Essay Thursday

For the English and literature class I'm taking this semester, one of the exercises we do every Wednesday is to write an essay in response to an SAT prompt in twenty-five minutes. We did our first one yesterday. I'm generally not good at such writing, but at least when I'm under pressure I *have* to do it, no ifs, ands, or buts. So since these essays are not turned in or graded, I'll post them here as I do them, for anyone who might be interested. Yesterday's question was, "Can success be disastrous?"

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In today’s culture, we are all about feeling good about ourselves and being successful. As soon as we reach one goal, we are pushed on, either by our own dissatisfaction or by some outside force which plays upon it, to something else, because it is never an option to say, “Enough.” We are playing a dangerous avoidance game with ourselves, constantly dodging the emptiness of independent human existence. The easiest way to solve this problem seems to set a goal that we can pour our whole lives into, one that we cannot be certain of reaching. We think that if only we can reach it, we will be happy; but in reality, we will simply find ourselves once more at the bottom of the mountain, all the worse for having fallen. Success is perhaps the most desired achievement with the highest potential for disaster known to mankind.
My grandfather once knew a man who constantly strove after money; his business was his entire life. Eventually he became very rich; he was successful by modern, worldly standards, and retired to enjoy himself. But it seemed that he did not know what to do with his success or his wealth and simply put it away as if it had never been, hoarding it, not even using enough of it to provide himself with adequate food and living conditions. My grandfather told me that in this man’s latter days of great wealth, he was always unkempt; his house was unheated and without air conditioning; his property was overtaken by weeds and wildlife and fell into disrepair. At last he died of malnourishment and other attendant health problems, literally killed by his so-called success.
But the dangers of success do not all lie in money. In fact, they have little to do with money at all, but rather with the mindset of the one who strives to be successful. In Nathaniel Hawthorn’s The Scarlet Letter, Roger Chillingworth pours all his energy and every waking moment of his life into discovering his wife’s adulterer, and even when he learns that it is the Reverend Dimmesdale, the most revered man in the city, it is not enough; he seeks to torment him into confession or madness. At last Dimmesdale dies after one brave stand, though hovering on the gray border of insanity, and Chillingworth’s ultimate purpose is achieved. But by this time, his life’s work has ceased to be that of a physician and has become a long, sadistic revel in the torment and pain of this one frail man. After Dimmesdale’s death, Chillingworth becomes ill himself and dies a withered man, a mere shadow of his former self, because he has nothing else to live for, and it is too late now for him to return to the wife he once adored. He succeeded, but the price was his mind, his soul, and ultimately his life.
Success can be a wonderful thing, bringing fame and fortune, security, or simply personal pleasure. It is something to strive for, something that no one should leave life without tasting, because it is a God-given blessing when it comes. But it is not the be all and end all of this life and should not be elevated too high. It is a dangerous game to play, with too high a potential for disaster to become the core of one’s existence. There must be something more to life to rejoice in once success has been reached, or it may consume the one who strives for it.
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Yeah, it's sort of...crap. But I'm out of practice at this sort of thing, and it was done in twenty-five minutes, anyway.