Conversation

Conversation

An attractive little 'Vermouth Bar' [1] opened recently five doors down our street. Some will think of it as a 'Vermouth Bar', but for others  it is a 'Gift Shop'.  It is clearly a good  business formula, for the little shop gets quite crowded, even on rainy evenings. We occasionally pop in, just for the fun of it; we enjoy the Galician beer, and chatting with the proprietress and staff, and the chatty strangers; for it is the sort of place where your very proximity overcomes restraint; where a stranger will turn and greet you with a friendly question. You might meet a couple of restauranteurs on holiday from Seattle, or a retired Mexican diplomat.

The latter lives in one of the flats in our building. We greet each other on the stairs, occasionally, and recently on the street also, whereupon we agreed to meet for a Vermouth in the little Vermouth bar. I was excited in anticipation, for I knew Eduardo was fluent in English and I was hoping for some conversation. Nor was I disappointed. Eager to show a non-scientist the fascination of biology I asked Eduardo to visualise an amoeba, 2.5 billion years ago, engulfing a bacterium, the bacterium surviving, symbiotically paying for its keep by supplying the host with 'energy' for it, uniquely, had evolved the trick of obtaining energy from the reduction of oxygen to water. He was appropriately astonished.

Is that not a marvellous vision of the intricacies of the world we live in; a thought to share? [2]   That, to this day, animal cells contain a few hundred little particles the size of bacteria, which do all the oxidative respiration for the host cell. Bacteria developed the respiratory chain that can harness the energy in the flow of electrons from hydrogen to oxygen to synthesise ATP from ADP + P.  Neither animals nor plants ever learned that trick; but they learned to tame the bacteria/mitochondria/chloroplasts and to live in harmony with then, dividing in synchrony. 

I would love to have gone on, sharing this joy; the joy of contemplating and sharing a beautiful concept, a beautiful idea or, indeed, a beautiful object. Surely other fields of human endeavour will have their own 'beautiful thoughts'! How could I encourage the sharing of such.

I remembered a dinner following an AGM when the committee sat round a long table in a country hotel. Someone said to their neighbour: "Tell us your most remarkable experience." 

"I saw the Coronation Coach pass by from a balcony near Admiralty Arch". 

"I, " said another, "was a ball-girl at Wimbledon once, and was on court when Boris Becker won the cup in 1985."

"I, " ventured a third, "have the inside leg measurement  of the late Queen.". Once the absurdity of this had sunk in, he continued. "The House of Lords wished to present the Queen with a correctly made side-saddle, and had to acquire this unusually personal datum." 

  Could I start in a similarly abrupt manner, and come straight out with an invitation like: "Tell me your most beautiful thought."  There might be no response, or they might stall a bit, in puzzlement. So, to show them what I had in mind, I could continue: 

"I find it utterly amazing that yeast DNA and human DNA so clearly share a common ancestor - some 2 billion years ago [3]. Thus, the respiratory chain of baker's yeast contains an NADH dehydrogenase, a succinate oxidising Complex II, a ubiquinol-oxidising complex III, a soluble cytochrome c, and a cytochrome-c-oxidising complex IV; furthermore these complexes separately and together drive the ATP- hydrolysing Complex V  in reverse. In these respects baker's yeast is identical to the typical human cell. The detailed amino-acid composition of individual proteins differ, but the folding and the function of the equivalent yeast and human proteins are the same. Is that not a fascinating concept?"

Were Casey Quinlan present, whom I met as a bird-loving biochemist and wine-waitress when I was in Portland, Oregon, I could imagine her saying: 

"I see what you mean. Can I offer you the 'Chapman's Chimney Swifts'. Every September evening for the last forty something years, thousands of swifts gather at sundown in the skies around Chapman's Elementary School in Northwest Portland. This, from 1925 to 2003, was heated by a furnace that exhausted through a tall, octagonal, brick chimney. (Shortly after sundown and for the next half hour, thousand upon thousands of these small birds (18 gms) spiral round the top of the chimney and disappear down into the darkness, where they presumably find a perch on the walls.[4]  They are safe inside but vulnerable as they approach the lip of the chimney, because falcons gather to pick off stragglers.  Does this qualify as a beautify thought?"

