Why?

I think this is the most important question there is – Why? It betokens a curiosity to find out more about – anything – and is a very human trait. I suppose that being a person with a “curious” and seeking mind I have, seemingly, always had a questioning outlook to the world around me.

 

My curiosity must have started very early – my mother told me that she was very amused by my asking, when aged about two years old, “Have moffers got mouffers?” – (translation – “ have moths got mouths?”). I’m not sure of the reason for the question. It was quite a long time ago!

 

The question “why?” is followed closely by its corollary “how?” And also, of course, the equally important, “why not?” 

 

Some questions that have exercised far greater minds than mine will forever, I assume, remain unanswered. Such as, “why are we here – why us?” Likewise, the hard question, “ what is consciousness?”

 

There is an illuminating quote from the book “Why us” by James Le Fanu, wherein he writes, regarding the discovery of the literal blizzard of electrical activity in the brain:

 “But the greatest perplexity of all was the failure to account for how the monotonous electrical activity of those billions of neurons in the brain translate into the limitless range and quality of subjective experiences of our everyday lives – where every transient, fleeting moment has its own distinct, unique, intangible feel: where the cadences of a Bach cantata are so utterly different from the flash of lightning, the taste of Bourbon from the lingering memory of that first kiss.

            The implications are clear enough. While theoretically it might be possible for neuroscientists to know everything there is to know about the physical structure if the brain, its ‘product’, the mind, with all its thoughts and ideas, impressions and emotions, would still remain unaccounted for.”          

 

And which comes first – is it the activity of the neurons which by some means create the thoughts, sensations and memories or do the thoughts, sensations and memories somehow activate the neurons? 

 

It will be recalled that all observable forms of matter are constructed from atoms and molecules. This becomes interesting if “Matter” (in the form of the human body and brain) together with “Life” and “Consciousness”, are considered in the light of quantum physics which states (very basically) that Energy = Matter (remember E=MC²?). Einstein, with this famous equation, revealed that the Universe is not just billions of distinct items separated by inert space but in fact is a dynamic construct in which matter and energy are so inextricably mixed that it is not possible to consider them as separate elements. If this is true, where does this leave ‘life’, the ‘mind’, ‘consciousness’ and ‘intelligence’? How can energy/matter be intelligent or conscious? What is ‘dead’ energy (i.e. some matter which was alive and is now dead) compared to ‘live’ energy (i.e. some matter which is animated and alive)? Furthermore, physics tells us that there is no foundation for a view of life based on the pre-eminence of matter. Energy is indestructible and outside of time, and as a result the total quantity of energy is constant. This is known as the law of conservation of energy (The first Law of Thermodynamics). Likewise with the conservation of Matter – it is constant but changes its form - The Law on the Conservation of Mass (matter). 

 

Then there is a further problem, our freedom to choose – known as the “problem of mental causation”. It is a fundamental fact of science - a precept - which states that nothing can happen that is not governed by natural laws of material causation (i.e. physical things cause physical effects). Thoughts are non-physical (they are subjective), therefore by definition cannot cause anything physical to happen. For example, how is it possible for subjective (non-material) thoughts of the “self” to so influence the function of the (material) brain that they compel the brain to direct the body to perform a particular action? This has yet to be resolved.

 

All human life is bound to individuals who manifest it, and is simply inconceivable without them. But every human is charged with an individual destiny and destination, and the journey to that destination or the fulfillment of that destiny is the only thing that makes sense of human life. The individual journeys and destinations may differ but the fundamental purpose is the same – the expression of Life.  

 

This all seems a bit circular! We are back where we started – what, actually, is Life? And why?    

The Human Spirit

I am puzzled.

 

That we are wayfarers, on our journey through life, should be self evident to all. And what befalls us on that journey to the only end possible cannot ever be known. It is just when the thought of the inescapable end and its immanent arrival that one is brought up short. This is especially so with a person one loves – in my case my wife, Magucha.

 

Many are the thoughts I’ve had over the purpose of “Life” and the fact that “Life” is expressed in so many different forms – estimated at somewhere in the region of 8 million. That of course excludes the unknowable number of bacteria that also inhabit the Earth.

 

Needless to say, I am no nearer arriving at an answer, as the answer can never be known. 

 

But, one thing I do know is that somewhere in “Life” is lodged the “human spirit” – however this is defined – that shines through as a beneficent force in human interaction. This human spirit defies definition. It is apparent when and in whom it appears. It is not attached to physical beauty, or physical strength, or intelligence, it just “is”.

