Freedom or Futility

It was easy to be persuaded to “scrump” apples from a neighbor’s orchard and to play “bulldog” against the front hedge of a woman we did not like. Timorously at first then with more enthusiasm we joined in the game until practice made us long for the forbidden thrills of petty wrong doing. There always has to be an excuse at first and then we become accustomed to evil.

We justified it that the owner of the orchard had apples and we did not and the woman whose hedge we vandalized was a nasty old witch. Of course we could have purchased apples with our pocket money and we ought still to have respected the property of an innocent woman even if she had, on another occasion told us off for anti-social behaviour.

Perhaps one should learn the advice in the ancient Proverbs. “My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not. If they say. “Come with us, let us lay wait for blood. Let us lurk privily for the innocent without cause. Let us swallow them up alive as the grave, and whole as those that go down to the pit. We shall find all precious substance, we shall fill our houses with spoil. Cast in they lot among us, Let us all have one purse.”

Why do we feel pleased with ourselves when we asset our freedom? Why is independence such an attractive manner of living that even saying it is to give one a sense of superiority over our fellows? There is a tacit understanding that such things are good and noble and those who claim to be free, who act without restraint, are somehow more daring, more virile and more strong than others, the hoi polloi, who do not.

Even without knowing what the words mean the use of them may elicit a grudging, or even genuine admiration from others. We feel, briefly, a glow of standing alone, head and shoulders above the rest. We bask in their perceived admiration while all the time our words are a meaningless boast, an egotistical posturing, hot air and empty rhetoric.

From whence then comes the concept of freedom? Elusive as it is it still has all these connotations of independence, of strength of will, of courage and nobility. There is a sense of taking the side of justice and of right against the forces of tyranny and oppression, when one speaks of it. This is more than just whistling in the dark or “blowing in the wind,” against an authoritarian and deterministic universe. Is there perhaps[s a reality after all even if we fail to grasp it or even understand the feelings associated with it.

We may do what we do, be what we are and justify ourselves for the way we are for all sorts of reasons. We may give in and see the whole universe as determined. We may deny that there are such things as “freedom and dignity” as did B.F. Skinner. However the problem still remains that the concepts are still there. They will not go away and they have a powerful emotional pull.

If our every thought is chemically and biologically determined, if our opinions and our very words which frame those opinions, are the result of education, upbringing and our peer group, then how is it that such a word, with so many powerful emotional attachments, exists. If no freedom existed and if everything were determined then there could not possibly be any such idea nor any such word to express that idea. We would certainly not take such pains to proclaim it, to define it, to live it and to be it. How is it that we sing about it with such patriotic and religious fervor.

“Áux armes citoyens! Formez vos bataillons!” There could be no revolutions made in its name if it were not. History would be without cause for the many conflicts though no doubt man would still find excuses for fighting. We would never, if it did not exist aspire to it, live for it and sometimes die for it. Nor would the opposite be so distasteful.

If determined then how can we find bondage so terrifyingly irksome and such a stain on the history of humanity. Wilberforce would have had nothing to dedicate his life’s work to. Abraham Lincoln could never have proclaimed emancipation. Democracy could not exist and the words “choice,” “guilt,” and “responsibility” would also lack any meaning or substance. Since the word exists then the condition must exist though with awful limitations and terrible perversions of its meaning. So shall we still live and die for it, still argue about it and worry if we feel we do not have it.

The following poem tries to tackle some of the issues dealt with above:

“It’s what life’s all about.
Survival is our purpose, it’s what life’s all about.
We trust no one, help no one, stay deaf to piteous shout.
Then when we ourselves are sinking, drowning in the tide;
We cry for someone to love, to save us and for tender hands to guide.

Let each esteem the other, much better than himself.
Let each give to the starving, whatever’s on the shelf.
Right and wrong they do have meaning. It’s not a paradise for fools.
There’ll be some more for your own family, some fishes and some loaves.

Love is in our language. Good and evil sit there too.
We start a quest for purpose and we ask what must we do.
We ask what is the meaning? Why life? Why me? Why you?
And we eke out dull existence with answers all too few.”