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Tolstoy, after Rousseau, on Knowledge and Wisdom

“Real wisdom is not the knowledge of everything, but the knowledge of which things in life are necessary, which are less necessary, and which are completely unnecessary to know. Among the most necessary knowledge is the knowledge of how to live well, that is, how to produce the least possible evil and the greatest goodness in one’s life. At present, people study useless sciences, but forget to study this, the most important knowledge.”

Taking Another Look At “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe

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March 6, 1831 was the day Edgar Allan Poe was expelled from West Point. The story is that before he left, he managed to secure a financial sum from fellow cadets to underwrite a new publication of poetry that, once published, was not well received. The light, humorous fellow known among his friends was not found in the pages, so they collectively threw the book into the river. “The Raven” was published in 1845 and, despite its popularity, did not help him financially. The short work is better read aloud.   After this last reading of “The Raven,” I remembered a Prog album released in 2013 by Steven Wilson titled, “The Raven That Refused To Sing (And Other Stories).” Or TRTRTS, for short. The concept album seems to capture or suggest tones of Poe’s stories and poems while telling some its own ghost stories: of invisible people (everyday people that go unnoticed); of watching a loved one die and learning to move on; of the destruction of an outwardly “perfect person” with a private, secre

Finished Reading: Ecclesiastes

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  A group of artists were challenged to depict greatest personal fear on the canvases of their own faces. One made his face like that of a spider, another into a collage of monsters, another as a an old lady, depicting her fear of aging. Why do you think people fear growing old? “In the way”; loss of resourcefulness or respect; letting go; the wish to live life over; guilt; becoming bitter, resentful over family matters; feeling unsupported, that life was a raw deal; self-pity; fear of finances, illness, loneliness, senility.  How many of these fears might be similar to the vanities Solomon has written about?  Is growing old without difficulty?  Does this mean that we cannot with grace and without knowing our worth in God’s eyes? How might this change our lives in the coming years?  I just finished reading Ecclesiastes. Chapter 12:1-8 presents a realistic picture of the aging process and couples it with some down-to-earth advice.

Finished Reading: Cellini

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  Finished reading the adventurous prison escape that was Ch 7-11 of The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini (1500-1571) Italian goldsmith and sculptor. This guy is worth further research!  

Finished Reading: Chapters 15-16, “Progress of the Christian Religion” of Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

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Edward  Gibbon published his multi volume work, “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” in 1776. This particular reading focused on Volume 1, Chapters 15-16, “Progress of the Christian Religion”, From 258-313 AD. While Gibbon cannot argue with the Divine source of the Christian faith in the context of historical Judaism, he is more interested in exploring “the secondary causes of the rapid growth of the Christian church” that impacted Rome and the world at large. The secondary causes are divided into five: 1) inherited zeal; 2) the future life; 3) miracles; 4) morals; 5) unity that gradually formed into an independent state in the heart of the Roman Empire.   Gibbon reports on the miraculous powers of the early church, but concludes by virtue of his status as historian that he has no opinion on the subject opinion. This non-opinion is underscored by his curious claim that miracles ceased when man embraced reason, that it “is not sufficiently prepared to sustain the visible action of

A Sonnet

“My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetry Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? Why are not sonnets made of thee? and lays Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the fame, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name! Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse. Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for, as the Deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy Majesty: Each cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse Why should I women's eyes for crystal take? Such poor invention burns in their low mind Wh

Welcome, March

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  March started without me! Got caught up with work and did not have time to prepare my journal as usual. Ok, now I’m ready. . . Not too entirely satisfied with it, but I’m ready.

“The Village Blacksmith” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

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  UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree  The village smithy stands;  The smith, a mighty man is he,  With large and sinewy hands;  And the muscles of his brawny arm  Are strong as iron bands.  His hair is crisp, and black, and long,  His face is like the tan;  His brow is wet with honest sweat,  He earns whate’er he can,  And looks the whole world in the face,  For he owes not any man.  Week in, week out, from morn till night,  You can hear his bellows blow;  You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow,  Like a sexton ringing the village bell,  When the evening sun is low.  And children coming home from school  Look in at the open door;  They love to see the flaming forge,  And hear the bellows roar,  And catch the burning sparks that fly,  Like chaff from a threshing-floor.  He goes on Sunday to the church,  And sits among his boys;  He hears the parson pray and preach,  He hears his daughter’s voice,  Singing in the village choir,  And it makes his heart rejoice. 

