Weathering the Storm: or, It's hard work learning to operate a weather station!

Keswick Weather Station with the rain clearing in the background.

Twice now the Wi-Fi connection between my weather sensors (pictured above) and my desktop console has dropped out during electrical storms. So out came the ladder again.

This time, I suspected the console's batteries, which are trickle charged by a solar panel, might be flat due to the overcast conditions. I tried several remedies, including the use of rechargeable Energizer batteries. I re-booted, removed the batteries for two minutes, tried again and again, all to no avail.

This time, I decided to call Instrument Choice, the company I purchased the weather station from. Daniel was very helpful. The weather station sensors use rechargeable AA alkaline batteries. These hold a charge of 1.5 volts. The Energizer and Duracell rechargeable batteries I use around the house hold only 1.2 volts, which means they are not too good for the sensors.

But the problem was not the sensors, it was the console. Daniel tells me to remove the batteries for twenty minutes, and the sensors will reconnect. I do this, and in the meantime, I decide to put the original 1.5 volt batteries back in the sensors.

So up the ladder I go again. I replace the alkaline 1.5 volt batteries, and I re-position the station. I climb back down, go inside, replace the console batteries, and... nothing.

Why? When the console is connected to my computer via the USB cable, it does not need batteries. So out comes the cable, out comes one battery, and I decide I will just try straight away. Within seconds of putting the battery back in, the sensors are reporting again. 

I must have been up and down the ladder a dozen times to fix this problem. I lost my "gold star" rating with Weather Underground while messing about. All I had to do was power down the console, update the time and date, and let it reconnect by itself. 

But I was impressed with the technical support at Instrument Choice. Daniel was very helpful.

It is a truism that we live and learn; and it's hard work learning to operate a weather station!

Lessons for next time

1. When an electrical storm cuts out the Wi-Fi connection, all I need do is turn off the console, and allow it to reconnect with the sensors. Do this before climbing up the ladder.
2. Jaycar sells the proper AA rechargeable alkaline batteries for my weather station, should I need to replace them.
3. If the AA rechargeable alkaline batteries fail, and I do not have replacements nearby, then non-rechargeable lithium Energizer batteries will last 9 to 12 months in the sensors.

Learning to Draw with Margarita Georgiadis: Creative Gunning's Fine Art Classes

My third still life, "Lenin: or, Bust" (10 February 2018).

Creative Gunning's Fine Art Classes are taught by Margarita Georgiadis at the Tony Foley Centre in Gunning. For more information, check out the details here. 

There are two things that cramp my creative style: having to drive too far to get to the place of work, and being distracted by other things when I get there. Creative Gunning's Fine Art Classes remove both of these barriers and after only three weeks, I feel like I might actually be able to draw!

My first ever still life, "Pear" (13 February 2018).

I did technical drawing at high school up until year 10, but I messed about and, although I enjoyed the drawing, I lacked the discipline and dexterity to do it well. That is not to say that I have not used these skills when building chook pens and other garden structures, but it is always functional rather than pretty.

I have always wanted to draw but felt I lacked talent. Until recently.

Internationally acclaimed Australian artist Margarita Georgiadis is currently conducting beginner classes in drawing on Saturdays from 10am to 1pm at the Tony Foley Centre in Gunning. More classes are due to commence soon, including an intermediate course. I decided to give the classes a go and I am having a blast!

In the first week, we began by learning to draw circles. The trick is to use your shoulder as a pivot, rather than your wrist. I also learnt to hold my pencil in a way that I would never have done if learning by myself. It was strange at first but one picks it up quickly.

We learnt how to use "construction lines" to keep the size of our circles consistent.

"Turner's Trumpet" (24 February 2018). This is my first
attempt at a still life in compressed charcoal. It took two
hours to get it to this stage.

After learning to draw circles, we were given our first still life to try. I chose a pear. Shock of horrors, it didn't look too bad.

We learnt how to add contour lines to bring out the depth and shading to indicate the light. 

I was so pleased with my pear, the next day I practised another still life, this time using my Falcon pipe as my subject.

