When; and the art of existential transience…

For a relatively short time, I sobbed my heart out. But then, being the undoubtedly strange creature that I am – and, yet residing on its periphery, probably reasonably representative of my species… – I do seem to devote rather a lot of effort – as well as lend a disproportionate amount of significance to – mayfly moments such as this. It is as if – recognizing (whilst simultaneously attempting to avoid discussion of) our brittle mortality – we treasure the ephemeral above all else; venerate the transitory beyond rational measure. We see, reflected in such twinklings, I suppose, the entropy that must always prevail (until the only thing remaining is entropy itself); and therefore lend them as much love as we can, until they crumble to the sand by which, when captured in entwined glass globes, we would once (long ago) have measured their brief incidence; before mourning their finiteness. As I did.

All we can do, really, faced with such, is remember. Or, at the very least try to – however imperfectly filtered through our emotions and subjectivity. Surely, otherwise, these junctures lose the import that produced them; and – for a paltry while – that sustained them (and us). And, should our memories – the golden threads which fabricate the texture of our lives; the microscopic building blocks of the richness of our realities: ones we hand down, inadvertently, along with our atoms… – be fortunate, then perhaps they will survive, beyond our crumpled existence, as poor proxies. Thus, many lifetimes hence, those that follow (should they choose) can discern their value, gasp at their truths (again) – rather than simply, reflexively marvel at their endurance, the longevity of the poor surrogates themselves.

¶

I cannot – even were I freakishly nominated as literary ambassador for all humankind – speak, speak to… others’ thoughts (unless similarly committed to posterity: stochastic samples of the privileged and able, perhaps; and, yet, I would hope, as contradictory and wide-ranging as those who selected me… but especially those who did not). All I know is that, pick any part of this blog, and – whether of a walk; a play; a concert; an encounter with the weather, or another soul… – the evidence before you would go a long way to demonstrating that my sole purpose here is in making inefficient attempts at tanning the hide of time, pickling the ineffable, pressing the fading petals of awe between my ever-mounting pages. No better than those proud, possessive Victorians displaying pinned moths by the caseload.

Yes, there are strong hints of their quick beauty; but, once slowed by my dull hand, am I in fact merely robbing the life, the mystery, the essential ‘beingness’ from that which I witnessed? Or should I continue to believe that – in pleasing (only) myself; and providing enough clues with my monochrome words to reconjure the original technicolour majesty, momentarily in (only) my head (should I dare to; care to…) – this is all I should be expected to be able to achieve?

Stumble upon the tens of thousands of still images, archived with a similar objective, and you might begin to suspect that, surreptitiously, I was either stashing them with the aim of posthumous fame; or, more likely, concerned that my raddled brain will increasingly require such prompts. (It would be nothing but vanity to imagine that they hold value to anyone but their creator… – words or pictures.)

¶

And yet I persevere. And always will. Both in cherishing and recording. I feel I have no other option. If I only aim to do so to distract myself, though, then I fail. If all I achieve is to say “I was here”: then, again, there is no purpose. If, however, I write to proclaim my bewilderment at miracles frequently flashing by me – and that I managed to grasp a few of them, momentarily – then perhaps I am on to something. It may not be my “responsibility”, as such. But if I convey just to one other person just one fraction of that I experienced – so that the miracle is extended in time and space – then, maybe, maybe, I have a little justification.

For a short time, I sobbed my heart out. Not, this time, because of what I had seen or heard. But, for the third time in the same number of weeks, because the anticipation of such would lie unfulfilled. Yes, I can watch the DVD of the RSC’s production when it is eventually released; and I can also – as I did, over and over, on Monday evening – listen to the mesmerizing CD of the same performers playing one of the most intimately radiant pieces of music ever composed – instead of hearing it live. But, of course – some of it being down to that adoration of the temporal; most of it due to the ‘happeningness’ I seem to spend half my life waving a tattered butterfly net at… – it’s not the same. (It’s not that the digital domain is sterile – the passions are still utterly crystalline… – just that presence overloads every single one of your senses.)

