I'm a Believer

I’m a Believer

Few things matter more to people than their personal beliefs, and that’s true of me and my beliefs. They’re central to me. I ponder them every day; I nurture and expand them by discussing them with people of similar beliefs; I try my best to live by them in everything I do and I cannot imagine ever changing them. In fact the older I become, the more convinced I am of their veracity. So, I’m very definitely, a believer.

Those who share my beliefs are the fastest growing segment of society. But, though we share the same beliefs, we don’t share the same name, so some of us are called: Atheists, Freethinkers, Skeptics, Humanists, Rationalists or Naturalists which is my own worldview. I don’t mind answering to any of the other names though depending on the occasion, but one term I do object to is: ‘unbeliever’, because as I said before, I’m very definitely a believer.

And as a naturalist, many of my views are solid and definite. For example, I believe people are born neither good nor bad, that they become what their genetic inheritance, their upbringing and their life’s experiences shape them to become and I believe that under the same set of circumstances, any one of us would have turned out the same way.

I believe there are three main human endeavours in life worth pursuing - the gaining of knowledge, the cultivation of virtue and empowering the powerless. The rest is just embroidery.

I believe stances based in ignorance breed cultures of violence and retribution and that these two outlooks have always been the greatest hindrances to human progress. I believe humanity could take great strides forward if only all the women of the world were taught how their bodies and brains work and they avoided being indoctrinated by the many myths and superstition that surround them. I believe friends need to be chosen carefully because good ones can make for a healthy and happy life and bad ones can set us on a path to destruction.

I believe scientists make mistakes, that a few of them are corrupt and some are mercenary, despite that, I believe the only way for ordinary people to learn how the world works is for scientists to employ an empirical method of investigation using reason, observation and experiment, and to pass on their results - like smoking causes cancer; human activities are causing the earth’s climate to change; vaccinations work. All examples of the type of knowledge that can save us from ourselves.

My personal knowledge on how to reduce anxiety helps me through stressful times and the moral code that I’ve deliberated over for decades guides my interactions with other people. So, like everyone else, my beliefs help me navigate through life; they’re well entrenched in my brain and all my actions and my future goals are guided by them.

It's not a general lack of beliefs then which earn me the epithet of ‘unbeliever’—rather it’s because I’ve developed a rather cynical mind and I reject beliefs that have no basis in the harsh reality to which we insist all other facets of our life must conform. To live a modern life means being accustomed to questioning everything from a builder’s quote on our house extension to a consultant’s opinion about our appendix. We hold these opinions up to rigorous scrutiny and that seems eminently sensible to me. So I have no use for beliefs based on ‘faith‘ alone, for me they have no validity. One compelling reason I reject them is that they’re wide open, there’s no limit or exception to what their content can be, and that to me is quite scary. Also, although such beliefs like the effects of prayer or presence of angels repeatedly fail practical tests, their followers continue to endlessly repeat the same claims. This level of repeated failure would spell extinction for beliefs if they were outside the faith zone.

This is not to deny such beliefs any currency at all, I understand that many people don’t share my approach or apply my demanding criteria to belief claims and they seem quite content and indeed happy to hold beliefs that rest on flimsier foundations but that also makes such beliefs attractive to lazy thinkers. And that’s fine by me, people ought to be free to apply their own criteria and believe whatever gives them comfort. But the question is, should these untested beliefs be given the same degree of esteem from society that they get? I think it’s unfair that they do. Worse still, around the world, it’s people like me, labeled ‘non-believers’ who are more likely to be treated with suspicion or disdain.

If faith beliefs were restricted to the private realm and to groups of similar believers who don’t mind accepting premises and ideas on a basis of trust and personal experience, they would cause me and my ilk no apprehension at all. But usually they are not restricted in this way, instead faith followers continuously concern themselves with the morality of others, insisting that me and others like me, live by the same moral codes they have accepted for themselves (or sometimes only publicly pretending to accept while privately behaving otherwise).

