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DEAR NOEL Happy Birthday! I’m rather pleased that I am wishing you birthday greetings because a) I never thought I’d live this long and b) I think we can be quite proud to have kept our friendship going for nearly 50 years. Re item a), I’m quite sure that we would have both been long gone, had we persisted with that gargantuan appetite for booze which was personified by the famous ‘74 trip to Dublin (thankfully, we at least in part, came to our senses after that Guinness sodden orgy). Anyway, the picture above shows three books, two of which are your birthday gifts, and there is a distinct (and well thought out, I might add) significance to them. First, the left hand book, De Quincey’s “Confessions of An English Opium Eater” (which is not your present, just in case you thought otherwise), is shown merely as living proof that we were on each other’s radar long ago; this is the book you gave me on my 21st birthday in November 1975. Inside you have inscribed a lengthy homage to the properties of Pils lager (which you favourably compare to those of De Quincey’s favourite tipple, namely opium laced cognac, which was known as laudanum). You suggest in your inscription that we might one day collaborate on a book about the “Majestic Intellect” achieved by that special strength lager (in reference to De Quincey’s claims concerning the magical effects of laudanum). We obviously never did that – I became an accountant and you a systems project manager (at least I think you did – I don’t actually recall asking you what you did for a living – you just seemed to be doing rather well at it). On reflection, I think our lack of literary success may be no bad thing – the researches alone for our collaboration might just have killed us off (if Dublin ’74 was anything to go by). The other two books, your actual gifts (which you will receive on Sunday), reflect something about how you might spend your time, now that, like me, you are retired. In fact, I’ll admit that it’s a slight bug-bear of mine that since my retiring, people seem to have an irresistible urge to ask me what I do with my time. This question is often posed in a pejorative way and in some instances, the impertinent enquirer, when they hear about some of the more esoteric activities I actually get up to, offers the following unsolicited observation: “It sounds to me like you have TOO much time on your hands”. For your interest, and possible use, if you do find yourself in the same situation as me, my response to this is along these lines: First, in relative terms, we all have exactly the same amount of time on our hands (approximately 24 hours for each completed revolution of the earth) and necessarily, it is 100% filled with something (even sleeping counts), it cannot be overfilled or under-filled – we don’t reach the end of our lives and either hand time back, or put in a requisition for more. Second, anyone who does pejoratively ask the question should be first asked “What do YOU do with your time” as, in the main, the enquirer, as a likely wage slave, spends their weekdays responding to some superior’s bidding as they scurry around trying to meet their “annual objectives” in pursuit of some trifling bonus or other mundane goal. So, their question, in my view, belies nothing more than naked jealousy. By the way, my interrogation technique frequently utilises an insistence in finding out EXACTLY what they do on a daily basis, minute by minute, since when scrutinised in microscopic detail, almost all activities undertaken by wage slaves are invariably deathly dull. Third, any reply should smugly emphasise that me, and you (in the main), are pretty well free to do exactly as we please (save for sorting out the odd family need, which we are at liberty to do at a pace which we find acceptable). So anyone attempting to judge what we choose to do as valuable or not valuable can, basically, F*** off (and in some instances, it’s worth telling them that verbatim). In continuance of the choice aspect, I would say one particular use of my time, which I do choose to indulge in, which I thoroughly recommend and which these two books are designed to facilitate (being two of my absolute favourites), is the pursuit of answers to what you might call the “Big Questions”. True, some retirees, head for the golf course (yawn), or while away their days repeatedly scouring their drives for weeds with their new “Karcher” power-jet hose. There’s a place for that (for some), but for those who still have some intellectual curiosity, I think satisfaction can be found elsewhere. Initially, you might find Simon Blackburn’s “What Do We Really Know?” somewhat unsettling, as you realise the answer to that particular question concerning what we really know is, pretty well, nothing (and, in fact, there’s a nice piece in the book concerning how we don’t even really know what “nothing” itself is). Other questions include “Am I Free?”, “Why be Good?” and “Is Death to be Feared?” What I hope you find, as I did, it that whilst one’s instinctive first reaction to such questions is often counter to the place which true philosophy and logic ultimately leads us, the consequential thought processes are extremely liberating and self enlightening. Out of interest, Don still cannot get his head around the fact that free will is, without doubt, illusory and whilst this assertion sounds counter intuitive, it is none the less the compelling conclusion of most philosophers who examine the question. Thankfully, Blackburn deliberately finishes with “Is Death to be Feared?” because, he concludes that the logical answer is “not really” (which is definitely comforting). The second book, “Sapiens: A Brief History of Human Kind” by Yuval Noah Harari, is what I would call the “bible” for the rationalist. I say this because whilst the Old Testament purports to tell us about how, and why, we are all here, it was clearly put together when we, i.e. humanity, collectively knew nothing (that word again) about our origins. Harari’s book looks at the wealth of scientific evidence that has been assembled over the last 2,000 years and makes sense of mankind’s journey from hunter gathering tribes to great societies who are not only capable of putting people on the moon, they have an unfortunate tendency to occasionally kill one another en masse. One question it does not actually answer is “why?” we are here, and this is because in reality, there simply is no reason (and, after all, why should there be a reason?). And that assertion, as a personal aside, is another thing I have come to terms with during the “big thinking” period of my life, namely that existence is entirely pointless and futile, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good fun (if you wish to make it so). In any event, in reading this book, you will find out how although man is an animal, he is quite a special one, but, by the same token, much of what we might call progress, is rather illusory – in base terms, we are very much the same creature today as we were 100,000 years ago. In the round, I have found, having read “Sapiens”, that how humans behave, now makes more sense to me (even the peculiar desire of humans to worship supernatural beings, like Gods, or God, is wonderfully explained). 39 years ago, in your De Quincey inscription, you alluded to a quest for a “Majestic Intellect”. At this 60th anniversary milestone, I suspect you may just find a door to that particular corridor may have just opened a bit wider – I recommend you go right on through and explore away. Once again, happy birthday, S.
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