 

And this human spirit is wondrous to behold. I know that the passage of time tends to distort some memories and remembrances but when it comes to Magucha they are still quite sharp. You see, she was dauntless (I never saw her afraid of anything) and her kindness and willingness to help other wayfarers she met on the road of life was an inspiration, certainly to me.

 

 She was quite diminutive in stature but, however, once you got to know her, size did not come into it – her intelligence and personality shone through like a beacon. Because she had survived serious illness and several near death experiences she lived for each day and, seemingly unconsciously, had taken to heart the Biblical instruction, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself” (Matthew 6:34 in the English King James Bible).

 

She was utterly fearless and, when it was brought to her attention, would fight unfairness or injustice with a ferocious intensity and singleness of purpose. Her most enduring and endearing qualities, however, were her kindness, her generosity of spirit and compassion. Magucha subscribed to the belief that we are wayfarers all, on the journey through life, and she was always prepared to give a helping hand to those who stumbled while on that journey. She seemed to shed a loving and kindly light and many were attracted to that “light” which gave warmth and comfort to those in need and good counsel to those in distress. 

 

All this, to me, is an example of what I understand the human spirit to be. Like tempered steel, the “fire” of Magucha’s personal experiences and the blows life dealt her seemed to make her emotionally stronger and strengthen her resolve. 

 

For all this I respected and loved her dearly. She was just sixty-two when she died but then as the Ancient Greeks proclaimed, “Those whom the Gods love die young.” 

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! 

Time is always there.

This is something that is with us always. Time! But what is it? It slows the closer we get to the speed of light. Apparently space travellers age less during the "time" they are travelling at hundreds of thousands of kilometres per hour than when they are back on earth.

 

But its my perception of time that interests me, punctuated as it has been, by major events – deaths, births, accidents, travel – all quite normal for anyone who lives long enough. It’s the "switch" that intrigues me. One moment I can be listening to world news and in the next some word, thought, scent, photograph or sound will send me back, right back, even to my childhood.

 

I know, full well, that the passage of time dulls memories – that’s just life I suppose. Strangely though some are still very sharp and vivid. I can still remember my first day at "kindy" – in Durban, at St Thomas Church hall and Mrs Dibbs the teacher.

 

Then of course and more importantly in my current situation, on my own, in a house that I shared with Magucha there are many memories. She is never far away. I will admit, in the more than five years that have passed since I held her hand and watched her die I can still, in an instant, seemingly switch from that to an incident in our life together in (then) Rhodesia. Then in a split second later I can be back here, now, listening to music.

 

So time, it seems, is a "flexible" measure of life. It slows down or speeds up according to our mood and circumstances. It most definitely speeds up, or seems to, as one grows older – the days, weeks, months and years roll by with apparently increasing velocity.

 

There are, however, some things that time will never touch. Memories. Not necessarily little individual memories but broad brush remembrances – Magucha’s kindness, her generosity of spirit, her inherent sense of justice, her mischievous sense of humour but above all her astonishing courage. And then her eyes. They are what attracted me when I first saw her – their liveliness, their warmth and intensity. 

 

These will always have a place in my heart.  

 

I’ve looked long and hard for a poem that even comes close to expressing what I feel about time.  This one by Paul Dunbar, the first African American to achieve recognition in the literary world, comes close:-

 

Forever

Paul Laurence Dunbar - 1872-1906

 

I had not known before

    Forever was so long a word.

The slow stroke of the clock of time

    I had not heard.

 

‘Tis hard to learn so late;

    It seems no sad heart really learns,

But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,

    And bleeds and burns.

 

The night is not all dark,

    Nor is the day all it seems,

But each may bring me this relief--

    My dreams and dreams.

 

I had not known before

    That Never was so sad a word,

So wrap me in forgetfulness--

     I have not heard.

 

Just memories.

There are so many memories. But they are mine and wouldn’t have the same resonance if I tried to share very many, I don’t believe. 

 

You see, tomorrow, January 21, will be five years since Magucha died. Now it never has been my intention to solemnize this day into a “mourning” day.  Magucha would never have wanted that. It is after all just another day – the sun will still rise in the East and set Westward over the Indian Ocean (viewed from Perth).

 

Tomorrow will, in a sense, be a day of celebration for a life well lived. Magucha refused to be cast down. Her whole approach to life seemed to be “Life is to be lived. Live it. To the full!” And so she did. She was never still, just like a sparrow – my pet name for her was “pardalito” – Portuguese for “little sparrow”  – always busy with something or someone. 