The coupling of faith with morality has through time become traditional so faith organizations are often viewed by many as a place of sanctuary. Troubled and vulnerable people are no doubt glad to hear that someone big and powerful loves them and are happy to take refuge under the shelter of faith. But history and modern revelations has shown that there are also charlatans and wrong-doers who use the status of faith as a shield and to find a safe place to skulk.

In any other area of life, people who declared themselves followers of a belief that was patently absurd might be treated with ridicule. But the respect faith is given provides a barrier that stops any scorn in its tracks, so a faith environment still has the ability to provide cover for all manner of snake-oil salesfolk hiding behind its veil of respectability. Even though many faith claims are less about the way the world works and usually more about the way the minds of their individual leaders work.

Mind you, this deferential attitude to faith has recently started to crumble, but challengers who demand more equality from the faith institutions are usually swatted away as mere ‘strident or aggressive’ atheists.

So, for these reasons, although naturalists believe in many things we cannot accept a belief just because it’s traditional. And we don’t put much stock in the words of self-proclaimed prophets or miraculous cures. But, we cannot dismiss the beliefs of Sikhs, yet uphold those of Jews, Homeopaths, or Christians. We must subject all claims to the same standards of examination and verification.

Nevertheless, because naturalists reason in this way, we‘re often accused of arrogance, for trusting our own human judgment over sacred truths. But, for me this way of reasoning seems modest. I believe it derives from an appreciation of human frailties; a willingness to be self-critical and an attempt to approach the world with honesty and some personal dignity. And to make such appraisals is no easy task, it asks as much of our personal characteristics as it does of our intellect. It requires a open approach when judging divergent viewpoints; it requires integrity to consider our own beliefs by the same standards we judge others; it needs the patience to suspend any judgment until we learn all the facts; it requires persistence to think through difficult issues; it requires courage to insist on evidence before drawing conclusions and it requires flexibility to change our minds if our beliefs are thrown into doubt by the latest discoveries.

Of course, setting standards this high, means we need to proceed with caution. People are not altogether rational creatures and the one sure weakness we all share is our fallibility. So we must apply the same impartial benchmarks to our own reasoning as we do to that of others. For naturalists, no old-fashioned holy book gives us a basis to rise to such a challenge, only the book of nature can do that because nature cares nothing for feelings; it has no interest in confirming prejudices or personal impressions. It recognises no elect groupings and reveals its secrets to any who take the trouble to investigate. On the other hand, claims that are held erect by a faith- scaffold and reserved for a select group of believers are forever endangered when cultures evolve to the sway of the contemporary zeitgeist.

I say then that people can do no better than to limit their beliefs to natural explanations of life because the basis of naturalistic beliefs is unconcealed; it can be forthrightly proclaimed and spoken about explicitly, there is no need to cloak it in secrecy or mystery and to share it requires no caveats, or promises of specific behaviour. Naturalistic explanations remain valid for anyone and everyone despite their personal input to life. A person can accept the facts that the planet is 4.5 billion years old and that the flu doesn’t respond to antibiotics whether they are the world’s most fervent atheist or the world’s most fervent god worshiper. On the other hand, religious or other faith beliefs only reward followers, worst still, those who find they cannot accept such beliefs, even for the best of reasons, are threatened by intimidating sanctions - all without verification that the beliefs are in any way accurate.

Championing a naturalistic approach to belief doesn’t exclude other routes to life’s fulfilment as life has many and varied dimensions - there’s the artistic, the sensual, the literate, the athletic, and these are all well-grounded activities that await being discovered either for pleasure, the advancement of knowledge or both. And any of these routes can provide a valuable adjunct to life’s meaning whether we accept a faith position or not. One of my favourite books, Dickens’ Hard Times, underlines this view. It’s a cautionary tale that describes a Mr Gradgrind who constantly churns out to his children facts, facts, and more facts all the while ignoring their desire to nurture their artistic and emotional selves. The moral to the sad story warns readers not to repeat Mr Gradgrind’s sterile approach so they may avoid his inevitable heartache.

