Much has happened since I blogged last. However, the major development that is most on my mind at this moment happens to be something quite frivolous, and thus quite worthy of a frivolous blog post.
A couple of days ago, I downloaded (with due hesitation) the new version of iTunes. Apple always screws up new versions of iTunes, and the "new and improved" version is always buggier and less user-friendly (read: less simple) than the last version.
However, the current version, no. 8, contains an extra feature that may actually be worth its salt. Apple calls it "Genius," but it's sort of analogous to Amazon.com's "suggested books" feature. "Genius" -- an interesting word choice, especially in view of 18th and 19th-Century definitions of the term (i.e., pure and original intellect; it seems that iTunes' concept of "genius" is of a far more collaborative sort) -- takes a look at your song library, and then looks at the song libraries and playlists of all other iTunes users, and suggests what in your song library might "go well" in a playlist with other songs in your library, or other songs in the iTunes library that you don't currently own.
Truly, this is a kind of "genius" feature. If it weren't for the fact that it means even more of my private life is being made public in potentially dangerous and frightening ways, I'd feel unequivocally happy about "Genius." Nevertheless, Apple has shown yet again that they are capable of turning the frown that is technological surveillance upside-down, helping both producers and consumers get along better by directing consumers who know what they like to other products they might also like, or (and this is Apple's best contribution) to what they already own but have forgotten about.
In the interest of actually "forwarding" something to you readers, as this blog promises to do, I forward here a sample playlist, made through iTunes Genius, based on the original song choice of "Buckets of Rain" by Bob Dylan, a song and an artist that has been on my mind lately as the days have been getting shorter, the seasons have been slowly changing, and life has carried on as it does. You might try assembling your own autumn playlist based on these iTunes genius suggestions. You might also decide to ditch iTunes and listen to whatever fallish tunes you please. Either option is a good one.
"Buckets of Rain," Bob Dylan
"Harvest," Neil Young
"Little Green," Joni Mitchell
"Moonlight Mile," Rolling Stones
"4 + 20," Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young
"Pale Blue Eyes," The Velvet Underground
"Nebraska," Bruce Springsteen
"When the Ship Comes In," Bob Dylan
"The Wind," Cat Stevens
"I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love with You," Tom Waits
"That's the Way," Led Zeppelin
"We Are Nowhere, and it's Now," Bright Eyes
"Stray Cat Blues," Rolling Stones
"Jesus, Etc.," Wilco
"Gone for Good," The Shins
"Needle in the Hay," Elliott Smith
"Vicious," Lou Reed
"Gideon," My Morning Jacket
"Tangled Up in Blue," Bob Dylan
"Blue," Joni Mitchell
Monday, October 6, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
We Don't Need No Education?
David Brooks has written another insightful editorial piece on the current state of the election campaign, and the issues involved therein. I strongly encourage you to read the whole article, but I think a line worth quoting comes toward the end of his article: "Democracy is not average people selecting average leaders. It is average people with the wisdom to select the best prepared."
If we have learned the lesson from the Bush years, writes Brooks, we should not fail ourselves in this election by putting into office those candidates who "are like us" and "share our values," but who nevertheless lack the wisdom and education necessary to lead a nation and direct a complex administration.
"It turns out," says Brooks, "that governance, the creation and execution of policy, is hard. It requires acquired skills. Most of all, it requires prudence." We don't need more shoot-from-the-hip nonsense, or more apocalyptic talk about the importance of not blinking. We need good sense. We need the steady perception of well-trained eyes. A rigorous, well-respected, and demanding (e.g. "Ivy League") education is a significant help here, not a handicap.
Brooks is, by all accounts, a conservative intellectual. He falls in with the likes of George Will and David Frum - two people he specifically mentions at the start of his editorial. Thus, it is somewhat surprising to read such criticism of the Republican ticket here (though, to be fair, his main target is Palin, not McCain).
This is, after all, the same Brooks who had originally celebrated Palin, and in previous articles had sounded excited about the McCain/Palin ticket. After Palin's announcement as VP-candidate, he wrote that "she seems like a marvelous person. She is a dazzling political performer. And she has experienced more of typical American life than either McCain or his opponent" ("What the Palin Pick Says," 9/2/08). After her speech at the convention, he proclaimed her as the revelation of "the new" in the Republican party, and wrote that "her words flowed directly from her life experience, her poise and mannerisms from her town and its conversations. She left behind most of the standard tropes of Republican rhetoric [...]. There wasn’t even any tired, old Reagan nostalgia." In sum, said Brooks, "in those 40 minutes [of her speech], the forces of reform Republicanism took control" ("A Glimpse of the New," 9/4/08).
It would seem that the high of the convention, however, has left Brooks with a lingering hangover about Palin and the Republican ticket, especially as the vast reality of the problems we will inherit from the Bush administration becomes more and more palpable, by the day.
If we have learned the lesson from the Bush years, writes Brooks, we should not fail ourselves in this election by putting into office those candidates who "are like us" and "share our values," but who nevertheless lack the wisdom and education necessary to lead a nation and direct a complex administration.
"It turns out," says Brooks, "that governance, the creation and execution of policy, is hard. It requires acquired skills. Most of all, it requires prudence." We don't need more shoot-from-the-hip nonsense, or more apocalyptic talk about the importance of not blinking. We need good sense. We need the steady perception of well-trained eyes. A rigorous, well-respected, and demanding (e.g. "Ivy League") education is a significant help here, not a handicap.
Brooks is, by all accounts, a conservative intellectual. He falls in with the likes of George Will and David Frum - two people he specifically mentions at the start of his editorial. Thus, it is somewhat surprising to read such criticism of the Republican ticket here (though, to be fair, his main target is Palin, not McCain).
This is, after all, the same Brooks who had originally celebrated Palin, and in previous articles had sounded excited about the McCain/Palin ticket. After Palin's announcement as VP-candidate, he wrote that "she seems like a marvelous person. She is a dazzling political performer. And she has experienced more of typical American life than either McCain or his opponent" ("What the Palin Pick Says," 9/2/08). After her speech at the convention, he proclaimed her as the revelation of "the new" in the Republican party, and wrote that "her words flowed directly from her life experience, her poise and mannerisms from her town and its conversations. She left behind most of the standard tropes of Republican rhetoric [...]. There wasn’t even any tired, old Reagan nostalgia." In sum, said Brooks, "in those 40 minutes [of her speech], the forces of reform Republicanism took control" ("A Glimpse of the New," 9/4/08).
It would seem that the high of the convention, however, has left Brooks with a lingering hangover about Palin and the Republican ticket, especially as the vast reality of the problems we will inherit from the Bush administration becomes more and more palpable, by the day.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Old Mother Reagan
If you haven't seen this video yet, you need to watch it. Probably one of the best political satire pieces SNL has done. Certainly among the best from the current election.