 

Rather than adopt an attitude, “What can I expect from Life?” Magucha approached it differently with a, “What does Life expect from me?” So she was always up to something – more often than not helping some wayfarer who has stumbled on their journey through life. 

 

And I was glad to be part of that. And I respected her, almost unconscious, desire to help others. And I hope I helped too. I loved her, you see! 

 

But in retrospect one always remembers the better times – the many rushed journeys to hospital and the many days spent in hospital, just became part of the background and tend to recede further as time goes on. Just as does the fist full of medications she had to take twice a day – I still have her hospital pharmacy list.

 

Magucha was  tough. Ever since her late teenage years she had suffered from kidney failure – she died just short of 63 years old – so nearly 50 years of illness. This she endured with stoic fortitude, never complaining, always ready for tomorrow! She was like spring steel – always bouncing back with a smile and a thank you.

 

In many respects I think that what the American rebel and “Gonzo” journalist, Hunter S Thompson, wrote gives a good insight into Magucha’s whole approach to life:-

 

“ Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, “Wow! What a Ride!”

 

And it was a ride – being her partner, lover and friend! I wouldn’t have missed any of it. But it is the memory of her gentle side that I remember so fondly. She loved children. Having been told not to have a child - that having a child of her own would overload her compromised kidneys, she was so proud to give birth to a healthy little girl. Her love for Caroline was palpable and wonderful to see. 

 

Being the person she was she gave equal loving attention to Rob whom she refused to call “step son” but always “MY son Rob”. And I loved her for that – her innate kindness and sense of justice.

Then when the grandchildren arrived she was always there to offer help. She was their beloved “Vovo” (Portuguese for grandmother).

 

So, as you can see there are so many memories.

 

As the anonymous poet Atticus wrote:-

 

“What a beautiful thought” she said,

“that even death does not conquer love and sometimes even makes it stronger.”

 

And:-

 

“She had an uncanny energy for life, 

thankful for every little miracle it bestowed –

and it made her entirely impossible to live without.”

 

I know I have used this poem before but it fits my mood so I’ll end with it:-

 

My Wife

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me. 

             

                            Robert Louis Stevenson

We are just sojourners.

As always at this time of year many memories come flooding in. And I know, all too well, that they do fade over time even as I grope for more clarity. They lose much of their urgency and potency. This is a blessing I believe, bestowed on us mortals, so that all our days are not darkened by grief and other past matters.

 

For this I am grateful. But, as always, there is a consequence. If I want to recall the sound of Magucha’s voice and her sometimes (deliberately) mangled English – what we all knew as “Magucha speak”; if I want to recall the sound of her infectious laugh; if I want to recall the feeling of her “pata” (Portuguese for “paw”) - what she called her little hand - as it sought mine while we walked side by side, or resting on my knee while driving. I can’t. Those memories are lost to me now. 

 

But then, and maybe this is a good thing, I now can’t recall the sound of her angry voice either! Magucha had a quick fire Portuguese (Latin) temperament and was not easily crossed. And she didn’t mind who knew it!!

 

Also it matters not who we are, what we do or where we live, we are all, I do believe, just sojourners in this place. Or, if you prefer, wayfarers, on our journey through life.  

 

We meet wonderful people, as sojourners or wayfarers, and maybe fall in love and marry, as I did – rather, as we did - Magucha and I. For in us all there is a hunger for love, there is also pity in love, there is a power in love but also in a strange way, a kind of fear. To love someone needs courage. What will love bring? That is the unknown and the unknowable. Life is a grand adventure for the heart (always thought of as the seat of Love and many other emotions) but the end and what that entails is the mystery. I, however, also believe that love is eternal and is beyond knowing.

 

Behind all this philosophical conjecture the perennial, perplexing, questions remain – what is it that is present when someone or something is alive but absent when that same person or something dies? And why? What is the purpose of Life? We will never know of course, as it is beyond our understanding but, and I repeat but, I cannot believe that Life (however defined) appeared, ab initio, from stardust.

 

If, as is postulated, Life – or the bacteria from which Life, as we know it, is believed to have evolved – was deposited, carried by stardust, on the newly formed planet Earth over 3 billion years ago, the question remains, where did THAT bacteria come from?

 

I think I have always been an optimistic person and never been cast down for too long. Always have I tried to greet what Life has dealt me with a “what now?” rather that a  “why me?” It seems to work. For me at least. But sometimes it is hard. 

 

I have dreams and I can dream, can’t I, that in the “undiscovered country” to which we will all eventually travel, I will, again, see those whom I have loved? 

