The Bigger Picture: Musings from The Fate Project

I've become an immense fan of the following blog, Musings, spearheaded by the fine people at The Fate Project - essentially 'Life' consultants who use philosophy and metaphor as a teaching tool in regards to dealing with the realities of unpredictable circumstances, change, or loss.

I cut and paste the following post from the blog, one of my favorites, this parable is also retold in a different version among Mullah Nasruddin stories:

Fate and the Bigger Picture 

24 May, 2010 

Posted by Golabuk in General 

Shortly after my first book was published, I was fortunate to have it reviewed in the Washington Post by a writer named Skip Kaltenheuser. In his review, Skip said that one thing he took away from the reading was the idea that, in his words, “We seldom know the significance of an event on the day that it happens.” Skip got this because the book, which offers consolation and direction to those who are struggling with a broken heart, makes a case for stepping back and remembering that there’s a bigger picture than the one that may be staring us in the face at the moment. This is not a practice that hubris finds to its liking. On the contrary, hubris is nearsighted. Driven by willfulness, it judges events solely in terms of its agendas and motives, counting every development as though it were a conclusion, and brooks no interference with its plans. Hubris meets the world and others with a presumption of entitlement that includes dictating not only what should happen but how and when, and if it meets resistance, it becomes frustrated and feels justified in waging wars of one sort or another to protect or ensure its interests. 

There’s a wonderful parable about an old Chinese farmer and his son, who lived on a small plot of land in a rural province and made do with little. One day, a wild horse came out of the mountains and began grazing on their land. At the time, horses possessed great value; only the wealthy could afford to own them, and according to local law, the wild horse now belonged to the them. Incredulous at their sudden good fortune, the son cried out in joy. “Isn’t it wonderful, father?” he asked. But the farmer said only, “We shall see.” The next day, the horse ran off, back to the mountains, and the boy was crestfallen. “Oh, father,” he said, “now we are poor again. Better that that horse had never come.” To this, the father replied, “We shall see.” On the third day, the horse returned with half a dozen horses following, and the son, once again, was dancing with delight, but when he went to his father to express his joy, the father said once again, “We shall see.” On the fourth day, the son climbed on one of the wild horses and was thrown badly, breaking his leg. While the father was tending to his son, the boy began bemoaning his bad luck, and the old farmer, comforting him, said, “We shall see. And on the fifth day, the province went to war, and the army recruiters came through the town and conscripted every eligible young man—except the one who could not go because he had a broken leg. And so on.

We do well to remember that even significant events are a chapter in the book of our life, not the whole story, and that given the quick-change artistry of the gods illustrated in the parable of the old farmer and his son, we cannot say that a certain development is a conclusion, only a turn in a road that continues. Who can say what good may follow some seeming misfortune? If we’re truthful, if we remain on the path of humility, all we can say is, “We shall see.”