Tags

, , , , ,

Probaway – Armageddon Sonnets – #2

When man’s most brilliant children speak of peace,
They do so in a most deceitful way.
With one hand they give us a golden fleece.
But, with the other, all of us, they slay.

When Armageddon dawned all men still loved,
Mankind, and beast, and tree and clear blue sky.
But then, these man brought blasts came and proved,
The best for life that man could do was die.

With mister Noble’s gifts and Einstein’s too,
Seeming love turns suddenly to proven hate,
That renders pulsing life to stinking goo.
Is this for me and you? Is this our fate?

We need no villains with their subtle shifts,
With heroes such as these to bring us gifts.

Over my lifetime I have met, and personally known many noteworthy people some of whom have been responsible for bringing humanity to the current desperate situation. Without any exception they were wonderful people, and made fine companions. Unfortunately, the problems which they have brought upon us are totally beyond coping with by any means we presently have available. My only suggestion for humanities possibly surviving the coming Doomsday is the Lifehaven Strategy. I will be the first to proclaim that this strategy is the ultimate of grasping at straws. But what else are we to do? For a highly advanced intelligent species which has created the technical sophistication capable of annihilating itself there needs to be a fall back plan. A Plan B, or perhaps a better term would be a Plan Z or Plan Omega or The Omega Plan or Lifehaven. The Lifehaven Strategy is a plan to give humanity a second chance. Clearly we have muffed this one because CO2 accumulation, and other stresses of overpopulation will soon choke humanity into extreme actions, and these will precipitate a Doomsday disaster. We desperately need: A glimmer of hope where there is no hope. A seed of new life in a desolate land. A star to wandering bark on a trackless sea. Anything . . . . . . . Wax poetic, wax silly, wax totally crazy but find a way!

When I reread the sonnet above which I wrote sometime in the 1980s, and published it I think in late 1994 within a pamphlet Proba – Pass It On, I had a major quibble. The people I personally knew were very honest people. Scientist type people. The kind of people who need to be honest, and straightforward with their work to be successful. They need to make their assumptions, and findings as clear, and as testable as humanly possible, to expose their ideas totally. Philosophically at least, they want their work to be falsifiable! They don’t want it to be falsified, of course, but they want it to be presented in such a way that everyone believes that it can be falsified. To a person involved in scientific research to be challenged by something unknown, and even unsuspected by anyone at the time of its publication, and then to be found correct in its statements relative to this new test is the epitome of triumphs. The trait of honesty permeates the scientific community.

The opening line of the sonnet calls these scientists deceitful, and what they have produced as proof of their deceitfulness. It implies a proof of some deep underlying hatefulness lurking in these people’s souls. Well, I didn’t believe it at the time, and I don’t believe it now. They were fine and loving people both to their friends, and to humanity at large. There is an underlying substance of nature which has certain qualities which these people are endeavoring to explore, and to reveal to humanity. It is, in general, for humanity’s enlightenment, and progress toward a better world for which they were striving.

The problem is that the world doesn’t care what we do. It doesn’t care if we explode Hydrogen bombs. It doesn’t care if we annihilate all humanity, and even all life. We try to humanize it with seemingly caring, and loving names like Mother Nature to fool ourselves into thinking that the world is benign, and looking out for our welfare. But, that is a dreamy fabrication created to obscure our utter meaninglessness in that dimension. We have a pleasant, and totally dependent relationship with nature as with out mothers, but on its side there is no affection, no caring, no sentimental hope for humanity to better itself, and to go on to some heavenly place, and no emotional attachment to you. It just is what it is, doing what it does, obeying its own laws, some of which are randomly applied at random times at random places. We do have a place in the natural order of things, but the emotional caring about these relationships is wholly ours.

Alfred Nobel certainly had a close relationship with homicide on a massive scale, earning a vast fortune in the explosives industry. The young Albert Einstein didn’t have any known homicidal tendencies, but by middle age he was a close associate with Fritz Haber the while he was creating various war gases which killed thousands. Haber’s wife was so guilt ridden about her husband’s work that in protest she shot herself in the heart with his revolver. A few years later Einstein initiated the development of the atomic bomb with a proposal to President Roosevelt. Einstein is also credited with perfecting the American torpedoes which sank nearly all of the Japanese ships during WW II. Oh, well, it was war, the apologists proclaim. No it’s not; it’s homicide on a massive scale where these villains didn’t pull the trigger they just coldly put the triggers up to the fingers of terrified people. They weren’t guilty because they were not the final decision makers, and didn’t personally kill any one. But I deny that, because they knew full well what they were doing, and could have chosen not to do it. They also knew that if they didn’t do what they did that those things would be delayed in coming into existence, perhaps forever. They were the last un-terrified persons in the chain of events bringing these awful things into use, and which they knew would kill, who knows, millions, billions perhaps everyone. They should be condemned for it not praised. And since these weapons will be with us forevermore it is homicide of the worst kind —  a genocide of people that are yet unborn, perhaps for a thousand years, perhaps forevermore. These are the people we still call heroes. Nonsense — they are monsters of the worst kind, intelligent, moral people behaving in monstrous ways. I hesitate to damn these good people, but I certainly do damn what they have done, and done voluntarily with enthusiasm and personal profit.