Who, and what real value is self? Is it more than a manufacture
created by and to accommodate a particular environment?
In “Of Blood and Hope”, Samuel Pasar tells how out of
from among all those previously powerful successful men,
only one, who had been an assistant butcher, had the courage
to stand and argue with their guards as in the end saved at least
some lives including his own.
I knew of a man, a handsome brilliant once relatively
successful artist from a wealthy family, who deliberately
went into a life of poverty and humiliation, and when that
and alcohol failed, chose suicide rather than live with
his failure to recognize and help a woman, from among
those who readily came to him, in desperate injured need
before it was too late.
In the epilogue of Pygmalion, George Bernard Shaw
tells how Doctor Doolittle gets Eliza a flower shop
and married off to an innocuous gentlemen who,
it being innocuous times, would do for a successful
Take the same egg and sperm but have it emerge
from a womb a few, a thousand, ten thousand, miles
away and who do you get? Someone who should
hope and expect eternity?
So what is this thing called self. And why should
one really care whether it lives or dies?
I am not a person.
I am a succession of persons
Held together by memory.
When the string breaks,
The beads scatter.
Lindley Williams Hubbell