Forgive Me

It is equally if not more difficult to accept forgiveness than it is to forgive. That is because it involves a self-reckoning of one's trespass, and that of the virtue of the pardoner, who for what is worth has on other occasions lapsed in his own honour but at present stands trustily. It is even more difficult when he has not, or is kind and just, or both. The uncloaking of one's fallen nature to face the stainless hope of redemption therefore requires nothing less than a miracle of the heart and will. As Herbert Prochnow rightly counter-quoted, "To err may be human, but to admit it isn't." Humility, it seems, is humanity's rarest and most precious trait.

Protecting the Good

It might be said that a public servant is one whose duty is to protect the public good and whose creed is sworn singularly unto the culture within which it wishes to thrive. To complicate matters, "good" is almost always defined by culture, which in our day and age has been prone to leave generous room for definitions of any sort; this might in fact be the only "good" - in its own entitlement - consistently defined and practiced (although not consistently logical). This unfortunately makes it hard for anyone to decide what, if at anything all, to protect. It was therefore of little surprise to me today, when I had the honour of conversing with an eminent public servant, to discover that he was fundamentally an ardent disciple of John Dewey, whose thought (ironically), as one writer put, had aimed not at fixing the belief but at fixing the situation.

The important man still unflinchingly garners my deepest respect, and I suppose the culture - or any culture - survives because of selfless people like him who loyally heed its creed. But more than that, as we appoint and anoint to protect the public good, how much more shall we thus defend and debate the concept of "good" itself, to protect it too, and any hope of meaning at all?

Song and Sense

Music aside, good songs tend to make sense while bad songs don't. Even after navigating a slew of awkward diction ("I love my...closest ties") and strange grammar ("Mornings, I wake up, refreshed..."), I'm still left wondering what in the world "love at first light" even means. It doesn't help that the lyricist is a renowned local poet. So today we still find "Home" the homeliest. The reason may escape our notice, but it might just be because, amongst other things, the speaker makes a simple, sensible and sincere argument: "This is where I won't be alone, for this is where I know it's home." For most of us, it is an argument that is true, or at least that we hope to be.