I've been sitting on this essay for a while, not sure if I should post it. Usually when I have a question like that, I ask my Amazing-Missus. She is wonderfully honest. I read it to her, and she said, "What's your point?" As I said, she is wonderfully, brutally honest.
"It's not obvious?" Apparently not. Then she added, "It's too long. No one is going to read it to the end." She's probably right, so then it really doesn't matter if the point is all convoluted. I've decided to post it.
Soon I'll be doing a presentation on the topic of "Authenticity." (No, wisecrackers; I'm not--necessarily--the example of inauthenticity. I hope. Although I do have my moments and favorite personas.)
I was planning to use these famous lines in the presentation:
This above all--to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
--Polonius, Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3. William Shakespeare.
But wait! Should I be taking lessons from Polonius? He's pretty much a joke and human train wreck.
That set me to thinking: It seems that as we age, maybe we tend to be like Polonius, wanting to share our wisdom whether we're wise or not. We like to teach great moral lessons, sometimes as though we've never known immorality. "A plank! What plank? I don't have a plank in my eye!" (Matthew 7:4-5)
The question I couldn't get past was: should we take as sound advice the words from hypocrites, nut-cases, frail humans? Flip that: As occasional hypocrites, nut-cases, frail humans, can we offer sound advice and wise counsel?
There's not much choice, is there?
Back to Polonius, here's a little background from Wikipedia: "Generally regarded as wrong in every judgment he makes over the course of the play, Polonius is described by William Hazlitt as a "sincere" father, but also "a busy-body, who is accordingly officious, garrulous, and impertinent."
Polonius is described as a windbag by some and a rambler of wisdom by others. It has also been suggested that he only acts like a "foolish prating knave" in order to keep his position and popularity safe and to keep anyone from discovering his plots for social advancement. In Act II Hamlet refers to Polonius as a "tedious old fool" and taunts him as a latter day "Jeptha".
Ouch!! Does the name Jeptha (Jephthah) ring a bell. He's the main character in one of the more horrific stories found in the Bible.
Jephthah was the brother from another mother--a whore, according to scripture. His half-brothers forced him out of the home so he moved to Tob to live with his wife and only child--a daughter, the apple of his eye. It turns out he had some serious fighting skills which came to be in great demand. The Israelites had once again found themselves in dire straits--sold into the hands of the Ammonites, and they needed a man like Jephthah. The Israelite leaders, including his own half-brothers, went to him with a bargain, promising him a position as chief if he can deliver a victory.
Who doesn't want to be the chief, am I right? So, calling on all his resources, Jephthah makes a hasty vow to God: “If you give me a clear victory over the Ammonites, then I’ll give to GOD whatever comes out of the door of my house to meet me when I return in one piece from among the Ammonites—I’ll offer it up in a sacrificial burnt offering.”
Judges 11 (The Message) tells the account of what happened upon his victorious return home:
His daughter ran from the house to welcome him home—dancing to tambourines! She was his only child. He had no son or daughter except her.
When he realized who it was, he ripped his clothes, saying, “Ah, dearest daughter—I’m dirt. I’m despicable. My heart is torn to shreds. I made a vow to GOD and I can’t take it back!”
She said, “Dear father, if you made a vow to GOD, do to me what you vowed; GOD did his part and saved you from your Ammonite enemies.”
And then she said to her father, “But let this one thing be done for me. Give me two months to wander through the hills and lament my virginity since I will never marry, I and my dear friends.”
“Oh yes, go,” he said. He sent her off for two months. She and her dear girlfriends went among the hills, lamenting that she would never marry.
At the end of the two months, she came back to her father. He fulfilled the vow with her that he had made.
I realize two such stories--Polonius and Jephthah--don't necessarily make a common plot line, but I'm afraid this time they do. I don't need to paint the picture of that plot line; the one where fathers, mothers, and others in essence put children up as a sacrifice, so to speak, for their own gain, be it political or social, or to use a child as a pawn in a battle not of the child's making. But to me it is the most tragic.
Well, this was not intended to be a sermon. It's just a flawed and frail husband, son, father, grandfather and nut-case hoping he can occasionally know himself and not be false to anyone. It goes with the age though to want to offer "wisdom" and counsel whether anyone asks for it or not. Whether the source is worthy or not, hopefully the advice is. For what it's worth.
Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you! --Dr. Seuss