" I would jolly well think so! It is exactly the sort of thing I had in mind." Saying which I could perhaps turn to Eduardo. "Well, you will have met many interesting people and interesting ideas in your diplomatic and academic life. Are you able to see the world as offering us visual or intellectual wonders?" It would be fun if he could have responded something like the fllowing:

"Well, yes; sure. I would like to have been present, for example, at the 1978 Camp David Accords, when Sadat (for Egypt) shook hands with Begin (for Israel), witnessed of course by Jimmy Carter for the USA.  But I was not there and, though it was, and still is, a marvel, that accord has become rather diminished by subsequent events. Perhaps I could instead offer you 'Sunset, viewed from the Ubirr Rocks in the Aborigine reserve of Kakadu National Park in northern Australia' [5]. 

Looking due west from that vantage, you can see distant swamps and billabongs glittering in the light of the setting sun, and the blue smudge of bush fires. You can just about believe the world dips at the horizon. It is a holy place for the Aborigine people and in my experience it has a similar awe-inspiring effect on all who go there. You do not need to believe in magical spirits; it is a place and a time of day that calls to mind our peculiar position on the surface of a gyrating spheroid, held there by the mysterious force of gravity. 

I turned to the silent one: "And you Jenny? You have hardly said a word all evening, but have published many peer-reviewed papers. Surely you enjoy thinking?"

She gave a start, uncrossed and recrossed her legs and said: "I am afraid I was not following. I got as far as 'Sunset in Kakadu' when it occurred to me that I had left some towels on a washing line in our roof-garden; with this downpour they will be sodden. That is not a matter of general interest or global significance. I have spare towels in the closet. "

And yet, I realise,  there was a vivid quality to her observation that we all understood.

"I believe it was the word "gravity" that caused me to 'jump the rails', as it were, for I cannot conceive of gravity. In my teens I learned that the force between two objects is proportional to the product of their two masses, and inversely proportional to the square of their separation. That is easy to understand; but it does nothing to explain to me what gravity is. Masses explain gravity and gravity explains mass. But how can one mass attract another distant mass? Except it does, and always does". 

"Well, thank you; I suppose both the wet towels and gravity are worth thinking about."

References

[1]  https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2026/09/the-tailor-at-gelati-8.html.

[2]  https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2023/05/time-to-think.html

[3]  Cell & Microbiology Molecular & Computational biology - October 28, 2025.

[4]  https://birdallianceoregon.org/go-outside/swift-watch/

[5]  https://c8.alamy.com/comp/PPFYG0/two-young-people-sit-on-the-rocks-at-ubirr-lookout-to-watch-the-sunset-kakadu-national-park-northern-territory-top-end-australia-PPFYG0.jpg

The Tailor at Gelati 8

El Sastre en Gelati 8

I am enjoying my present life in colonia San Miguel Chapultepec, in Mexico City. (I have mentioned elsewhere the abundance of trees [1], and the street-sounds [2].)  

        This colonia (founded 1913) has been described as: 

"The Greenwich Village of Mexico City ..... equal parts urban artsy and quiet residential. Residents are a truly eclectic mix of middle-class singles and families, with a healthy dose of international expats."[3] 

It abuts the enormous Bosque de Chapultepec whose 866 hectares make it the largest urban forest-park in Latin America. 

Before the revolution (1910-1920), this was an area for the very

wealthy.Thus the De Teresa estate covered 5 modern blocks.The fine older houses, single-storied with roof-gardens and courtyards, were built between 1880 and 1950. In the last 50 years, one by one, many of these have decayed or been pulled down to be replaced by anonymous blocks of flats rising to 4 or 5 stories. 

        The colonia is curiously rich in Art Galleries, housing the first (1940) gallery dedicated solely to Mexican Art [3]. Also the large modern Kurimanzutto gallery, besides a dozen others. There are also a considerable number of 'Architecturally Important' buildings, including two Porfirian-era houses, the Mondragón house (Cano 107, built 1885), and the Daniel Garza house house, (Tagle 94,1897); and the modern (1976) Luis Barragán’s Casa Gilardi. 

It is also rich in small restaurants that cater for the dining needs of a community of office-workers that probably live at some distance. We sometime go for our mid-afternoon lunch to Casa La Martina, 100 meters NE up our Calle Juan Cano (three courses for MX$165 (£6.6)).(Only in La Martina have I seen a passer-by on the pavement lean in the open window to embrace someone sitting at the window-table. Nor elsewhere have I seen a man rise from his seat so that he could reach across the table to kiss his companion.)  Or  we go 50 paces SW down Cano and round the corner to Gelati 26, where the two of us dined for MX$ 440 (£17.76). But in that 50 paces we pass another small restaurant, a café, a rather fun Vermouth Bar (Vermut Déco), a tiny shop selling quality second-hand clothes, and an even tinier shop advertising Mexican wines. 

