Death is No Respecter of the Virtuous

When we die how long shall we be mourned and how long shall we be remembered? Perhaps it does not matter. After all, our chances of living were very emote – more remote than winning the grandest lottery and perhaps that is what we did in any event when the single sperm that was once us out of 600 million companions found by strength or chance its home to create our life. Continue reading

The Ghost That Died

I think it is now clear that over my lifetime the rights of people in democracies have been gradually, slowly but very surely, eroded. When I was young we were taught in law school that everything was permitted provided there was no law prohibiting it. Today there are countless new laws prohibiting many things from new crimes invented by humanity’s ingenuity to undesirable actions which have become unlawful, even though they should not be classified as unlawful but merely undesirable. Continue reading

Believing the Right Thing for the Wrong Reason

Belief is a vice or virtue of humanity. What we believe shapes our actions and governs our relationships. Humans tend to prefer belief to perception and prefer belief to knowledge, because knowledge is so hard to acquire. Continue reading

A Cold Wind Blows Over Greece

Colder weather is forecast. Greece, where in summer it is hot, is in distress but its landlords, the IMF, the World Bank and the European Union, are still demanding the rent which Greece cannot pay. Continue reading

Saving and Gambling

The buying and selling of investments has always been dominated by two different activities with opposing motivations.  Continue reading

All’s Fair in Love and War?

The saying that all is fair in love and war is simply wrong. I cannot morally claim that every act that someone does to win love or win a law is fair because there is no area of human existence where morality should not prevail over everything else. Continue reading

A Pilgrimage

Yesterday was a day for a pilgrimage. My journey was very short but its purpose was sweetly bitter. Old men die in winter, the old man’s friend and in winter I visit the cemetery to think about one old man who died, who was once young, vibrant and knew so much of life and one younger woman who knew death first, and knew it well.

The advice to rage was badly given; those who are dying should not rage; rage is for those who watch. Some words have a beauty which forgives the quality of what they mean.

The cemetery is always cold when I visit. The perfumes of death are sad. In honouring the dead we honour our lives, stretched still, fading and piteous as the headstones.