Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae: Wisdom’s Guiding Light

Throughout my life, two essential sources of guidance have been my personal motto, “Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,” meaning humility is the beginning of wisdom, and the insightful advice from Thomas à Kempis in De Imitatione Christi. His words inspired the lyrics of my composition, “The Beginning of Wisdom,” recently set to music using Udio.com. The song emphasizes the importance of humility, seeking good examples, and self-correction. It beautifully portrays the idea that through humility, wisdom shines bright, leading us forward even through the darkest nights. The powerful message is conveyed through gentle and reflective lyrics, inspiring listeners to embrace humility as the start of wisdom.

Korea, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Egret and Reeds, late 1800s.
Yang Ki-hun (Seuk-Eun) (Korean, 1843–1919?). In this hanging scroll, an egret walks along the shores of a salt marsh where reeds abundantly grow.
Korea, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Egret and Reeds, late 1800s.
Yang Ki-hun (Seuk-Eun) (Korean, 1843–1919?). In this hanging scroll, an egret walks along the shores of a salt marsh where reeds abundantly grow. Yang treated his subjects of flora and fauna with an observant naturalist’s view, yet his choice of subjects—an egret and reeds—is deeply rooted in traditional symbolic language: the egret stands for the scholarly reclusive life, while reeds indicate humility and modesty. Cleveland Museum of Art.

Two of the most treasured sources of guidance throughout my life, which I frequently call to mind, are my personal motto, Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, which may be translated as humility is the beginning of wisdom, and the prudential advice offered by the canon, author, and scribe Thomas à Kempis (d. 1471), in De Imitatione Christi: “Study also to guard against and to overcome the faults which in others very frequently displease you. Make the best of every opportunity, so that if you see or hear good example you may be moved to imitate it. On the other hand, take care lest you be guilty of those things which you consider reprehensible, or if you have ever been guilty of them, try to correct yourself as soon as possible. As you see others, so they see you.” These words informed the lyrics of my most recent composition which I then set to music using Udio.com

Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae (Humility, the beginning of Wisdom) – by Donald S. Yarab
Audio file for “The Beginning of Wisdom” (Lyrics by Donald S. Yarab).

Lyrics:

In the quiet dawn, wisdom’s voice we hear,
Whispering softly, drawing us near.
In the humble heart, truth finds its place,
Guiding our steps with gentle grace.

Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,
Through the shadows, a light to guide our way.
In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright,
Leading us forward through the darkest night.

Guard against the faults that others display,
Seek the good examples, and follow their way.
Correct your own missteps, strive to be true,
For as you see others, they also see you.

Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,
Through the shadows, a light to guide our way.
In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright,
Leading us forward through the darkest night.

With each humble act, our spirits rise,
Touching the heavens, reaching the skies.
In the silence deep, where the soul is free,
Wisdom’s beginning, in humility.

Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,
Through the shadows, a light to guide our way.
In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright,
Leading us forward through the darkest night.

In humility, we find our start,
With wisdom’s light, within our heart.
Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,
A guiding star, forever to stay.

Soul/Rhythm and Blues Song: A Tale Oft Told

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com

In the throes of insomnia, an exceptionally long time ago, I found myself roused at the early hour of three in the morning. Seized by a fervent and despairing impulse, I wrote with unrelenting urgency about the anguish of unrequited love and being single. The despair, as is its wont, eventually dissipated, leaving in its wake a legacy of lines imbued with melancholy. These lines, born of nocturnal desolation, now seem well-suited to be transformed into music, evoking the same poignant emotions that inspired their creation. The original lines read as follows after I cleaned it up slightly:

“If, as the saints of Assisi, Francis and his companion Giles aver, It is better to love than to be loved, Then I am a most fortunate man indeed. If this be a jest, verily, I am well mocked. My heart, encumbered with unanswered love, Holds those affections deep within, Some as faintly glowing embers, Others as white-hot coals.

Contrary to the lyrics of poetry, The artifice of novels, and the drama of screen, There is no soaring inspiration or felicity In unrequited love, Only a sore appreciation For knowing that I possess humanity, The capacity to give of myself Without the expectation of reciprocation.