Enjoy! Back with more forwarded letters later this week, perhaps.
Enjoy! Back with more forwarded letters later this week, perhaps.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Time Has Told Me
Well, it's been a few weeks, but I finally got some time and motivation to sit down and write a quick blog post.
I'm getting settled in at IU, and have found much to admire about Bloomington and the university over the past few weeks. One of the things I admire most about the campus, though, are the many pithy phrases carved into the exterior and interior walls of the buildings I frequently pass by or through in the course of a typical weekday. So, I thought I might share a few of these with you over the next few weeks, as I have occasion to reflect on them.
One phrase that has been on my mind lately is carved into one of the exterior walls of Ballantine Hall - a large, imposing structure in the center of the South part of campus, which houses (among other things) the main offices of the English department. On one wall, there is a carving with an inscription that reads "Veritas Filia Temporis." You can see a picture of it by following this link.
For those of you who didn't learn Latin in high school, the inscription means (roughly) "truth is the daughter of time." In other words, Time is the father of Truth. Truth springs inevitable from the eternal loins of Time. Time strips every untruth bare, corrects every lie and error. "Truth," as another saying goes, "will out."
One might ask, at this point, "is that really true?" From my own short time of education and experience, I can say, Yes. Sometimes.
Another way to look at this nice little aphorism might be to say that any quest for truth requires time, which I can certainly verify from my experience. My own searching after truth in grad school has cost me much in time, and will cost much more time before it is over. And this assumes that the culmination of my Ph.D. will complete that search, which it likely will not.
So we might also read the epigram this way: truth, being the daughter of time, thus shares time's qualities: it is eternal, it is constant, and it exists in a realm outside of any human. But it is also, therefore, just as elusive as time. Remember that other Latin epigram about time: Tempus fugit. Time flies (literally, it "flees"). Truth, too, has a tendency to get away from us.
I have an hourglass that sits on my desk, and it is just as impossible to arrest those slipping grains of sand for one instant as it is to get a firm grasp on any one truth. I can apprehend time's passage, and I can become familiar enough with it that I can go through a day with relative ease, comfortable within time's rhythms. But if I stop and try to nail time down, distinguish one discrete moment from the next, when present becomes past and the future becomes the now, I am at a loss.
Time remains in a world apart from mine. So, too, with truth, the daughter of time.
Some might think such reflection on truth and time is, in fact, a waste of time, and I'm inclined to think they're probably right. But I can't help it. It's carved into the side of a building I pass by every day. You'd be just as haunted.
Perhaps more epigrams will follow in the coming weeks. Time, I guess, will tell...
I have an hourglass that sits on my desk, and it is just as impossible to arrest those slipping grains of sand for one instant as it is to get a firm grasp on any one truth. I can apprehend time's passage, and I can become familiar enough with it that I can go through a day with relative ease, comfortable within time's rhythms. But if I stop and try to nail time down, distinguish one discrete moment from the next, when present becomes past and the future becomes the now, I am at a loss.
Time remains in a world apart from mine. So, too, with truth, the daughter of time.
Some might think such reflection on truth and time is, in fact, a waste of time, and I'm inclined to think they're probably right. But I can't help it. It's carved into the side of a building I pass by every day. You'd be just as haunted.
Perhaps more epigrams will follow in the coming weeks. Time, I guess, will tell...
Monday, August 4, 2008
When I'm Sixty-Four
Another extended absence. Inexcusable.
Whatever the case, I ran across a passage from Marcus Aurelius's Meditations which I found to be representative of the time I've spent away from the computer and academic work this summer with my grandparents. So, I send a few passages along to you. Let them fertilize your soul as they may.
"The daily wearing away of life, with its ever-shrinking remainder, is not the only thing we have to consider. For even if a man's years be prolonged, we must still take into account that it is doubtful whether his mind will continue to retain its capacity for the understanding of business, or for the contemplative effort needed to apprehend things divine and human. [...] We must press on, then, in haste; not simply because every hour brings us nearer to death, but because even before then our powers of perception and comprehension begin to deteriorate."
Obviously, these words are very pertinent to me now, as I watch my grandpa struggle daily with Parkinson's Disease and the resulting decline of his mental faculties. I've wondered whether I, if faced with the same problems, would have the same desire that he frequently professes to keep going, like when he prays that he will live to be 100 (he's 79 now).
The above passage from the Meditations, though, is immediately followed by a paragraph on beauty:
"When a loaf of bread [...] is in the oven, cracks appear in it here and there; and these flaws, though not intended in the baking, have a rightness of their own, and sharpen the appetite. Figs, again, at their ripest will also crack open. When olives are on the verge of falling, the very imminence of decay adds its peculiar beauty to the fruit. [...] Thus to a man of sensitiveness and sufficiently deep insight into the workings of the universe, almost everything, even if it be no more than a by-product of something else, seems to add its meed of extra pleasure. [...] the eye of discretion will enable him to see the mature charm that belongs to men and women in old age, as well as the seductive bloom that is youth's. Things of this sort will not appeal to everyone; he alone who has cultivated a real intimacy with Nature and her works will be struck by them."
Is it really possible to find beauty in any situation? Is it possible to find beauty in my grandpa's disease? I'm not sure. But sometimes, in the midst of his often-incoherent ramblings, it's as if a ray of light shoots through the haze and he happens to say something really poignant, or really funny, often both. These moments do carry with them a unique kind of beauty.
One example came early on in my summer. I took grandpa for a drive down some of the dirt roads in the area, and we creeped by, looking out at the fields, forests, and streams. Grandpa talked about a lot of different things, voicing whatever thoughts or memories came to his mind. Suddenly, he burst out, "I've really loved God. I've loved his birds, and his trees, and his... girls." It was a funny thing to say, to be sure. But somehow it had, as Marcus Aurelius says, "a rightness all its own." I'd like to think that, whatever one might encounter in life, there will always be right moments to (however inadequately) alleviate the wrong.
And that's about as optimistic as I get. When I blog next, I'll probably be in Indiana, and loaded up on some new cynicism and pessimism and eager to share. But until then...
Whatever the case, I ran across a passage from Marcus Aurelius's Meditations which I found to be representative of the time I've spent away from the computer and academic work this summer with my grandparents. So, I send a few passages along to you. Let them fertilize your soul as they may.
"The daily wearing away of life, with its ever-shrinking remainder, is not the only thing we have to consider. For even if a man's years be prolonged, we must still take into account that it is doubtful whether his mind will continue to retain its capacity for the understanding of business, or for the contemplative effort needed to apprehend things divine and human. [...] We must press on, then, in haste; not simply because every hour brings us nearer to death, but because even before then our powers of perception and comprehension begin to deteriorate."
