The Truth Is Coming

(Refers to 'The Truth Defined').



14th October, 2009.



Dear (young lady),



I enclose a letter I wrote to a friend of mine, an artist, a painter, a long time friend. He is a good artist and a good friend, with some sort of mumbo jumbo philosophy which I have not tried to understand, which he does not often bring into a conversation, but which appears to be totally off the wall and meaning, if it means anything, that nothing means anything.



Anyway, yesterday I was sitting alone with him in his kitchen talking about I don't know what when I must have used the word "truth" and Peter asked "What is truth?" This more or less floored me, coming from an apparently intelligent man (did he want a true answer?) Then he pointed at the most trivial object to hand, the handle of a cup, and asked "What is the truth of that handle?" I may have mumbled something like "It is a handle" and then a few larger ways of looking at truth were raised and the subject was dropped, Peter having apparently won the argument (his argument being there is no truth and his argument being false because if his argument is true then there is truth).



I am not a slot machine. I don't (always) provide instant answers. The truth comes dropping slow, to paraphrase a poem by W. B. Yeats. The answer to Peter's argument came to me in the early hours of the morning, and I wrote the enclosed.



I asked a friend of mine, a working-class man, a craftsman, to read it and I asked him did he understand it. He said "Yes". He said "If he (Peter) doesn't know what truth is now, he will never know", or words to that effect.



The reason I asked that friend of mine whether he understood the letter is twofold or, possibly threefold. First, I want my words, written or spoke, to be understandable by absolutely anyone. Second, I am from the middle, or upper middle class sector of society and there is a danger I might express myself in a way understandable to the class from which I spring, but not to others, or so I feared.



However, as a child, I found that, when reading a very well written book, such as the Sherlock Holmes books, words new to the reader are understandable from the context. Words truly used are clear, as to meaning. Third, Christ expressed himself in words understandable to a child and no one should express themselves otherwise.

****

About two hours have elapsed since I wrote the above words, I had my lunch and worked with my brother on the computer. That was at home, now I am in a hotel. Its virtually empty, being eleven ten p.m. in the off season. I had exhausted the above topic, anyway.



I want to say something about class, social class, which raised its ugly head some while ago in these pages. It is artificial, manmade and meaningless. Someone wrote about Jesus and social class. His father was a carpenter, that is the skilled working class. He worked as a fisherman, that is a rung further down the ladder, unskilled work. He had a friend who was a prostitute, the lowest of the low. He went to a party, that was middle class. What may be said in sum? Class meant nothing to him.



Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. The same may be said of people. The theologian, Teilhard de Chardin, of whom you may or may not have heard, said "People are not equal, they are complementary".



Finally, finally this letter to you seems to be coming to an end. Why did I decide to send you the enclosed letter (The Truth Defined)? This afternoon, at this hotel, I was at the outside tables (it was a fine day), I still had not sent the letter to Peter, and I thought you might like that letter.



Something about you, something about how you responded or did not respond when I used the expression "A cross to bear" on the phone to you recently. Also, you have something about you, genuineness, which is always a pleasure to meet.



There is a saying, "What everyone knows is wrong". To an old friend of mine, I said "Suffering is good". "How else do we learn?" he replied.



On that note, goodbye for now,



Love (Uncle Aesop)

****



(When I spoke to the young lady to whom this letter is addressed she said she was in a hurry when she read it and thought the word 'love' (the second last word) was 'Coming on a bit strong', (nothing about the content). I composed several letters to her defending 'love', inside or outside of quotation marks, but sent none of them. I may post one to her, or on this blog, as the spirit moves me.

Young people are typically busy, busy, busy. What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?)

D

A Confession

I confess to Almighty God I don't believe in God.

That expression is laughable because self contradictory (how do you confess to someone in whos existence you do not believe?)

To me, the truth is God, and love is what I feel for the truth, both in all their forms and shapes and sizes, finite or infinite, as the case may or may not be.

I don't believe in God, the entity, but maybe.......

How does this grab you?

There are two kinds of people I hate, racists and niggers.

Another self contradictory statement.

Our subject matters are God, love, truth, hatred and racism. That's enough to be going on with.

A Circular Argument

(note to myself: this may require a little editing - D)

We were at 'Girlie's' cottage, Bishop, herself and I. She said I should not have sent all my emails to everyone. I said I stopped doing that because of something Skywalker said (he said it was selfish, my thoughts would be more suited to a blog, then everyone could read them at their leisure). She said Egghead had just stopped reading my emails.