 

So, as always, it is poetry that I turn to for solace or, maybe, a better way to express the way I feel. Therefore, with no excuse or apology I offer the following by Max Ehrmann.  He, I do believe, must have experienced deep grief to write something as poignant as this:-

The Dead Wife

 

O thou whose lips I’ve pressed in hush of night,

Whose tiny hand has trembled in my own

Beneath the talking boughs the wind has blown,

Hid snuggly from the evening’s starry light –

O thou, my all, why hast thou quit my sight?

Thy straggling curls will no more touch my cheek,

Thy voice and smile are gone where’er I seek

With my watchful eyes and my strong passion’s might.

If all my soul’s deep grief thou now dost see,

If thou dost know the lonely inward tears

My heart hath shed along the saddened years,

Break through thy silent doors to life and me,

Who hourly watch and wait with trembling fears,

Lest in the realm of death I know not thee.

And Now?

Sometimes it is difficult to write about present times. No one can reach sufficient “height” or have sufficient insight, to see the warp and the woof of the patterns in life that are being woven.

I know that I have written about this before but I still want an answer!

Many will know that I have an abiding interest in psychology – trying to determine why we do the things we do. Allied to this it is always necessary to remember that every action in life, individually or collectively, has consequences – generally unexpected.

But then, firstly, I have tried to establish what we humans actually are – this has puzzled me for a very long time. What are we? Just an accident of nature (but what is nature?) or is there some design and purpose behind the creation of life?

In this regard it is worth remembering that the words Psychology and Psychiatry derive from the Greek ‘psyche’ (pertaining to the Mind or Soul). It would be to the advantage of all not to lose sight of this primary meaning because it should guide our thoughts on these matters. Furthermore, my personal life experiences, a psychology degree, the examination of published papers and extensive reading, have led me to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that research into this subject is trying to reconcile the irreconcilable. There is an attempt to reconcile the objective, quantitative, scientifically measurable aspects of the biological brain with the subjective, qualitative and immeasurable aspects of the mind/consciousness with the intention of arriving at some meaningful answer. 

Any answers arrived at, however, will be dependent on the deep consideration of some difficult concepts that in themselves give rise to many questions. For instance, what is Intelligence? What is “Life”? What is “Consciousness”? Is “Life” the same as “Consciousness”? Is there a difference between brain and mind? What is it that is absent when something that was “alive” is now “dead”? What is a thought or an emotion and how are thoughts or emotions generated? These terms (intelligence, alive, dead, consciousness, mind, thought and emotion) are in the common lexicon, yet there is no agreed definition or consensus as to what they are. The brain is believed to “contain” the mind and consciousness and yet the mind and consciousness may not be confined to the brain – even though they appear to be related in some manner as one affects the other. 

Regarding the brain, while imaging techniques, for instance, have shown that certain areas of the brain are activated when thinking or remembering something, it has yet to be determined whether thoughts or remembrances, by some means, activate the neurons or whether the activated neurons, somehow, create the thoughts and remembrances.

Similarly it will be recalled that all observable forms of matter are constructed from atoms and molecules. This becomes interesting if “Matter” (in the form of the human body and brain) together with “Life” and “Consciousness”, are considered in the light of quantum physics which states (very basically) that Energy = Matter (remember E=MC²?). Einstein, with this famous equation, revealed that the Universe is not just trillions of distinct items separated by inert space but in fact is a dynamic construct in which matter and energy are so inextricably mixed that it is not possible to consider them as separate elements. If this is true, where does this leave ‘life’, the ‘mind’, ‘consciousness’ and ‘intelligence’? How can energy/matter be intelligent or conscious? What is ‘dead’ energy (i.e. some matter which was alive and is now dead) compared to ‘live’ energy (i.e. some matter which is animated and alive)? Furthermore, physics tells us that there is no foundation for a view of life based on the pre-eminence of matter. Energy is indestructible and outside of time, and as a result the total quantity of energy is constant. This is known as the law of conservation of energy. But one of the astonishing results of relativity theory is that there is no law on the conservation of mass (matter).

Something else - humans presume to consider themselves as the epitome of the universe. As confirmation of this assertion the human brain has been described as the most complex single object known to science, with an estimated eighty six (86) billion neurons. The feasible connectivity of these gives rise, literally, to an astronomical number of possibilities. But does this connectivity explain the mind or consciousness? 