However, the building that provoked me to write this piece is further down Gelati toward its junction with the 5-lane Circuito Interior Jose Vasconcelos.

Across the road there is the great Hospital Angeles Mocel.  But we press on down Gelati, heading SE,  past a cheerful man with a little barrow (carrito) selling jelly-babies and sweets made of ground peanuts, or compacted amaranto seeds; past the old man, who regularly sleeps in the door-way of the medical firm Laboratorio Médico del Chopo as soon as it locks its doors for the night, past the larger carretilla at the corner, stocked with a myriad tiny pot-plants, succulents and flowers. These little stalls have wheels, but I do not think they have ever moved in my 12 years.   

In the last block before the junction, the buildings opposite us, on the 'odds' side  of the road, are all decrepit and closed, except for one small restaurant. 

On our side (the 'even' numbers), the buildings are in good condition and the businesses are going concerns. We arrive at Gelati 8, one of the oldest of the single-storied, 1940-vintage, house with yellow-ochre rough-cast and smooth, copper-brown, facings. It is double-fronted around a large central iron door.  I am told there may be several dwellings or businesses inside that door; certainly there are two. And I have once glimpsed an extensive courtyard. On each side of the door there is a large window reaching from floor to near the high ceiling of the room inside, but bricked-in for half its height forming what might be called an implausibly thin balcony; business is transacted over the rim of this brick-walled balcony, with the proprietress looking down on you. 

The left-hand window deals in "bespoke tailoring for ladies and gents, with special prices for alterations"; but if what you want is colour photocopying or ink-jet printing, you go to the right-hand window; you ring the appropriate bell, and when a face appears over the rim of the balcony, you explain your business and pass up your work. 

I have not seen anything like it, neither elsewhere in Mexico City, nor in any other city I have visited in my traveling life. But it gloriously matches the quaintly old-fashioned trades and the elderly, but ageless, quality of their proprietors.

References:

[1] https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2025/10/autumn-leaves.html 

[2] https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2024/02/street-sounds-in-our-colonia.html

[3] https://mexiconewsdaily.com/travel/know-your-mexico-city-neighborhood-san-miguel-chapultepec/ 

Hope

 Hope

I had been listening, for four days, to my companions talking high-speed Spanish. Though I have been studying it for 12 years now I find it difficult to keep up. Every now and then someone drops a word that I am confident of, like 'estudiantes' or 'medicinas', and I am tempted to offer a contribution of my own to the conversation. After all, I taught students for 30 year, and in a medical school. But while struggling to form a sentence, it became clear that the subject of their conversation had moved on. It occasionally worried me that they might come to think of me as a dull person, but shrugged that off, when I realised that their opinions did not actually affect my capacity, in any way.

On the morning of the fifth day, I was up and dressed before breakfast and I listened to the tail-end of a podcast I had started a few days previously; it was "The President's Inbox" of 9th September 2026, in which James M. Lindsay (host) and Walter Russell Mead (guest) discussed "What the US Got Wrong in the War on Terrorism". Towards the end one or other quoted Solzhenitsyn effectively saying that we all contain good and bad elements, and bemoaning the Black verus White mentality of modern politics, which makes collaboration and compromise very difficult.  Then James Lindsay turned to Walter Mead and asked him to sum up by looking ahead: "What lessons would you hope that (political) candidates...would take away from September 11th. ..". And then followed the most inspiring political concept I had encountered in years. Walter Mead replied:

"Okay. Well, I would say, number one is the importance of preventing bad things before they happen. Think about if the Israelis had prevented the October 7 attacks, if we had prevented 9/11, or if we had deterred Putin's invasions of Ukraine in 2014 and 2022 –– how much better off we would be?". I was thrilled.

So, when we sat round the breakfast table for our last communal meal before dispersing, I took a gap in the conversation to lay out, speaking (I suspect) in English, this far-reaching question., As I contemplated the heavenly possibilities that open before me I was near moved to tears and had trouble controlling my voice. 