She said 'Anyway, I don't agree with your saying that (no one should do or say anything they wouldn't want broadcast live on international television)'.
Me: Why not?
She: People wouldn't like it.
Me: Why not?
She: I wouldn't like it.
Me: Why, what are you going to do or say that you wouldn't want anyone to know about? I never do or say anything I wouldn't say to everyone.
She: I wouldn't like it.
Bishop: What about going to the toilet?
Me: That's prudishness (anyway, why would anyone want to look?). Warren Buffet, who is the world's richest man, said never to do a deal you would not like to see in ten inch headlines in the newspaper next day.
She: That's different.
Me: He is an honest man.

She continued in this vein, adamantly saying I was wrong because people would not like it, but not saying why.

Me: Honest people would not mind, crooks wouldn't like it.
(Each of us said the other was wrong, I said we agree to differ).
Me: You call yourself religious. The truth stands naked, as our mother said, it has nothing to hide. One day you will stand naked before God. (No room for hypocrisy then).
I said her attitude was middleclass hypocrisy (bourgeois morality). She said it was not.
She: Everyone does not want everyone to know everything about them.
Me: Why not?
She: I wouldn't like it.
The argument went round in circles.
I said there were people called 'the lace curtain Irish', peering out at everyone but not wanting anyone else to know anything about them (as well as being snobs).

The argument appeared circular, as if it would go on for ever, each of us saying the other was wrong.

I said, anyway, I have stopped sending out those emails, and the topic changed.

One's own family are often the most difficult to deal with. As far as I remember, I had been sending everyone's emails to everyone else, not that there were many of them, and Girlie herself had asked me to send all Why's to her, which I also sent to everyone else. I asked 'Why do people send your own message back to you when they reply?' She said she often did that, it was easier that way. On another occasion she said I could have cut off the repeated message, she contradicted herself. She had asked me to send them, and I sent them as received.

In fact, there is no one rule for every occasion, circumstances alter cases.

To contradict myself, there is one rule, and one rule only, be true.

It appears to me Girlie's argument rested on mere assertion.

I know she is not alone, the world is run by a gang of crooks who would back her up every step of the way.

As Devil's advocate, I might say, would it not be that if you are dealing with crooks you don't want them to know what you are going to do? Why not? Suppose you are going to be true?

(True Story: A priest was walking past a man in a pub when the man said 'I don't believe in God'. 'Perhaps it doesn't suit you to believe in him', the priest replied.
That story is apropos of something or nothing, you pays your money and you takes your choice).

'I may not agree with what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it' - Voltaire.

A friend who read some of my earlier pieces said some of my quotes were misattributed. I said I don't care who said anything, nothing is true because of who said it, it is true because it is true. At a later stage, I will correct any misattributions, if they are brought to my attention.


My family and other animals.

P.S. People should not know everything about everyone else, they should understand everything about everyone else and the first thing to know is the difference between knowing and understanding.
Knowledge is not a weapon and is misused as such, it is that through which we may gain understanding.

David

The Truth Defined

This post is referred to in my previous post ‘The Truth Is Coming’, which should be read first, to put this in context. See also ‘Talking To Myself’, which enclosed both that and this post as well.

D

14^th October, 2009.

(Peter, Van Gogh, Leonardo – note, your name is bracketed with the greats).

Peter,

You ask what is truth, pointing at the handle of a cup. What is the truth of that handle? The truth of that handle is the truth of all handles, that it possesses the quality of handleness. If it serves the function of being a handle, then it is true, then it is worthy of being called a handle. The truth must be put first, both by the designer and the maker, then it will serve its purpose, which is to satisfy the user. Its truth does not reside merely in the fact that it is (we have all seen bad handles). To be is to be true, all else is false.

The truth is all pervasive, and its other name is God. The denial of truth is the denial of God. Heaven in a grain of sand – William Blake. Inanimate objects, not man made, serve their purpose merely by being. We, however, are self aware and can choose, as Hamlet said, to be or not to be.

Our purpose is to serve the truth of being, by being true. True to the material from which we are formed, which is all we know and are, to find and seek the truth in that world and universe, and give expression to it in how we are and what we do and make, which is ultimately what we make of our lives. We choose how we are, what is immaterial, we may be a road sweeper.

Our true purpose is to serve the truth, by being a true cup handle, metaphorically speaking. When quality is put first, quantity is ennobled, and quality and quantity are one.

Everywhere, the truth is denied whereas the truth is the meaning in an apparently meaningless universe, of which we are a part. The truth is that which we must seek and seek to convey, in our words and our actions. By being true to ourselves, we are true to others. Be true to your materials.