Nevertheless, probably the commonest objection that naturalists hear is that without the supernatural, the universe is devoid of wonder, and can have no meaning, no purpose. Or that by limiting our understanding of life to the naturalistic, we risk losing communion with an immortal god, or a miraculous healing of what ails us. In some ways they are right, nature provides no meaning or purpose, and the disturbing parts of life, especially its end in death, cannot be overcome or avoided so needs to be faced with honesty, understanding and courage, and not wished away while an imagined eternal perfection takes its place. The bald fact is that life is finite and no amount of wishful thinking will change that. On becoming an adult, each person must assess these competing beliefs and make a decision.

To those who say "I’d rather be part of something bigger than myself" I say: It’s true people are just a collection of atoms, but we are atoms that have self-awareness. Our brains are only matter, but it’s matter capable of constructing memory, imagination, language and meaning. And it’s these human attributes that gives each one of us an importance beyond ourselves. In fact, I could say people are the universe personified and looking in the mirror. Who could ask for anything bigger?

For most of my life I have chosen to uphold these naturalistic beliefs, to take whatever actions they prompt and to stand by their consequences. I know that I am firm in them because my resolve has often been tested, but, I have consistently refused to accept opposing beliefs even when enticed by instant rewards or threatened by damnation in eternity. These are my beliefs and I’m a believer.

June Maxwell
Glasgow, March 2013

Blue Jeans and Blue Gowns

Blue Jeans and Blue Gowns

Some years back, I completed a PhD in the subject of semiotics, specifically in multi-modal communication and I’ve always had a fascination with how people communicate and how changes in our lifestyle can prompt changes in the way we interact with the world. In the last few days, the words of another semiotician (Umberto Eco’s Faith in Fakes, 1986), have been playing in a continuous loop at the forefront of my mind.

In that book, Eco descriptively and entertainingly explained in semiotic terms how wearing a pair of jeans had immediately altered his demeanour and how that one, simple outward change of clothes imposed on him a change in his attitudes, thoughts and behaviour. In the last few days, I’ve had a similar experience, one which I’m committing to paper underneath:

A few days ago, I underwent a short spell in hospital. I had what’s known as a TIA (Transient Ischaemic Attack). Although these can be quite serious incidents, they’re temporary and I’ve had two before so I recognised the symptoms straight away. I lost vision in one eye for around 15 minutes or so and after about half an hour the episode passed and I went back to feeling as I usually do, not ill or weak or physically compromised in any way, not even psychologically concerned about a repeat attack, just the usual me. That means, I share with Eco what he was pleased to call ‘the internal life’, an on-going internal dialogue on somewhat lofty and philosophical subject matters, a dialogue brimming with theory comparisons, semiotic analyses, critiques, and so on. And for me this dialogue is my most defining feature, it assures me I’m still me and it determines how I interpret the world - though not how the world interprets me.

But, during my sight loss episode, to be ‘on the safe side’ I called NHS 24 to ask their advice. Before I knew it, an ambulance arrived to transport me to hospital. I sat with the paramedics in the ambulance explaining what happened while they tested me for various health benchmarks like blood pressure, insulin score, etc. At this point I was fully clothed, but I felt cold so they covered me with a blanket. This made a difference because being conscious of an ambulance blanket around me suddenly shifted my perception of me from citizen to ‘patient’.

The move from ambulance to A&E was done by wheelchair (for safety reasons) so my transformation to patient was moved up a gear. I spent quite a few hours in A&E where I saw a succession of nurses, doctors and support staff and I instinctively knew as a patient, my language from here on in would need to be more considered and respectful and my internal dialogue would now be too busy observing these changes to pursue anything more intellectual.