For the second week, we were asked to bring a favourite object we would like to draw. I racked my brain to think of a "favourite" object, and settled on a bust of Vladimir Lenin. I bought this in Antique Street, Soho, Hong Kong, and I like it because it has Chinese symbols on the base.

At the beginning of the second class, we began by learning how to draw ellipses. Using construction lines and our circle-drawing shoulder technique, we drew ellipses of varying sizes, using a plastic cup for perspective.

My second still life, "Pipe Day" (2 February 2018).

Next was our object. Mine turned out to be rather difficult. But we learnt more about construction lines, and this time, we were not allowed to use our eraser. Except, of course, when one uses one's eraser to create construction lines. Soon enough, my drawing began to take shape.

I was happy with the outcome, although I did run out of time and have not found the time so far to go back to it.

The third class was held on 24 February. The first thing we did was to imagine a bowl, and, using our ellipse-drawing technique, we were to draw our bowl. I have been reading Homer lately, and my first thought of a bowl was a tripod.

My fourth still life, "Homer's Tripod" (24 February 2018).

The Ancient Greeks would give tripods (basically, a bowl with three legs used for cooking or whatever, depending on the style) as gifts and trophies. In Homer's The Iliad, for example, Achilles includes tripods in his list of prizes for the winners of Patroclus' funeral games (after Patroclus had been killed by Hector). 

Once again, I dreamt up the most difficult thing to do. But with a little help from Margarita, "Homer's Tripod" started to take shape.

For the final two hours of the class, a complex still life was revealed. The display consisted of a vase with gum leaves, a model train, a trumpet, some fruit, a couple of bowls, and a metal pot plant holder, and some drapery. 

It looked over-whelming. And this time, we were to use our compressed charcoal. I had never used this before.

Yet, two hours later, "Turner's Trumpet" emerged. The drawing is far from finished, but I am still in shock that I did this, in the time allotted, and I really like charcoal!

My fifth still life, "Turner's Trumpet"
(24 February 2018).

When I think back to when I used to draw, I can only recall as a young child, less than ten years of age, when I would draw amphibious landing battle scenes based on the advertisements in the back of DC Comics. (Remember the "sea people" adverts? These "sea people", otherwise known as brine shrimp, featured on an episode of South Park.) Either the sea people or a toy soldier set was a common advertisement on the inside cover of DC Comics books when I was a kid. I used to draw the battle scene.

Well, since then, I once drew a picture of a scene in my house when I should have been doing something else, and another time I did a drawing of my pets on a home-made birthday card. And that's it. To put it another way, in three lessons, I have drawn more than ever before.

And this is what I enjoy about Creative Gunning's Fine Art Classes. Margarita has everyone drawing on the first day, and in three lessons, I have several drawings to my credit. They may not be the greatest, but I can see that, upon completion of the beginner's course, and with a little practice, I will be able to add drawing as another hobby for rainy days like today. 

From what I have learnt so far, it is all about the structure. Much like essay writing, getting the structure right first leads to a competent outcome. The style and finesse will come with practice. But I highly recommend Creative Gunning's Fine Art Classes, and Margarita is an excellent teacher!

For further information, see the Creative Gunning Facebook page. The next beginner's classes commence on 5 March 2018 at the Tony Foley Centre.

Nietzsche in: "I Smell a Decadent"

The School of Athens [featuring Zoroaster] by Raphael, 1590. Public domain via Wikimedia.

