2002-09-10 - 8:48 p.m.
Last night there was no entry due to a school board meeting that went until midnight. I came home and collapsed into bed instead of writing. I apologize for my confused priorities.
INFINITY
Once, when I was a teenager, my father asked me which was greater, the suffering of one or the suffering of a million. I don't remember what my answer was although I remember puzzling over it. At first blush, the suffering of millions seemed like it would have to be more. More people, more suffering. Simple.
And yet I knew our minds often have trouble wrapping around the idea of millions suffering. Millions is a number and we don't relate very well to numbers. The story of one of the millions moves us in way that sheer numbers cannot. So perhaps in impact, the suffering of one may be greater in that it may be more powerful.
But I didn't give the answer I would give today. I'm not sure whether I have a different answer now because I've had enough years since my teens to experience suffering or whether I have a different grasp of mathematics or both. Today I feel really ready to answer the question.
The answer has to do with infinity. One infinity is not larger than another and sometimes suffering is (or at least seems) infinite. One infinite set is as large as another. The union of two infinite sets is infinite and no bigger or smaller than the subsets. The concept of greater in this context is meaningless.
You may suspect that September 11th has something to do with my musings. In a way, you would be right. But it is comparison with September 11th and not the day itself that has brought it on.
Mr. Philately is not here. Mr. Philately is not here tonight because he is off at a funeral. One of the men in one of his many stamp clubs has died. The man is one with whom he has put on many stamp shows. One of the stamp shows they were putting on is coming up in two weeks. Mr. Philately is not sure what all the things the man used to do are but he's afraid he'll find out the hard way. More than that, though, Mr. Philately will miss the guy.
This rather ordinary death of a rather ordinary man has me thinking. Imagine being his daughters, mourning in the shadow of tomorrow. A little death in a week of memorials for bigger deaths.
And yet, for all that, just as infinite.
LAST YEAR: The Little (British) Things
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Little Orphans Annie (by Day-Hay)
Here I Am
L'Shana Tova
Crisp
Residual New Yorker
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