All those months of drooling expectation; the prolonged crescendo of excitement; the knowledge that something so utterly exhilarating lurks over the horizon… – all dashed. Perhaps it is the anticipation – rather than the event – which renders it so special?

I am convinced that it is a combination of both. I am also convinced that not being able to realize the three-dimensional possibility so readily accrued distresses at least as much as the actualization would have comforted… – and carries with it all the poignancy (if not the force, the tragedy) of a life cut short. At this moment, it certainly feels as momentous – however inordinate I know that to be.

¶

After all, it was just another point in time, a potentiality. And there have been many such that I have chosen simply to pass by. But I selected the ones that would eventually pass me by because they possessed something significant. They were fleeting, rare, coveted creatures that I will now never hold, even temporarily; therefore never stumblingly attempt to memorialize for others (and, in doing so, secure for myself). Scattered amongst the infinite possibilities of my life, they will haunt me: carving yet another notch into the wall of the cell that holds and punishes me (one that is, in my case, simply labelled ‘disability’) – one whose volume seems to decrease, almost imperceptibly (were it not for those sad markers), trapping me tighter with each vanquished wish…. (I could, though, treat them as ‘friendly’ ghosts: letting them help me rationalize, and gain proportion and balance. More straightforward to write than to execute, though…?)

¶

So, I wonder – having tapped single-fingered at my iPhone for the best part of two hours – why do we cherish the transient so greedily? And then why do we – some of us – try to describe it; or at least cement its effects into our emotions? Surely the experience alone should be enough?

And, of course, for most, it is. And yet… we still purchase the CDs; replay the concerts on iPlayer; peruse the reviews; watch the DVDs until we know each line of dialogue, weep and laugh in the same places…. But then, I wonder – an epiphany prompted by an insomniac stroll… – if, “for most”, this is actually what suffices, even excites… – if only a minority of us genuinely crave the imperfections, the risks, the exponentially unwinding possibilities of failure – the spills – that are, of course, driven to insignificance by the thrills. Do the majority actually relish the reproducibility, the repetition, the safeness…?

 

During the hours of darkness – especially two hours after midnight – the village is mine. And, usually, only mine. But it is never the same. And that is as much an enticement as is the pretence of dominion. But, I suspect, many people would find the rich, velvety void of blackness quite scary – never mind lying back on a damp church bench for an hour, surrounded by graves and the rustle of tiny critters.

Very early Tuesday morning, I left home under a trillion pin-pricks of flickering, bright, distant suns: constellations spelled out with clarity and precision; and – beyond the blinding sodium – interspersed with clumps of dust: each speckle an individual. Given long enough, head resting on the arm of one of those benches, the Milky Way also emerges.

As I dragged myself away from the treacle-tenebrosity of Sandpits Road, I saw a canine hind leg skulk around the corner into Main Street. Too large for a fox; and no place for a fox, neither… – there is enough for them in the verdant nature and nurture that surrounds us. But my eyes were temporarily blinded. However, intrigued, I followed: expecting a distant ginger lolloping blur. But, it seems, my depression had momentarily become flesh: for there, a few footsteps away, was a timid black labrador (a shy old friend): dark as the shadows itself. Head hung low, it stood stock-still as I headed for the church; but was gone – home, I hope – when I later returned.

Yet with it came – or so it felt – a change. (And it was then that I remembered that such is our species’ bête noire – not the unpredictable delight I personally revel in.) And when I lowered myself into my customary seat (I can be a creature of habit sometimes…) I realized that my perfect sky had been replaced with an encroaching, enclosing mustard-coloured blur – as if the condensation which had earlier veiled the cars was now obscuring all of Tysoe.

Like the pain that had curtailed my day’s enjoyment, it seemed unlikely to disperse: and so I slouched home, again disappointed. There was nothing new to be discovered tonight; and even the owls had been quieted by this descending, dank wool.

Buddhists believe that “It is only by accepting the truth of impermanence that we can be free.” And the Japanese even have a word for that “impermanence” – wabi‑sabi – although this may be interpreted in many different ways: authenticity; simplicity; naturalness; intimacy; especially an acceptance of imperfection, whether that be of one’s life, an object, or the art we surround ourselves with [pdf]. (It’s probably why I love contemporary jazz so much; or struggle to remember the rare mistakes in a classical performance when there are so many moments of bliss.)

