On Ethics Poem by Jonathan Howard

PROLOGUE

The vertu thoghte I haven in tonne,
Eek I ſ oghte to the worden of Donne;
Wel I ſ peeak nay ‘ffolken ſ ote, aye,
Had I gone donné ſ o, layng in the iye –
The folken were to fi el right, ſ trong, gud:
Yronne’em not to be ſ helter’d in hū d.
To ſ yng to muſ ick this enditen ſ ong,
The fl oytinge of notés loud & long,
So alle folken be awayye for gud –
Leſ t riter be of tempre & of wood;
Thou! ſ yngeſ t alle worden in the tune,
To ende miſ erye of thiné ſ oon.

FIRST ARGUMENT

& this be based on Luther’s older say
About the kirk & evilen they play.
He saith so very little ‘bout the bell
But made it known it meaneth all the hell.

A tolling of the bells, you’d say, calls you
To die, and to forgive your friends (being true) :
The bell, though, cannot state a single truth,
Its purpose and design seducing youth.
Do not believe that one can think of this,
The tolling, though loud, softens like a hiss;
Though sounding well, just know the bells aren’t good,
I hope, then, that this issue’s understood:
The bells confi ne you to a way of life,
A way that will provide you nought but strife;
The controversy makes you just inept.
To think that evil such you would accept
Is like to think ‘of demons God would ask
To merrily fulfi l a noble task:
To kill all men on Earth, loot Paradise,
To risk all that’s on earth as fate of dice’.
Impossible to think this will be done –
God’s wits surpass the absolutely none!
And though such wits of yours are not in sight,
It doesn’t mean you cannot do what’s right.
Show worlds you can complete the task at hand,
And tell yourself that bells are ‘oh, so bland! ’;
Be stern and don’t forget that you have worth,
Assure all that you’re competent from birth.
‘Why, though’, you ask: ‘Must I be warned of bells? ’
And so to you the answer I will tell:

You must know, friend, that when a bell does ring
It will alert you, like a painful sting,
This shock of vigilance is very bad,
For what you might then do will make me sad.
You see, you have been taught when you were young
That you must go to church – where songs are sung,
And organs are then played throughout the mass,
And bells ring every hour in tones of bass.
This metonymic call is just an urge
To go to church – attendance there will surge,
With many people coming to the shrine,
The priests know that ‘the congregation’s mine! ’;
And that, my friend, is gullibility –
You give the priests and monks ability
To tell you what you ‘must’ do, lacking choice,
And falling for that pray makes them rejoice.
What you aren’t told is that this is a plan
To bind and capture all the Christian clan;
You fall prey to the evils of the church,
For ways of capturing they always search:
You soul will be at risk once that’s been done,
For all the freedom you will have is none.
‘And why’, you ask: ‘have they not captured you? ’
That is because I’m actually a Jew.
The Church could not persuade me then to join,
Though they seduced me, offering a coin;
I can’t take any bribery from them,
Not even had it been a precious gem.
You see, though, what this causes one to be?
Seduced by evil bells and priests are we!
And though you might say, ‘bells are not to blame,
For they were made by priests who have no shame’,
I tell you now that they are petty tools,
Nor have I blamed them – they comply with rules;
They never had a choice made on their own,
The priests, though, are the ‘King upon the Throne’.

And though you don’t believe me yet, my friend,
I tell you now that one his soul can mend.
I know, for instance, that your spirits live
And what we need is purity to give –
To mend them up from nought and make them strong,
So you will have them with you all along.
You must not listen to the Catholic Church,
And know that evils at you they will lurch!
So just remember not to be seduced,
And never, ever, fi nd yourself being used;
The Church will search for opportunities
And every one exploitable they’ll seize.
You must therefore give mending soully now
And I will tell you secrets of the ‘how’:
You understand that God wants benefi t
And pleasure He will want in you to sit,
Therefore you must show Him you’re ready now
For anything He wants – by this you vow;
Now, you will need to make a bond with Him
And want him in your centre, not your rim!
By this, you see, your soul you can mend then,
When for the Godly love you yearn and ken.
And I can help you do it in one step:
Just buy indulgences and raise your rep.

SECOND ARGUMENT

& this be what philosophers might tell
About how vile and horrible be Hell.
And why one must be truthful to the Lord –
Lest he be then attackéd by God’s sword.

You know, dear friend, that Hell is not so nice,
So don’t you risk your life with games of dice;
For I can tell you that a lively risk
Will not be earning you a death of frisk.
I am one who’s been risking thoughts and will
Of being good, for I could not stay still
And do what I was told back in that day:
I simply had to think my life was play;
Those times were those of temporary joy,
But all my thoughts I could not then deploy
In such a way that it would be of use,
And this most idle lesson is the muse
That makes me tell you why one shouldn’t act
In ways not calculated with good tact.
Do not attempt to play with Godly word
That you have verifi ed that you have heard!
You know that God does not take easily
The one who plays with life so weaselly;
You know that god is one who listens not
To those who risked their souls they made to rot.
In Hell there is much you don’t want to see,
Lest you will have your eyes confi ned – not free.
‘But what are they confi ned to? ’ you may ask,
And this is such a challenge, such a task,
For if you knew you’d stay (for good) insane
And this attempt of mine would be in vain;
So let’s just state that vile’s abundant there,
And at the horror you don’t want to stare.
There’s much you’d like to know but it’s so bad
To know of that the thought just makes one mad;
And since you’re one of those, I daresay now:
‘Don’t ask why, what, when, where, nor even how.’