Obviously, these words are very pertinent to me now, as I watch my grandpa struggle daily with Parkinson's Disease and the resulting decline of his mental faculties. I've wondered whether I, if faced with the same problems, would have the same desire that he frequently professes to keep going, like when he prays that he will live to be 100 (he's 79 now).
The above passage from the Meditations, though, is immediately followed by a paragraph on beauty:
"When a loaf of bread [...] is in the oven, cracks appear in it here and there; and these flaws, though not intended in the baking, have a rightness of their own, and sharpen the appetite. Figs, again, at their ripest will also crack open. When olives are on the verge of falling, the very imminence of decay adds its peculiar beauty to the fruit. [...] Thus to a man of sensitiveness and sufficiently deep insight into the workings of the universe, almost everything, even if it be no more than a by-product of something else, seems to add its meed of extra pleasure. [...] the eye of discretion will enable him to see the mature charm that belongs to men and women in old age, as well as the seductive bloom that is youth's. Things of this sort will not appeal to everyone; he alone who has cultivated a real intimacy with Nature and her works will be struck by them."
Is it really possible to find beauty in any situation? Is it possible to find beauty in my grandpa's disease? I'm not sure. But sometimes, in the midst of his often-incoherent ramblings, it's as if a ray of light shoots through the haze and he happens to say something really poignant, or really funny, often both. These moments do carry with them a unique kind of beauty.
One example came early on in my summer. I took grandpa for a drive down some of the dirt roads in the area, and we creeped by, looking out at the fields, forests, and streams. Grandpa talked about a lot of different things, voicing whatever thoughts or memories came to his mind. Suddenly, he burst out, "I've really loved God. I've loved his birds, and his trees, and his... girls." It was a funny thing to say, to be sure. But somehow it had, as Marcus Aurelius says, "a rightness all its own." I'd like to think that, whatever one might encounter in life, there will always be right moments to (however inadequately) alleviate the wrong.
And that's about as optimistic as I get. When I blog next, I'll probably be in Indiana, and loaded up on some new cynicism and pessimism and eager to share. But until then...
Friday, June 20, 2008
Pigs (Three Different Ones)
It's been another long hiatus. But, I have finally had a few minutes of free high-speed online time, so I thought I'd put up a new post.
For this post, I want to forward a recent editorial, "The Two Obamas," by David Brooks (on Barack Obama). I don't always agree with Brooks, but I always find his columns well-written and thought-provoking. In this editorial, I think Brooks has hit the nail on the head regarding Barack Obama and recent developments in the election campaign.
I've been really interested in Obama ever since his 2004 speech at the Democratic National Convention. His fresh perspective on religion and politics perked my interest yet again back in 2006. I was excited in 2007 when he announced his candidacy for president, and I was pleased when he won the nomination a few weeks ago.
However, the weeks following the end of the nomination fight have shown that a politician is a politician is a politician. Especially a politician from Chicago. Obama has, thus far, turned down two definite opportunities to run his campaign in a more populist manner and in a way that reflects his slogan of "change." The recent announcement that he will not participate in public campaign finance is, I think, a little more open to debate than Brooks would have it -- the Obama campaign makes a strong argument about the source of its fundraising (93% from small donations of $200 or less).
Obama's refusal of McCain's offer of ten town hall-style debates was a bigger disappointment to me. Rather than give us a campaign interested in an in-depth discussion on the very real problems currently facing the country, Obama has (so far) given us a presidential campaign-as-usual. Rather than give us a campaign that encourages education and elucidation on the issues and the candidates' differing positions, we will get (it seems) more sound bytes, more scripted talking points directed at cameras, more of the same old, same old.
But what can we justifiably expect from politicians? Especially politicians from Chicago (or New York)? No candidate is perfect, and "change" only comes by piecemeal. But at the same time, I can't help but wish Obama's opening moves were a little more reflective of a politician who was genuinely interested in exploring new possibilities for voter involvement and candidate accountability in presidential campaigns. So far, Obama has apparently been content to cede that image to McCain.
Whatever you might think about recent campaign developments, Brooks' editorial is worth a read.
For this post, I want to forward a recent editorial, "The Two Obamas," by David Brooks (on Barack Obama). I don't always agree with Brooks, but I always find his columns well-written and thought-provoking. In this editorial, I think Brooks has hit the nail on the head regarding Barack Obama and recent developments in the election campaign.
I've been really interested in Obama ever since his 2004 speech at the Democratic National Convention. His fresh perspective on religion and politics perked my interest yet again back in 2006. I was excited in 2007 when he announced his candidacy for president, and I was pleased when he won the nomination a few weeks ago.
However, the weeks following the end of the nomination fight have shown that a politician is a politician is a politician. Especially a politician from Chicago. Obama has, thus far, turned down two definite opportunities to run his campaign in a more populist manner and in a way that reflects his slogan of "change." The recent announcement that he will not participate in public campaign finance is, I think, a little more open to debate than Brooks would have it -- the Obama campaign makes a strong argument about the source of its fundraising (93% from small donations of $200 or less).
Obama's refusal of McCain's offer of ten town hall-style debates was a bigger disappointment to me. Rather than give us a campaign interested in an in-depth discussion on the very real problems currently facing the country, Obama has (so far) given us a presidential campaign-as-usual. Rather than give us a campaign that encourages education and elucidation on the issues and the candidates' differing positions, we will get (it seems) more sound bytes, more scripted talking points directed at cameras, more of the same old, same old.
But what can we justifiably expect from politicians? Especially politicians from Chicago (or New York)? No candidate is perfect, and "change" only comes by piecemeal. But at the same time, I can't help but wish Obama's opening moves were a little more reflective of a politician who was genuinely interested in exploring new possibilities for voter involvement and candidate accountability in presidential campaigns. So far, Obama has apparently been content to cede that image to McCain.
Whatever you might think about recent campaign developments, Brooks' editorial is worth a read.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Sun Is the Same, In a Relative Way
Well, friends, I must apologize for taking such a long break between posts. The last couple of weeks have seen me pack up my earthly possessions and fly once more from the place I had called "home" to hover, for a summer, in suitcase mode, until I settle down in Bloomington for what I am calling my "long march to the sea" (i.e., the end of my formal education).
I'm spending the summer just outside of Nowhere, Michigan (I mean Carson City), with my grandparents. To give a brief sketch of what life is like here, I will only say that my internet connection here is a 28.8kbps modem, and that yesterday I was passed on the road by a truck with a Confederate flag hanging from the rear cab window. This followed my witnessing a brief flirtation between two twentysomething townies, in the check-out line at the local Spartan supermarket, in which they compared stab wound scars.
