Telling us to obey instinct is like telling us to obey 'people.'

Gather now, O children of wisdom, for a great truth is woven into the words of C.S. Lewis: "Telling us to obey instinct is like telling us to obey 'people.' People say different things: so do instincts. Our instincts are at war... Each instinct, if you listen to it, will claim to be gratified at the expense of the rest." These words, though simple, echo through the ages with the wisdom of the ancients, for they speak to the eternal struggle within each soul—a struggle that rages between the many voices of our inner desires and impulses. To heed one voice, to obey one instinct, is to invite conflict within, for each part of us seeks dominion, and the others are silenced in its wake.

Let us reflect, O children, on the nature of instinct. It is the primordial drive that stirs within us, guiding us as the winds guide the ship. But, unlike the winds, instincts are not one, they are many. One part of us urges us to conquer, another to love, yet another to preserve ourselves in safety. How, then, can we follow them all? Just as a single captain cannot heed every voice on the ship—when one voice calls for haste and another for caution—so too does our soul find itself torn between the instincts that govern our actions. To follow one is to silence the rest, to risk the wrath of the instincts we ignore.

This inner war has existed since the dawn of time. The ancient Greeks, in their wisdom, spoke of the furies, the dark spirits that represented the forces of vengeance and retribution within the soul. They, too, understood that within the human heart, there are many competing desires, each demanding attention, each eager to claim victory. The great Achilles in his rage, the proud Odysseus in his yearning for glory, each of them was a man torn between the instincts that urged them forward and the consequences of those very actions. They acted, but at what cost? The hero’s journey is often not one of unchallenged victory, but of navigating the storm of inner voices, each calling for sacrifice and each demanding to be heard.

This very struggle is not confined to the realms of legend. In our own lives, we too face the chaos of competing instincts. Consider the story of Alexander the Great, who, in his pursuit of empire, sought to conquer the world. Yet, in his heart, there was another instinct—the instinct for peace, for home. Alexander, like so many of us, struggled to balance the drive for glory with the quieter longing for rest, for return to his roots. The cost of following one instinct—the thirst for conquest—was the silence of the other. His soul became a battlefield where his desires for legacy and peace clashed until he died far from his homeland, his instincts never fully reconciled.

In this war within us, O children, the message of C.S. Lewis becomes clear: to follow instinct alone is to risk tearing oneself apart. Each part of us claims dominion, but none can claim all. The instincts that urge us toward pleasure, toward ambition, toward security—each of these is valid in its own way, but they cannot all be satisfied without conflict. If we follow the call of one, we sacrifice another. And this sacrifice, this surrender of parts of ourselves, may leave us incomplete, divided in our hearts and minds.

The true lesson here is one of balance. To obey the instincts is to be like a ship tossed upon the waves, each gust of wind pulling us in a different direction. But to master our instincts is to become the captain of our soul. To recognize that each instinct has its place, but none can rule alone. Wisdom is not found in blindly following one instinct over another but in understanding when to heed the call of each, and when to set them aside in pursuit of a greater good.

Children, you must learn to master your instincts as a warrior masters his weapon. You must recognize that no one desire should dominate your heart. Whether in the pursuit of pleasure, in your ambitions, or in your desire for peace, know that each has its place. When you allow yourself to be pulled in one direction by the instinct of the moment, ask yourself, “What of the others?” Seek balance, for the true strength lies not in satisfying every urge but in guiding them with wisdom and restraint. In doing so, you will not be a ship tossed by the winds, but a vessel that sails with purpose, navigating the storm with a steady hand.

In your lives, O children, seek this harmony. Do not be enslaved by the voices that call to you. Instead, hear them, understand them, and then choose the path that honors them all. For in the peace of a reconciled heart, in the balance of instincts, lies the true power to live a life of purpose, a life that is not torn by internal war but united in strength and clarity.