The fi res Hell provides for burning you
Is something that the Church has told you too,
And though I much suspect the truth within,
I wouldn’t risk old Hell to be done in;
For you are not a phœnix that can last
The fl aming fi res of hell, of robust blast:
I heard some horrid stories of what’s done
To all who in their life have merry fun
And don’t act in a fashionable way –
It’s they who cry on their infernal day.
I don’t suggest you follow in their path
Or dare engage Lord God in hated wrath;
For even if these stories are of fl uff,
They have a purpose with descriptions rough:
They come to teach you how you, friend, must act,
And how to live your life with use of tact;
They come to show why moral s a must,
And why you must avoid the greed and lust;
They come to show why goodness is a trait –
And so you must comply with what they say.

So fuss around and say that I’m a Jew,
Thus ‘why should I be listening to you? ’ –
But you must realise one smallest thing,
You’re hereby warned – it may well sting:
This thing is not just Christián by law,
And all the tales ‘bout fi res and skin that’s raw
Are not unique to what your sages tell
And they exist in Jewish law as well.
The aim is theological at whole:
‘Intimidate the heart, oppress the soul.’
But there’s a reason for this, so it seems,
In Christianity—‘sins to redeem’;
In Judáism—‘act just like a man’;
And in Islam—‘kill heathens as you can’.
These acts by theist and their law alike
Is why in God’s name men were rammed up pikes,
And if you have a bit of wit within
You’ll know avoidance from what’s known as ‘sin’;
For anthropology has proven such:
That lack of all compliance isn’t much,
And that it isolates your honest thought –
This is what anthropology has taught.
And don’t you underestimate the art
That analyses cultures’ noble start!
For it has proven to be speaking truth
About our human nature since its youth.
Conclusion is that you must watch your step,
Lest you’ll end up in hell – quite bad for rep!

THIRD ARGUMENT

And this be what I have to say ‘bout death,
When one the others killeth: stops their breath;
How one the other’s soul will gladly sell,
And why the deed’s regarded as not well.

I cannot teach but one too many tales:
For you have got to grasp on to the rails
And not be droppéd down to Deep Below,
Such miseries upon us you’ll bestow…
Oh, sure, I know why you might want to die
From will – confi ned to life and to it tied,
You feel as if you cannot stretch out wide,
As if you cannot be fl esh, bone and hide.
But spirits – though they’re loved – have limits few,
Though knowledge of them might’ve avoided you.
You reckon that of vanity is life,
And it is worth an ending done by knife;
But I am here to tell you death’s not worth
The penance that you’ll have for wasting birth:
For you can have a lively joy of fun
Without the need to feel to be done,
And spend your time on rapture and on joy
Without the need of graveyards to deploy.

But more an issue is one of much strength,
And how another you shan’t kill at length:
Though death upon yourself you may infl ict,
You shall kill no one else – the rules are strict.
Though you might reckon life’s a shameful thing,
The public doesn’t think that it’s a sting
So painful that it’s worthwhile to remove;
And that their life is worthwhile to improve;
So you have moral rights that sum to none
For doing deeds that cannot be undone.
Be careful when you aim to kill a man
Or woman, if you reckon that you can:
The dangers are abundant, and what’s more –
The consequences are all made of gore,
So you will have a pleasureless time if
You kill a person, making bodies stiff.
I guess, friend, that you heard about a jail;
If murder you commit but leave a trail –
That leads us to you – you’ll be b’hind the bars.
You shall not ever be one of the stars
That you have sought in youth to be alike –
The ones you just adore – but you’re not like
Those fellas whom you marvel with most awe,
For you are now in jail, ain’t it a gore?
Avoid this hypothetical decline,
And get your wicked toes back into line!
This is no game, it’s life we’re all about,
And no-one wants your own to be a rout.

I could myself right now just take you down,
I might be, too, the hero of the town;
But I cannot empower all my will
To justify the act of brutal kill!
And since I cannot do it, for it’s wrong,
Just listen to the words right in this song:
It’s wrong to take another person’s life,
And if you’ll do it – you’ll have nought but strife;
The bitter battle battering your brain,
With buttered mallow, most unpleasant strain.
Investigation never aided one,
Or given suspects any sense of fun;
You will be charged for most sincere crimes,
In hindsight, pleasant you won’t think those times
Have been, or ever given you good game –
For you might end up all the bloody same.
And then I shan’t have gained a merry bit
From you becoming one of men that hit,
And kill, such murder, slay and hate a foe
Upon him placing fate of Black the Crow –
Without the mere retaliation that
All people who deserve it are just brats.
Do not end up as wicked as those slugs,
If you will fear a bullet in your hugs.

(Winter 2004-2005.)