One nurse suggested I change into a hospital gown and get onto the A&E couch. The gown did it. Donning that notoriously absurd apparel completed my transformation. The person I usually think of as me, a fiercely independent woman with a wealth of rich experience and knowledge, someone active in the world, someone with an internal life of incisive, continual semiotic analyses, to the person reflected back to me by the speech and actions of all those around me - a vulnerable, sick, old woman - and it was that pesky blue gown wot done it.

Just as Eco’s jeans had imposed on him an unfamiliar, somewhat artificial and alien demeanour, and exchanged his internal life for a completely external one (albeit a more carefree one), my hospital gown had become the medium that non verbally but loudly and definitively conveyed to me and everyone around me this message: ‘here you are a patient, one of many, to everyone you meet here, everything that identifies you is recorded on that bedside chart, that is who you are now’. The gown also instructed me to remember my place, to be grateful at all times, (even a bit of fawning might not be out of place); ask only relevant questions, and above all, don’t get annoyed when they call you ‘dear, pet, love’ so on, that’s what the gown demands. And I obeyed. I adopted the new persona my begowned self insisted on.

Over 2-3 days, someone interacted with a host of medical and non medical staff, but it wasn’t me, I was back at my flat probably watching Netflix and thinking about my next move into Nurture Community Politics. This was a surrogate me, one whose life and habits now gave way to instructions, rules and money-saving compromises that everything around me confirmed loud and clear: The infamous rubber mattress, the cornflakes breakfast, the torture of being wakened at half-hour intervals the whole night. It was all happening to her, the old dear in the gown that had a TIA. Nurture Politics? No time or cerebral space for such mental meanderings now, the gown (like Eco’s jeans) obliged me to concentrate solely on aspects of my external life, and right now that was to negotiate a trip to the loo while hooked up to a dozen bleeping devices.

As Eco himself commented, semioticians know that clothes are semiotic devices, and they know like language, clothes can provide a syntactic structure that can alter presentations and interpretations of events and indeed of people. We know the medium is the message. We know all this because we have libraries of books and theories that tell us so. But again, like Eco, sometimes its just fun to live through and then document a personal example of these theories that prove just how right they are.

June Maxwell
Glasgow, 2017

I'm Philip, the Runner

I’m Philip, the Runner

I’m Philip, the runner, that’s how I announced myself to the generals in Athens when they summoned me to the assembly some 2,500 years ago. My life as Philip was short, but those brief years were filled with satisfaction, honour and a touch of youthful hubris.

At that time the talk in the city was all about the Persians, everyone knew they were on their way. Darios, their leader, who called himself the king of kings, was determined to trample the Athenians like ants under his Persian feet. We didn’t know much about these people and couldn’t understand their language. To us, every time they spoke it just sounded as if they were saying ‘bar’, ‘bar’ so we called them barbarians.

Our way of life in Athens was unique, it suited us and we were all keen to preserve it. Although we loved beautiful things, we lived simply yet had everything we needed, so for the most part we were content. Some of our wealthier citizens had foreigners to do their manual work for them and those people had much better conditions in Athens than they did elsewhere.

Nobody ruled us, we were responsible for our own laws and because we created them ourselves, we upheld them and protected them. I wasn’t 30 yet so not old enough to go to the assembly where the laws were made but I used to hear my dad say it could be tedious going twice a week to listen to long speeches or some trial or other, but he always went because we believed that any person who couldn’t be bothered to do his civic duty had no business living in our city at all.

Many of the older men liked to spend their time cultivating their minds in philosophic discussions, the younger ones like me preferred to cultivate our physical strength, so every day I would go the gymnasium and practise running and other sports and I became quite well known for my strength and achievements.

A vandal like Darios didn’t understand our democratic routines, his people knew only fear and obedience, and if we let him, he would destroy our way of life and take us all for slaves to live under his tyranny. We were used two war but we weren’t just fighting machines like the Spartans were. We admired moderation in everything, so it seemed to us the Spartans put too much time into military training. I had just finished mine but had never been in a war, so I suppose I was anxious to prove myself and do my bit.