And, so, perhaps I should not really have sobbed my heart out? At the time – so swiftly passed, if not yet forgotten – it felt justified: a cathartic reaction to a spiritual cruelty piled atop never-waning physical ones (which it could, of course, have eased – temporarily). I have learned, over the years, though, to absorb those corporeal pains – they have become part of my material concept of self. Perhaps it is time to start learning, though… – accepting that sometimes the excitement I crave has a necessary bleaker dimension… – how to assimilate the incorporeal ones, too…? Not all unpredictability leads to happiness – although some of it may lead to release.

Let’s think the unthinkable, let’s do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.

– Douglas Adams: Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

The only way is ethics…

Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth – more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible; thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid. It sees man, a feeble speck, surrounded by unfathomable depths of silence; yet it bears itself proudly, as unmoved as if it were lord of the universe. Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.

– Bertrand Russell: Why Men Fight: A Method of Abolishing the International Duel

Being an atheist – although not, for goodness’ sake, an evangelical one: who treats such a (dis)belief as an oxymoronic quasi religion (as per DIY) – re-reading the Ten Commandments skit that I posted the other day made me wonder if there were actually any noetic equivalents that could make sense, signify something, to someone like myself: who spends a great deal of his time (for various reasons) simply thinking – but not thinking simply… – just not of any God.

I did find quite a few purported examples online: some self-contradicting; some quite sensible; and some that had arrived from a similar investigation of the self.

And then I realized – d’oh! – especially as I only stated recently that “I have never… been willing to hold my tongue, and simply obey unquestionable orders” (a Bardic ‘commandment’ if ever there was…) – it was highly unlikely, even if I found precepts that made sense to me (as many of those I discovered above did), that I would want to live my life by anything other than my internal moral compass (which probably stems from good parenting and a life trying, hungrily, to understand…) – certainly not by being told what to do, and how. As someone once said – although I don’t know who – “You don’t need religion to have morals. If you can’t determine right from wrong, then you lack empathy, not religion.” (I shall come back to this in a short while.)

¶

Having said all that, I do have a soft spot for Bertrand Russell and his A Liberal Decalogue – “not intended to replace the old one but only to supplement it” –

1. Do not feel absolutely certain of anything.

2. Do not think it worth while to proceed by concealing evidence, for the evidence is sure to come to light.

3. Never try to discourage thinking for you are sure to succeed.

4. When you meet with opposition, even if it should be from your husband or your children, endeavor to overcome it by argument and not by authority, for a victory dependent upon authority is unreal and illusory.

5. Have no respect for the authority of others, for there are always contrary authorities to be found.

6. Do not use power to suppress opinions you think pernicious, for if you do the opinions will suppress you.

7. Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.

8. Find more pleasure in intelligent dissent than in passive agreement, for, if you value intelligence as you should, the former implies a deeper agreement than the latter.

9. Be scrupulously truthful, even if the truth is inconvenient, for it is more inconvenient when you try to conceal it.

10. Do not feel envious of the happiness of those who live in a fool’s paradise, for only a fool will think that it is happiness.

– Bertrand Russell: The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell: 1944-1969

– but that may simply be because of his pithy and erudite way with words, and an equivalence of purpose. (I think the marvellous Will Self may be posited as today’s homologue.) They could, however, quite readily form the basis of the principles governing the production of this blog, and therefore my public persona. If nothing else, I want other people to question, to think – and maybe about things they wouldn’t have, otherwise (even reevaluating things that continually stare them in the face…) – when they read my words.

