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Going back to my favorite holiday traditions over the past two weeks, I fell in love with “Auld Lang Syne” again. It always seemed like a perfect song to me, with lyrics and melody so closely related that they are inextricably linked, like soul and body.
“Should we forget an acquaintance
And never thought?
Should we forget all knowledge
And the days of auld lang syne?
The phrase from which the song derives its title, preserved in the original Scottish language of the lyrics, is often translated as “a long, long time ago” or “long ago”. I completely agree with those who have left the phrase “auld lang syne” intact in the modern English version. The wooden translations do violence to the sentence. Even phonetically, the ‘auld lang syne’ Scots seem to carry a vernacular charm, rolling over the tongue like the fog of the highlands.
How can we celebrate “picking good daisies” alongside the tiring wandering, or raise a glass to paddle together the streams along our remote across wide seas?
For anyone who thinks that “Auld Lang Syne” was written specifically for the cathartic final minutes of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” these translations provide a useful entry point for understanding the history and legacy of the song.
Composed by poet Robert Burns in the second half of the 18th century, the song quickly gained popularity in English-speaking countries. It has finally taken its place among the standard New Year’s Eve festivities, encouraging revelers keen to reflect on the end of the year before celebrating the year ahead.
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The song continues:
We both ran over the hills
And I picked the daisies well;
But we wandered many tired feet
Since auld lang syne.
We both paddled in the creek,
From morning sun to dinner;
But the seas between us roared
Since auld lang syne.
As is often the case with old songs, the middle verses carry the greatest load of meaningful content (and are also, incidentally, the first forgotten.) The first two stanzas of the song, paired with a festive chorus , seem worthy of a cheerful Scotsman. pub, where the members of a happy choir treat each other with winks and drinks for the pleasure of the “good old days”. Now the song seems to take an odd turn by offering two verses in which a childhood memory is followed by the admission of a painful reality. This pairing could be interpreted to communicate a recognition of the balance between the happy and sad elements of the past.
When our experiences are understood as the setting and not as the whole story, when they no longer need to define our ultimate worth, they are totally transfigured.
I think it’s more likely, however, for the song to intentionally switch from a positive note to a negative note in order to emphasize how the passage of time often coincides with increased difficulty. These middle verses recognize the reality of sad memories, while insisting on an immediate return to the chorus and its famous affirmation of the times “auld lang syne”.
This unwavering, abrupt transition from a sad memory to a festive affirmation indicates that this old song can tell us something important about what it means to remember. By extension, it gives us a clue as to how we should make sense of our experiences more generally.
We are at the end of a year in which our courage has been repeatedly tested by assaults of anxiety, loneliness, illness and social upheaval. If you are like me, all of these things discourage thinking about the past. Because I had never experienced these kinds of difficulties for such a long time, I found the review of the past nine months particularly difficult.
Prior to this year, reflecting on the past usually came down to taking an inventory of my happy and sad times, ups and downs, before moving on to the first opportunity to state that “overall I have a lot of reasons to do so. ‘be grateful . “
“Auld Lang Syne” tells us that relationship is the only one that makes our memories worth celebrating.
I have nothing against maintaining a feeling of gratitude. To the extent that we have experienced earthly blessings, it is right and good for us to be grateful for these gifts.
However, if we limit our thinking to this kind of exercise, to focusing only on the good, I believe we put ourselves in a precarious position. Why? Suppose the year we are reflecting on has been as tough as this one. What happens when our pain seems to outweigh our pleasure?
Also, what should we do when we realize that our difficulties extend into the present and seem far from over? In each of these cases, we are forced to realize that if we fail to find meaning in both pleasant and painful memories, we will not get the comfort we desire. When we are faced with the pervasiveness of our pain, we realize that the type of thinking that comes down to placing pleasurable and painful experiences on a scale is only useful for those who do not need help. . If we only find value in pleasant memories, it can only help people whose experience is dominated by pleasant memories.
Also, in times of turmoil, many of us fall back on the chorus: “Well, it could have been worse.” It is nothing more than the brooding sister of the first “platitude of gratitude”, for it too is based on relative thinking. But instead of weighing good against evil and coming to the conclusion that we have a lot to be thankful for, we are weighing one bad against another. Things are difficult. They could have been harder.
Both statements leave us wanting. They imply that life is basically a condition which is either bad or worse. This kind of thinking hardly promises the kind of positive life affirmation most of us look for when we reflect on our past.
There is, however, another approach. If we accept that our pleasant and painful experiences do not include the totality of our lives, but are simply setting in which our story has unfolded, all of our experiences suddenly have the capacity to become meaningful. Life is pain and life is joy, yes, but pain and joy have a deeper meaning. Like the patch of land in Christ’s parable where treasure was buried, our experiences are valuable when viewed in light of an underlying value. It is not our experiences that define meaning; they are only the ground from which we can discover meaning.
This old song can tell us something important about what it means to remember.
When our experiences are understood as the setting and not as the whole story, when they no longer need to define our ultimate worth, they are totally transfigured. They take on an indiscriminately charming and cherished aspect. As with the individual movements of a symphony, some dominated by confident major chords and others by minor questioning, strands of our life experiences can also take on a lingering beauty when understood in the light of a theme unifying them.
But what is this unifying theme? What is this dynamic meaning that underlies our experiences both joyful and painful? In the words of the song, how can we celebrate “picking good daisies” alongside the tiring wandering, or raise a drink to paddle together along our remoteness across wide seas? I think Burns has something to say about this as well.
And there is a hand my faithful friend!
And give me a hand!
And we’ll take a good draft of goodwill,
For a long view.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For a long view,
We’ll take another cup of kindness,
For a long view.
After all has been said and done, “Auld Lang Syne” tells us that the relationship is what makes our memories worth celebrating. When our past experiences remind us of those we have been through thoroughly, those memories not only comfort us in isolation, but also bring us together.
I think Burns is absolutely right on this point. Our supreme task and our greatest joy lies in the vocation of friendship, which demands of us what we aspire to: a life of carrying one another’s burdens and of sharing in one another’s pleasures. Friendship is, quite simply, any relationship characterized by this beautiful word that emerges in the chorus like a raised print: kindness.
This season, we remember God’s ultimate act of goodness, when he revealed the meaning of selfless friendship by creating a way to relate to him. Yet our relationship with God and our fellow human beings is not only a responsibility, but also an opportunity – even an opportunity that deserves to be celebrated in song. Friendship is only required of us in the way that life requires eating and drinking, for we were made in such a way that what we need is what we enjoy. What sustains our life can become a celebration. For we were created by Him who desires that we have life and that we have it in abundance.
More stories from America
-A brief story of ‘O Holy Night’, the uplifting Christmas anthem that drew mixed reviews
-‘O God, may 2020 go to hell. ‘ A raging New Year’s prayer
–Music that had some 20 years until 2020: Dolly, rap and all the rest
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