That day we had all heard the rumours. The numbers of Persians advancing on us were supposed to be so many they were uncountable. The ten generals in charge of our defence were at the assembly making plans, but most people were just going about their business. Takis, my best friend and I were training at the stadium when the messenger came and asked me to come to the assembly to talk to the generals; I couldn’t imagine why.

One of them, general Miltos had most to say. I didn’t know him well but to me he looked a bit shifty. General Themis was there too, I’d know him since I was a young boy. He’d often seen me run at the games. I think I was one of his favourite athletes because one day he gave me a present, a small silver bird with long legs, he said it reminded him of me. Since then, I’ve always worn it round my neck and people in the city all know me by it, in fact those who know me well call me ‘bird- legs’.

The generals’ plan was that all Athenian men capable of fighting gather in the small village of Marathon and confront the Persians when they landed in their ships. That way we’d take them by surprise because they’d probably think we’d be cowering behind the city walls, never imagining a small band of Athenians would have the nerve to confront their gigantic army head on.

For its defence Athens could count on every citizen between the ages of 20 and 60 but even so our numbers were small, about 8,000, so we needed help. At first, the generals decided to send a rider to Sparta to ask them to come to our aid. But when they considered the need for psychological stamina and how a horse might get into difficulty in such rough and rocky terrain, they decided to choose an athlete, a runner so, instead they honoured me with the task.

I wasted no time in preparing. I’m not sure what I was feeling, excitement, anticipation or anxiety. I know I was bursting with pride but the gravity of the mission kept my euphoria in check. As I set off, every Athenian asked the gods to give strength to my limbs. And they all came to wish me well as I made my way out the city ‘the gods be with you’ ‘Do it for Athens’ ‘you can do it Philip’. And till I reached my journey’s end, all those encouraging words were my fuel.

I was well used to running long distances and I knew how to pace myself and how important rhythm was, but that road didn’t make it easy to keep a steady pace, there were too many stones, hills, bends, ups and downs and that meant hard concentration. I started to sing, first, a rousing verse from Homer: ‘On the plains of windy Troy’. I was an awful singer but there was no one to hear and the song had a good beat so I thumped it out with my feet. I went along like that for hours, me and the hot August sun and all I wished for was a cool evening breeze to bring relief to my sizzling skin.

In the dark, somewhere around Corinth, I stopped to rest. I remember closing my eyes for a minute and a gentle hand touching my shoulder. I looked round and saw an old woman who looked wise and kind, come to think of it, I never did find out where she came from. She gave me food and drink, that I never tasted before or since for as it went down I felt revived and restored all over. In no time I took to my running again with even greater enthusiasm.

This time I made up songs as I went, a song about the journey, a song about a girl I fancied and one about my beloved Athens.  By morning a leather strap on one of my boots had broken, it had already made me twist my ankle a couple of times and now with every step, small sharp stones found their way into the flesh of my feet. But I couldn’t afford to let my thoughts dwell on pain so I fixed my eyes on the road and only allowed thoughts of duty into my mind.

Day became night and on it went, the pounding, thumping, running. The sun had started to set on the second day when I saw it in the distance - there it was - Sparta. The sight renewed my vigour, I filled my lungs with air and sprinted the last few miles. I wasn’t sure what to expect, I wondered what their city would be like, we’d always heard so many stories about their women athletes and their awful soup.

“I’m Philip, the runner, I’ve come from Athens, we need your help”. Everybody was as curious about me as I was about them. They listened earnestly at what I had to say, they knew if Athens fell, Sparta would be next. They went off to discuss the situation between themselves and left me with a girl to tend to my blistered feet. Pretty soon there was a crowd all around me. “Is it true you Athenians walk to war as if you’re out for a stroll with your friends?”. “Who’s in charge, how do you keep order”. “And how come you have short hair?” I didn’t know who to answer first. I suppose so, I said, we’re all part-time soldiers but we know our duty. Our generals have more experience in warfare so we obey their orders in battle but on the whole we’re all treated pretty much the same really.

