Do remember, you are mortal
The formidable Joseph Campbell’s immense body of work covered mythology, religion and belief systems. His writings provided substantial insights into the human experience and its behaviour. He once wrote, “Every myth is psychologically symbolic. Its narratives and images are to be read, therefore, not literally, but as metaphors.”
Of the many books bought by my parents when I was young was the obligatory ‘Tales from Akbar and Birbal’. Akbar and his trusted courtier Birbal would thrust and parry, and in doing so created some wonderful stories and parables. Some may be fiction, some may be fantasy and some may be outright lies. Be it so. They, however, are simply delightful. In one story, Akbar packs Birbal off to search for the most beautiful child in the kingdom. Birbal returns and asks the Emperor to accompany him. Hiding behind a bush, they see a small child come out of a hut. Akbar angrily whispers in his ear, “You have brought me to see this? This must be the ugliest child in my kingdom.”
“No sire, wait,” says Birbal.
In moments, the child’s mother appears and lovingly clasps the child to her chest. She calls him the ‘most precious jewel in the world’, her ‘piece of the moon’ and a dozen other endearments. Akbar watches and listens silently. Then Birbal says, “Now you know why he is the most beautiful child in Hindustan? It is because his mother thinks so.”
This lack of or the presence of the beauty of the child may be transferred to other situations, to other places and to other people. This metaphor can become the prism to look at those that have ruled us, and to those that shall. Each turn of history has had its beautiful, as well as its ugly, children sitting at the helm of affairs. With either, it is a question of perception. My saint may be your sinner — and the other way round. The scales that decide which is which, is what we call ‘humanity and civilisation’.
One of the most polarising politicians of post-World War-II England was Enoch Powell. He called for an end to migration from the Commonwealth countries to Great Britain. In 1968, Powell made his deeply disturbing ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech which was, supposedly, the result of the Race Relations Act introduced by the Labour Government. The Legislation would prohibit discrimination on grounds of race in certain aspects of British life, especially by persons or councils denying non-whites places of residence. The press lashed back and The Times called it an “evil speech”.
Edward Heath, as leader of the Opposition, sacked Powell from his Shadow Cabinet and Powell did not hold a political post again. However, just a year later, a Gallup poll placed Powell as the most ‘admired person’ in public opinion. In later years, based on various polls, Powell’s popularity remained and there is a school of thought that he would have won had he contested for political leadership. While there are several other issues and standpoints involved, echoes of Powell’s stance continue to the present day; for example, Nigel Farage of the UKIP considers Powell to be his political hero.
Somewhere parked at the back of my head, along with other pointless clutter, is an image of ancient Rome. I know precious little of modern Rome, far less the ancient. But this image, which has roots in Europe’s broader tradition, if not in reality, appears repeatedly in art and elsewhere. In my image, a triumphant General is returning in glory. Whoever he was sent out to sort, has been sorted. The enemy, real or imagined, has been conquered. Crushed. Decimated. Rome is as triumphant as ever. The victor’s chariot is drawn by the finest horses. The crowds cheer him and flower petals come as thick and fast as the arrows he fended in battle.
Standing behind the victor on the chariot is a slave. Amidst the din of adulation, he has just one task. He holds a crown over the victor’s head and constantly whispers in his ear, ‘Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori.’ From Latin, this roughly translates as, ‘Look after yourself. Remember you’re a man. Remember you will die.’
If we would like to call ourselves civilised, or wish to hold a candle to basic humanity, there is the essence of that phrase, ‘Memento mori’ (Remember you are mortal). Our lives will pass, and if there is a statue or a road named after that passing, it has no relevance to mortal life. Humanity does. This is valid for whichever side one is cheering for — the left, the right, the pink, the blue or, the sweet old lady, who before one steps into it, clears her dog’s litter in the park.
