I have always admired teachers because teaching, like the
I have always admired teachers because teaching, like the priesthood, medicine and writing, is a vocation. You don't become a teacher because you want wealth. It is the same with writing.
Hear the words of F. Sionil José, the great Filipino novelist, who spoke with reverence and fire: “I have always admired teachers because teaching, like the priesthood, medicine, and writing, is a vocation. You don’t become a teacher because you want wealth. It is the same with writing.” In these lines lies a truth both humbling and eternal: that there are callings in life which are not chosen for profit but embraced for purpose, not pursued for riches but for the service of humanity.
The meaning of this saying is that certain paths—teaching, healing, guiding, writing—are sacred. They demand of the soul not greed, but sacrifice; not vanity, but devotion. The teacher shapes minds and hearts; the priest tends to the spirit; the doctor tends to the body; and the writer tends to memory, conscience, and imagination. These are not trades in which men count coins at day’s end, but vocations in which one’s reward is the transformation of others, and the quiet knowledge that one has given light.
History is filled with examples of such lives. Think of Socrates, who walked the streets of Athens teaching not for pay, but for truth, until he was condemned to drink the hemlock. He had no wealth, yet he enriched the world with questions that continue to awaken thought after millennia. Or think of Florence Nightingale, who abandoned comfort to bring healing to the wounded of war, enduring filth, disease, and exhaustion not for gain, but for love of mankind. These lives reveal what José declared: that vocation is not chosen by the hand, but by the heart.
José himself, as a writer, lived this reality. His novels did not bring him great riches, but they gave voice to the struggles and aspirations of his people. He wrote to awaken, to remember, to resist forgetting. Like the teacher, he did not labor for reward, but for the passing on of wisdom. His words burn with the same truth he honored in the classroom and in the healing arts: the noblest callings are measured not by wealth but by their enduring impact upon human souls.
The lesson here is both heroic and humbling: do not measure your worth, nor the worth of others, by silver or gold. Ask instead: What service have I rendered? Whose burden have I lifted? Whose eyes have I opened? The teacher who awakens a child’s love for knowledge may never be wealthy, but has given a gift beyond price. The doctor who saves a life, the priest who consoles the grieving, the writer who preserves the memory of a people—these shape the destiny of generations. Their legacy outlives the fleeting wealth of kings.
Practical actions follow for all who hear this wisdom: honor the vocations around you. Thank the teachers who gave you the gift of learning. Respect the doctors and healers who labor beyond exhaustion. Cherish the writers who weave the story of your people. And if you yourself are called to one of these paths, embrace it with courage and devotion, knowing that your worth is not measured in riches, but in the lives you touch.
Remember always: teaching, priesthood, medicine, writing—these are not careers of comfort, but callings of sacrifice. They ask of us not only skill, but love. F. Sionil José’s words shine as a reminder that true greatness lies not in wealth, but in service. To follow such a vocation is to stand among those who light torches in the darkness, whose flame guides others long after their own days have ended.
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