Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once
Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you may die of the truth.
The words of Stephen Vincent Benét fall upon the ear like the tolling of an ancient bell: “Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you may die of the truth.” In this image, he clothes wisdom with the garments of the wild. For just as the hunter who seeks the fleet-footed deer must endure hunger, silence, and hardship, so must the seeker of truth endure long journeys of spirit and mind. It is not easily given, nor does it willingly surrender itself; it must be pursued with patience, with cunning, and with reverence.
The ancients knew that the truth can burn as fiercely as fire. To possess a fragment of it is to hold a torch in the night; but to seize it all at once is to be consumed by its blaze. The prophets who spoke too plainly, who unveiled too suddenly the hidden designs of heaven or the cruelties of men, often met their end upon stones, upon stakes, or in silence enforced by tyrants. Thus the warning: the stomach of the soul cannot digest a feast of truth without preparation; it must be taken in morsels, slowly, like bread broken in the wilderness.
Consider the tale of Socrates, that wise man of Athens. He hunted the deer of truth with unyielding persistence, questioning all, exposing folly, stripping illusion bare. Yet, when he offered the people too much truth, they found it bitter, indigestible, and deadly to their pride. So they gave him hemlock to drink. In this we see that the body may die not of poison alone, but of the unbearable weight of truth revealed before its time.
The same holds in the story of Galileo, who raised his eyes to the heavens and spoke of worlds turning around the sun. To the rulers of his age, such truth was too great a quarry to accept. They feared it would shatter the order of belief, so they caged his words and bound his tongue. Yet, though they sought to starve the people of this truth, time itself gnawed through their chains, and what was once forbidden became the foundation of knowledge. Here again, the deer of truth was hunted, caught, and hidden away—yet it could not be silenced forever.
From these examples we learn that one must approach truth with reverence, as one approaches the holy or the dangerous. It must be shared as a healer shares medicine: not in a flood that overwhelms, but in careful doses that cure. For the heart of man, unready, may break beneath too sudden a revelation. And the bearer of too much truth risks not only rejection, but destruction, at the hands of those who cannot yet endure it.
Yet let us not fear the pursuit. The deer may be hard to hunt, but to live without the chase is to dwell forever in shadows. The wise hunter learns to step lightly, to track steadily, to honor what he seeks. So must we—taking only what we can carry, speaking only what can be heard, and saving the rest for the time when ears are opened by need or by suffering.
Therefore, let this lesson be carved upon your heart: Seek truth, but do not demand to devour it all at once. Share truth, but weigh the measure of your words against the readiness of those who hear. And above all, honor truth—for it is the wild and noble beast that nourishes the soul. In practice, this means pausing before you speak, asking: “Is my listener ready? Is my own heart strong enough to bear what I have found?” If so, speak gently. If not, let patience be your companion. In this way, the deer of truth will feed you for a lifetime, and not slay you in a single feast.
MHTran Manh Hung
Benet’s statement about truth being a dangerous thing to consume in excess is really thought-provoking. It seems to suggest that we need to be cautious about how much truth we take in, especially when it’s hard or uncomfortable. But is this caution always necessary, or do we sometimes avoid truths because they’re just too difficult? How can we find the strength to handle truth without becoming consumed by it?
ANTran An Na
Benet’s quote strikes me as a reminder that sometimes, truth can be overwhelming. It’s not just about finding the truth, but about how we process it once it’s revealed. If we’re not careful, the truth could challenge our entire worldview, leaving us feeling lost or broken. But can we really survive without confronting the truth? How do we face hard truths without losing ourselves in the process?
LDDuong Linh Dan
This quote from Benet highlights the paradox of truth: it’s something we seek, but when we find too much of it, it can become too much to bear. Is truth always something that must be carefully approached? I wonder if the idea of ‘dying from truth’ implies that the burden of knowledge can sometimes be more than we’re prepared to handle. How do we find a balance between seeking truth and protecting our emotional well-being?
GDGold D.dragon
I find Benet’s comparison of truth to a deer to be quite vivid. The idea that too much truth can be dangerous seems to suggest that some truths might be more than we can bear at once. But why is that? Does it mean that truth is inherently painful, or is it just our perception of it? I wonder how we can pace ourselves in our search for truth to prevent it from becoming too overwhelming.
AABC
Benet’s metaphor about truth being a ‘hard deer to hunt’ is an interesting way of illustrating how elusive and difficult truth can be. The idea of eating too much truth at once and ‘dying’ from it really makes me think—can the truth be overwhelming? How much of the truth can we really handle before it breaks us? Is there a way to gradually face hard truths without being consumed by them?