Because some books are fraught with so much wisdom, I can only read a few pages at a time. So inevitably I am always reading and re-reading them; as I do, for example, with Pascal. In his Pensees, Pascal, expounding on the virtue of fidelity writes: "He no longer loves the person whom he loved ten years ago. I quite believe it. She is no longer the same, nor is he. He was young and she also; she is quite different. He would perhaps love her yet, if she were what she was then."
Far be it from me to criticize Pascal, but I do want to add my own reading. As it is, the above excerpt may on first appearance leave the impression that human beings are incurably fickle in all respects-- which we are not.
What Pascal is telling us above ("He no longer loves the person whom he loved ten years ago"), is that through the passage of time we change physically. No one can deny this. And when he adds: "He was young and she also;" he corroborates that time will not leave us the same; unmarred to so speak. Yet the deeper meaning is that it is fidelity to our partner --what is in our memory-- what holds us together.
Without disagreeing with what Pascal says, I see two different personas in each individual:
Physical persona: This is what everyone sees when they look at us. The body. But not only its parts --the color of our eyes, the color of our hair, size of ears, clothes, make up, accessories, and the like-- but also the bulk: whether we are tall, short, big-boned, small, or slight.
To this physical personal the erosion of time applies. The body is a perennial reminder that our lives are but transient, ephemeral, sighs in a raging storm. The physical persona lives in time and the senses.
Soulful persona: This is the invisible part --the subterranean part, or a least least obvious part-- that not everyone can see in us. The spirit. The hidden dimension of the spirit --the soul, for others-- is there for those who really want to see: the gleam in the eye, the lilt and cadence of speech, the tilt of the ear when listening (paying attention), not vilifying anyone, a compassionate remark, and so forth.
To this soulful persona the passage of time leaves unscathed. For most of us, at some crucial time in our lives we decide to be something: a priest, a poet, a painter, a plumber--president of the United States. Those few moments that alter the quality of our lives become etched not in the senses, the brains, or in memory, but in the soul.
Likewise, when we fall in love and choose our spouses, that moment of divine grace, prompt us to see that soulful persona in our chosen partner.
Not long ago I saw an elderly couple having dinner at a diner. With what loving care the husband fed his wife whose hands were paralyzed. With what loving moves the man cleaned his wife's mouth and face. Moved by the man's solicitous attention, I approached them and asked him,
"You look like newlyweds. How long have you been married?"
"Fifty-four years," he replied.
Time will change us physically, but what a consolation it is to know that time has no jurisdiction in the regions of the soul. And fidelity and love are of the soul and not the body.
Far be it from me to criticize Pascal, but I do want to add my own reading. As it is, the above excerpt may on first appearance leave the impression that human beings are incurably fickle in all respects-- which we are not.
What Pascal is telling us above ("He no longer loves the person whom he loved ten years ago"), is that through the passage of time we change physically. No one can deny this. And when he adds: "He was young and she also;" he corroborates that time will not leave us the same; unmarred to so speak. Yet the deeper meaning is that it is fidelity to our partner --what is in our memory-- what holds us together.
Without disagreeing with what Pascal says, I see two different personas in each individual:
Physical persona: This is what everyone sees when they look at us. The body. But not only its parts --the color of our eyes, the color of our hair, size of ears, clothes, make up, accessories, and the like-- but also the bulk: whether we are tall, short, big-boned, small, or slight.
To this physical personal the erosion of time applies. The body is a perennial reminder that our lives are but transient, ephemeral, sighs in a raging storm. The physical persona lives in time and the senses.
Soulful persona: This is the invisible part --the subterranean part, or a least least obvious part-- that not everyone can see in us. The spirit. The hidden dimension of the spirit --the soul, for others-- is there for those who really want to see: the gleam in the eye, the lilt and cadence of speech, the tilt of the ear when listening (paying attention), not vilifying anyone, a compassionate remark, and so forth.
To this soulful persona the passage of time leaves unscathed. For most of us, at some crucial time in our lives we decide to be something: a priest, a poet, a painter, a plumber--president of the United States. Those few moments that alter the quality of our lives become etched not in the senses, the brains, or in memory, but in the soul.
Likewise, when we fall in love and choose our spouses, that moment of divine grace, prompt us to see that soulful persona in our chosen partner.
Not long ago I saw an elderly couple having dinner at a diner. With what loving care the husband fed his wife whose hands were paralyzed. With what loving moves the man cleaned his wife's mouth and face. Moved by the man's solicitous attention, I approached them and asked him,
"You look like newlyweds. How long have you been married?"
"Fifty-four years," he replied.
Time will change us physically, but what a consolation it is to know that time has no jurisdiction in the regions of the soul. And fidelity and love are of the soul and not the body.
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