One of my goals this summer is to organize and catalogue some of my grandparents' things that are currently scattered around their enclosed porch, garage, and pole barn. This morning, I spent some time cataloguing books, and ran across one particularly interesting volume: Sanders' School Reader, Fifth Book ("Designed As A Sequel to Sanders' Fourth Reader"), published in 1863. The book is divided into three parts: one containing instruction on "elocution" (the art of speaking), and two separate sections of readings from famous essayists and poets. There are fascinating things to be found in the printed pages themselves, to be sure, but I often find the marginal notes and scribblings on blank filler pages the most interesting aspect of old books such as this one. In the back of the book, there are two four-line poems, written in pencil, presumably by the book's original owner, "J.C. Stetson, Wis., Sep 30 1866."
On the inside of the back cover:
"Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? [yes]
Then read this good book leaf by leaf -
In it thou wilt surely find
Relief from sorrow and sweet peace of mind"
And a couple pages before, a poem whose sentiments I would echo today:
"When you with other friends are found
And in their presence sit around
Though sweet their company may be
Will you not sometimes think of me?"
The poem seems to be signed with symbols from some kind of code, so who knows who actually wrote it, and under what circumstances. In any event, I'm sending it along (as the Beatles would say) with love, from me, to you. More marginalia to come, perhaps, in the future...
I'm spending the summer just outside of Nowhere, Michigan (I mean Carson City), with my grandparents. To give a brief sketch of what life is like here, I will only say that my internet connection here is a 28.8kbps modem, and that yesterday I was passed on the road by a truck with a Confederate flag hanging from the rear cab window. This followed my witnessing a brief flirtation between two twentysomething townies, in the check-out line at the local Spartan supermarket, in which they compared stab wound scars.
One of my goals this summer is to organize and catalogue some of my grandparents' things that are currently scattered around their enclosed porch, garage, and pole barn. This morning, I spent some time cataloguing books, and ran across one particularly interesting volume: Sanders' School Reader, Fifth Book ("Designed As A Sequel to Sanders' Fourth Reader"), published in 1863. The book is divided into three parts: one containing instruction on "elocution" (the art of speaking), and two separate sections of readings from famous essayists and poets. There are fascinating things to be found in the printed pages themselves, to be sure, but I often find the marginal notes and scribblings on blank filler pages the most interesting aspect of old books such as this one. In the back of the book, there are two four-line poems, written in pencil, presumably by the book's original owner, "J.C. Stetson, Wis., Sep 30 1866."
On the inside of the back cover:
"Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? [yes]
Then read this good book leaf by leaf -
In it thou wilt surely find
Relief from sorrow and sweet peace of mind"
And a couple pages before, a poem whose sentiments I would echo today:
"When you with other friends are found
And in their presence sit around
Though sweet their company may be
Will you not sometimes think of me?"
The poem seems to be signed with symbols from some kind of code, so who knows who actually wrote it, and under what circumstances. In any event, I'm sending it along (as the Beatles would say) with love, from me, to you. More marginalia to come, perhaps, in the future...
Thursday, May 15, 2008
I don't know when that road turned into the road I'm on...
I've been on the road a lot the last few days, but contrary to what you might think, that doesn't mean I haven't been learning anything new. As a matter of fact, I've found one can learn quite a lot by just reading road signs. So, I thought I'd forward along some of the interesting things I've seen and learned while reading signs during my late adventures about the Midwest. Take this as a kind of road-sign travelogue.
- There is a monument in Mt. Olive, Illinois to Mother Jones, who was apparently an important labor organizer in the early 1900s. (Later in the week, I ran across an interesting article/illustration in a magazine named after Mother Jones about the ever-expanding size of the American Dream.)
- Steak 'n' Shake, of course, is usually a 24-hour establishment. However, at around 2 am last Wednesday night/Thursday morning (May 14/15), the Steak 'n' Shake off of I-55 in Springfield, Illinois was totally empty. Doors locked. A handwritten sign explained that the store was "close" for the night.
- The BP just down the road from Steak 'n' Shake, however, is always open 24 hours a day, and features a bathroom with an automatic cologne dispenser. By depositing a quarter, customers can get a spritz of their favorite imitation designer cologne.
- The Dairy Queen in Martinsville, Indiana is hiring a cake decorator. They are also having a special sale on cheeseburgers.
- The Green Tree Inn, near exit 4 on I-65 by the Indiana/Kentucky border, purports to be close to everything.
- Jonathan Byrd's Restaurant & Cafeteria in Seymour, Indiana contains an "extensive Norman Rockwell collection."
- The Green Tree Inn, near exit 4 on I-65 by the Indiana/Kentucky border, purports to be close to everything.
- Jonathan Byrd's Restaurant & Cafeteria in Seymour, Indiana contains an "extensive Norman Rockwell collection."
- Contrary to all sound and ordinary logic and reason, guns actually save lives.
- It appears that the only decent places for one seeking to purchase fireworks in a given state are found near the border of another state which has stricter fireworks laws. I wonder if those who monitor interstate fireworks trafficking have caught on to this peculiar coincidence.
- Steward, Illinois can afford "no services," according to a helpful (albeit disappointing) little sign affixed below the sign announcing one's passing through the town on I-39.
And that's what I learned on my trip.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Dead and Dying, Back in My Little Town
This week, I'm at a conference in Michigan for the Society for the Study of Midwest Literature. I'm presenting a semi-academic but mostly-creative piece that I've written about the Mt. Pleasant Indian Industrial School - a school for the "re-education" of Native American children that was in operation from 1892 to 1933 in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, just North of my hometown of Shepherd.
Large portions of my piece, though, are taken from archived letters and news reports about the school. So, for this week's letter, I'm forwarding along a fragment of a particularly odd piece of correspondence from a businessman from my hometown to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs in Washington, proposing Shepherd as the site of the new Indian School.
"October 4, 1891
Sir, The undersigned committee acting for the citizens of Shepherd & vicinity respectfully submit the following offers for a site for the Indian school to be located in Isabella county, Michigan.
Before specifying the offers we desire to recite the advantages of the village.
Shepherd, Coe Township, Isabella Co. is on the line of the Toledo, Ann Arbor & North Michigan R.R. 9 miles from Mt. Pleasant & 10 miles north of Alma where is located the Alma College which under the care of the synod of Michigan has taken such deep interest in the education of the Indian youth. The surrounding is one of the finest farming tracts in the state, the farmers are all well to do & very frequently could for many weeks give employment to hundreds of Indian youth.
