I do not 'get' ideas; ideas get me.

"I do not 'get' ideas; ideas get me." Thus declared Robertson Davies, the sage of letters and imagination, whose words reveal a truth that humbles all creators, thinkers, and dreamers. In this saying, he reminds us that ideas are not possessions to be hunted, caught, or owned—they are living forces that descend upon the mind like divine messengers. The human soul, he suggests, is not the master of inspiration, but its vessel. To create, to imagine, to bring forth something new, is not an act of control but of surrender—a sacred yielding to the mysterious currents of thought that move unseen through the world.

From the earliest days of wisdom, men and women have spoken of this strange and holy experience. The poets of ancient Greece believed that muses whispered in their ears; the prophets claimed to hear the voice of God; the philosophers said that truth revealed itself like the dawn after long darkness. Each spoke differently, but all confessed the same reality—that the greatest ideas come through us, not from us. Davies, in his modern tongue, echoes the ancients: the mind is not a factory, but a temple. The idea, that subtle spirit, does not serve the thinker—it chooses him.

The story of Isaac Newton illustrates this truth well. When the apple fell and he conceived of gravity, it was not the apple that created the law, nor Newton’s deliberate reasoning that forced it forth. The moment came suddenly, unbidden, as though the universe itself had whispered its secret into his heart. Newton had prepared himself through years of study, yes—but the revelation came not by force, but by grace. He did not “get” the idea; the idea got him, seized him, and compelled him to follow its path to completion. So too it is with every great discovery: the idea, like lightning, strikes where it will, and the mind must be ready to receive it.

And yet, there is a profound humility in Davies’ words, for he knew that ideas rule their creators. Once they arrive, they demand attention, labor, even sacrifice. The writer who is struck by a vision cannot rest until it is born into words; the inventor cannot sleep until his creation takes form. It is as if an invisible hand grips the heart, saying, “Bring me forth.” The artist becomes the servant of what he has received, consumed by a fire not his own. Thus, ideas are not ornaments of intellect—they are spirits of purpose, commanding obedience from those who would dare to listen.

Davies also warns us against arrogance. In the modern world, men often boast of originality, as though genius were a personal possession. But the wise know that the greatest minds are not conquerors, but instruments—their greatness lies in their openness. The closed mind, proud and rigid, repels inspiration like stone repels rain; but the open mind, humble and watchful, absorbs it like fertile soil. To be “gotten” by an idea is to be chosen by it, and that choice belongs not to the mind’s strength, but to its receptivity.

The musician Beethoven, deaf yet ablaze with music, once said that he did not write his symphonies—they came to him complete, as if from heaven, and he merely wrote what he heard. In his deafness, he proved that sound is not of the ear but of the soul. His ideas possessed him so wholly that he forgot himself, living only to give them form. And when his Ninth Symphony was born—when the world first heard “Ode to Joy”—it was as if the spirit that had taken hold of him had passed into humanity itself. This is the fate of those touched by the fire of inspiration: to be seized, transformed, and made instruments of something far greater than their own will.

Thus, my children of thought and wonder, learn this sacred truth: you do not own your ideas—they own you. Seek not to dominate inspiration, but to prepare yourself for it. Cultivate patience, curiosity, and humility, for these are the open doors through which ideas enter. Do not chase them with desperation, but listen in stillness, for the quiet mind is their chosen dwelling. And when they come, as they surely will, receive them with reverence, for they come bearing the light of creation.

For in the end, as Davies knew, the idea is not a servant of man—it is the breath of the eternal made visible through him. It comes to those who are ready, grips them with divine urgency, and leaves them forever changed. So live as one who waits not for power, but for inspiration. When the idea seizes you, follow where it leads, for in its flame lies the path to greatness—and through you, it will speak to the world.