Counters on a board of time

Is anything quite as accomplished at creating sequences, seeing patterns and quantification as humans? Heraclitus has convinced us that we can never influence a universe so perfectly in rhythm. We see paths where other creatures see none and logic where chaos reigns. Yet we are so schooled in calculus from an early age and it pervades so much of life, is it really possible to imagine what we might think without it? Perhaps it’s necessary to have these concepts for our very existence. Ptahhotep would surely say so, watching the sand slowly slide through the hourglass.

Our development has led to the moon and sun never dancing, but now forever separated by our time. There is not a moment for them to touch when we must keep to a schedule. The silk of our futures is no longer shadows and light, but rather the rigidity of the clock. A start, a middle and an end. What terrible perils await when the sequence is lost? Does the mind lose it’s willingness to conform? Are we at our most creative between 9 and 5? I doubt it. Precedence and Ecclesiastes would like to suggest that it is, as there is a time for everything.

So we have the towers of time looking over us. Each power that seeks to control has a clock neatly tied to them, the church tower, the office building and ubiquitous tickers of financial information. What perpetuity have we tied ourselves to with the bonds of time? One that lasts a life time probably.

Can we find perpetual peace some other way? Of course but then for peace to be perpetual in needs a time to define it.

As flies to over ripe fruit, are we to the gods

It’s hard not to become intrigued by league tables. To search amongst those names hoping our alma mater is near the top or wallow in the sanctimoniousness of living in the “cleanest spots” of the world can be addictive. Yet, one of the most tantalising parts of religion is the order and hierarchy for something that should surely be fantastically muddled. Until very recently the Catholics even had a particular spot for babies who haven’t washed their hair before they die. There’s quite a leap of imagination to wonder quite what all these souls would do in Limbo. It’s conveniently named, categorised and even debated, but what does it look like? Thousands of little, podgy, white things dancing along to the Macarena and seeing who can go the lowest under an angel’s staff maybe.

Many a painter has tried to depict Hades, Tartarus, Limbo and the many other stages of bureaucratic religious bumptiousness. Hieronymus Bosch is perhaps the most beguiling of these and defecating coins is probably most people’s idea of heaven rather than hell. But these undeniably beautiful paintings never look like anything other than classical painting with the respective nudity and flowing robes. Surely eternal life would engender more in the way of fashion? And there must be a gym behind each of those skeletal columns to keep everyone so buff.

Yet here we are, worried about being shifted down from Earth to Hades to Tartarus. Or rather hoping that an hour invested now will help us to go from Earth to Purgatory to Heaven. It’s like some kind of celestial property ladder, where a wrong move today can lead to the Dover of the afterlife. So perhaps our fascination with league tables, performance indicators and property is not so new after all. According to the intricately woven web of gods these things have been around since the dawn of time.

Tartarus for now.