The village has four religious societies, Methodist, Baptist Disciple & United Bretheren, the first three have each fine large edifices the village has a commodious opera house, a bank, a saw mill, a shingle mill, a planing mill, clothes pin factory, foundry & machine shops, a roller process mill with a daily capacity of 125 bushels & numerous stores representing all branches of business, good union school & a well equipped fire department with all modern conveniences, population 600."
Ten days later, Estee sent another letter to the Commissioner, complaining that "your representative Col. R. S. Gardiner has not given the locations which we offer a proper and careful examination. [...] Col. Gardiner did not examine the springs in fact did not see them and never saw the 40 through which the spring brook runs except from the highway as he drove by. [...] The balance of some two weeks Col. Gardiner has spent in the interest of the Mt. Pleasant petitioners. We therefore respectfully urge that a more competent examination be made of the sites offered by us before a decision is made."
There is no evidence Estee's request was granted, and just a month later the decision was made official in favor of locating the school in Mt. Pleasant. Estee and his fellow businessmen, no doubt, thought they had been deprived of an important opportunity to establish the prominence of their town in the area.
Today, the former buildings of the Mt. Pleasant Indian Industrial School are still standing, but are empty and abandoned, and the town has largely forgotten about them and the concerted efforts of local businessmen to get them built there.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Kids Are Alright
For one of my term papers this semester, I've had the opportunity to sift through a real treat of seventeenth-century Puritan vitriol: William Prynne's massive Histrio-Mastix (1633). I've only got the first volume of two, and it comes in at just under 570 pages of non-stop raillery, complete with marginal commentary in Latin. So, I thought I'd share a few gems from Prynne's monster for this week's "forward."
A section that I'm referring to specifically in my term paper is "Actus 5. Scena Septima" (Prynne, writing against "stage-plays," arranges his work into separate Acts and Scenes - how clever). The section begins: "As Stage-playes are thus unlawfull, in regard of the womannishnesse, so likewise are they in respect of the costly gawdinesse, the immodest lasciviousnesse, the fantastique strangenesse, the meretricious, effeminate lust-provoking fashions of that apparell wherein they are commonly acted and frequented: from whence I shall deduce this 22nd Argument against Stage-playes..."
Oh, for public discourse so enjoyable to read! Part of me doesn't care what Prynne is arguing - he's got a real knack for invective! Not even Ann Coulter stands a comparison.
Opening to another page at random (well, at semi-random anyway...everything happens for a purpose, right?), Prynne holds forth thusly: "The third unlawfull Concomitant of Stage-playes, is effeminate, delicate, lust-provoking Musicke, as St. Basil phraseth it, which Christians ought to flie as a most filthy thing; both because it workes upon their mindes, to corrupt them, upon their lusts, to provoke them to all voluptuousnesse and uncleanesse whatsoever." Even "Heathen Nations, States and Authors, have past a doome upon" such "lascivious, amorous, effeminate, voluptuous Musicke" as can be found in Stage-plays. It seems the Devil has been lurking in popular music for some time.
Prynne goes on at some length (as is his wont) before bemoaning the introduction of music into church services: "'Pope Vitalian being a lusty Singer, and fresh courageous Musician himselfe, was the first that brought Prick-song, Descant, and all kinde of pleasant melody into the Church; in the yeere 653."
I really wish I knew what a "Prick-song" was. If I did, I would close my day by singing one, and think fondly of Prynne and all other music-haters from my past. By now, I think we've all been exposed to enough effeminate, delicate, lust-provoking music that our minds are most certainly voluptuous and unclean. And that, surely, is the reason why SAT scores are down and why schools are struggling all over the U.S. with No Child Left Behind.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Mailman, Bring Me No More Blues
Once again, I'm not much in the mood for anything mentally taxing this week. So, instead, I've done a little cathartic artwork that I'd like to forward along. This is a little "postmodern pastiche," if you will (and I hope you will), of the rejection letters I earned this spring in return for the application materials and fees I sent out back in December.
Enjoy!
Friday, April 18, 2008
I Don't Need No Education
Well, friends. This week, instead of forwarding one of Seneca's letters, I've decided to forward something different. Lately I've been tied up with term papers, trying desperately just to get through the remaining weeks of the semester, and I just haven't felt like writing on anything remotely academic.
So, in place of thoughts on Stoical philosophy, please accept this YouTube link. This is sort of a blast from the past for me -- part of an episode of Mr. Bean that I still think of from time to time...especially when I'm getting ready to take a big exam.
Enjoy.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Love You Take is Equal to the Love You Make.
More thoughts on seclusion and society this week (Letter IX). Seneca seems to be fond of the topic.
This time, though, he's focused particularly on the question of friendship. "The wise man is content with himself," the Stoical dictum goes. "He is so in the sense that he is able to do without friends, not that he desires to do without them."
"Self-contented as he is," admits Seneca, "he does need friends - and wants as many of them as possible - but not to enable him to lead a happy life; this he will have even without friends. The supreme ideal does not call for any external aids." The only company the truly wise man needs "is his own company. [...] He is self-content and yet he would refuse to live if he had to live without any human company at all."
The upshot of all of this, as I read it, is that ideally, one associates with others not out of lack - not out of a sense of having a need that someone else must fill (i.e. friendship from a motive of self-service) - but out of excess. One is content with oneself and yet desires to share life, in all its fullness, with others. Seneca quotes Epicurus (arch-rival of all Stoics, father of the Epicurean school): "Any man who does not think that what he has is more than ample, is an unhappy man, even if he is the master of the whole world." Finding another similar quotation from a comic poet, Seneca proclaims that "these are sentiments of a universal character."
Much earlier in the letter, Seneca quotes a quick line from Hecato, which really sums all this up very nicely, I think: "If you wish to be loved, love." Simple, sensible and profound, and yet impossibly hard to live out.
Sensible because, of course, friendship should never be a means to a selfish end. Impossible because I don't think I've ever felt sufficient in myself. Losing (or moving away from) a friend is always hard, and making a new friend always improves the quality of my own life, no matter how hard I try to bear both with (as Seneca advises) "equanimity."
I can see the value in the ideal, but all ideals are, by definition, not real. My sense of my own finitude tells me I will never be wholly self-sufficient, and I will always mourn the loss of a friend. Any other response would be, it seems to me, too Stoical.
This time, though, he's focused particularly on the question of friendship. "The wise man is content with himself," the Stoical dictum goes. "He is so in the sense that he is able to do without friends, not that he desires to do without them."
"Self-contented as he is," admits Seneca, "he does need friends - and wants as many of them as possible - but not to enable him to lead a happy life; this he will have even without friends. The supreme ideal does not call for any external aids." The only company the truly wise man needs "is his own company. [...] He is self-content and yet he would refuse to live if he had to live without any human company at all."
