The Doers and the Do-Nots

"The poet is the sayer, the namer, and represents beauty...For the world is not painted, or adorned, but is from the beginning beautiful...Criticism is infested with a cant of materialism, which assumes that manual skill and activity is the first merit of all men, and disparages such as say and do not, overlooking the fact, that some men, namely, poets, are natural sayers sent into the world to the end of expression, and confounds them with those whose province is action, but who quit it to imitate the sayers. Homer's words are as costly and admirable to Homer, as Agamemnon's victories are to Agamemnon. The poet does not wait for the hero or the sage, but, as they act and think primarily, so he writes primarily what will and must be spoken..."   

                 --Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1844.

Last year, when I first met my friend Sara, we bonded over our common history of dating philosophers. At the time, she was with a very depressed man who was far more dark than the bright ray of sunshine that she carries around with her. I had great admiration for the philosopher I dated, because he grappled with questions that I'd never considered. Which is not to say that I never consider larger questions, but he was positively conflicted over them. Their answers were critical. The interesting part of this, though, is that his father was a Doer. So wrapped up in the serious life questions was this high regard for Action. The Philosopher believed that intent was irrelevant, that it was not enough to believe something if you didn't act accordingly. Hence, two actions with completely different reasons were seen as identical in effect if they were done the same.

And then there was me. The writer, the photographer, the person who deals in images and words, not in the creation or manipulation of three dimensional objects. The tools I wield are in my mind and my eyes. And as Action was of supreme importance to the father, I was a complete enigma to him, and viewed as rather useless. Because real work, in his opinion, is only done with the body. To say that being immersed in this environment as an artist and unwell person was challenging is an understatement. I would spend hours upon hours doing research on a computer and the father would think I was screwing around. The Philosopher claimed to not think this, but I'm sure a small part of him felt the same. It is like the assumption that writers don't do real work. That devoting an entire day to wresting something out of your imagination is not difficult, in fact is nothing at all.

I've realized that even the physical objects I exert control over are continuations of this mental work. I love shaping interior spaces; "decorating" is too insignificant of a word. I make a context with words and with rooms. I craft environments that shape and speak to the people inside of them. I am proud of this work. It might not be manual, and it might not be the only work I can do, but it is the work I do well. Any work that benefits others and satisfies oneself is good work, as I see it. The world would be nothing without both Thinkers and Doers. I only wish that each could have respect for the other.