I was a stranger, and as tradition demanded, they offered me hospitality. One drop of wine added to a bowl of water to cure my thirst, then there was meat, fruit and rest. I think my feat of endurance impressed them because they treated me with extraordinary respect and friendship. One showed me the tricks of his military prowess and a special manoeuvre to use if I was ever cornered by a Persian.

I think I sensed their leader’s reply before he spoke and I listened to it intently. They would like to help he said and they would, but right now was the celebration of their holiest festival of the year and it would be another six days till the festivities were over. However, he told me they would make an exception and in this case they would compromise, they would try to get to Athens in three days, that was the best they could do.

I hadn’t expected this reply, I imagined going back with the mighty Spartan army alongside me. I mustered my thoughts; my fellow Athenians waited at Marathon and needed every man they could get, my mum and dad as well as my young sister were still in the city, if the barbarians got there..,....

By way of consolation, the Spartans gave me a horse to ride part of the way back and some of them rode with me till I was well on my way. I was glad of their company but they were a serious bunch, not like Takis who always saw the funny side of everything. One by one they fell back till eventually once again, there was only me and the road.

I’d been given fresh boots for the journey and thick socks to cover my well-oiled feet, but still the pounding vibrated inside my ears, in fact my whole body throbbed in tune to the rhythm of the run. Images came to me of the girl who had tended my feet. I hadn’t taken much notice of her at the time, but now I remembered what clear green eyes she had. I remembered the sensation of her hands gently massaging my feet and the relaxing aroma of the herbs and oils she used. Her hairstyle was so different from Athenian girls - and those legs. Reminiscing of those tranquil moments must have sent me into a daydream and before I knew it, I had planned and lived out my entire life with this girl.

The hardest thing was to keep my eyes open - they kept falling shut. It was a struggle I almost lost, and then I saw him. Far off at first, but I could mark him as an Athenian by the style of his helmet as it caught the sun. As I got nearer he was running towards me - it was Takis. He had let the others go ahead and waited for me on the road. His arms were all around me, as we rejoiced in each other.

For a while we just sat silently relieved to be in each other’s company. But Takis was excited: “Are they far behind you, how many are there”? I didn’t know how to tell him. He didn’t say anything at first, then he was cursing the Spartans and their festivals. But suddenly he lowered his voice: “They say the Persians outnumber us ten to one Phil”. “The Platians have come in with us but they’re only about 800 of them”. It was the first time I had heard Takis’ voice so sombre, so I tried to lighten things up bit. “Wait till I tell you about the Spartan women”. He soon rallied and before long we took the road to Marathon together in a relaxed stride. Takis had brought my gear with him, my helmet with its red crest, greaves to protect my legs, my shield and a short sword that my mum had given me.

The atmosphere at Marathon was eerie. The Persian boats were in the bay and we could see the hoards of strange-looking men moving around on the shore. The Athenians had taken up a place behind a hill waiting for reinforcements. Takis and I went to find general Themis. He was disappointed at our news but he said if we hadn’t enough brawn to do the job we would use our brains and fight them with strategy. General Themis’ plan was meticulously detailed and every one of us knew if we were to succeed, we had to carry it out to the letter.

At first light we assembled in our tribes, ten in all, each led by a general. We took up our gear and walked down the hill towards the enemy, this was it, do or die. We waited for general Themis’ signal, then we ran. Everybody was shouting and yelling, our noise filled the whole expanse of land in front of us as we ran forward. They didn’t move, just watched in amazement. They must have thought we were mad, so eager to meet our doom, but they didn’t know what we knew. We ran till we were so close to them that their arrows, their army’s best assets were rendered useless.

