DO UNTO OTHERS

The Golden Rule or the Ethic of Reciprocity is a moral standard that pervades human societies the world over. It is reported by the Gospel writers to have been taught by Jesus.

Matthew 7:12
"So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets."

The moral standard can also be found in most other religions as well as the writings of secular philosophers. There are many examples here.

However, I think this moral standard is fundamentally flawed, or at least incomplete. It assumes that 'others' want the same things as you do. What if they don't?



I will give an example to illustrate this. When I am upset about something, I generally want to be left alone. I do not want to talk to anyone about it. I just want to seek the strength that is inside me and deal with whatever problem is upsetting me myself. After a short while left alone, I will generally emerge no longer upset. Many are the times I have made the mistake of assuming that this is what other people want too. I really should know better by now, but I still make this school-boy error. Imagine that my lover is upset or in a bad mood and begins to express that to me. Here's what I would want them to do if I were in their position. I would want them to go out and leave me alone for a while. So here is what happens:-

Lover of Pete: I am really upset today about this really upsetting thing.

Pete: OK, I'm off to the gym. See ya.

Lover of Pete: Bastard!

So, to my mind, the Golden Rule just doesn't work properly. Indeed, it actually often directly leads to 'others' getting heartily pissed off at you. I wonder if we can improve on this? 

How about: 

"Do unto others as you imagine they want you to do unto them, bearing in mind they may not want the same things as you at all, in fact it is pretty much guess work, but give it your best shot anyway, you'll find out soon enough if you got it wrong as you will very likely find yourself invited on a trip to guilt. If so, next time try something different. Either that, or just ask them what they want and do that. In fact, that last one is probably where you should start now I've had a think about it."

Pretty catchy, hey?

Feel free to give me any other suggestions you may have.

CONKERS

It is about this time of year when the seeds of the horse chestnut tree are ripening and starting to fall. Children all over the country will be gathering them so that they can engage in the wonderful sport of conkers. Those of you who live in other countries may not be familiar with this game. Basically, the 'conker' (horse chestnut) is skewered or drilled through the middle so that it can be attached to a string. The two players then take it in turns to hit their opponent's conker with their own, trying to break it so it falls off the string. The player with an intact conker remaining at the end is the winner. If a conker manages to make it through several matches, it starts to take on legendary status and is named after the number of matches it has won. 'This one's a sixer' or 'I've got a twelver at home but I've retired it and put it on a shelf in my room.'

With that in mind, children try to find and collect the best horse chestnuts. Hardness and size are two prized attributes. One so that your conker will not break and the other so that your conker's weight will impact with greater force on the opponent's. Some have also been known to engage in underhand tactics such as baking or soaking in vineger to make their conkers tougher. This is called cheating.



All that leads me onto the thing that I was originally going to write about, which was a day in my childhood which was and still remains one of the greatest days of my life. In the village in which I grew up, there were a limited number of horse chestnut trees and therefore the competition was fierce to get the best conkers which fell from these. Chilren were also known to throw sticks at, shake or climb the trees in order to encourage down the conkers which were still hanging from the branches. It wasn't unheard of for a fight to break out when a particularly fine-looking specimen fell to the ground half way between two eager lads.

One day a legend was born. There was tell of a roadside copse in a nearby hamlet in which could be found so many conkers that one would have enough to extend the season well into the next year. The rumour spread around our school like the tale of El Dorado, but few believed it. We had heard such tales before, only to be cruelly disappointed. But one fine weekend, my brother John and I decided to find out for ourselves and we set off on our bikes on what at the time seemed like an epic journey (although the hamlet of Westwick was actually only two miles away!) When we got there it was like a conker Alladin's cave. The floor of the copse was almost carpeted with conkers. There were conkers the size of which we had never even imagined.

Luckily, our faith had encouraged us to bring some carrier bags with us. We each filled two of these, with the biggest and the best and with some regret that we were still leaving many behind, we set off back to our home village, the weight of the bags making us wobble on our bikes as we held them on either end of our handle bars.

I will never forget the feeling I had that day. It was one of wonder and elation. I guess that must be how people feel when they win the Lottery. It also reminds me of the beautiful innocence, adventure and simplicity of childhood.

BROWN

I have sometimes been known to contemplate growing old. I would have said old and grey, but as my hair has been (at least partly) grey since I was 13, that doesn't make sense in my case.

It appears to me that when one gets past a certain age, one is taken over by an overwhelming urge to wear brown all the time. As I write this, at the age of 37, I have not yet felt even the slightest tug in that direction. I do not own any brown items of clothing, except perhaps a pair of shoes. But there is no escaping the inevitable. At some point in the future I will be donning a full length brown outfit (including hat) along with the best of them.



I wonder if this will arrive suddenly or gradually. Will I wake up one morning and just be totally disgusted with the colourful array of items in my wardrobe, or will there be a gradual slide towards drabness which happens so gradually as to be unnoticeable.