¶

The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.
– Bertrand Russell: Mortals and Others

Strangely enough, although Russell puts one of my true guiding principles (one of the principal points on “my internal moral compass”, if you will) at the top of his list – “Do not feel absolutely certain of anything” (captured and expressed beautifully in Forbidden Colours by David Sylvian, as “I’ll go walking in circles While doubting the very ground beneath me Trying to show unquestioning faith in everything” – a mantra I often find myself repeating…) – Russell’s oft-perceived arrogance (or simply the fact that these are adjuncts to the originals…) means that he neglects (or reasonably excludes) its counterpart: probably best expressed in the wisdom of Atticus Finch in Harper Lee’s wonderful, if-you-only-ever-read-one-work-of-fiction-read-this-one, To Kill a Mockingbird –

First of all… if you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view – until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.

You could say, of course – as indeed did George McGovern – that such “Empathy is born out of the old biblical injunction ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’”; and that many of our laws (both internally and externally administered) have such scriptural origins – particularly this ‘Golden Rule’ or “ethic of reciprocity” – which can be found at the core of many (if not most) faiths and philosophies. But, in truth – to me – this only confirms that such sacred writings have at their hearts definitions of what it is to be ‘good’: a distillation of learned (collective) wisdom and experience (if not our innate altruistic tendencies) that have been encapsulated simply to try and ensure that we all get along.

¶

We all have a tendency to think that the world must conform to our prejudices. The opposite view involves some effort of thought, and most people would die sooner than think – in fact they do so.

– Bertrand Russell: ABC of Relativity

One of the reasons that this hasn’t led to an ideal, peaceful, egalitarian world (yet) – as represented, say, by Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek utopia – is that some people are born without a capacity for empathy; or have to work harder at developing empathy than others (see here for a meaningful introduction to mirror neurons – especially in relation to autism and theory of mind). And, therefore – even though not everyone accepts that empathy is “a reliable way of doing good” – many (including me) believe it is so key to our existence that it is worth such never-ending hard work; or that it is so crucial to business success, that it can (and should) also be developed corporately – despite the disproportionate number of psychopathic CEOs; and the impression that, to be successful in (modern) government, empathy is actually the last thing you want (which is probably why we’re in such a confounded mess…).

¶

The great majority of men and women, in ordinary times, pass through life without ever contemplating or criticising, as a whole, either their own conditions or those of the world at large. They find themselves born into a certain place in society, and they accept what each day brings forth, without any effort of thought beyond what the immediate present requires. Almost as instinctively as the beasts of the field, they seek the satisfaction of the needs of the moment, without much forethought, and without considering that by sufficient effort the whole conditions of their lives could be changed.

– Bertrand Russell: Proposed Roads to Freedom

Of course, you might find, once your feet are in someone-else’s shoes, that they don’t fit, that what you experience is a deep discomfort, or even pain – a feeling which is brought on by your “own condition”; or, more likely, the shock of a new set of beliefs which are contrary to all you hold dear and true. So how do you then decide which ideology is more legitimate? To whose laws do you refer? Or is it obvious which doctrines are good or bad? (There’s a good reason Bertrand Russell is a famous philosopher, and I am not: although his views on ethics continued to evolve throughout his life.) As a ‘fan’ of both ‘rationalist’ Socrates and ‘sentimentalist’ Hume, I personally agree that “emotion and reason both play critical roles in moral judgment” – but that probably just confirms my own prejudice that both of the two cultures of humanities and sciences are equally valid; and should get together over a pint more frequently.

In silence, an act is an act is an act. Verbalized and discussed, it becomes an ethical problem…

– Aldous Huxley: The Genius And The Goddess

However, in stating this, rather than reaching any sort of conclusion, I seem to have done whatever is the opposite of digging myself into a hole, or painting myself into a corner – opening a can of worms…? – in that I started writing about something particular (and small), and ended up writing about something all-encompassing (and therefore huge, or even infinite). I suppose there is a parallel, though, to be drawn here between those (subjective) rules defined by man, and those (objective) brought about through nature (or even God: should you wish, and have, or believe in, one…) – which I think just about takes me back to where I started.

What do you think…?

The world that I should wish to see is one where emotions are strong but not destructive, and where, because they are acknowledged, they lead to no deception either of oneself or of others. Such a world would include love and friendship and the pursuit of art and knowledge.

– Bertrand Russell: Human Society in Ethics and Politics