A short, discomfited silence followed, then Marie Thérèse said: 

"Yes, but the world is what it is" , which I felt as a devastating 'knock-down' (**) response, but one met, I like to think, by my equally 'knock-down' riposte:

"Indeed, but the world is not what it is becoming", to which she kindly assented. 

(** 'knock-down' in the sense in which the term was introduced by Humpty Dumpty, in "Through the Looking glass", Lewis Carroll, 1872.)

Taxation, or What?

 Taxation, or What?

My friend, the accountant (see [1]) is not on top-form any more, is not up for another discussion on the need for more effective taxation, and I will have to develope the arguement with myself; or find some editor who will take a risk and share this with the public. 

I established (in [1]) that the money that flows into the pockets of the rich, stagnates there; it does not get spent and, in that process multiply via the recycling mechanism demonstrated elsewhere [2] and called 'the multiplier'. My solution (in [1]) was to tax it back into circulation; taxing in a socially acceptable, progressive, manner. 

Taxation still seems the most obvious way of recycling money back from the wealthy (where it accumulates) to the poor (where is is spent). But it is unpopular. Indeed, it is perhaps the gravest of the several weaknesses of 'liberal democracy' that people tend to vote against taxes. Until the public get educated in these matters it will be resisted.  Thus my accountant friend (see [1]) regarded 'estate tax' (= 'death duty') to be "double taxation", and the exorbitant salaries of the CEOs to be 'fair' by the application of the 'market forces yardstick'.

There are two other lines of argument that I will outline here: Philanthropy, and Fairness. 

In the middle ages the enormous expense of building a church, or a cathedral, or endowing a university, actions that benifit ALL of society, was bourne by the landlords, simply because only they had the money. More recently in the USA, and to a lesser extent in the UK, there was a good tradition of philanthropy. Stanford University was founded (in 1885) by Leland Stanford and his wife, Jane.  Andrew Carnegie founded (1911) his Carnegie Corporation to support  "education, democracy, and peace". (He had already built the Carengie Hall in 1889-91.) Then J.D. Rockefeller founded (1913) The Rockefeller Foundation which supportes public health and medical research. More recently we have the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, and in England, the Wellcome Trust. And there are many others. So, we await, and hope soon to see, the public benefits of the Amazon Trust, and the Facebook Foundation, etc.  People who wish to live in society, and share the benefits of society should want to contribute in proportion to their wealth. Progressive taxation should not be necessary. 

Against the argument that 'market forces' justify the enormous wealth of the trillionaires, we may have to look more closely at the notion that impartiality = fairness; and reassess the value of work [2]. Is it true that an hour of one man's time is worth (in human terms) 3 million times the minimum wage, on which millions of other people survive? I think it could be said that e.g. Amazon. com, Inc. is underpaying its staff and its sources. 

References
[1] https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2020/11/paying-taxes-both-virtue-and-necessity.html
[2] https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2026/04/tax-and-spend-2.html
[3] https://conversableeconomist.com/2026/09/07/the-latent-benefits-of-work/

(Please send comments direct to cawstein@gmail.com)

What Sort of Society?

What Sort of Society?

My late friend (and erstwhile school colleague) Howard Elcock published a book in 1982 with the title What Sort of Society? Economic and Social Policy in Modern Britain [1]. It was a collection of chapters contributed by himself and fellow members of the School of Government, at Newcastle Politechnic. It is an excellent title, framing  a question that every voter in the country should pose for themselves. A good first step towards improving our 'quality of life' would be to identify our objective; our ideal state.  

Plato thought it was obvious that the ideal society would be ruled by an an educated and enlightened aristocracy; but then he was himself an aristocrat. He probably thought also that 4 slaves per household were necessary for comfortable living.

For island dwellers in a mild climate, for example in southern England, feudalism evolved into a paternalistic 'Merry England' social structure with an aproximately ten-to-one ratio of 'workers' to 'gentry' [2]. The 'gentry' owned most of the land, and employed the non-gentry or rented them land to farm. They also built and maintained the churches and provided such charity as was needed. Until the 1832 Reform Bill, only male gentry had 'the vote'.  This resembles Plato's Athenian ideal except that the slaves are waged, not owned. After a pandemic (such as the 'Black Death'), wages might rise dangerously for a period, but the high breeding rate of the workers restores 'an equilibrium'. This system must have proved satisfactory for both high and low, as it was stable for the better part of a thousand years. 