A Fresh Perception

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  “In primitive times, when man awakes in a world that is newly created, poetry awakes with him. In the face of the marvellous things that dazzle and intoxicate him, his first speech is a hymn simply. He is still so close to God that all his meditations are ecstatic, all his dreams are visions. His bosom swells, he sings as he breathes. His lyre has but three strings—God, the soul, creation; but this threefold mystery envelopes everything, this threefold idea embraces everything. The earth is still almost deserted. . . . He leads that nomadic pastoral life with which all civilizations begin, and which is so well adapted to solitary contemplation, to fanciful reverie. He follows every suggestion, he goes hither and thither, at random. His thought, like his life, resembles a cloud that changes its shape and its direction according to the wind that drives it. Such is the first man, such is the first poet. He is young, he is cynical. Prayer is his sole religion, the ode is his only form of

Got outside today

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It was nuts

The Prime Functions of a University

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  A football team does not a college make. Nor a group of buildings, a library, the faculty, staff    nor students. What defines a University? John Henry Newman (1801-1890) defined the University as a “‘School of Universal Learning.’ This description implies the assemblage of strangers from all parts in one spot”; it’s professors and students representing knowledge of every kind. The University is “a place for the communication and circulation of thought, by means of personal intercourse, through a wide extent of country.” Books are a record of truth, an instrument of teaching. Conversation is the key.  “[Y]ou cannot fence without an antagonist, nor challenge all comers in disputation before you have supported a thesis; and in like manner, it stands to reason, you cannot learn to converse till you have the world to converse with; you cannot unlearn your natural bashfulness, or awkwardness, or stiffness, or other besetting deformity, till you serve your time in some school of manners.”

Voltaire, On The Quakers

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  “There are several of these [Quaker’s meetings] in London . . . . The brethren were already assembled at my entering . . . . There might be about four hundred men and three hundred women in the meeting. The women hid their faces behind their fans, and the men were covered with their broad-brimmed hats. All were seated, and the silence was universal. I passed through them, but did not perceive so much as one lift up his eyes to look at me. This silence lasted a quarter of an hour, when at last one of them rose up, took off his hat, and, after making a variety of wry faces and groaning in a most lamentable manner, he, partly from his nose and partly from his mouth, threw out a strange, confused jumble of words (borrowed, as he imagined, from the Gospel) which neither himself nor any of his hearers understood. When this distorter had ended his beautiful soliloquy, and that the stupid, but greatly edified, congregation were separated, I asked my friend how it was possible for the judicio

Short-lived men

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  The thousandth celestial wife of the Garland God slipped and fell to earth, where she took mortal form and served as an attendant in a temple. Death finally released her and she went back to heaven to tell her lord of the ways of men. (Harvard Classics) “How long is the life of men?”  “Only a hundred years.”  “Is that all?”  “Yes, my lord.”  “If that is the length of life to which men are born, pray, now, do they pass the time asleep and reckless, or do they give gifts and do other meritorious deeds?”  “Nothing of the kind, my lord. Men are always reckless, as if they were born to a life of an incalculable number of years, and were never to grow old and die.” . . .  “Recklessness for short-lived men is extremely unsuitable.” (“The Devoted Wife,” Translated from the Dhammapada, and from Buddhaghosa’s comment.)

Marked red with many an eager kiss

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  ANTONY: I thought how those white arms would fold me in,  And strain me close, and melt me into love;  So pleased with that sweet image, I sprung forwards,  And added all my strength to every blow.  CLEOPATRA: Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms!  You’ve been too long away from my embraces;  But, when I have you fast, and all my own, With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs,  I’ll say, you were unkind, and punish you,  And mark you red with many an eager kiss. John Dryden (1631–1700).  “All for Love.” Act 3

Happy Valentines Day!

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  “We are born with a disposition to love in our hearts, which is developed in proportion as the mind is perfected, and impels us to love what appears to us beautiful without ever having been told what this is. Who can doubt after this whether we are in the world for anything else than to love? In fact, we conceal in vain, we always love. In the very things from which love seems to have been separated, it is found secretly and under seal, and man could not live a moment without this.” (Blaise Pascal)