Sell your reputation for a song.

This is actually quite an old post that I have resurrected as I believe it has some resonance today.

People have idols; things they value above all others; even, unfortunately more than they value themselves – their self-worth, their honour and their reputation. There has been a spate of media reports about people who have indulged in, shall we say, less than charitable behaviour.  People from all walks of life have been found guilty of malpractice of one type or another.

I have said before that poets can often say in a few words what it takes others, like me, many words to express. There is a very appropriate quatrain (verse) in the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Omar Khayyam was an 11^th Century Persian mathematician, astronomer and poet) - which goes as follows (verse 69): 

 

69

                                           Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

                                           Have done my Credit in Men’s Eyes much wrong:

                                              Have drown’d my Honour in a shallow cup,

                                           And sold my Reputation for a Song.

 

For many people their idols are money (or the “stuff’ that money can buy); or prestige and the power that comes with their position. If you “love” something above all others – an idol - this will soon be apparent to all who know you. You will have removed yourself from the rest of humanity; you will be using people as a means to an end; you will be using people to acquire more of what you “love”. They will sense this and you will have done your “credit in Men’s eyes much wrong”. 

To get your idol you will cheat, you will lie, you will become untrustworthy, you will be immoral, you will not be ethical in your activities. You will have drowned your honour in a shallow cup – lost your honour for something of little value – a “shallow cup”. 

Your love for, your fixation to, your worship of your idol means that you have lost all sense of proportion or reason and are prepared to sell your self-worth – who you are – for a “song” - something of no substance. You will have diminished yourself as a human being.

No one will ever trust you again – your self-worth, your reputation, your honour will have been damaged almost beyond repair.

The Fates

This has always fascinated me – the seeming “randomness” of our life span. Some people live to a ripe old age, while others barely survive birth and some don’t even get that far, much to the grief of the expectant mother. 

 

What started it all? Every effect has a cause. But what? And why? That we can never know – which is why I’m attracted to the Ancient Greek idea of the Fates. Those mysterious "forces" which the Greeks portrayed as three women. Each of the three Fates had a different task, revealed by her name: Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured its allotted length, and Atropos cut the thread with her shears. 

 

But what determines our “allotted length” of life? I suspect that Hubris and Nemesis play a part but then, maybe so does the Eastern idea of Karma. Karma – the concept that we carry forward our deeds, good or bad, into our next manifestation of life. 

 

To me that is only fair.  We reap what we sow. 

 

Two “quatrains” from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam emphasise our impotence:-

 

49

‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

 

50

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;

And He that toss’d Thee down into the Field,

He knows about it all – He knows – HE knows!

 

 

As a reminder – Hubris, to the ancient Greeks, is when a human, with over weening arrogance and pride, tries to alter the course of events and by so doing encroaches on the realm of the Gods. Something not  to be recommended!

 

Hubris always invited the arrival of Nemesis – the female Goddess of retribution – implacable in her task of tracking every wrong back to its doer and dispensing justice commensurate with the wrong committed. Nemesis was generally portrayed holding the Scales of Justice on one hand and a sword or dagger in the other.  

 

But all this brings me back to where I started, that, to me, fascinating and totally unknowable concept of Life (with a capital L) and what determines its span or length of time? 

 

And I have absolutely no idea! 

Some thoughts.

In these times of great tribulation it is worthwhile, I think, to carefully consider one’s situation. Some, of course, might not agree with me but I derive my thoughts from a variety of sources – some very old – for instance the Ancient Greeks.

Fate, or Chance, or Providence does not play a fair game with us humans. It does not abide by any rules; is not moved by any considerations; is not turned aside by any prayers; or made malignant by any curses. Its onset can neither be retarded, nor hurried, tempered nor envenomed, avoided or way-laid by anything we do.

Why blame it? It moves at its own inexorable pace towards its own determined end.

It is we, humans, who make the rules of the games we play, who plead for consideration, who try to shelter behind the situations we caused. Why blame it if we are thin skinned, if we are unready, if we are cowards, if we did not for-see the consequences, if we are fatuous enthusiasts for our causes?

All we should know is that there is no armour, no shield, no antidote. Some of us trust in fortitude, some in fatalism, some in a hereafter, and a few hardy ones in a grim, derisive, humorous cynicism.

And if at the end of things our trust fails – it does not matter! 

To again quote from The Rubaiyat, by Omar Khayyam, quatrain 52:-

And that inverted Bowl we call the Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to It for help – for It

Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

But then as with Pandora's box - there is always Hope!!

Reflections

These are testing times indeed! This is a time for reflection; a time for understanding; a time for empathy; a time for a reassessment – about life and how it’s lived. More than anything I believe this is a time to put aside any differences, opinions and strongly held beliefs. 

We are all human beings trying to survive.

To put this into perspective, we are, all of us, members of the species Homo Sapiens crowded together on a small planet in a very average solar system circling around a very average star, amongst billions of stars, at the edge of an arm of a very average spiral galaxy among an unimaginable number of many billions of galaxies in an unimaginably large universe. 