We kept the flanks strong which lured all the barbarians into the centre where our defences were weak. From what I observed of these peculiar men, their heart didn’t seem to be in the fight as if they didn’t know what they were fighting for. As soldiers, their skills seemed good enough, but without grievances to quell or families to defend, they fought without the conviction so familiar to Athenians. In contrast, Darios’ men fought from fear of not fighting, they fought a mechanical war, whereas we fought a moral one. I think that’s what made them easy to defeat. One came after me, I didn’t see him at first and he managed to plunge a knife into my leg and almost did for me, but luckily I remembered the manoeuvre the Spartan had taught me and made short work of him. My wound hurt but I got used to it and carried on, it was just one more pain.

I hadn’t seen Takis for a while, but I caught sight of my dad and a former teacher of mine and there was that well-known Athenian who wrote plays - Aschyleus I think they called him, each doing their bit for Athens.

Every time the barbarians in the middle took a step forward, back went our troops, slowly, subtly but surely, back and back taking the Persians with us. When they were trapped like flies in a web, we closed in on the two sides and fought till we finished them off. The most satisfactory sight Athenian eyes beheld that day was the backs of the remaining Persians as they scurried off to their ships.

To make sure we’d seen the last of them, general Miltos took a group of men forward to the next port in case they landed there. Their ships sailed round the coast and slowed to a stop at Sounion, but as they looked up and saw the bronze helmets of the Athenians lining the hilltop, they had second thoughts about landing and headed home.

All this time the women, children and old people in Athens didn’t know what had happened and they still feared a Persian attack. General Themis wanted someone to go on ahead and bring the good news to the city. My first run to Sparta had added conceit to my faults and I thought I was the best man for the job, but I knew if the general saw my wound he would never agree.

I found Takis who couldn’t stop talking about the victory. I managed to silence him for a minute and told him my plans. I persuaded him to get hold of some Persian trousers as a war trophy but they were really to disguise my leg wound. I went to general Themis and requested the further honour of bringing the good news to the city. He wasn’t enthusiastic and wondered if I had enough strength left but because I had already run the 150 miles to Sparta and got back safely then fought with them, he decided it was only fair that if I was willing I should be given the honour of undertaking the last 22 miles to Athens to deliver the good news, so he granted my wish. Takis tried to talk me out of it but there was no chance of that. I left my gear with him and for the third time set off on a long run.

There were no songs this time, all my strength was needed to push my legs, I couldn’t even afford a glance sideways. The pace was slow, but I had never a thought of stopping. The hubris that was my weaknesses now redeemed itself as a virtue in the form of pride and determination that would not allow me to surrender to the road as it came lurching towards me with every step. I was so filled with thoughts of home there was no room for pain.

Do it for Athens, do it for Athens, do it for Athens, like a hypnotic mantra, I was mesmerised by the single continual thought in my mind accompanied by the constant pounding of my feet. Water, I could see it, hear it, taste it, smell it, feel it, but I didn’t have it. The heat made the wet blood from my leg clot and even the occasional sweat bead was soon absorbed by my body, the inferno.

I peered out of the narrow slits I had left for eyes. Was that the hills around Athens? Then I heard children’s voices and could feel people near me. Someone came forward and touched me and I fell. All I could do now was lie there. “Who is this, he must be a Persian, look at those trousers”. I hadn’t realised the dust of the road mixed with the blood of the battle had coloured my blond hair dark. My whole body was swollen, especially my face, my lips were cracked and my eyes so puffed I was unrecognisable.

I felt the process of death begin, like a set of lights going out one by one. I had to deliver my message quickly now. “We did it, we defeated the Persians, Athens is safe”. Then I faintly heard someone ask, “How do we know this is not a Persian trick? I had to convince them, but how? there was no time left. I mustered every remnant of strength left in my being and brought my hand to my neck. I grasped the bird with the long legs and raised it towards the crowd with an outstretched arm. The last sound I heard in that life was a loud, proud voice that declared: “I’m Philip, the runner.”

June Maxwell,
Kufrsum, Jordan, 1997