Omar Khayyam Edward FitzGerald and Omar Khayam — Synergy, Revelation, Investigation, Beauty, and Depth
Omar had the deep and grand ideas, but it was FitzGerald as a kindred soul and poet who dressed them in such fine clothes, attracting the world to them forever. The synergy of FitzOmar takes us far and away from the mundane, everyday, low-life, blah-blah, sit-com type renderings into the glorious reaches of deeper thinking about the Big Questions, as well as the good philosophical basic tenet of enjoying life, which I skip over herein, as pretty much known to be obvious.
FitzGerald’s transmogrification of Omar is near unbelievable in its excellence, one of those rare poetic products that could go on for hundreds of years without equal. Shelley was close, in his poem, ‘Adonais’, as well as was Thomas Gray, earlier, in ‘An Elegy Written in a Country Church Yard’.
FitzGerald even discarded some quatrains because they were merely quite masterful instead of meeting the perfectly superb standard he had set for himself.
All things, roll on “impotently”, by Omar. We are, as Shakespeare noted, but actors in a play, strutting and posturing. When were we ever responsible for how we were or are at given moment?
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
What benefit to life then? I suggest it is Experience, which can be mostly a joy—with Omar’s love, drink, food, friends, adventure, romance, and feeling right up there, although transient, but ever of the glorious Now, and generally free of Shame and Blame, being in the Paradise of right here, plus we being just as organic as anything else in nature, and no more important, “willy-nilly blowing”.
“Round which we Phantom Figures come and go” is about the noumena that our phenomena arise from as a kind of holographic phantasmagorial realm of the “Magic Shadow-show”. What lies behind is difficult to get at, but there has been some progress, at least as to the brain networks.
“The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour’d/Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour” because, well, in short, it has to, all things happening over and over again for all Eternity. It’s deja vu all over again.
“Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,/He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold” and the like is that, if one plays along with the myth, it is like that He thought of, planned, designed, and implemented humans and their nature, with an inherent wide-ranging spectrum of capacity for and from Good to Bad; but, in this myth-take ‘God’ bears no responsibility for His recipe expressing itself in just the way He all-knowingly wanted it to. Why His surprise and disappointment? Brave Omar knocks ‘god’ without fear.
Often, though, big paradoxes mightily arrive when something is made up, and Omar is ever up to the task.
When “You shall be You no more” and “And naked on the Air of Heaven ride”, and the like, it is perhaps that there not really a redundant soul ever living on, made of some invisible angelic vapour that duplicates and preserves you as your brain neuron network (which readily maintains what is already you just fine), in some essence of an already evolutionarily expensively formed brain.
FitzOmar’s ‘quicksilver’ is either as the above or as wine coursing through, it getting mention in the series below.
Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About The Secret--quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False from True--
And upon what, prithee, may life depend?
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to The Master too;
Whose secret Presence through Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi and
They change and perish all--but He remains;
A moment guessed--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.
Omar cites the limits to Knowing Everything as moving one toward a carpe diem centering in the now. He writes “…evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went”, “…But not the Master-knot of Human Fate”, and so forth.
Not being able to know is the same dilemma facing his Impotent Great Wheel that has to do what it does.
And so Omar unveils his basic human philosophy for our human condition, the central tenet being the primacy of the ‘Now’—over “Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday”.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
While the above probably refers to predestination by Allah, as made more explicit in other quatrains, it can also relate these days to more scientifically modern views as to how each moment arises in Time, in the Now, and then completely passes away, wholly replaced right then and there by the next Now, which process, or even ‘processing’, can’t be stopped, as like the deterministic chain “That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach”.
What you did long ago is done, dead, and gone, obviating any real shame and blame, but one must as well give up any fame, crediting it to Fate. Plus, indeed, can anyone really be held responsible for who/what they’ve come to be at any given moment from nature and nurture?
While Omar rails against a predestination by ‘God’, it is for other, godless, reasons that determinism might still be much the way events have to be, but for some possible quantum level randomness (which damages the will, anyway, harming it, not helping it at all), as much as we somehow wish to think that our will can be free of itself or that we or any part of physical Nature can do the same to somehow be self-made entities as a mini first cause.
Omar reveals that an ultimate basis without Origin, such as his causeless Great Wheel (standing in for the Eternal Basis), cannot even know its own reason for existence, and is powerless over its state, with no choice given to it for its being, it having to do just what it does and naught else, much as we may also have to admit to.
“It rolls impotently on as Thou or I”, for it just ‘IS’, ever and eternal, without a beginning or end, and what never begins cannot have a certain direction, design, meaning, or purpose put to it in the first place that never was.
Thanks to you both, FitzGerald and Omar, for the fun, as well as for attending to the serious task of pointing out the dubious and the deep.