I fully realize that what I’m about to write may be controversial, possibly inflammatory and most definitely blasphemous! But I still need to ask the question - why do we, puny beings that we are, think we are so special? That God (however He, She, It is determined) is “our” special God? 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I believe in a “higher force” – something that imbues objects (us, amongst others) with “life”. But what that “life” is has yet to be determined. Something that is alive is not “dead”. But what is absent or withdrawn to render what was alive, dead – has, as I say, yet to be determined. Personally I doubt that we will ever truly know. 

As always in moments of high drama or deep reflection, as now, at this time, I turn to poets and poetry. Poets seem to have a greater insight into the human condition than more down to earth mortals such as I.

I have always loved The Rubaiyat, the famous poem by Omar Khayyam (18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) a Persian who followed the Sufi version of Islam. Khayyam was an astronomer, astrologer, physician, philosopher, and mathematician: he made outstanding contributions in algebra. In the year 1072 CE Omar Khayyam documented the most accurate year length ever calculated up to that date – a figure still accurate enough for most purposes in the modern world. But it is his poetry for which he is better known in the West than any other non-Western poet – in particular his Rubaiyat, translated (possibly somewhat loosely) by Edward Fitzgerald.

To follow on what I said about a “higher force”, I offer the following Quatrains (verses) from the Rubaiyat starting with:

 7

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garments of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To fly – and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.

11

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse – and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness –

  And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

23

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

                                               Before we too into Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,

        Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and – sans End!

49

‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

50

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;

And He that toss’d Thee down into the Field,

He knows about it all – He knows – HE knows!

51

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a word of it.

52

And that inverted Bowl we call the Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to It for help – for It

Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

53

With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man’s Knead.

And then of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed:

Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote

What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

And so it goes on.

Khayyam must have been a cynic who liked his wine, and I certainly think he had, shall I say, a rather  “irreverent” relationship with God! 

I will also say that what I determine to be Khayyam’s beliefs are in line with mine. That we determine our own fate by what we do - good, bad or indifferent. We reap what we sow!

Memories, Reminiscences and what End?

As one grows older perspectives on life seem to grow and alter with the years. As an example, I now live alone - my wife of many years has died. Does this bother me? Yes, but not as much as it might – I have always been satisfied with my own company. Do I miss her? More than I could ever explain to anyone. Have I memories? Of course I have. Do I reminisce? Yes.

All this, but there is something more, something deeper, something that is slowly approaching the forefront of my mind. It is, I suppose, more of a philosophical discussion with myself. I ask myself the questions – what is a memory, what is a reminiscence and the big one what, actually, is life? And then, what will my “end” be?

Neurologists, quantum biologists and psycho-pharmacologists all stake their claims to understanding when it comes to the brain. It has been established, beyond doubt, that neurons in different parts of the brain are activated (scanning techniques verify this) when looking at something, when listening to a sound, when thinking, remembering or problem solving. Various chemicals have been identified as “neuro-transmitters” that cross the synapses that lie between one neuron and another, which appear to be essential in the “storage” of information or interpreting what has been perceived in the environment.

BUT, and this is where I dispute the “science” of the determination that the brain is the only locus of life, thoughts and memories. For instance the question has yet to be answered – what comes first – do the thoughts and memories somehow activate the neurons in the brain, or do the neurons, by some means, create the thoughts?

AND, what is a thought, actually? What is a memory, actually? What is an emotion, actually? What is life, actually? No one knows.

So I ask myself the question, are they all just the result of chemicals in the brain, as neurologists and psycho-pharmacologists would claim? I ask the question, are they all just the  result of the activities of sub-atomic particles as quantum-biologists would claim? I ask the question, how can a chemical or chemicals in any combination, inanimate as they are, create or store a thought?  Particularly as no one knows what a thought is, actually! I ask the question, how can a chemical or chemicals in any combination, inanimate as they are, create or reflect on an emotion? Particularly as no one knows what an emotion is, actually!  I ask the question, how can a chemical or chemicals in any combination, inanimate as they are, create life? Particularly as no one knows what life is, actually!

Biologists and psycho-pharmacologists have determined the chemical constituents of a cell but no one (repeat no one) has ever come close to “creating” life in a petri dish by mixing together the known chemicals that constitute the structure of a cell.

It would appear to me that life is something above and beyond our knowledge. I have sat and held the hand of someone who is dying. I have sensed that the life force (however this is defined) has left, or withdrawn from, that person. What is it? So, again, what is it that is now absent from the body - the body that was alive and warm and is now dead and growing cold?

The cells that constituted the body of the person who has just died are identical to the cells that constituted the body of that same person the split second before they died - except that they are no longer “alive”.

I don’t suppose, or presume, that we will ever have a “scientific” answer to these fundamental questions, even though scientists try to convince us that the understanding science conveys is the only kind there is!

So I am left to my memories, reminiscences and philosophical thoughts to try and understand what will happen to me when I leave this “mortal coil”!!

I wonder if it will all end as Omar Khayyam wrote in his famous Rubaiyat?

 Quatrain 47

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

End in the Nothing all Things end in – Yes –

Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what

Thou shalt be – Nothing – Thou shalt not be less.

Or is there something more like this, the first verse from John Masefield’s, “A Creed”:

I held that when a person dies

His soul returns again to Earth;

Arrayed in some new flesh disguise

Another mother gives him birth.

With sturdier limbs and brighter brain

The old soul takes the roads again.

I prefer John Masefield’s version but you choose!