I recently read a little tale called Frog Soup. It went something like this. If you try putting a frog into very hot water to make frog soup, the frog will be shocked by the sudden change in temperature and will immediately jump out before it gets boiled. If, on the other hand, you put a frog into warm water and then gradually turn up the heat bit by bit, the frog will not notice until it is too late and will swim around blissfully unaware of its impending doom.

I think that is probably what happens with brown. If someone brought a whole wardrobe full of brown clothing round to my house right now, even if they were giving it all away for free, there's no way that I would accept it. However, a brown gift here and the odd item which you are not quite sure whether it is brown or a brownish shade of green and before you know what's happening, you open your wardrobe to discover that over 50% of the things in it are brown.

Be warned. That is all I am saying.

ALWAYS RIGHT

As an individual with strongly held opinions, I occasionally find myself faced with the accusation: 'You think you are always right.'

If that was stated in a slightly different way, then I would wholeheartedly agree. Change the words round a little and you get: 'You always think you are right.'

There is a subtle difference. Yes, I do always think I am right. Doesn't everyone? If not, then why the hell are they saying what they are saying and not saying something else which they do think is right? Maybe I am wrong right now. But I think I am right. I find it hard to believe that there are a whole load of people who go around thinking that what they are about to say is wrong, but then they go ahead and say it anyway.

But saying that "I always think I am right' is not the same as saying 'I think I am always right'. I do not. A brief glance into the past tells me that there have been a number of times when I was not right. So if one assumes that trend is likely to continue, I will continue to be not right some of the time. I therefore do not think I am always right. If I did, I would take up gambling with great gusto.

ABSOLUTELY

If, like me, you sometimes find yourself engaged in a conversation with someone and your mind is elsewhere for one reason or another, one word is remarkably useful for preventing yourself from being a accused of the heinous crime of 'not listening'. The magic word is 'absolutely'. You can say 'absolutely' in response to pretty much anything that the other party is saying, and it will still make sense in the conversation. Give it a try next time you are in a really dull meeting with a work colleague, listening to one of your friends whine on about how their girlfriend just doesn't understand them, or have become a Member of Parliament and are trying to look like you care when being visited by members of the public at your constituency office. It pays to put somewhat different tone and emphasis on your 'absolutely' from time to time, but once you've cracked that, you should be good to go.

Grumpy Geoff: I'm just not happy. Something isn't right. She just doesn't understand me. You know?

Pete: Absolutely.

Grumpy Geoff: I mean, how hard can it be just to understand simple sentences? It's not like I'm hiding anything.

Pete: Absolutely

Grumpy Geoff: God knows I try, but some days it feels like I'm banging my head against a brick wall.

Pete: Absolutely

Grumpy Geoff: Want another pint?

Pete: Absolutely!!

ZOOM

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Walter felt truly present in the moment. The different instruments of the band competed for his attention. He listened first to the fiddle, then the flute, then the bhodran. Never before had he listened so intently. Though he had no musical training, Walter felt at that moment that he somehow understood on a deep level what it was that was making the music sound so beautiful. He could feel in his soul how the harmony and rhythm were so right, so perfect. The light in Saoirse's eyes shone bright as she looked deeply into Walter's. She moved with a wonderful freedom that her Irish name did not do justice. Extraordinary and unique, her dancing seemed to be telling a passionate story without words. Until now Walter had been unable to look at another beautiful woman without immediately being reminded of Tallina and feeling an instant stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach. As the band came to the end of the song, Saoirse gripped Walter's hand and pulled him towards the exit.

"Where are we going?" asked Walter.

"You'll see," answered Saoirse with playful excitement in her voice.

They left the pub and were back in the vast cavern. As she led Walter around the cavern wall, Walter's attention turned to the soft and delicate warmth of Saoirse's hand against his. Then he noticed the cavern lights reflecting off her beautiful long dark hair and how it bounced and swayed in time with her flowing dress as she walked. Walter felt an exhilarating sense of freedom For the first time in months, his mind was not constantly bombarding him with thoughts of true love lost. Only yesterday Walter had been unable to conceive of being happy again without Tallina. Yet here he was and nothing seemed wrong. Finally he had escaped the past and was back in the present. He felt a massive sense of relief and peace.

Saoirse opened a door in the cavern wall and led Walter through. Beyond the door was a stone spiral staircase hewn out of solid rock. She began climbing at a brisk pace, urging Walter to follow with the subtlest movement of her eyes. Up and up they climbed. It seemed effortless to Saoirse, but after several turns of the spiral, Walter began to gasp for breath. Finally they reached the top where Saoirse opened another door and daylight suddenly came shining through. Walter shielded his eyes which had become accustomed to the dim cavern lights. Saoirse led him out onto a wide rocky ledge where Walter fell to the ground and lay on his back gasping for breath. Saoirse giggled at his lack of stamina and then lay down beside him, her hand clasping his as Walter's heavy breathing gradually subsided. They felt the warm sunshine on their faces and lay soaking it up without speaking. Now and again Saoirse grasped Walter's hand a little tighter to remind him that she was holding it. Walter needed no reminding. To him it felt like a powerful electrical charge was flowing from Saoirse's hand into his.

