Wednesday, 11 March 2015

What is it that we value in ourselves and in others? What do we seek? We respect people who are worth our esteem and respect but what makes anyone worthy. What is value and what is worth? Does it constitute status either financial or social or even a person's intrinsic personality, feelings and values? Are values or worth only trappings?

Self esteem is an integral part of any personality whether human or animal. Self and esteem...... is self without esteem not a valid self? What constitutes esteem is a peripheral sense of well being which is then associated with the self, so then does that mean that without a sense of wellness in any form one is without esteem? Or then does the self itself give itself a lower or higher estimate? If the self creates esteem or worth from itself then without this does it not exist? It does in fact exist with or without the peripherals attached to it. The question then arises is who creates the self. The most reasonable answer to this is that the creator of the self is the self itself. ( A forward on a social site explained this in terms of a necklace which is made of gold, gold is of it and it is of gold . ) Values ,judgements ,worth ,value, values et all are what it creates. It then is also reasonable to think that if it creates itself it cannot then be destroyed as what creates of itself will recreate of itself and so will not be destroyed. As in the case of a seed which will become a tree , bear fruit and again be recreated, or the tree itself which could fall and be buried and turn into coal millions of years later.

Like a minute atom it presides everywhere for everything around us is made up of similar atoms and molecules, the very dust stone and deadwood is and will ever be a part of the self. Separate and inseparable.Separate when seen by the creation of the self , inseparable when seen by the core of the self. The self itself has no barriers of physicality emotionality or any other 'ity'. What it creates is limited by these and that which it creates sees each of the the created objects as separate. . The self itself does not as it is of what it has created, the whole of the part and a part of the whole. That which it creates is swayed by and differentiates between the physical creation which it has created. The self itself sees no difference.

The self is neither born nor does it die. What is finished is the physical manifestation which it assumes, once done it is free to assume another. The question of Karma and working out of the earlier " karmas" has to fit in somewhere , if one assumes this to be true. In its many manifestations where do deeds fit in, either older or contemporary..... and why does the self keep re-manifesting? Various thoughts and some answers come to the mind ( manifested by the self , please note ) , perhaps I should leave it to others to solve...


Renate said...

How can you say that the self is neither born nor does it die?

There is no evidence for that than our wish that it should be so.

The human brain is a self-contained unit. More complicated than that of a worm, but the same principle.

To me that is very clear. You will probably call me a positivist and spiritually impoverished. Yet I am in complete awe and admiration of the complexity of life. Even though it is transient and has no intrinsic meaning.

I am tempted to say that your view is wishful thinking.

Nandita Kao said...

It may seem to be wishful thinking but please dwell also on the point of what is a wish, where does it emanate from, the brain an give you a thought from whatever you see around you but then what is the mind?Is is part of the physical entity that is the brain.

As for the self , which in other words is a living organism or energy or whatever else you may call it is recreated again and again like in the seed example so it never ceases to die. It may be latent as in a chair or table which is from a piece of wood which was one a living self or natural entity and will in time turn into something other. So then it will keep creating ( or recreating )itself until it absorbs back into itself which in Indian terms is ultimate realization of the oneness which eludes almost everyone. For this reason we worship even a stone or a tree or then even a snake or a dog among various natural elements as everything is a part of the whole without which the circle of life in incomplete, the zero of mathematics and the circle of life, both similar.

Renate said...

In this we do agree - the reverence for nature, the admiration for what resides in every molecule and combinations thereof. And especially in the phenomenon called life.

Molecules combine and separate all the time. Our self is the result of a fleeting combination, albeit to a complex program, and perishes when we do.

We are saying pretty much the same, except for the clinging to the thought that death is not final for the individual, that something remains beyond the structural.

And of course any idea of a karma from a previous life,

Nandita Kao said...

When the finalare done as in the case of burial will the body not be eaten by worms or decay to form some sort of nutrient for the soil and in that case is it not renewed or reborn and will death then be final?

Nandita Kao said...

please read that as final rites.

Renate said...

Life will go on in others, of course. For example the ones I give birth to. But they are their own self.

Every day I add new molecules to my body and excrete others that have been part of me. That's not much different from what happens to the final remnants.

But we were we not talking about the self, the individual? What am I without my memories, my consciousness?

Nandita Kao said...

Exactly ! What am I ? Think about it , if you are only your phusical body and which is also made up of memories then why are you here ? JUST to experiece life and have your emotions and memories work and die and procreate? How aimless. because if you aim in life is to acheive a goal and then struggle to reach it what then. die peacefully? To what end?

Renate said...

I happen to believe that life is aimless. A gift without purpose, for us to make out of it what we can. And nobody from above to watch our progress.

Most people can not stand the thought and love their religions.

Nandita Kao said...

Its not the question of religion or anyone watching what we do or even diagreeing/ disliking your thought process. If life was aimless then you would agree that we are no better than animals who live by three basic instict alone. Then why do we bother to help anyone and then the question also arises is why if life was aimless, is it a struggle for existence for some and not so for others. Unless of course their struggle is aimless too.

Renate said...

