Lord Byron speaks (on the power of words, on religion, and on his own immortality)
Current mood: thoughtful
Category: Religion and Philosophy

George Gordon, Lord Byron, is best known as a Romantic poet, an English nobleman and a freedom fighter in the struggle for Greek independence.  But I like to think of him as a bit of a philosopher as well.  Now that our silly vacation in Hell is over, I'd like to return to something deeper and more meaningful; and so I invite you to share your thoughts on the following three excerpts from Lord Byron's oeuvre:

Byron on the power of words:
[from Don Juan]

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this - ,
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.

Byron on religion:
[from a letter to Francis Hodgson, 3 September 1811]

   I will have nothing to do with your immortality; we are miserable enough in this life, without the absurdity of speculating upon another.  If men are to live, why die at all? and if they die, why disturb the sweet and sound sleep that 'knows no waking'?  'Post Mortem nihil est, ipasque Mors nihil... quaeris quo jaceas post obitum loco?  Quo non Nata jacent.'
    As to revealed religion, Christ came to save men; but a good Pagan will go to heaven, and a bad Nazarene to hell; 'Argal' (I argue like the gravedigger) why are not all men Christians? or why are any?  If mankind may be saved who never heard or dreamt, at Timbuctoo, Otaheite, Terra Incognita, etc., of Galilee and its Prophet, Christianity is of no avail:  if they cannot be saved without, why are not all orthodox?  It is a little hard to send a man preaching to Judaea, and leave the rest of the world ... dark ... without a ray of light for so many years to lead them on high; and who will believe that God will damn men for not knowing what they were never taught?  I hope I am sincere; I was so at least on a bed of sickness in a far-distant country, when I had neither friend, nor comforter, nor hope, to sustain me.  I looked to death as a relief from pain, without a wish for an after-life, but a confidence that the God who punishes in this existence had left that last asylum for the weary.
    I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other.  Talk of Galileeism?  Show me the effects - are you better, wiser, kinder by your precepts?...    But I will say no more on this endless theme; let me live, well if possible, and die without pain.  The rest is with God, who assuredly, had He come or sent, would have made Himself manifest to nations, and intelligible to all.

[Lord Byron on his deathbed, painted by Joseph-Denis Odevaere]

Byron on his own immortality:
[from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, ll. 1225-1233]

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain:
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain,
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;
Something unearthly, which they deem not of,
Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.

Currently reading : Time of the Assassins a Study of Rimbaud By Henry Miller Release date: June, 1962