After several minutes' silence, Saoirse finally spoke.

"What was she loike?" she asked.

"What?" asked Walter, surprised by the sudden end to the silence.

"Your lady. What was she loike?"

Walter hesitated for a moment. He had finally found some relief from his pain and did not want it to return. But as he thought about Tallina, he was surprised to find that the pain was not there.

"She was wonderful. Truly wonderful. I felt pure effortless joy simply being in her presence. She didn't have to do anything. She just had to be there. Her presence cast a spell on me, the greatest of spells, dissolving all worry and hurt. Her voice was like the sweetest music and her wonderful feminine beauty made me shake my head in disbelief. She is wonderful."

"How d' ye feel now, Walter?"

Walter stopped for a moment, trying to make sense of how he was feeling. There was no hurt any more. No pain. There was an overwhelming sense of freedom, peace and love. Now he understood what Dara had been saying.

"I love her," said Walter. As he thought of Tallina he felt pure love coarsing through him. Yet he knew then that he no longer needed her. The love that he felt for her was with him now, whether she was by his side or not. It was intense and powerful and no-one could take it away. Walter felt as though he had somehow grown several inches taller.

"Oi can see that, Walt," said Saoirse. She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Walter felt sleep overcoming him as he relaxed like he had not relaxed for far too long. Slowly he drifted off and Saoirse felt his grip on her hand relax.

Some time later, Walter awoke with a vivid dream fresh in his mind. He opened his eyes to find Saoirse sitting cross-legged in front of him, as if she had been patiently waiting for him to awake. She raised her eyebrows inquisitively and smiled warmly at him, causing him to let out an altogether unplanned giggle.

"Tell me yer dream, Walt," said Saoirse.

"Hey? How do you know I had a dream?" Walter asked with surprise.

"Aaah, dat would be telling!" said Saoirse mysteriously.

"All right then," said Walter after pretending to give her a scolding look. "I was watching a lottery or bingo machine. The kind with the air blowing ping pong type balls around so that they fly about randomly, sometimes banging into one another. There two sets of 26 balls. Some pink and some blue. Each had one of the letters of the alphabet on it. A-Z pink and A-Z blue.



"When balls with letters that were quite close to each other in the alphabet came together, there seemed to be a kind of magnetic attraction, they stayed together for a while and flew around the air chamber together, moving near the top of the chamber as they seemed to gain extra energy as a pair. But they eventually lost that energy and sank back down to the bottom of the chamber where they moved around listlessly for a while before breaking apart. It seemed that the closer the letters were to each other in the alphabet, the longer they were likely to stay together.

"Then occasionally the exact same two letters came together, they stuck together strongly and ZOOM! They flew off out of the tube at the top, never to return to the air chamber."

Saoirse smiled a big smile as Walter finished his story.

"Oi think Oi'm going to enjoy you," she said. "Got to go now Walter. See ya soon." With that Saoirse rose quickly to her feet and went back through the door to the staircase. Before Walter had time to protest, she was gone.

Next Story - Gary's Awakening >>

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YOGHURT

The other day I was performing another magnificent stroll through my local supermarket and found myself down the aisle which had a bank of refrigerated displays on either side. One side was completely stocked with various different types of yoghurt or similar deserts. The other side was completely stocked with various different types of butter or margarine. In that moment I was transported back to a much simpler time when I used to go shopping with my mother as a young lad every Friday evening. I was one of four children and we all really enjoyed our food, so this expedition was always greatly anticipated, as we had usually eaten the cupboards and fridge almost bare by about Tuesday.

I am pretty sure that in those simpler times, you could only get one kind of youghurt. It was called yoghurt. There were three flavours available: strawberry, peach melba and black cherry. There were two brands available: Ski or Prize. Ski was the best. Then there was the supermarket's own brand (which was just like Ski, only really horrible). On the other side of the aisle there was a much smaller choice too. There was butter or there was margarine.



This memory raises a few questions in my mind. 

First of all, in the time when there were so fewer choices, how did they fill the shop? I am pretty sure the Sainsbury's supermarket where I lived near Cambridge was the same size then as it is now. And it isn't just yoghurt and margarine either. Bread, shampoo, pasta, snacks, biscuits. In fact, this trend has taken place on pretty much every aisle. So just what was the supermarket filled with in those halcyon days? 

Secondly, is all the extra choice actually beneficial to us? The many and various new yoghurts and spreads are often sold to us with the promise that they will bring health benefits. Low fat, low in saturates, low in calories, probiotic, cholesterol lowering, organic etc etc. Yet a quick glance at the national health statistics reveals that back in the good old 1970s we were facing far fewer health problems as a nation as we do now.

Could it be that it is just an ever increasing spiral of brand hypnotism, presenting us with so much colour and choice that we lose the power of rational discernment? Could it be that most of the claims made by these brands are in actual fact a load of old bollocks?