In truth, perpetual aloneness, To be unloved, Is a tragedy from an individual perspective, Yet a trivial banality from a societal view, As uncountable multitudes have lived and died alone, Without affectionate human touch, Long before me, And will long after me.”

“A Tale Oft Told” – Lyric by Donald S. Yarab

Lyrics to “A Tale Oft Told” by Donald S. Yarab

If, as the saints of Assisi proclaim,
Francis and Giles with hearts both the same,
It’s better far to love than to be loved,
Then I am blessed, by heaven's grace, beloved.

If this be jest, then jest, indeed, is true,
My heart has felt no lover’s steadfast view.
Unanswered love has planted seeds of fire,
Some as faint embers, some as hot desire.

Not like the verse in poet’s crafted lore,
Nor novels, screens, with tales that promise more,
In unrequited love, the truth is clear,
A sore yet noble proof that I am here.

Though solitude may mark a tragic plight,
To one, it’s pain, to many, common sight:
A tale oft told, in ancient times and now,
For countless souls alone did live somehow.

If love's a gift that’s given without claim,
Then I am rich in heart, though poor in name.
For in the silence of unspoken dreams,
My soul finds strength in love's relentless beams.

The night, it whispers secrets to the stars,
Of solitary hearts and hidden scars.
Though love unreturned brings shadows near,
It carves within a path to persevere.

In dreams, I wander through the fields of time,
Where love’s soft echoes linger, so sublime.
Each heartbeat sings a song of love unshown,
Yet in the pain, a deeper truth is known.

For every tear that falls from longing's eye,
A testament to love that cannot die.
Though unrequited, love remains so pure,
A testament to what the heart endures.

And so, I cherish every silent cry,
Each whispered wish beneath the moonlit sky.
For in this love, though met with quiet ache,
I find a strength that time cannot unmake.

Hope’s Evolution Through the Stages of Life | Poem and Music

Recently, I have been revisiting Dante’s Divine Comedy, focusing specifically on Paradiso. This journey through Dante’s celestial spheres has inevitably planted within me thematic thoughts of hope, inspiring me to put pen to paper and author a new poem. This sudden burst of creativity, whether of any merit or not, has taken me by surprise. Nonetheless, I have relished the productivity, regardless of its outcome.

For several days, I awoke each morning with my mind fixated on the theme of hope, having pondered over the topic in my sleep with deliberate contemplation. Earlier this week, I awoke with a fully outlined sketch of a poem, realizing that hope, as a concept, evolves dramatically through the stages of life.

In childhood, hope is almost an unknown entity, as we scarcely need it, trusting that nearly every need and desire will be met. This is largely because our understanding of the world and its possibilities is limited. As we grow older, hope becomes more pronounced, with the belief that if we hope earnestly enough, we can obtain almost anything. In young adulthood, this transforms into the conviction that hard work will inevitably lead to the fulfillment of our hopes.

However, as we enter middle age, our perception of hope shifts once again. We begin to see it as a plea, tempered by the realities of justice and merit. By old age, if not earlier, we recognize that despite our hopes and best efforts, many who work hard are denied the fruits of their labor, and many who deserve much are denied their due. By the time silver graces our brow, a bemused smile often accompanies our thoughts of hope, seasoned by the wisdom of experience. We come to understand that hope should not be centered on what we aspire for, but rather on what we can give to others—justice, fulfilled dreams, love, acceptance, and comfort. These are the gifts that we once hoped for ourselves and now, perhaps, are in a position to bestow upon others. If we had any intelligence and kindness, we were doing so all along.

Reflecting on my college years, I recall considering myself an optimistic pessimist. Schopenhauer’s works on pessimism were light reading in those days. Despite this, I was not afraid to embrace hope, recognizing its necessity throughout life. This philosophical introspection led me to author a poem, which I have set to music courtesy of Udio.com. I am pleased with the results and plan to eventually set it to a worthy video. For now, it is available as an audio track with the lyrics provided below.

LYRICS TO “HOPE’S JOURNEY: A TAPESTRY OF LIFE”

Stage I: Childhood

In the garden of my youth, every dream was mine,
Hope was just a whisper, a secret so divine.
No need to chase the stars, they’d fall into my hand,
In a world of endless wonders, a magic wonderland.

