The Young Boy

Once upon a time, there was a young boy. He wanted to be good, and did his best to cultivate virtue. He was taught not to brag, to be humble even about what were honorable accomplishments. He was also taught that his quality would be recognized in time, and that it was better to be silent as to questions of desire and ambition.

That boy grew up, and experienced his share of praise. But he craved more. He worked and labored to distinguish himself, within the constraints that had become internal commandments.

The boy, now a man, waited. And as he grew older, he grew more stressed, more anguished, even embittered. He questioned why he did good, and did so silently. Why, he asked, did he do whet he thought were right and virtuous things, and not achieve any satisfaction from them?

And so he grew older, and more bitter.

Finally, in his exasperation, he began to praise himself, to tell of his brilliance, his thoughtfulness, his kindness to others. And the others initially praised him, but soon shunned him, leaving him to be self-rightrous and self-centered by himself.

At the end of his life, he cried out to the Heavens and asked, "Why am I so wretched? What did I do wrong?"

Heaven was silent. But his friend, his sole remaining friend, replied.

"You tried to cultivate virtue in isolation. But that is meaningless. For the one virtue you lsckrd, courage, comes from the constant interaction between you and the outside world. You neither loved much, nor laughed much, nor fought much. You wept much, but only for yourself. Without courage, all your gifts withered and were corrupted."

The old man wept.

"But," the friend continued, "there is one bit of good news."

"What is it?" the old man sniffles.

"You will die only as much as anyone else, no more, and no less."