The rôle of religion in this 'Merry England' model should not be underestimated. A two-fold rôle. The concept of an after-life encouraged charity from the well-off, and seemed to justify the patience of those born into the working class [3]. There might have been cynicism in the highest ranks of the clergy, but the average aristocrat seems to have been a sincere believer; witness Robert-the-Bruce (King of Scotland) who, in 1329, wanted his heart taken to the holy land after he died. (This leads us to wonder if the dwindling interest in religion plays a part in the crumbling of conservative England.)

Two world wars, education, and the invention of machines have, between them, essentially eliminated the concept of 'servants';  and, progressively, the concept of  'manual workers' also. Only immigration provides us today with our health service, hospitality industry, bus and taxi drivers, and our summer fruit-pickers and vegetable harvesters. 

My ancestry is essentially Scottish. My ideal is a united, one-class, population where only small differences in wealth exist, and where everyone shares common goals. I can see that this social unity arises naturally where there is a common enemy, be that the climate, or competitive neighbouring states.  Given the natural disparities in ability, a uniform society of this sort requires (of its citizens) strong discipline, guidance, and education. Such a model seems to have evolved in Scandinavia; and it might suit Scotland better than it would suit England. (I can also see that it might be a little dull.)

There may be lessons to be learned from the giant, ex-communist, one-party states of China and Russia. Unfortunately, I have too little knowedge of the means by which either Russia or China achives its stability. We see the figure-head Presidents (Xi or Putin). But what structures lie beneath: cabinets, civil servants, secret-police, army, courts and judges? How is power exercised, and stability achieved. It seems that a steadily improving standard of living will produce a contented citizenry. But how is that engineered?

We like to believe that our more democratic society is 'better', more 'grown-up'. We believe we are more free, and we cherish that freedom. But should we? And are we? Perhaps there is too much freedom? Freedom to exploit?  If I were to nominate a problem that needs fixing in the capitalist world, I would point to the widening gap between the very-rich and the rest of society as the main (fixable) problem. We seem to have evolved a system in which we voluntarily pour more and more money into the hands of frivolous playboys, who use it to shoot rockets to the moon.

☜☜☜☜☜ O ☞☞☞☞☞

Footnotes

[1] Elcock, Howard (ed.) "What Sort of Society? Economic and Social Policy in Modern Britain" (1982) Martin Robertson, Oxford.

[2]  Wikipedia suggests that less than 5% of the population had a vote before the 1832 Reform Act. Only the males had the vote, but their wives would share the status of 'Gentry', hence my suggestion that 10% of the population be 'gentry'. It would be interesting to know if something like the Norman Conquest was required to set up an elite class in the first place – to ensure a sensible initial distribution of capital, and a suitable legal system. The evidence is that some people force their way into the aristocracy by virtue of their ability and character-type (intelligent, competitive, robust/ruthless). Doubtless they will find their way to the top of whatever social system exists to order society.

[3] "As Sir Roger de Coverley is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in church besides himself". Joseph Addison (1711) in The Spectator. 

Rise and Fall of Christianity

  The Rise and Fall of Christianity

I think there is some truth in claiming that the great success of Christianity, the feature that allowed it to become the world's 'biggest', most populous, religion, was by promising 'Life after Death'. (A feature it shares with Islam, the 'second biggest religion'.) The idea that something, (the soul or core or essence) could survive death seems to be basic to the human psyche and was well known in the Middle East long before Jesus.  Furthermore, it seems certain that the idea of bodily survival after death was not the message that Jesus was trying to teach. Indeed, he explicitly scoffed at it (Matthew, 22:23 ).  But the idea proved enormously popular and, over the centuries, the idea of bodily survival was grafted onto the teaching of Jesus, and has brought many hopeful converts to Christianity. 

Did the initial disciples of Jesus, by emphasising the empty tomb and the resurrection of Jesus, perpetrate a scam? Or were they honestly describing their experience? How can we ever know? But by 325 CE, when the bishops met at Nicaea, politics rather than theology or historical truth seem to have dominated the discussion. For the Nicene Creed quite explicitly promises the resurrection of the dead. And that formula became even more explicit in the next two centuries. [See below 'Several different Christian Creeds']

Does 'Christianity' (by which I mean, not the explicit teachings of Jesus, but the more-or-less unified teaching of the Christian bishops from 325 A.D. to the present day) deliver any sort of 'Life after Death'? Yes, it offers hope, if you are inspired by the belief. But it offers nothing, if you cannot so believe. We see that, in the past, many could believe; a number still can today, but many now cannot believe. 