Chorus:

Hope, it morphs and changes, like the tides of life’s great sea,
From dreams of youth to wisdom’s truth, in each phase we’ll see.
In the tapestry of time, it weaves a story bold and true,
Hope’s enduring presence, guiding us through all we do.

Stage II: Young Adulthood

As a young and daring heart, hope became my creed,
Believing in the odds, I’d conquer every need.
With faith and fierce conviction, the future seemed so bright,
The power of my spirit, would always lead to light.

Chorus:

Hope, it morphs and changes, like the tides of life’s great sea,
From dreams of youth to wisdom’s truth, in each phase we’ll see.
In the tapestry of time, it weaves a story bold and true,
Hope’s enduring presence, guiding us through all we do.

Stage III: Adulthood

In the prime of my endeavor, hope was like a flame,
If I worked with all my might, I’d win the endless game.
Justice and ambition, tempered with the real,*
A dance of dreams and struggles, the balance I could feel.

Chorus:

Hope, it morphs and changes, like the tides of life’s great sea,
From dreams of youth to wisdom’s truth, in each phase we’ll see.
In the tapestry of time, it weaves a story bold and true,
Hope’s enduring presence, guiding us through all we do.

Stage IV: Middle Age

In the heart of middle age, hope became a plea,
An appeal to justice, to merit and integrity.
Tempered by the trials, and the lessons learned in time,
Hope was now a beacon, in a world less sublime.

Chorus:

Hope, it morphs and changes, like the tides of life’s great sea,
From dreams of youth to wisdom’s truth, in each phase we’ll see.
In the tapestry of time, it weaves a story bold and true,
Hope’s enduring presence, guiding us through all we do.

Stage V: Old Age

In the twilight of my days, hope seems like a dream,
A foolish, fleeting fancy, yet it makes me beam.
A smile in reflection, of a life so richly lived,
Hope was a companion, in the gifts that life could give.

Chorus:

Hope, it morphs and changes, like the tides of life’s great sea,
From dreams of youth to wisdom’s truth, in each phase we’ll see.
In the tapestry of time, it weaves a story bold and true,
Hope’s enduring presence, guiding us through all we do.

Journey’s End:

So here I stand, at journey’s end, with hope a fading light,
A smile upon my weathered face, as day turns into night.
For hope has been my constant friend, through every twist and bend,
A timeless song within my heart, until the very end.

* I have revised this line in Stage III for future “publications” to read: “Ambition was my compass, guiding through the real,” as it was too redundant of the thoughts and words in Stage IV.

Art Credits for the YouTube Video:

Stage I: Childhood

The Voyage of Life: Childhood (oil on canvas, 1842) by Thomas Cole (1801-1848). National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Stage II: Young Adulthood

Liberty Leading the People (oil on canvas, 1830) by Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863). Louvre Museum, Paris.

Stage III: Adulthood

The Fog Warning (oil on canvas, 1885) by Winslow Homer (1836–1910). Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Stage IV: Middle Age

Nighthawks (oil on canvas, 1942) by Edward Hopper (1882-1967). Art Institute of Chicago.

Stage V: Old Age

The Starry Night (oil on canvas, 1889) by Vincent van Gogh(1853-1890). Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Journey’s End

The Monk by the Sea (oil on canvas, 1808–10) by Caspar David Friedrich(1774-1840). Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin.

Harbor of Truth: Original Lyrics Inspired by Religious Studies at Albion College

This is song using a poem created around 40 years ago by Donald S. Yarab during his time at Albion College. The lyrics express a journey towards truth and peace despite challenges, and the music was created using AI on Udio.com. The song conveys a message of unwavering faith and determination in reaching the “harbor of truth” and finding peace in God’s embrace.

Roughly 40 years ago, when I was at Albion College, and one of my majors was Religious Studies, I penned the words which became the lyrics to the music below, Harbor of Truth. As I recall, the words were inspired by some work I was doing in the Book of Isaiah at the time either in Prof. Gillham’s or Prof. Stohl’s class. Unsophisticated and not terribly original lyrics, but I wanted to experiment a bit more with the AI at the Udio.com website and the words were handy.

