Primus Libellus

The quest for knowledge, and with it the quest for God, is, I believe, the most noble journey we can undertake. As the title of this blog suggests, I will be writing about my personal experiences in trying to find and chase after truth, knowledge, and God. Indeed, the very title means "concerning truth." I am well aware that not everything I write here will be correct all the time, but the one thing I can assure you of is that I will always be trying to find the truth in whatever I am discussing here. This blog is meant to stimulate thought and conversation through what I myself have been personally experiencing or thinking. Take it cum grano salis.

Knowledge can be illusive, and the search for it can be a tiring and daunting task, but ignorance is the enthrallment of man. I ran across a certain poem while reading Catullus that really echoed some of my feelings toward this search. Catullus was a Roman poet who is famous for his risque (to say the least) verse. His poems were even forbidden from being written down and preserved by the scribes in Christian monasteries, and his poems nearly disappeared. But for some figures in the early church, his poems could actually be read allegorically, representing a Christian's relationship with God. This is kind of hard to swallow due to just the sheer amount of sexuality in the poems, but this particular poem stood out to me. When I read it, I imagine the author speaking not to Camerius (who it was written for) but to Knowledge or God.

Not though I should be molded in brass like the fabled warder of Crete,
not though I were to soar aloft like flying Pegasus,
not if I were Ladas or wing-footed Perseus,
not if I were the swift snow-white pair
of Rhesus' horses could I overtake you:
add to these the feather-footed and the winged gods,
and with them call for the swiftness of the winds;
though you should harness all these, ..., and press them into my service,
yet I should be tired out to my very marrow,
and worn away with frequent faintness,
while searching for you, my friend.

[Catullus LV, lines 23-32]