Why do we bother to help anyone? That is easy to answer: Because it was beneficial to our survival to wire our brains that way.

But sadly, a lot of those traits that we needed to evolve hundreds of thousands of years ago, are useless or even detrimental in the world that we are born into now.

Evolution can not keep up with the rapid changes in our living conditions.

Or rather - of course it keeps up (by very definition), but not in any way that is pleasant to most individuals.

It is very long, but maybe I can past it here, Goethe wrote a brilliant abstract about nature, that was used in the inaugural issue of the journal Nature in 1828, a journal still of prime importance in my field.

Hmmm, I tried to copy it here. But too long :(

Renate said...

NATURE! We are surrounded and embraced by her: powerless to separate ourselves from her, and powerless to penetrate beyond her. Without asking, or warning, she snatches us up into her circling dance, and whirls us on until we are tired, and drop from her arms.

She is ever shaping new forms: what is, has never yet been; what has been, comes not again. Everything is new, and yet nought but the old. We live in her midst and know her not. She is incessantly speaking to us, but betrays not her secret. We constantly act upon her, and yet have no power over her. The one thing she seems to aim at is Individuality; yet she cares nothing for individuals. She is always building up and destroying; but her workshop is inaccessible.
Her life is in her children; but where is the mother? She is the only artist; working-up the most uniform material into utter opposites; arriving, without a trace of effort, at perfection, at the most exact precision, though always veiled under a certain softness. Each of her works has an essence of its own; each of her phenomena a special characterisation: and yet their diversity is in unity. She performs a play; we know not whether she sees it herself, and yet she acts for us, the lookers-on.

Incessant life, development, and movement are in her, but she advances not. She changes for ever and ever, and rests not a moment. Quietude is inconceivable to her, and she has laid her curse upon rest. She is firm. Her steps are measured, her exceptions rare, her laws unchangeable. She has always thought and always thinks; though not as a man, but as Nature. She broods over an all-comprehending idea, which no searching can find out.

Mankind dwell in her and she in them. With all men she plays a game for love, and rejoices the more they win. With many, her moves are so hidden, that the game is over before they know it. That which is most unnatural is still Nature; the stupidest philistinism has a touch of her genius. Whoso cannot see her everywhere, sees her nowhere rightly. She loves herself, and her innumberable eyes and affections are fixed upon herself. She has divided herself that she may be her own delight. She causes an endless succession of new capacities for enjoyment to spring up, that her insatiable sympathy may be assuaged.

She rejoices in illusion. Whoso destroys it in himself and others, him she punishes with the sternest tyranny. Whoso follows her in faith, him she takes as a child to her bosom. Her children are numberless. To none is she altogether miserly; but she has her favourites, on whom she squanders much, and for whom she makes great sacrifices. Over greatness she spreads her shield. She tosses her creatures out of nothingness, and tells them not whence they came, nor whither they go. It is their business to run, she knows the road.

Renate said...

Her mechanism has few springs — but they never wear out, are always active and manifold. The spectacle of Nature is always new, for she is always renewing the spectators. Life is her most exquisite invention; and death is her expert contrivance to get plenty of life. She wraps man in darkness, and makes him for ever long for light. She creates him dependent upon the earth, dull and heavy; and yet is always shaking him until he attempts to soar above it. She creates needs because she loves action. Wondrous! that she produces all this action so easily. Every need is a benefit, swiftly satisfied, swiftly renewed.– Every fresh want is a new source of pleasure, but she soon reaches an equilibrium.

Every instant she commences an immense journey, and every instant she has reached her goal. She is vanity of vanities; but not to us, to whom she has made herself of the greatest importance. She allows every child to play tricks with her; every fool to have judgment upon her; thousands to walk stupidly over her and see nothing; and takes her pleasure and finds her account in them all. We obey her laws even when we rebel against them; we work with her even when we desire to work against her. She makes every gift a benefit by causing us to want it. She delays, that we may desire her; she hastens, that we may not weary of her. She has neither language nor discourse; but she creates tongues and hearts, by which she feels and speaks.

Her crown is love. Through love alone dare we come near her. She separates all existences, and all tend to intermingle. She has isolated all things in order that all may approach one another. She holds a couple of draughts from the cup of love to be fair payment for the pains of a lifetime.She is all things. She rewards herself and punishes herself; is her own joy and her own misery. She is rough and tender, lovely and hateful, powerless and omnipotent. She is an eternal present. Past and future are unknown to her. The present is her eternity. She is beneficient. I praise her and all her works. She is silent and wise.No explanation is wrung from her; no present won from her, which she does not give freely. She is cunning, but for good ends; and it is best not to notice her tricks.

She is complete, but never finished. As she works now, so can she always work. Everyone sees her in his own fashion. She hides under a thousand names and phrases, and is always the same. She has brought me here and will also lead me away. I trust her. She may scold me, but she will not hate her work. It was not I who spoke of her. No! What is false and what is true, she has spoken it all. The fault, the merit, is all hers.

Renate said...

Problem solved!

Mahendra Chaudhari said...

Lost an hour long typing seasons when I tried to go on "preview" mode. Damn.

Will try and reword and post some other time. - MC