This time Udio.com was much less cooperative as a co-creator and I kept rejecting its creations, repeatedly. Perhaps my prompts were less clear than on previous ventures, or my vision lacked clarity. But it was as effort to birth even this adequate venture. On the other hand, the audio file reading slightly below the image is worth a listen.

Audio file for a wonderful reading of Harbor of Truth created by Udio.com.

Lyrics for Harbor of Truth

Though I traverse seas of error, I fear not,
For I am ever compassed towards the harbor of truth.
Yea, doth not the very breath of God
Fill-full the sails of my humble craft,
Propelling me ever forward towards the shores of Zion.

Amidst tempests fierce and shadows deep, I sail,
Yet falter not, for stars of hope above
Light my way, and faith shall never fail.
With morning’s dawn, I’ll greet the day with love.
For in God’s hands, my course is ever set,
On Zion’s shores, my soul shall find its rest.

At last, I glimpse the golden shores ahead,
Where Zion’s light doth shine with purest glow.
No longer lost, by faith and truth I’m led,
Into the arms of peace, where rivers flow.
Eternal rest within the sacred land,
Where God’s embrace fulfills what He hath planned.

Nietzsche, Proust, and My Antiquarian Self

Recently, I mentioned that I had read Friedrich Nietzsche’s “On the Use and Abuse of History.” My rough and tumble summary is as follows:

In “On the Uses and Abuses of History,” Nietzsche delineates three principal approaches to history: monumental, antiquarian, and critical. He argues that each methodology serves distinct purposes and carries unique implications for the perception and utilization of historical knowledge.

Monumental History: This approach venerates history as a continuum of extraordinary deeds and eminent individuals, offering inspiration for present and future endeavors. It emphasizes the perpetuity of greatness, encouraging individuals to aspire to the achievements of historical giants. Nietzsche asserts that by demonstrating what was once attainable remains within the realm of possibility that monumental history acts as a powerful motivational force.

Antiquarian History: Antiquarian history esteems the past for its own intrinsic value, driven by reverence and loyalty. It concentrates on the preservation of customs, traditions, and artifacts, fostering a sense of continuity and belonging. Nietzsche argues that this approach is indispensable for cultivating a collective memory and identity and providing comfort and a sense of rootedness within a historical continuum.

Critical History: Critical history is characterized by its evaluative and interrogative stance towards the past. It enables individuals and societies to extricate themselves from outdated or oppressive traditions, serving as a liberating force that facilitates progress. Nietzsche states that by challenging and reassessing historical narratives, critical history promotes a dynamic and progressive engagement with the past.

Balancing These Approaches: Nietzsche stresses that equilibrium among these historical approaches is essential for an appropriate engagement with history. An overemphasis on monumental history may lead to the undue glorification of the past, which stifles innovation. Conversely, an excessive focus on antiquarian history risks engendering a stagnant conservatism resistant to necessary change and progress. Additionally, overreliance on critical history can result in destructive cynicism and a disconnection from one’s heritage. A balanced historical perspective integrates the aspirational qualities of monumental history, the conserving virtues of antiquarian history, and the emancipatory critique of critical history. This synthesis fosters a society that respects its past, cherishes its heritage, and remains receptive to change and improvement.

My introduction to Nietzsche’s characterizations of historical approaches was revelatory, as it revealed much about my own approaches and reactions to history and historical objects. It also clarified the occasional disconnect I experience when engaging with contemporary historical studies, methodologies, and historians. In brief, I perceive that the current academic climate exhibits a pronounced imbalance, favoring critical history.[1] This predominance serves the interests of individual academicians and ideologues, rather than the broader objectives of history or society. Conversely, within the realm of political society, there is a noticeable tilt towards monumental history, almost entirely neglecting antiquarian and critical perspectives, which poses significant risks. Interestingly, I find myself slightly imbalanced in the Nietzschean sense, perhaps excessively favoring antiquarian history, thereby rendering myself somewhat out of step with both the Academy and political society. The quest for balance is imperative.