Ecce Homo by Friedrich Nietzsche

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Nietzsche's autobiography is bewildering. The title, Ecce Homo, means "Behold the Man" in Latin, and is ascribed to Pontius Pilate when he presented Jesus to the mob. The title is clever in that Nietzsche, in concluding, is "Dionysus versus Christ" (p. 143). But this seems to me to be misleading when the subtitle (which is absent from this Dover version), reads "How One Becomes What One Is". Without the subtitle, one might justify an off-handed rejection of Ecce Homo as little more than vanity given too much regard by posterity. Indeed, I wonder had Nietzsche written this today, would he have ever been known? At times I felt that Nietzsche was of a privileged class and was able to publish at will, but this is not entirely the case. Nietzsche's father, a Lutheran pastor, had worked for the state and, following his premature death, this qualified Nietzsche for a scholarship. Hardly peak bourgeoisie, yet Nietzsche was a polymath; surely symptomatic of genius. If the subtitle is considered during the reading, then "how Nietzsche became Nietzsche" is less troubling to the modern mind. At the same time, Nietzsche goes out of his way to tell us that the effeminate, decaying, degenerative way perpetuated by Christianity is a denial of nature, of the body, of the present - so why would he be all meek and modest? Hence my bewilderment. Believe "neither in 'ill-luck' nor 'guilt'" - this is the opposite of a decadent (it is Nietzsche) (p. 13). "Unselfishness" and "neighbourly love" are conditions of the decadent, these are signs of weakness; pity is not a virtue (p. 18). Nietzsche tells us how he has never felt bad about himself, no guilt, no self-flagellation. The basic argument is that Christianity has poisoned us against ourselves - not faith, not God per se, but the religion of Christianity. Undoing this decadence is therefore essential. But atheists find no solace, either: Socrates is no role model. Nietzsche hints at Heraclitus as one of the few who understood (at least through the Stoics) (p. 73). This is interesting in that Heraclitus had a particular view of God and the gods that one steeped in the atheistic view of Nietzsche will struggle to comprehend. The most important words from Ecce Homo outline Nietzsche's philosophy for living: amor fati (p. 54):

My formula for greatness in man is amor fati: the fact that a man wishes nothing to be different, either in front of him or behind him, or for all eternity. Not only must the necessary be borne, and on no account concealed,- all idealism is falsehood in the face of necessity,- but it must also be loved...

Nietzsche writes disapprovingly of equal rights, particularly for women (p. 65), yet, at the same time, in addition to his view of the "opiate of the masses", betrays a Marxian loathing for the decadence of the "false economy" of "the division of labour" (p. 76). He goes on to address the problem of our current times: the "large number of young men... all in... [a] state of distress" because of the false "calling" to vocations that are unnatural and lead to a "feeling of emptiness and hunger" (p. 87). With so much going on, it is unlikely that a reading of Nietzsche's work in its entirety is enough to comprehend his insights from the rabbit hole of the human soul. But if I have taken away just one thing from Ecce Homo, it is a deeper understanding of the concept of amor fati. Its opposite can be seen in those who reject the body (interesting that Nietzsche says he can "smell" the decadents), where the golden arrow of consumption masks much of the truth (that many could not face if it were revealed, but can happily consume while it is well-masked), and I take it that Nietzsche meant both the corporeal and spiritual aspects of the analogy. But I will let Nietzsche have the last word:

...that which is necessary does not offend me. Amor fati is the core of my nature.

View all my reviews

Romans? Lend me your ears: or, Nietzsche: The Neo-Con Flâneur

Marble sarcophagus with the Triumph of Dionysus and the Seasons; Roman, circa 260-270 CE; Metropolitan Museum, New York [Public domain] via Wikimedia.

Twilight of the Idols/The Antichrist/Ecce Homo by Friedrich Nietzsche

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The first interesting thing I discovered about Nietzsche is something I suspected when I read Beyond Good and Evil: Nietzsche "learnt much from La Rochefoucauld" (p. viii). And to start off with first principles, Nietzsche makes an interesting observation: morality is "a misrepresentation of certain phenomena, for there are no moral facts whatever (p. xi). I have now come to terms with the idea of Dionysian "chaos" versus the Apollonian "order". Interestingly, this struck me last night at the Canberra Symphony Orchestra's performances of Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor, op. 16 (with acclaimed Australian pianist Tamara-Anna Cislowska as the soloist), and Shostakovich's Symphony No. 9 in E flat major, op. 70. My friend and colleague, a sociologist, who invited us to the concert, has often spoken of these two opposing approaches. But until now, I have been ignorant to the depth of meaning that is so readily missed when one's antennae are not properly directed. And so, Nietzsche sees art as "Dionysian. It is amoral". "Christian art" is an oxymoron, yet Islam is "a virile religion, a religion for men". Nietzsche sees Christianity and alcohol as "the two great means of corruption" (p. 160). A central message (one of too many!) is that, "where the will to power is lacking, degeneration sets in" (p. 97). Nietzsche blames Saint Paul for destroying Rome, and Luther for destroying the Renaissance. Well I never! Kant perpetuated some of the decay, but Goethe, the antipodes of Kant, "disciplined himself into a harmonious whole, he created himself" (p. 81). Further, and while Nietzsche may well have predicted the World Wars, he may also have predicted the decay of our current institutions. Nietzsche argued that we have forgotten the purpose of our institutions (something that would seem apparent in my understanding of theories of institutional change), in effect, institutions require:

...a sort of will, instinct, imperative, which cannot be otherwise than antiliberal to the point of wickedness: the will to tradition, to authority, to responsibility for centuries to come, to solidarity in long family lines forwards and backwards in infinitum. If this will is present, something is founded which resembles the imperium Romanum: or Russia, the only great nation today that has some lasting grit in her.

In speaking of first principles, Nietzsche appears as a Neo-Con Flâneur (p. 72); yet he does not mince words:

First principle: a man must need to be strong, otherwise he will never attain it. - those great forcing-houses of the strong, of the strongest kind of men that have ever existed on earth, the aristocratic communities like those of Rome and Venice, understood freedom precisely as I understand the word: as something that one has and one has not, as something that one will have and that one seizes by force.

I can't pretend to know everything about Nietzsche, and I doubt I can commit to further study beyond a once-reading of the majority of his work. But something has changed in me as a result. I will blog about Ecce Homo in a subsequent post, as I am reading it in a separate book with an easier-to-read type-font, but from Nietzsche's autobiography, he arose from illness (and, paradoxically, to return to it soon after) to suffer no longer from "'ill-luck' nor 'guilt'". He "is strong enough to make everything turn to his own advantage" (p. 176). In this way, Nietzsche is much like Marcus Aurelius: Amor Fati. And no longer can my response be "merely" academic: I feel a weight of centuries lifting, I see why our institutions are crumbling, I fear the solution will not be forthcoming until the next major crisis disrupts human society yet again; I know that this will all be forgotten by future generations. And so time will march on. But Nietzsche does not leave me pessimistic, nor does he leave me disturbed as Viktor Frankl does. He leaves me free. Is this too dramatic? Read what I have read and tell me. I am all ears.

View all my reviews

Ask not "What is the Meaning of Life?": The question is being asked of you!

Still-Life with a Skull (vanitas painting) by Philippe de Champaigne, circa 1671. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I mistakenly read Frankl's sequel to this book back in December 2016. In Man's Search for Ultimate Meaning, Frankl focused on the "existential vacuum" and psychological concepts in some detail. I barely recall this work and when I looked at it just now, the lack of pencil markings in the book means I cannot recall the parts that resonated, or the ideas I wrote about in my (rather short) review of the sequel, I also discovered that the key concepts relating to logotherapy were outlined, but I had no recollection of logotherapy, Frankl's "Austrian School" of psychology. Man's Search for Meaning is in two parts. The first part outlines Frankl's experience as a prisoner at Auschwitz and other concentration camps during World War II. He does not go into the detail of the horrors there, but focuses on how people coped or didn't cope with suffering. The word "suffering" is important in that, if one has no choice but to suffer, then suffering can give purpose to life. In the second part, Frankl outlines his logotherapy in some detail. How does logotherapy fit in with Freud and Adler? Freud focused on man's (sic) will to pleasure; Adler focused on man's (sic) will to power (obviously drawing on Nietzsche); whereas Frankl draws on man's (sic) will to meaning as a central element of human behaviour, happiness, and self-actualisation (somewhat in the Maslow sense of the word, but Abraham Maslow is not mentioned). Some quotes are worth noting:

...unnecessary suffering is masochistic rather than heroic (p. 148). 

Live as if you were living for the second time and had acted wrongly the first time as you are about to act now (p. 151). 

...happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue (p. 140). 

...man (sic) is ultimately self-determining... [He] has [good and bad] potentialities within himself; which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions (p. 135). 

Nietzsche: ""He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how" (p. 109). 

...suffering may well be a human achievement (p. 108). 

...only the men who allowed their inner hold on their moral and spiritual selves to subside eventually fell victim to the camp's degenerating influences (p. 78).

I found this book disturbing: enlightening, enraging, sad, hopeful, empty, full, academic, spiritual, contradictory, confronting, conservative, even judgemental. But it made me think deeper than I may have thought before. And there are techniques, too, for dealing with "anticipatory anxiety" - "hyper-intention" and "hyper-reflection". (Put simply, the paradox that the harder we try to make something work, the more we psych ourselves out. In certain cases, one can use this paradox to have a positive effect. Frankl gives the example of a man who sweats profusely, and the more self-conscious he is, the more he sweats. Frankl has the man say to himself "I will show them how much I can sweat!" and paradoxically, he doesn't sweat at all.) This paradox serves another purpose in the pursuit of meaning:

What is called self-actualization is not attainable at all, for the simple reason that the more one would strive for it, the more he (sic) would miss it. In other words, self-actualization is only possible as a side-effect of self-transcendence (p. 114).

This leads to what I think is Frankl's most important lesson:

Ultimately, man (sic) should not ask what the meaning of life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked (p. 113).

From what I can gather, in Man's Search for Meaning, Frankl outlines how his experience in the concentration camps helped him refine his concept of logotherapy, something he had written about and was writing about before he was taken prisoner. He mentions modern problems concerning the "existential vacuum", in particular, "boredom". But it is not until Man's Search for Ultimate Meaning that this is covered in more detail. I say as far as I can work out because there is a lot to comprehend in these two books, and the disturbing nature of the original (now classic) work continues to haunt my sleep, let alone coming to grips with the details of logotherapy that I was quite able to overlook through my ignorance and poor reading technique the first time around. As Epictetus said: if you would learn, be prepared to look the fool. A key lesson learnt from this experience is in comparing my current reading technique to what I was doing back in 2016; the improvement is palpable. Mortimer Adler was right and I am glad I overcame my resistance to marking and taking notes in my books. Another lesson is that a single reading of a book may not be enough, especially when subject matter that is new to me is readily over-looked. Yet, much like asking myself "What is the meaning of my life?", I need to ask myself "What is the point of my reading?". The answer is rather simple: it is to learn. Maybe I can draw on the hyper-intention paradox technique: I can tell myself that my life has no meaning and wait for meaning to appear. Or better yet, I can live the rest of my days as if it really were a second chance, and let my learning allow happiness to ensue. The real paradox is that it has been happening already without me even trying. And while I doubt I can understand Frankl until I have finished reading Nietzsche and made a start on Wittgenstein, there is enough in this book (in particular, the quotes outlined above), to keep me going for some time.

View all my reviews

The Critic as Philosopher: Ruskin's Polemic for the Common Man

Let Us Beat Swords into Plowshares by Yevgeny Vuchetich, donated to the United Nations by the Soviet Union in 1959. Photo taken by Pharos from UN grounds showing sculpture in front of the East River, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia.

On Art and Life by John Ruskin

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This book consists of two sections, "The Nature of Gothic" from Vol. 2 of The Stones of Venice (1853), and "The Work of Iron", originally given as a lecture at Tunbridge Wells, and later published in The Two Paths (1859). I learnt of the importance of Ruskin's influence only recently when watching the movie Mr Turner (2014), starring one of my favourite actors, Timothy Spall, in the lead role. Ruskin was a supporter of the work of J.M.W. Turner and apparently played a role in elevating landscape painting as a major genre. I enjoy Turner's work immensely, and this encouraged me to read some of Ruskin's work. I have not been disappointed and I have discovered other works that I intend to read, which coincide with a particular publisher's series. I find the Dover Thrift Editions of great works easy to read in terms of size of print and page, and Dover also has a series on architecture (I have read the work of Le Corbusier from this series). Ruskin's The Seven Lamps of Architecture is presented in the Dover series, so this will be a welcome addition to my library. I find architecture fascinating, and while I recently designed and built my own chook pen, I stand in awe of the great architectural and engineering miracles we use every day, often without giving a thought for the magnificence of the outcome of thought and practice. There is something about architecture that stirs the soul. I am reminded of Lord Kenneth Clark's 1960s book and BBC TV series, Civilisation, where Clark tells the audience that his personal view of the history of civilisation focuses on art and architecture, and he does not care whether others should think him a fuddy-duddy or not. I went off in search of the precise words, and was struck that Clark's first words are Ruskin's! "Ruskin said":