The upshot of all of this, as I read it, is that ideally, one associates with others not out of lack - not out of a sense of having a need that someone else must fill (i.e. friendship from a motive of self-service) - but out of excess. One is content with oneself and yet desires to share life, in all its fullness, with others. Seneca quotes Epicurus (arch-rival of all Stoics, father of the Epicurean school): "Any man who does not think that what he has is more than ample, is an unhappy man, even if he is the master of the whole world." Finding another similar quotation from a comic poet, Seneca proclaims that "these are sentiments of a universal character."
Much earlier in the letter, Seneca quotes a quick line from Hecato, which really sums all this up very nicely, I think: "If you wish to be loved, love." Simple, sensible and profound, and yet impossibly hard to live out.
Sensible because, of course, friendship should never be a means to a selfish end. Impossible because I don't think I've ever felt sufficient in myself. Losing (or moving away from) a friend is always hard, and making a new friend always improves the quality of my own life, no matter how hard I try to bear both with (as Seneca advises) "equanimity."
I can see the value in the ideal, but all ideals are, by definition, not real. My sense of my own finitude tells me I will never be wholly self-sufficient, and I will always mourn the loss of a friend. Any other response would be, it seems to me, too Stoical.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Why Is It Hard to Make Arrangements With Yourself?
So this week, there's a string of letters from Seneca that deal with the same basic theme: it's better to be in solitude and live a life of contemplation than it is to be in society, "out in the crowd," living an active life. I have difficulty agreeing, but I can certainly identify with his sense of bewilderment about the kinds of activities "the crowd" frequently engage in. Seneca refers specifically to gladiatorial contests, which he describes with some detail.
Part of me wanted to relate the gladiatorial scene Seneca describes in "Letter VII" to "reality TV," but I know it's not the same. Still, there are some striking similarities. I mean, in some of the crueller incarnations of the "reality" fad, viewers really do see people fight to a kind of death, moral and spiritual if not physical. "The spectators insist that each on killing his man shall be thrown against another to be killed in his turn; and the eventual victor is reserved by them for some other form of butchery; the only exit for the contestants is death" (Seneca). Surely, some reality shows are better than others. But I wonder, is the only exit from, say, Fox's "Moment of Truth," death?
In "Letter VI," the tension between the social and the solitary twists the other way: "there is no enjoying the possession of anything valuable unless one has someone to share it with." There's a line for Hallmark if I've ever heard one.
Seneca is, as usual, particularly concerned about personal education and edification, and here he points out that "personal converse [...] and daily intimacy with someone will be of more benefit" than any amount of time spent with a book. Having spent lots of time with books, I think I can verify Seneca's observation. "The road is a long one if one proceeds by way of precepts but short and effectual if by way of personal example," he says, and then goes on to list classical philosophers, from Aristotle to Zeno, who would not be the thinkers they were had it not been for their personal interactions with their mentors.
Yet, at the end of the letter, just when you thought Seneca had settled on the overall value of society, he quotes Hecato: "'What progress have I made? I am beginning to be my own friend.' That is progress indeed. Such a person will never be alone, and you may be sure he is a friend of all."
As I write this, now, alone in my apartment, I can tell you that I'm not always completely convinced by what I read in Seneca.
Part of me wanted to relate the gladiatorial scene Seneca describes in "Letter VII" to "reality TV," but I know it's not the same. Still, there are some striking similarities. I mean, in some of the crueller incarnations of the "reality" fad, viewers really do see people fight to a kind of death, moral and spiritual if not physical. "The spectators insist that each on killing his man shall be thrown against another to be killed in his turn; and the eventual victor is reserved by them for some other form of butchery; the only exit for the contestants is death" (Seneca). Surely, some reality shows are better than others. But I wonder, is the only exit from, say, Fox's "Moment of Truth," death?
In "Letter VI," the tension between the social and the solitary twists the other way: "there is no enjoying the possession of anything valuable unless one has someone to share it with." There's a line for Hallmark if I've ever heard one.
Seneca is, as usual, particularly concerned about personal education and edification, and here he points out that "personal converse [...] and daily intimacy with someone will be of more benefit" than any amount of time spent with a book. Having spent lots of time with books, I think I can verify Seneca's observation. "The road is a long one if one proceeds by way of precepts but short and effectual if by way of personal example," he says, and then goes on to list classical philosophers, from Aristotle to Zeno, who would not be the thinkers they were had it not been for their personal interactions with their mentors.
Yet, at the end of the letter, just when you thought Seneca had settled on the overall value of society, he quotes Hecato: "'What progress have I made? I am beginning to be my own friend.' That is progress indeed. Such a person will never be alone, and you may be sure he is a friend of all."
As I write this, now, alone in my apartment, I can tell you that I'm not always completely convinced by what I read in Seneca.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Almost cut my hair. (Actually, I did cut my hair, two weeks ago.)
The letter today is a bit of an odd one. It's letter five, and in it Seneca begins with a comment that adds an important qualification on the sentiments expressed in the second letter, and in the Stoical way of life generally. "Philosophy calls for simple living, not for doing penance," he says, "and the simple way of life need not be a crude one." Therefore, "avoid shabby attire, long hair, an unkempt beard, an outspoken dislike of silverware, sleeping on the ground and all other misguided means to self-advertisement." Lucky for me, I deleted that line denouncing silverware in last week's post just before publishing...
At any rate, Seneca's basic point is this: in striving to live the good life, don't make yourself look like a lunatic. This is a pretty interesting statement. "The standard which I accept is this: one's life should be a compromise between the ideal and the popular morality." Compromise? "People should admire our way of life but they should at the same time find it understandable."
Seneca raises a difficult problem here.
On the one hand, it seems that we should want to live out the ideal good. One ought to seek perfection, right? But on the other hand, such a life would be so radically different from the lives of others that it would totally fail in the ultimate goal of the good life, i.e. making the world a better place for everyone. A good life, according to Seneca at least, is only good insofar as it helps others live good lives, also.
It does no one any good for me to go live a perfect life in a cave somewhere, and it is impossible to live an ideally "perfect" life within society. Therefore, "compromises" must be made. I have to keep using silverware, and shave before class each morning, and enjoy a piece of greasy pizza with friends, have a cup of coffee from Starbucks, and wear clothes made in factories -- regardless of how unnecessary I think shaving every day is, or how unhealthy I think pizza is, how harmful and homogenizing Starbucks has been to coffee-shop culture, or how much factories hurt the environment and how little pay those who work in them receive [I'll spare you my thoughts concerning silverware].
At any rate, Seneca's basic point is this: in striving to live the good life, don't make yourself look like a lunatic. This is a pretty interesting statement. "The standard which I accept is this: one's life should be a compromise between the ideal and the popular morality." Compromise? "People should admire our way of life but they should at the same time find it understandable."
