Life as a Sailboat

 

 I want to discuss life as a sailboat. Honestly, it will take me a little while to get there. The reason is that the image comes from the autobiography of a philosopher. I like philosophy. I even like discovering something about their lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

His stern Scottish father, James, himself a recognized philosopher/economist/historian, prepared the English philosopher/political economist John Stuart Mill for his profession. James Mill observed his son's early brilliance and determined that the boy should be educated exhaustively in literature and the arts, science, history and philosophy. He read ancient works in their original Greek and Latin. However, he declared that religious learning was unnecessary and distracting. He kept any religious instruction away from his son. His father liked Joseph Butler on religion. However, he slowly believed that a perfect and powerful God would not create a world with so much evil and suffering. He thought religion, with its music, ritual, liturgy, and devotional life, were a waste of time. John Stuart flourished in his academic studies in his teen years. He thought he had a goal to reform the world. Yet, as he wrote in his Autobiography (Chapter 5) toward the end of his life, he realized that a profound sense of lostness and longing had pervaded his heart. He referred to it as a malady of the mind and melancholy. As a United Methodist, I could resist sharing this description of his life, since he refers to his perception of Methodism.  

But the time came when I awakened from this (his contentment with his life thus far) as from a dream. It was in the autumn of 1826. I was in a dull state of nerves, such as everybody is occasionally liable to; unsusceptible to enjoyment or pleasurable excitement; one of those moods when what is pleasure at other times, becomes insipid or indifferent; the state, I should think, in which converts to Methodism usually are, when smitten by their first "conviction of sin." In this frame of mind it occurred to me to put the question directly to myself: "Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?" And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, "No!" At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down. All my happiness was to have been found in the continual pursuit of this end. The end had ceased to charm, and how could there ever again be any interest in the means? I seemed to have nothing left to live for. 

He says he hoped “the cloud would pass away” on its own. He carried the cloud with him when he awoke and throughout the day. This experience went on for months. He seemed unable to shake the feeling even for a moment. The cloud became thicker and thicker. He went back to his favorite books, but received no help. As much as he loved his father, he would be the last person to whom he would turn with this type of question. He slowly realized that his life thus far, at 20, was entirely intellectual and analytical. This focus steadily eroded his feeling for people and life. In some ways, the experience represents a shift from the Enlightenment mentality that emphasized rational people in discussion and the Romantic mentality that emphasized feeling. He refers to the dejected and melancholy condition of his mind. Although his mind was crammed with information, John Stuart Mill declared his soul was "starved." Here is how he put it. 

I was thus, as I said to myself, left stranded at the commencement of my voyage, with a well-equipped ship and a rudder, but no sail; without any real desire for the ends which I had been so carefully fitted out to work for: no delight in virtue, or the general good, but also just as little in anything else. 

He recognized that he stood at the commencement of the voyage of his life. He knew his father equipped him well, to the point where he could see the beauty of the ship and the strong rudder. Yet, where was the sail? He no longer had a sense of the goal or purpose of his “ship of life.” The ship of his life looked good, but to what end and for what purpose? He did not know. He then makes a literary reference to a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Work Without Hope, February 21, 1825). 

Two lines of Coleridge, in whom alone of all writers I have found a true description of what I felt, were often in my thoughts, not at this time (for I had never read them), but in a later period of the same mental malady [Here is the whole poem, of which Mill quoted only the last two lines]:  

 All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—

The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—

And Winter slumbering in the open air,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!

And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,

Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.  

         Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,

Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.

Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,

For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!

With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:

And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?

Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,

And Hope without an object cannot live. 

Coleridge was quite right, of course, that nothing would put the soul to sleep quicker than a life without hope.

All right, I am now ready to discuss the image of life as a ship in need of a sail. Thus, I invite you to reflect upon the interesting image that our lives are like a ship with a rudder that needs sails in order to catch the wind. The sailor must then know how to adjust the sails to catch the wind and go the right direction.

Even if you have a sail on a ship, does that make sailing easy?

In 1980, Christopher Cross sang a song with the title “Sailing.” The song makes sailing have a dream-like quality. 

Well it's not far down to paradise, at least's not for me

 If the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility

 Oh the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see, believe me 

It's not far to never, never land, reason to pretend

 And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again

 Oh the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see, believe me 

Sailing, takes me away

 To where I've always heard it

 Just a dream and the wind to carry me

 Soon I will be free 

Fantasy, it gets the best of me when I'm sailing

 All caught up in the reverie

 Every word is a symphony, won't you believe me? 

Sailing, takes me away

 To where I've always heard it

 Just a dream and the wind to carry me

 Soon I will be free 

It's not far back to sanity at least it's not for me

 And when the wind is right you can sail away and find serenity

 Oh the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see, believe me 

Sailing, takes me away

 To where I've always heard it

 Just a dream and the wind to carry me

 Soon I will be free 

I do not recall being in a boat with sails. I have seen them. To watch someone else makes it look like it would be the escapist dream, the ultimate get-a-way. Occasionally, it seems like it would be good to relax, put up the sail, and go wherever the wind took you.

In one of my churches, however, a physician loved to sail. It was a passion. He went to the ocean for his vacation and threw himself and his family into sailing. The pictures of him in the sailboat made it clear that he was in his element. At the same time, the family talked of how much work it was. Sailing in a way that properly catches the wind is not an easy job. Properly done, though, the ship seems to move magically across the water, propelled by an invisible and unquenchable power.

If the wind stopped blowing, sailors called it “becalmed.” When you made good time sailing, you were enjoying “Godspeed.”’

It seemed like the philosopher John Stuart Mill wanted a “Godspeed” life for which all his education had not given him. He needed something else in his life.

Well, I am preacher, so I hope you will not mind the analogy. “Spirit” in both Greek and Hebrew also has the meaning of “wind.” Our lives can be like a ship with a rudder but without a sail. We need to learn to hoist the sail, and under certain conditions, it is not easy. Sometimes, the wind is not blowing and we need to wait. Learning to hoist the sail of your life properly is our attentiveness to God. Sailing spiritually is not easy. Learning to do so is worth it.

Godspeed.