By distinguishing between the teaching of Jesus and that of the Christian bishops I have effectively opened up the question -- was Jesus a Christian? I mean, could he have subscribed to the Nicene or any other 'Christian' creed on the question of Life after Death; does the explicitly quoted teaching of Jesus promise anything like that which Christian Bishops have promised in his name? Furthermore, we may ask whether the explicit teachings of Jesus (such as we have them) do better at delivering on their promises, than do the Christian Churches?

Jesus is reported to have said that "God is not the God of the dead, but of the living." (Matth. 22:32).  He is also reported as saying that the idea of meeting up with your spouse after death shows a misconception of Heaven; "Ye do err, not knowing the scriptures, nor the power of God. " (Matth. 22:29 ).  Heaven is (he suggested) more like when a king prepares a wedding feast for his son, and repeatedly sends out invitations, but the invitees do not come (Matth. 22:2-6).   So he sends out invitations to all and any (Matth. 22: 9).  They come, but those that come to the party in the wrong frame of mind get nothing out of it. (Matth. 22: 12).

Was not Jesus saying something like: God is for the living, and Heaven is for the living, not for the dead. That we are invited to join him, in Heaven; so should we not attend? And if we accept the invitation, and go to the party, it surely behoves us to attend in the right frame of mind; count our blessings and feel glad to be there. 

I feel the same way. I feel that to love creation with all one's heart, and with all one's mind (Matth. 22:37), and to love and treat our neighbours as we treat ourself (Matth. 22:39), creates a better world, an acceptable world, a world in which to be glad, in which to be grateful, and for which to wear festive clothes.  Even if plenty problems remain. 

In that sense I find that the teachings of Jesus deliver. By contrast, the doctrinaire Christian churches are dying, precisely because they are still paying 'lip-service' to the creeds of the fourth to sixth centuries A.D. The doctrinally 'Christian' churches, built upon a lie, are slain by the self-same lie.

The part that dies and the part that lives on.

To get anywhere in discussing the question of Life-after-Death, it is essential to be quite clear about the concepts of material reality and ideal thought. Material things in the real world have mass, and can be observed simultaneously by several observers; ideas conceived in a human brain do not have mass and are experienced by only one brain.  (A similar thought in a different brain is a different thought.) But an idea can be written down, captured in words, and spoken to another brain.  (The term 'Spirit' is undefined; it is therefore ambiguous, and is therefore avoided here.) It is also essential to seek the truth, and embrace it. There is no room here for deliberate ambiguity and obfuscation. I would hate to offer a reward while hoping that someone might misunderstand me and accept, even if their mistaken hope gave them pleasure, or relief; yet I think that is the parlous position of many Christian and Muslim priests.  

Human life, as far as I understand it, requires a flow of oxygen to the heart, and to the brain; without that oxygen, life and thought are impossible. Life is incompatible with death, with the absence of oxygen, or indeed the absence of a body (heart, brain, etc.)

I attended a Quaker funeral at Whitley Bay Crematorium in 2008. One Quaker read a poem of Betty Walters about a leaf, containing the consoling idea that it, the leaf (but, similarly, the poet), might be reabsorbed back into 'God'. So I refrained from reading the poem by Francis Thompson that I had brought along which makes a similar but slightly different point – that birth implies death; and death implies birth; 

"....

Till skies be fugitives,

Till time, the hidden root of change, updries,

Are birth and death inseparable on earth.

For they are twain yet one, and Death is Birth."

Instead, I found myself developing a thought I had started earlier in the day – that there are two parts to a person: a part that dies and a part that does not. What we love about a person is not so much the physical reality; a kilogram of cardiac muscle, or mushy liver. That, of course, is the part that dies. What we love is the husband, father, grandfather, the bread-winner, the musician, the student, a smile, an anecdote; in fact more the idea of a person than the reality of a person. And that is the part that does not die, but lingers in the memories of the still-living. So, in effect, I have reached the conclusion that, to our emotions, a person (alive or dead) is more important as an 'idea' than as a 'thing'.