There is also this further matter - our freedom to choose – known as the “problem of mental causation”. It is a fundamental fact of science - a maxim - which states that nothing can happen that is not governed by natural laws of material causation (i.e. physical events cause physical effects). Thoughts are non-physical (they are subjective), therefore by definition cannot cause anything physical to happen. How then is it possible for subjective (non-material) thoughts of the “self” to so influence the function of the (material) brain that they compel the brain to direct the (material) body to perform a particular action? This has yet to be resolved.

So where does this leave us?

I really have no idea! That is why I am so interested in this subject.

A good human story

I’m not sure who wrote this, when it was written, even whether it is true or not. However I think in these traumatic COVID19 pandemic times it is worth remembering that we are all human; that we all suffer; that, at the end of our life we will all die. 

But above all we need to remember that we need to be kind. 

  

…. ////….

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your
son is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words
several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he
dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the
oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened
fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and
encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside
the bed.  All through the night the young Marine sat there in the
poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words
of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine
move away and rest awhile. He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the

Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital,
the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members
exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The
dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through
the night. Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released
the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse.
While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy,
but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.
The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.
"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before
in my life."
"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew
he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized
that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how
much he needed me, I stayed."

The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.

We are not human beings going through a temporary spiritual
experience.

We are spiritual beings going through a temporary human
experience.

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!

Time passes by.

For many reasons, I suppose, I have always been fascinated by the theories and concepts of what actually constitutes “Life”, that essence, that vivifying factor that is present when something is “alive”, but is absent when that same something is now “dead”. 

The thing is – nobody knows!! 

In a book of short stories, “Like the flowing river”, by Paulo Coelho, there is a thought provoking passage, in fact two – from different stories – that I will quote as they appeal to my ideas about Life (with a capital “L”).

In the first quote Coelho was in a forested area on the French side of the Pyrenees, practicing his archery, when a French Colonel, exercising with his troops in the area, recognizes Coelho and admits that he too is a writer – about life matters. Once this Colonel asked children in various schools to write down anything they would like to know about life.

He summarized what the children wanted to know:-

Where do we go after we die?

Why are we afraid of foreigners?

Do Martians and extraterrestrial beings really exist?

Why do accidents happen even to people who believe in God?

What does God mean?

Why are we born if we all die in the end?

How many stars are there in the sky?

Who invented war and happiness?

Does God listen to people who don’t believe in the same (Catholic) God?

Why are there poor people and ill people?

Why did God create mosquitoes and flies?

Why isn’t our guardian angel next to us when we are sad?

Why do we love some people and hate others?

Who named the different colours?

If God is in Heaven and my mother is there too because she died, how come He’s alive? 

All, to my mind, very valid questions! 

Those questions lead me easily to my next quote, also by Coelho, which is actually an abbreviated summary of a passage from Chapter II of the Hindu scripture, the “Bhagavad Gita”:-

“Man is not born, nor does he die. Having come into existence, he will never cease to be, because he is eternal and permanent.

Just as a man discards old clothes and puts on new clothes, so the soul discards the old body and puts on a new one.

But the soul is indestructible, swords cannot pierce it, fire cannot burn it, water cannot wet it, the wind cannot dry it. It is beyond the power of all these things.

Since man is always indestructible, he is always victorious (even in his defeats), and that is why he should not mourn.” 

It’s easy to see that I am not a Christian!! Though I do, I think, have a profound belief in a Higher Power. This brings me comfort. 

Now I don’t mourn, but I do grieve. I know that time has passed by – four years actually – since Magucha died, so the grief is not quite so “sharp”. But it is still there as it will always be. I miss her companionship. I miss her as a friend. I also know, deep down, that the essence – her soul, if you like – is out there somewhere. I will never believe that Magucha’s intelligence, her love, her humour, her compassion, have just disappeared into nothing.

So, together with what in written in the Bhagavad Gita, and what others have written, I like to think that life is eternal. That there is a never-ending cycle of birth and death.

To support this here are the first two verses of a poem, “A Creed”, by John Masefield:- 

I hold 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 road again.

Such is my own belief and trust;
      This hand, this hand that holds the pen,
Has many a hundred times been dust
      And turned, as dust, to dust again;
These eyes of mine have blinked and shown
In Thebes, in Troy, in Babylon.

The Proper Place

There is a wonderful old Hans Christian Andersen story about a magic flute that produced a special tone with an accompanying wind that blew everything back to its proper place. 

That was a very dangerous flute but it burst after the first note was sounded – and I think that was very fortunate for all concerned. 