Seneca raises a difficult problem here.
On the one hand, it seems that we should want to live out the ideal good. One ought to seek perfection, right? But on the other hand, such a life would be so radically different from the lives of others that it would totally fail in the ultimate goal of the good life, i.e. making the world a better place for everyone. A good life, according to Seneca at least, is only good insofar as it helps others live good lives, also.
It does no one any good for me to go live a perfect life in a cave somewhere, and it is impossible to live an ideally "perfect" life within society. Therefore, "compromises" must be made. I have to keep using silverware, and shave before class each morning, and enjoy a piece of greasy pizza with friends, have a cup of coffee from Starbucks, and wear clothes made in factories -- regardless of how unnecessary I think shaving every day is, or how unhealthy I think pizza is, how harmful and homogenizing Starbucks has been to coffee-shop culture, or how much factories hurt the environment and how little pay those who work in them receive [I'll spare you my thoughts concerning silverware].
I guess this is what is behind my own desires for a more centrist political movement. Personally, regardless of the outcome of the primaries and general election this year, I'm very pleased that so many people are talking about moving beyond the polarized red-and-blue politics and ideological fighting of recent years. I know there is not broad public support for the anarchist-socialist views of human government that I would personally support, but neither is there broad public support for oppressive tyranny, or even for a dictatorship that claims to be "benevolent." Compromise, therefore, is necessary. We have to work together to figure out what the "common good" looks like.
This is not to say we should live unexamined lives, though, either, or reject all political involvement because there just isn't a candidate we fully agree with. "Our clothes," Seneca reminds us, "should not be gaudy, yet they should not be dowdy either. We should not keep silver plate with inlays of solid gold, but at the same time we should not imagine that doing without gold and silver is proof that we are leading the simple life."
That's the essential point. Living the good life means more than driving hybrids or proudly proclaiming that none of our groceries come from Wal-Mart. Just as no one today would think me a high-moral prophet for wearing a button indicating myself to be "anti-silverware." A life that seeks true morality, separate from common propriety and social mores, may not actually "look" that different from ordinary life. As with anything, it's what's below the surface and behind the edifice that really counts. We may never achieve the ideal good, in life or in society, but we can work towards the ideal, and push life a little closer to a true realization of the "common good."
This is not to say we should live unexamined lives, though, either, or reject all political involvement because there just isn't a candidate we fully agree with. "Our clothes," Seneca reminds us, "should not be gaudy, yet they should not be dowdy either. We should not keep silver plate with inlays of solid gold, but at the same time we should not imagine that doing without gold and silver is proof that we are leading the simple life."
That's the essential point. Living the good life means more than driving hybrids or proudly proclaiming that none of our groceries come from Wal-Mart. Just as no one today would think me a high-moral prophet for wearing a button indicating myself to be "anti-silverware." A life that seeks true morality, separate from common propriety and social mores, may not actually "look" that different from ordinary life. As with anything, it's what's below the surface and behind the edifice that really counts. We may never achieve the ideal good, in life or in society, but we can work towards the ideal, and push life a little closer to a true realization of the "common good."
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I Can't Get No Satisfaction (But If I Try, I Find I Get What I Need)
The first letter in my Penguin edition ("Letter II") of Seneca's Letters makes a couple of interesting points. The main idea in this letter is "don't go after more than you need; seek satisfaction, not excess." He begins by observing that frequent moves, "restlesness," is unhealthy behavior, "symptomatic of a sick mind." "Nothing," he says, "is better proof of a well ordered mind than a man's ability to stop just where he is and pass some time in his own company." Making frequent moves (physically) is dangerous in the same way that scattered reading habits are: "To be everywhere is to be nowhere. People who spend their whole life travelling abroad end up having plenty of places where they can find hospitality but no real friendships. [...] A plant which is frequently moved never grows strong." Finally, he comments on individual wealth: "It is not the man who has too little who is poor, but the one who hankers after more. [...] You ask what is the proper limit to a person's wealth? First, having what is essential, and second, having what is enough."
This really goes against a lot of the conventional thinking of our own day, as it undoubtedly did when Seneca was writing (i.e. around Nero's reign). Our culture values excess, and often doesn't understand the person who says "I have enough." "Settling down" is sometimes perceived as "giving up," surrendering to the grip of family or circumstance. We always want to be "moving on" and "moving up."
I've felt the same urge to move "onwards and upwards" recently in my applications to Ph.D. schools. I've tried to mediate that urge to some extent (I didn't apply to anywhere terribly far away from home), but the feeling that I needed to move on and go elsewhere for my Ph.D. was definitely there.
But Seneca's point is a sharp one: the person who is poor is really just the person who feels he or she does not have enough. How it is possible to feel poor in an age of excess like our own (or like Seneca's) is difficult to grasp, but as the recent credit crisis shows, there are many in our society who find it impossible to get by without spending more than they earn, making themselves truly poor in the process.
My own desire to move from DeKalb reflects, to some extent at least, an unrealistic feeling of poverty on my own part, or sense of dissatisfaction with where I am. But, like I said, when I applied to Ph.D. schools I made a conscious decision to limit myself to the midwest. As it has turned out, it looks like I'll be moving back to Michigan to attend MSU, which is really ideal for a number of reasons. It lets me "move up" in the sense that I'll be attending a school with more resources and a better department than the school where I'm at now, but it also lets me stay somewhat close to friends I've made in DeKalb, while moving back closer to some close family and friends in Michigan. While MSU (and Michigan generally) is not perfect, it's not bad, either. I'm looking forward to moving on but also moving back, and especially to moving someplace where I'm sure to stay for at least another four years (there is no such thing as a "fast-track" Ph.D.).
The only way out of the present economic crisis is, much like the way I have found satisfaction with where my life is headed, a general acceptance of "enough." You can blame the credit crunch on high gas prices, bad economic policy by the Bush administration, or the Iraq war, but the bottom line, it seems to me, is excessive spending habits. The "hankering after more" that causes us to max out credit card after credit card, until we are stuck with debt that we cannot pay off.
Only when we recognize "enough," Seneca suggests, will we recognize the true wealth available to us all: the wealth that comes in being content with where we are, in letting our roots sink in, and in passing time with familiar company. There is a real danger in restlessness, be it physical, mental, or economic. As Seneca warns, "to be everywhere is to be nowhere."
This really goes against a lot of the conventional thinking of our own day, as it undoubtedly did when Seneca was writing (i.e. around Nero's reign). Our culture values excess, and often doesn't understand the person who says "I have enough." "Settling down" is sometimes perceived as "giving up," surrendering to the grip of family or circumstance. We always want to be "moving on" and "moving up."