However, the aforementioned observations merely serve as a prelude to the more profound enlightenment I experienced while delving into Nietzsche’s concept of antiquarian history. In a particularly insightful article by Stephen Bann, entitled “Clio in Part: On Antiquarianism and the Historical Fragment,” published in 1987, I encountered a truly remarkable quote from Marcel Proust. This quotation elucidated, with striking clarity, my perspectives on literature, history, historical artifacts (including coins), and my self-identification as an antiquarian. It profoundly articulated the essence of what this self-identification entails and reinforced my understanding of my approach to these fields.

To provide a fitting introduction for individuals unfamiliar with the work from which I take Proust’s quote, which is to follow, it is essential to contextualize Proust’s reflections on the imaginative power of antiquities. In “Contre Sainte-Beuve,” a collection of essays in which Marcel Proust critiques the method of literary criticism employed by Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, he vividly describes how historical imagination can transform our perception of ancient sites, such as the fictional estate of Guermantes. Guermantes, a recurring symbol in Proust’s magnum opus “In Search of Lost Time,” represents an idealized vision of the past, embodying the timelessness and continuity of history. The following excerpt from “Contre Sainte-Beuve” beautifully captures the essence of this transformation, illustrating how the past and present converge through the lens of imagination:

“And if Guermantes does not disappoint one as all imagined things do when reduced to reality; this is undoubtedly because at no time is it a real place, because even when one is walking about in it, one feels that the things one sees there are merely the wrappings of other things, that reality lies, not in this present but far elsewhere, that the stone under one’s hand is no more than a metaphor of Time; and the imagination feeds on Guermantes visited as it fed on Guermantes described because all these things are still only words, everything is a splendid figure of speech that means something else…. As for the castle towers, I tell you they are not only of that date, they are still in it. This is what stirs one’s heart when one looks at them. People always account for the emotional quality of old buildings by saying how much they must have seen in their time. Nothing could be more untrue. Look at the towers of Guermantes; they still look down on Queen Matilda’s cavalcade, on their dedication by Charles the Bad. They have seen nothing since. The moment when things exist is determined by the consciousness that reflects them; at that moment, they become ideas and are given their form; and their form, in its perpetuity, prolongs one century through the midst of others.”[2]

That final sentence resonates with me profoundly, both emotionally and instinctively. It elucidates why I have often conveyed to friends and family that, despite not having physically traversed great distances in my lifetime, I have, in truth, journeyed to more places and temporalities than almost anyone I know. This has been achieved through my extensive readings and the curation of my collections.

It also illuminates why, nearly twenty-five years ago, when a beloved friend and colleague faced a life-threatening health condition, I found it fitting to send her an antique silver Ethiopian Coptic Cross from my collection. This cross, approximately a century old, was likely crafted from silver originating from a Maria Theresa Trade Thaler. Accompanying the cross was a note explaining that, although it resided in my collection as an antiquarian item, it was made by the Faithful, for the Faithful, to aid the Faithful in prayer. Thus, the aura of its origin and use still imbued it with a sacred presence, which she, as one of the Faithful seeking prayer, would find comforting during that critical time. The words of Proust, I believe, provide a more cogent explanation of what I, ever the antiquarian, attempted to convey in my letter.


[1] A powerful discussion of the current imbalance in the Academy, with its excessive favoring of critical history and the attendant detrimental societal affects, is found in an essay by Julian Young. Unfortunately, the essay, which has a convincing introduction and general analysis of the situation, suffers horribly from poor analysis in the section entitled The Anxieties of Youth and fails absolutely in the particulars of its conclusion, which approaches an ideological agenda despite its disclaimers. The essay is still recommended for it strong beginnings as it only goes off the rails towards the very end. Young, J. (2023). The Uses and Misuses of History: Reflections on Nietzsche’s Second Untimely Meditation. Society, 60(670-683). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12115-023-00879-0

[2] Bann, S. (1987). Clio in Part: On Antiquarianism and the Historical Fragment. Perspecta, 23, 37, quote is cited in fn25 to Proust, M. (1984). By way of Sainte-Beuve (S. Townsend Warner, Trans.). London: Hogarth. 182-183.