I hope this is of some use.

As an artist, you should be concerned with the bigger picture (joke, but many a true word is spoken in jest).

Everywhere, everything is treated as meaningless, but that is not to say that it is meaningless, merely that the truth is denied. Quality is treated as non-existent, whereas it is what we all seek. The symbol is not the thing symbolised, but the truth is when they are one. We can but try.

Seek, and ye shall find. When a person goes to an art gallery, he is seeking truth, although he may not know it, in the form of a painting.

I got up out of bed to write this.

You ask a worthy question, the question of all questions, what is truth? The truth is not a what but rather a how, and the answer is when how and what are combined.

Next time, perhaps you will ask a greater question, why?

The answer will be one and the same, in so many words, in a manner of speaking.

Yours speechlessly,

David

PS I could have said, did you eat rat poison for your breakfast this morning? It would not have been true food if you did. Now you know what the truth is.

D

The Truth Is Coming

14^th October, 2009.

Dear (young lady),

Enclosed find a letter I wrote to a friend of mine, an artist, a painter, a long time friend. He is a good artist and a good friend, with some sort of mumbo jumbo philosophy which I have not tried to understand, which he does not often bring into a conversation, but which appears to be totally off the wall and meaning, if it means anything, that nothing means anything.

Anyway, yesterday I was sitting alone with him in his kitchen talking about I don’t know what when I must have used the word “truth” and Peter asked “What is truth?” This more or less floored me, coming from an apparently intelligent man (did he want a true answer?) Then he pointed at the most trivial object to hand, the handle of a cup, and asked “What is the truth of that handle?” I may have mumbled something like “It is a handle” and then a few larger ways of looking at truth were raised and the subject was dropped, Peter apparently having won the argument (his argument being there is no truth and his argument being false because if his argument is true then there is truth).

I am not a slot machine. I don’t (always) provide instant answers. The truth comes dropping slow, to paraphrase a poem by W. B. Yeats. The answer, or an answer to Peter’s argument came to me in the early hours of the morning, and I wrote the enclosed.

I asked a friend of mine, a working-class man, a craftsman, to read it and I asked him did he understand it. He said “Yes”. He said “If he (Peter) doesn’t know what truth is now, he will never know,” or words to that effect.

The reason I asked that friend whether he understood the letter is twofold or, possibly threefold. First, I want my words, written or spoken, to be understandable by absolutely anyone. Second, I am from the middle, or upper middle class sector of society and there is a danger I might express myself in a way understandable to the class from which I spring, but not to others, or so I feared.

However, as a child, I found that, when reading a very well written book, such as the Sherlock Holmes books, words new to the reader are understandable from the context. Words truly used are clear, as to meaning. Third, Christ expressed himself in words understandable to a child and no one should express themselves otherwise.

****

About two hours have elapsed since I wrote the above words, I had my lunch and did something with my brother on the computer. That was at home, now I am in a hotel. Its virtually empty, being eleven ten p.m. in the off season. I had exhausted the above topic, anyway.

I want to say something about class, social class, which raised its ugly head some while ago in these pages. It is artificial, manmade and meaningless. Someone wrote about Jesus and social class. His father was a carpenter, that is the skilled working class. He worked as a fisherman, that is a rung further down the ladder, unskilled work. He had a friend who was a prostitute, the lowest of the low. He went to a party, that was middle class. What may be said in sum? Class meant nothing to him.

Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. The same may be said of people. The theologian, Teilhard de Chardin, of whom you may or may not have heard, said “People are not equal, they are complementary”.

Finally, finally this letter to you seems to be coming to an end. Why did I decide to send you the enclosed letter? This afternoon, at this hotel, I was outside at the outside tables (it was a fine day), I still had not sent the letter to Peter, and I thought you might like that letter. Something about you, something about how you responded or did not respond when I used the expression “A cross to bear” on the phone to you recently. Also, you have something about you, genuineness, which is always a pleasure to meet.

There is a saying, “What everyone knows is wrong”. To an old friend of mine, I said “Suffering is good”. “How else do we learn?”, he replied.

On that note, goodbye for now,

Love (Uncle Aesop)

When I spoke on the telephone to the young lady to whom this letter is addressed she said she was in a hurry when she read it and thought ‘love’, the second last word in this letter, was ‘ coming on a bit strong’, (nothing about the content). I composed several letters to her defending love, inside or outside of quotation marks, but sent none of them. I may post one to her and on this blog, as the spirit moves me.

Young people typically are busy, busy, busy. What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?

D