I am not able to believe in Life Everlasting 'in the flesh', so I get no comfort from the Christian promise. But I do find some value in the undeniable fact that ideas about the good points of bygone people linger in the minds of the living; and will linger for a generation in most cases, and for two or more millennia in outstanding cases. In thus lingering, these memories support us in our endeavour 'to find heaven on earth'. 

That much I do believe.

Several different Christian Creeds:

 (https://www3.nd.edu/~afreddos/courses/43801/creeds.pdf )

[1] Nicene Creed, CE 325 ("We look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come".)

[2] Apostle's creed, c. CE 500, Wikipedia ("I believe in .... the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.")

[3] Athanasian creed, c. CE 500, Wikipedia ("

41. At whose coming all men shall rise again with their bodies;

42.  and shall give account of their own works.

43. And they that have done good shall go into life everlasting and they that have done evil into everlasting fire.

44. This is the catholic faith, which except a man believe faithfully he cannot be saved.")

Rhetoric

 In a Democracy we must study Rhetoric

    What if we really are in the 'End Days'? Not, perhaps, the dramatically choreographed 'End Days' of the the Book of Revelations, with the 'Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse', and the 'Beast'. But an end of the sustained steady rise in health, wealth, leisure, and size of the human population; an end of the 'Good Times'.   

    For such it has been all my 84 years of life. And, from what I have read, I could say the same for the whole of the twentieth century. Some lucky few saw a disappearance of comfort and privilege in the early part of the 20th century, but the majority of Europeans will have seen an enormous improvement (in health, social care, longer holidays, opportunities for education and travel.) I have been lucky all the days of my life, from the little bottles of free milk in my school-days, to the free education for seven years at the best universities in the country, to the free bus-travel in my retirement. My children enjoyed free education from age 5 to 19,  but had to pay (c. £6,000 - 9,790 per year) for university tuition. Where I had a means-tested grant to cover living expenses, my children had to get that from their parents.  I bought my first house at the age of twenty nine, selling it 2 years later for three times as much.

    But there are signs that this run of good luck is ending.  Our electorate and our 'news-media' have asked six successive governments to restore the steady increase in 'well-bing' that we enjoyed in the twentieth century (Cameron, May, Johnson, Truss, Sunak, Starmer). All have failed! It could be that we are lazy, or tired, or not motivated, or uncertain of the future.

    (I remember now being told by a Finnish doctor that is it not alcohol that an alcoholic craves, but a steady increase in blood-alcohol level.) 

    I think we need our leaders to make some new plans for us; create new goals.

 ☞☞☞☞☞ O ☜☜☜☜☜

    In my teens I read Plato's shorter Socratic dialogues and was dazzled. I loved his routing of the Rhetoricians. But, for fairness, I found and bought a second-hand copy of Archbishop Whately's 'Elements of Rhetoric' (1828)[2] which argued that persuasive argumentation required good logic. However, at that age I sided with the idealistic Socrates rather than the pragmatic Whately, and regarded rhetoricians as deliberate deceivers. Socrates famously argued that rhetoric was a dishonourable substitute for philosophy, a prostitute science, studying and teaching the art of subverting the proper science of good government. 

    A few years ago an erudite and well-researched book[1] came into my hands which makes the argument that, in a democracy, the art of Rhetoric matters. From the Greece of Pericles  to the Rome of Cicero, (i.e. roughly from 450 BC to 50 BC)[3], the art of Rhetoric was regarded as an important area of study; crucial to the process of government and the administration of justice.  

    This book by Rob Goodman [1] argues that, in our tottering democracies, it is vital that we study and understand the importance of persuasion in modern politics. 

    Unfortunately, Goodman's book does not practice what it preaches; it reads like a Ph.D. thesis. He summarizes all the writings of Cicero, Burke, Macaulay, and Schmitt on the skills of the orator. But I have got nothing out of it. Nothing except the following single question.

    Take the four contemporary politicians: Trump, Farage, Biden and Starmer. Do we think that we, the public as a whole, are unduly swayed by the first two? 

REFERENCES    

[1] 'Words on Fire' (2022) Rob Goodman, Cambridge University Press.

[2] Richard Whately (1787–1863), an English academic and Archbishop of Dublin, authored the highly influential Elements of Rhetoric (1828). 

[3] Pericles (c. 495–429 BC) to Cicero (106 – 43 BC)