He considered himself clear-sighted, as near to omniscience
as a mortal mind could construe. He perceived, uniquely,
the way the world was, unlike all the others (sheep, he
congratulated himself on calling them) who deluded
themselves with so many false conjectures. So, what
became of this Arrogant Man when he encountered the
Blind Man who knew the color of darkness?
It must be a pity not to know a true image from a
false one, for all descriptions must mean the same to
you. Yet, you must have a sharper grasp of detail where
other senses presume priority.
I do not claim to see more than I should see. I do,
however, endeavor to make large truths, as anyone
would, out of my small experiences.
And I am sure you must abound with insights a sighted
man would not ever himself obtain. For one, you do
know the color of darkness.
Is that not within your visual palette? Yes, I am truely
intimate with the dark, but you know it too: in the
deepest night, when your eyes are shut tight and
wheresoever light hasn’t the means to reach.
However, it is not a permanent fixture of my vision–
merely a state rather than a feature, for the rainbow
does not contain an ebony stripe. Yes, my knowledge
of light, its prism, is imperfect, something any man
limited from a valuable experience should lament.
What would you hope to gain? The only currency of
darkness is humility. And anyone who tries to reach
beyond his means can acquire it.
But this is the greatest truth: your vision has no means
with which to overreach, toward neither sun nor void.
It is mired in its own unary spectrum. Who wouldn’t
weep at that?
This was the Arrogant Man’s gift as he supposed it:
pity against what could not be rectified. What he
did not realize was that he gave himself away, for
even the most Blind among us knew which of these
two men were the most hardened and unyielding.
“…and he who is stranded in his own self-contained
world, denies the brightness of others’ stars.”