Je pense

Je pense, donc je suis

With these five words, Descartes made a name for himself as a philosopher. His profound statement was subsequently shortened to a three-word Latin version – ‘cogito ergo sum’ – and for all I know, he made an excellent living just on the royalties flowing from this famous phrase.

In English, of course, it’s basically ‘I think, therefore I am’, although various sub-philosophers have juggled with the words. ‘I think, I reason, I cogitate, therefore I exist, I breathe, I am a person.’

Anyway, I have come to the conclusion that Descartes was just a fraud, and even though his little philosophy may be memorable and sounds fairly profound, it is deeply flawed, because, basically, it’s as wrong as a snail sandwich, ou en Francais, si vous preferez, une baguette avec beaucoup d’escargots.

So I have discarded Descartes, and replaced him with my own improved version. My philosophy is just as memorable, works well in Latin, and has the distinct advantage of being much more helpful in today’s crowded and fractious world.

For the classicists among us, and in order to establish my credentials as a serious and respected philosopher, I herewith set out the Latin version.

Belongo ergo sum.

Or in English, if you prefer, ‘I belong, therefore I am’.

This insight comes to me after a lifetime of study, but in particular following a period of some months, during which I have experienced the consequences of ‘not belonging’.

It all began at the end of May, 2015, just five months ago, when my heart was attacked. I was actually quite busy that morning, preparing to conduct a wedding service at lunchtime.

The ambulance people were very nice and helpful, and the nurses in the Cardiac Care Unit in the hospital were truly angelic. After a few days, I was discharged, with a large batch of medication, a plan for recovery and recuperation, and, crucially, a sick note for my work.

Now the reader should note that I am, and have been for best part of thirty years, a church minister. I have always enjoyed my job, even if it has often come with a price tag and a few dark days. By and large, I have been a happy minister, cheerfully walking alongside the halt and the lame, holding the hands of those who are hurting, and comforting people who found themselves ‘laid on one side in a bed of sickness’.

But my heart attack changed all that, or more accurately, the accompanying sick note did.

For although I was still fairly reverend, my dog collar by my bed, suddenly, I became a non-person. Quite rightly, and understandably, I was no longer part of anything much. Excluded from meetings, unable to preach, kept in the dark about decisions pertaining to my church and circuit, even social events were not communicated to me, for fear that I might attend and be drawn into church life again.

I have no doubt that much of this was medically necessary, and all of it was well-intentioned, but the result was that I discovered the truth of my philosophy. Belongo ergo sum. Or more accurately, ‘non belongo, ergo non sum’.

Because I gradually began to realise that I no longer belonged anywhere, that there was no flock to surround me, no shepherd to guide me, no sheep to look after me, nothing. Non belongo, ergo non sum.

I have now come to the conclusion that it is only in ‘belonging’ that our life has any meaning or purpose. Belonging - to a family, to a group of friends, to a church, to a support network. And if I no longer belong, or am prevented from belonging, then my life loses any sense of purpose or significance.

There are other factors, of course, which have contributed to this ‘non-belonging’ state, such as recently moving house to a new, and fairly remote area. Hedge End is a nice enough area to live, but we are at the top of a hill, and it is really difficult to have even a gentle walk without becoming very breathless. Going down the hill is easy enough, but the return journey is a bit of a challenge.

‘Going downhill’, of course, has quite a different meaning, depending on context, but I’ll skip over that for now.

There are other factors at play in my ‘non-belonging’ of course. Probably no longer having responsibility for a local church hasn’t helped, and my elder son and his family having just moved to a different continent brings its own sadness.

I miss Andrew and Bernice, of course, but I cannot find the words to express the great gap in my life left by our grandson, John, now being so far away.

Emails and Facetime help, but the lack of a hug for this grandad is serious.

Belongo ergo sum.

I have been thinking about returning our telephone to Argos, from where we purchased it just prior to my heart attack. Because it feels like it’s broken. No-one calls. Actually, that’s not actually true. Someone called at 3.29pm last Wednesday, seven days ago, and I can tell that because the handset keeps a record of calls received. Same problem with our doorbell. It rarely rings, weeks can go by without a visitor. The reader can imagine the excitement when someone rang the bell on Monday morning. It took us a while to remember the sound, and when we did, my wife rushed (well strolled, quickly) to the door to see who had come to visit.

‘Is this number 47a?’, enquired the parcel delivery man. Sadly, we live at number 47, so my ever helpful wife directed him accordingly. Poor man, we almost felt that we wanted him to come in for a tea and a bun, just for company!

A similar thing happened yesterday when the mailman came to the door. All we ever seem to get these days is pizza menus, hospital appointments, and appeals for money from charities, but this time, it was a real letter. As I picked up the envelope in anticipation, I read the name of the addressee and realised that it was intended for the previous occupier. Oh, the irony!

Belongo ergo sum.

So it is clear to me, mainly from my negative learning experience, that it is only in belonging that our life attains any significance. And it is ‘non-belonging’ which is the real sadness in our world today.

‘Non-belonging’ inherently implies separation from others, from society, even from the world, and unless someone happens to enjoy the life of a hermit, it is not the natural human state.

Is this what retirement feels like?

Is this the daily experience of the elderly, often living alone?

Is this my lot from now on?

And what role can the church play in this epidemic of loneliness? Because if we can’t take care of our own, what does that say about our purpose or integrity?

Afterthought

One of the classic descriptions of a church is that of a ‘flock’. I am sure this derives from the idea that we are sort of sheep, and the role of shepherd falls to the pastor.

Although I have never been a real shepherd, I have been a pastor for long enough to realise that the real danger to any sheep is when the silly ewe decides to wander off.

There is safety and security within the flock, both for the sheep and for the shepherd. But when the shepherd falls away, or becomes separated for whatever reason from the flock, it’s a different story.

Finding a replacement pastor may take a while, but most churches sort it out eventually. But what about the pastor himself? Who pastors the pastor? For ‘non-belonging’ is a dangerous place for anyone, sheep or shepherd.

It is a dangerous place for me, as subsequent events proved.