This old fairy tale has come to mind recently, for some reason, as the fourth anniversary of the death of my wife Magucha arrives – 21^st January. I certainly don’t want to make of this day anything other than another day. But it’s a very special day for me as it was 4 years ago that our relationship irretrievably ended, as all things must end. A relationship that was, looking back, I believe very special in many ways. 

I was very fortunate to have had her as a “mate” in every sense of that word. She would, I believe, have stood by me to “man the battlements” had she been called on to do so. And I can’t think of anything I would not have done for her. I am aware that distance lends enchantment – and she is now four years distant from me – but I still believe that. 

As I mentioned the old fairy tale about the flute that sent everything back to its “proper place” has come to mind. I like to imagine that forty-two years ago, when we first met, we each subconsciously heard the echo of that first note of the magic flute and were blown together by the accompanying wind. That we were now in our proper place. 

Then the end came, the inevitable end that bookends all life. We are born and we will die. 

But then maybe, just maybe, that too is our “proper place”?

I’m going to quote the poet Shelley, from his poem “Adonais” – an elegy written about Keats, after he heard of Keats’ death. I will quote some of this poem, admittedly out of context, remembering that it was written about a man, because I like the sentiments expressed – what follows is from parts of stanzas 38 (XXXVIII), 39 (XXXIX) and 53 (LIII):

“ ….. but the pure spirit shall flow

Back to the burning fountain whence it came,

A portion of the Eternal, which must glow

Through time and change, unquenchably the same, ….”

Also:-

“Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep –

He hath awakened from the dream of life –”

Also:-

“Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?

Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here

They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!”

Does all this mean that this life is but a small part of the “real Life” and that that place, wherever it is, is the “Proper place”?

It pleases me to think so, that she is now in her “Proper place” – that Magucha has now “awakened from the dream of life”. That she is out of sight and has gone on ahead of me. But that one day I too will be in my "proper place" with her. 

Maybe!!!

E+V+V+M=L

Ethics + Virtues + Values + Morals = Life (and well-being). Why? 

Amended 8 January 2020: 

I know I wrote this many years ago now (maybe I was in a more serious mood!) - but it still holds true - particularly in world at present! 

At least in my mind it does.

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There seems to be some confusion about the terms Ethics, Values, Virtues and Morals. Certainly the terms Ethics and Morals are used indiscriminately and are considered interchangeable as are Virtues and Values. Yet they each have a name and therefore a purpose. 

It is here stated that virtues are at the core of both morality and ethics. Virtues are the qualities people admire and aspire to and define a ‘good person’; the qualities of kindness, compassion, courage, honesty, temperance, humility, integrity and justice. A person cannot be either ethical or moral without also being virtuous. Anyone’s ethical and moral qualities together with their virtue are dependent on their set of values; their beliefs, something that is at the core of their being. Values are not just mannerisms or a set of preferences. They refer to something much deeper and more subtle, to a line that cannot be transgressed. It has been suggested (possibly unkindly) that human beings as a species are neither intelligent nor creative enough to have invented morality, virtues, ethics or values; that these are innate and part of the human psyche.

In a general discussion, however, it is sometimes best to consider each term separately, even though they are interwoven and have a symbiotic relationship. They work together because to be at ease with yourself and to create and  maintain a meaningful balance between the conflicting demands of work (to earn a living); family (love and building and maintaining relationships); time out for one’s self (R and R and to reflect on and assimilate the varied influences that affect your quality of life) they cannot be isolated and used or applied piecemeal. 

Ethics, morals, virtues and values should be considered as facets of the same jewel – a human being who has fulfilled their potential. Each supports the other and somehow the whole is greater than the sum of the individual parts – like the facets cut on a precious stone.

Similarly they cannot be considered as disposable items, to be used and then discarded. Nor are they to be written up only to be kept in a drawer and dusted off when a crisis looms. They need to come from the heart. They need to be practiced daily, to become a habit of excellence. In effect they are the essence of Humanity and what it is to be a good person. And we all want to be considered good – in fact to accuse someone of not being ‘good’ is an affront and taken as an insult. 

So then:

Ethics: the principled treatment of other so as to cause no harm – “treat others as you would like to be treated”. 

Morals: the reasoned ability to distinguish between right and wrong, or positive and negative in relation to the actions, volitions, or character of responsible beings.  

Virtues: the qualities which determine the Moral excellence of a person.

Values: the beliefs which set parameters or limits to a person’s thinking, and which are evidenced only by their actions.

Someone who is ethical has sound values, supported by appropriate virtues and moral precepts - in other words the basis for a good, socially integrated, Life.