A business man believes in nothing but money. A company CEO believes in nothing but profit and growth.
A risk-taker believes in nothing but risk.
An optimist believes in nothing but hope. A pessimist believes in nothing but warnings.
A nun or monk believes in nothing but faith and charity.
A rich man believes in nothing but sitting on top of the world. A poor man believes in nothing but sitting on the bottom, among the fishes.
A burglar believes in nothing but stealing. A murderer believes in nothing but killing. A judge believes in nothing but justice.
A photo journalist believes in nothing but pictures. A writer believes in nothing but words. Both believe in telling a story.
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A
simplistic, pared-down view of how some beings might see and respond
to the world, and to their place in it, when it's been reduced as in
a recipe: when all superfluous and miscellaneous facts have
diminished so that only the very essence of what makes them them
remains, e.g. their motivation or core belief, which was either given
to them, from birth, or learned through experience or example. And for some these may change. Depending on where they start out from or where they get to, but that motivation or belief must have always been there. Mustn't it? Lurking, if not immediately apparent. Waiting for the right opportunity to appear and make itself known. To its bearer and its potential audience.
Is it depressing? It could be seen that way
Is it true? It's a generalisation so no, and yes.
It's not anything. The above are just statements, not of fact, not of truth, that occurred having read that first line, a quote accorded to Anton Chekhov, that I built on.
Why? Who can say...I can't. Who can when a muse strikes...And I didn't even act directly upon it yet it wouldn't leave me alone, so that I then had to look it up because I was sure I'd come across it initially in a Michael Frayn translation of The Cherry Orchard, where the conversation revolved around money. That I didn't reaffirm, but I did find that line.
It's the image of a hungry dog that stayed. Outlived the play, and, if I'm wrong in my inference, equated that hunger for meat with money. To my mind, they're the same.
Some humans have been known to drool at the sight of bank notes. Or if really affluent bars of gold.
Money sustains everything as does 'meat' meaning in this context food, nourishment. Both hold things up. Dogs and small boys, for example. Here, I'm thinking of Goodbye Mr Chips, where Mr Chipping called a rissole (a fried cake of minced meat) served at Brookfield on Mondays 'abhorrendum', 'meat to be abhorred'. Money buys meat in which to feed dogs and small boys. How much secures the sale and quality.
And if meat can be described as an abomination so can money. Money makes the world go round, money talks, money opens doors. Money gets you the best education, the best homes, the more comfortable lifestyle. None of which is false, but can it also bring contentedness? Can it stop the getting of and the going after? Because when is enough enough, if you're of that mindset, unless of course you're also philanthropic. Although if the donor or the donation is found to be tainted then charity may not be accepted, and may even be returned.
Money, it is said, is amoral, which I take the sayers to mean money itself and not the possessor. Money is the bait, the cheese in the trap, the worm on the hook, It doesn't, nor can it, make questionable choices. However, that hunger, as in a fable, is as wily as a dog.
Picture credit: Allegory of Fortune, 1658, Louvre, Salvator Rosa (source: Wikipedia)
All posts published this year were penned during the last.
