 1943 he rejoined the air force in North Africa and was shot down on a reconnaissance mission. Sometime later, in July 1944 he met his death on a flight over the Mediterranean. Toward the end of his brief forty-four years Saint-Exupéry’s view of humans became sadder and more pessimistic but despite that he left behind him a marvellous little book called The Little Prince which insists that the best things in life are the simplest ones and they’re the ones that involve the capacity to give and receive. This message also comes through loud and clear: If you have one genuine, loving relationship it makes the world a lovelier place to live in.

The little prince lived on a tiny planet—so tiny that you could see the sun rise and set forty-four times a day. He enjoyed taking care of his planet with its tiny volcano, a sheep, simple flowers and the baobab trees which needed special care so they wouldn’t dominate and destroy the planet.

One day, from who knows where, a seed floated on to his planet—a rose seed. He’d never seen a rose before but he watered and nourished it and it became beautiful…and vain and proud and insisted on special catering. Despite its beauty and lovely fragrance the little prince grew weary of her silly talk and self-centredness and for all her dependence on him the rose seemed to think she could do without him because she had “claws” (thorns). Naively she thought these were terrible weapons that could defeat tigers when the truth was that the sheep could have gobbled her up without even noticing there were thorns there at all.

Her speech made him unhappy and it was during one of those spells that he decided to visit other planets and make friends. His travelling and meeting with people opened his eyes to how they determined what was or was not important but one day he was astonished to walk into a garden that had thousands of roses that looked exactly like his rose. It grieved him because he now knew how little different his silly little rose was—she had told him she was the only rose in all the universe. He knew if she saw them all she would be so shamed that she’d cough terribly and pretend she was going to die and he’d have to pretend he was nursing her back to life or she really would let herself die. Somehow her uniqueness would have to be maintained.

But then it occurred to him that he wasn’t as rich as he had thought he was. He had seen himself as the possessor of the only rose in all the universe when in reality she was only one among thousands. This made him sad too. That was when he met the fox—an untamed fox.

The little prince wanted him to play but the fox said he couldn’t because he said, “I am not tamed.” And what did “tamed” mean, the boy who was looking for friends wanted to know. “It means to establish ties,” said the fox. “To me you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys…To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”

It began to dawn on the little prince that there was a flower out there in the heavens that had tamed him. So the boy tamed the fox, they established ties and became friends. Not long before he had to leave the fox said, “Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back and say good-bye to me and I will make you a present of a secret.”

The boy did look at them again and felt compelled to say: “You  are not at all like my rose…no one has tamed you and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend and now he is unique in all the world…You are beautiful…but one could not die for you. To be sure an ordinary passer-by would think that my rose looked just like you…but in herself she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her I have killed the caterpillars…because it is she that I have listened to when she grumbled or boasted or sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.” Then he went back to the fox.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye…It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

No two “roses” are the same when someone has “wasted time” with one, no two lovers or friends, no husbands or wives are like any other. Love is words but it’s more than words and marriage is more solemnly joyful than vows on a piece of paper. It’s “wasting time” with each other, learning the imperfections of each other and shrouding them in mystery and intimacy as well as forgiveness when that's necessary. It’s learning the real weaknesses of each other and, in loving, hiding a multitude of sins. The little prince later confessed that he had taken the rose’s words and her shortcomings too seriously.

      One never ought to listen to the flowers. One should simply
            look at them and breathe their fragrance. Mine perfumed all
            my planet but I did not know how to take pleasure in all her
            grace. This tale of claws which disturbed me so much should
            only have filled my heart with tenderness and pity. The fact
            is I did not know how to judge anything!...She cast her
            fragrance and radiance over me…I ought to have guessed all
            the affection that lay behind her poor stratagems. Flowers are
            so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her.

[I borrowed this from my little book “Let Me Count the Ways”. Permission granted by Howard Publishing Co., West Monroe, LA, affiliate of Simon & Schuster.]

©2004 Jim McGuiggan. All materials are free to be copied and used as long as money is not being made.

Many thanks to brother Ed Healy, for allowing me to post from his website, theabidingword.com.