I've felt the same urge to move "onwards and upwards" recently in my applications to Ph.D. schools. I've tried to mediate that urge to some extent (I didn't apply to anywhere terribly far away from home), but the feeling that I needed to move on and go elsewhere for my Ph.D. was definitely there.
But Seneca's point is a sharp one: the person who is poor is really just the person who feels he or she does not have enough. How it is possible to feel poor in an age of excess like our own (or like Seneca's) is difficult to grasp, but as the recent credit crisis shows, there are many in our society who find it impossible to get by without spending more than they earn, making themselves truly poor in the process.
My own desire to move from DeKalb reflects, to some extent at least, an unrealistic feeling of poverty on my own part, or sense of dissatisfaction with where I am. But, like I said, when I applied to Ph.D. schools I made a conscious decision to limit myself to the midwest. As it has turned out, it looks like I'll be moving back to Michigan to attend MSU, which is really ideal for a number of reasons. It lets me "move up" in the sense that I'll be attending a school with more resources and a better department than the school where I'm at now, but it also lets me stay somewhat close to friends I've made in DeKalb, while moving back closer to some close family and friends in Michigan. While MSU (and Michigan generally) is not perfect, it's not bad, either. I'm looking forward to moving on but also moving back, and especially to moving someplace where I'm sure to stay for at least another four years (there is no such thing as a "fast-track" Ph.D.).
The only way out of the present economic crisis is, much like the way I have found satisfaction with where my life is headed, a general acceptance of "enough." You can blame the credit crunch on high gas prices, bad economic policy by the Bush administration, or the Iraq war, but the bottom line, it seems to me, is excessive spending habits. The "hankering after more" that causes us to max out credit card after credit card, until we are stuck with debt that we cannot pay off.
Only when we recognize "enough," Seneca suggests, will we recognize the true wealth available to us all: the wealth that comes in being content with where we are, in letting our roots sink in, and in passing time with familiar company. There is a real danger in restlessness, be it physical, mental, or economic. As Seneca warns, "to be everywhere is to be nowhere."
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Prologue, Preface, Introduction
So, I'm starting another blog. I suppose it would be a good idea to give a few reasons why I've decided to try this blog thing out again, and lay out a few things readers can expect from my blog in the weeks, months, etc. to follow.
1: Why?
Why keep a blog? Why write anything? Well, a number of reasons...
First, a few people have been asking recently if/when I was going to start writing on a blog again. Blogs are very handy ways to keep in touch with people, and I've been wanting to revive my dead blog-presence for some time now.
Second, it's nice to write. It's especially nice to write things that are not directly work-related. Hawthorne said he wrote to "open an intercourse with the world." I like the way he puts that. Writing in this particular format allows me to air out some of the dustier parts of my brain, and gives me room to stretch out a bit and explore some less-trodden regions of my mind.
2:What is this blog about?
The title of this blog is "Forwarded Letters from a Stoic." That needs some explanation. Initially, at least, I mean that title quite literally. Over spring break I picked up a copy of a Penguin edition of Seneca's Letters from a Stoic. I've been wanting to get to know stoical philosophy (i.e. classical writers like Zeno of Citium, Seneca, Cato, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus) a little better for a while now, and I'm going to slowly work my way through Seneca's Letters. This blog is, at the outset, a record of that journey. It's a place for me to forward on to readers some of the especially interesting or relevant portions of the Letters, and to reflect a bit on why I find those portions interesting and relevant.
The actual title of Seneca's Letters is Epistulae morales ad Lucilium ("letters to Lucilium concerning morality"), which gives a better idea of what these letters are all about - they're mostly concerned with moral instruction. Apparently, though, it's not clear that there ever was a person named Lucilium that these "letters" were written to, so the title (as titles usually are) may be somewhat misleading.
However, the basic form of these writings is that of a collection of letters. Each letter begins with a salutation to Lucilium and ends with the standard Latin Vale ("be well"). So these are not just a bunch of ramblings by Seneca; they carry some ostensible purpose, and they are written to someone in the hope that the person who reads them (be it Lucilium or you or I) will find them morally instructive.
In the future, the title of this blog might become less literally accurate. In other words, I won't always be forwarding letters from Seneca. However, I do still intend to forward on selections from some writer or another that I happen to be reading, unrelated to my school work. So the forwarded "letters" will not always be from Seneca's Letters, but they will always be "letters" forwarded by me, and I have been accused of being a little "stoical" on more than one occasion.
In any event, that's the basic idea behind this blog. We'll see how it goes. Stay tuned.
1: Why?
Why keep a blog? Why write anything? Well, a number of reasons...
First, a few people have been asking recently if/when I was going to start writing on a blog again. Blogs are very handy ways to keep in touch with people, and I've been wanting to revive my dead blog-presence for some time now.
Second, it's nice to write. It's especially nice to write things that are not directly work-related. Hawthorne said he wrote to "open an intercourse with the world." I like the way he puts that. Writing in this particular format allows me to air out some of the dustier parts of my brain, and gives me room to stretch out a bit and explore some less-trodden regions of my mind.
2:What is this blog about?
The title of this blog is "Forwarded Letters from a Stoic." That needs some explanation. Initially, at least, I mean that title quite literally. Over spring break I picked up a copy of a Penguin edition of Seneca's Letters from a Stoic. I've been wanting to get to know stoical philosophy (i.e. classical writers like Zeno of Citium, Seneca, Cato, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus) a little better for a while now, and I'm going to slowly work my way through Seneca's Letters. This blog is, at the outset, a record of that journey. It's a place for me to forward on to readers some of the especially interesting or relevant portions of the Letters, and to reflect a bit on why I find those portions interesting and relevant.
The actual title of Seneca's Letters is Epistulae morales ad Lucilium ("letters to Lucilium concerning morality"), which gives a better idea of what these letters are all about - they're mostly concerned with moral instruction. Apparently, though, it's not clear that there ever was a person named Lucilium that these "letters" were written to, so the title (as titles usually are) may be somewhat misleading.
However, the basic form of these writings is that of a collection of letters. Each letter begins with a salutation to Lucilium and ends with the standard Latin Vale ("be well"). So these are not just a bunch of ramblings by Seneca; they carry some ostensible purpose, and they are written to someone in the hope that the person who reads them (be it Lucilium or you or I) will find them morally instructive.
In the future, the title of this blog might become less literally accurate. In other words, I won't always be forwarding letters from Seneca. However, I do still intend to forward on selections from some writer or another that I happen to be reading, unrelated to my school work. So the forwarded "letters" will not always be from Seneca's Letters, but they will always be "letters" forwarded by me, and I have been accused of being a little "stoical" on more than one occasion.
In any event, that's the basic idea behind this blog. We'll see how it goes. Stay tuned.
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