Great nations write their autobiographies in three manuscripts—the book of their deeds, the book of their words, and the book of their art. Not one of these books can be understood unless we read the two others; but of the three, the only quite trustworthy one is the last.

The introductory episode is available on YouTube at the moment:

However, in this book, Ruskin first focuses on the nature of Gothic architecture, and presents an interesting view of workmanship and the worker: if one wants a consistent product, much like a machine would produce, then the man becomes a tool - if one wants a creative man, then the outcome will be inconsistent, but of a finer nature. As the subtitle reads:

You must either make a tool of the creature, or a man of him. You cannot make both.

Ruskin uses the example of Venetian glass and its artisanal qualities compared with the precisely uniform production glass of his time. I am pleased to learn that my own thoughts on the standardisation of education echo Ruskin's. Ruskin's idea of truth is:

...that great art, whether expressing itself in words, colours, or stones, does not say the same thing over and over again... Yet... this is... only hidden from us... by false teaching. Nothing is a great work of art, for the production of which rules or models can be given.

I have the same argument against marking rubrics for essays - if it were possible to produce a perfect marking rubric, there would be no need to teach essay writing; yet marking rubrics are somehow seen as "fairer"! More likely, as Lord Kenneth Clark said, the ancient civilisations ended because they were "exhausted". And the next time I hear someone mention coining a phrase like "change fatigue", my scepticism will know no bounds! Ruskin (p. 36) basically outlines all we need to know about change, and more eloquently than any recent airport-read management guru book. The trouble with reading classic texts is one realises how much written today is a rip-off of the past, but presents itself as something new, without a hint of an acknowledgement. And this is not because it is plagiarised, but that the contemporary author has simply not done her or his homework, and has independently thought up something that had already been thought before. Imagine how much further we might advance if we did not have to reinvent the wheel every time we began to apply our thought-forces to a problem? Hence the literature review. But what if one could be original. Being original is more difficult than one might think. In the second section of the book, Ruskin discusses the importance of iron in its many forms. Here I learn more about geography, and the chalybeate spring (a natural mineral spring containing iron salts) at Tunbridge Wells, and the importance of this site to so many great artists. Ruskin was addressing a general audience and arriving at turning "swords into ploughshares" (Isaiah 2:4) from a mineral spring is a fascinating journey that is captivating, if a little bewildering, as if caught up in some 1960s psychological experiment. There are several messages in this book. But most prominent is the belief that forcing labourers to work as machines, in order to reduce the price of goods, is STEALING (capitalised in the original) from the workers. (Ruskin believed that "the architect [should] work in the mason's yard with his men", p. 25) Moreover, love of order (or the standardisation aesthetic, as I would call it) is useful in "practical matters":

...but love of order has no more to do with our right enjoyment of architecture or painting, than love of punctuality with the appreciation of an opera.

I daresay that Ruskin, if he were writing today, would be regarded as "discursive". But I like his style. There is so much that underpins his work, a depth of reading that is obvious, yet creates the scaffolding for his originality; political, yet not radical; radical, yet not revolutionary; revolutionary, yet not wanting to overthrow the status quo; accepting of change, or more importantly for my own thinking, of the punctuated equilibrium of living and civilisation, but all moving toward an end where men (sic) no longer wage war, having learnt to live peacefully (much like the literal truth-speaking "long-livers" in George Bernard Shaw's Back to Methuselah). I must admit that the portrayal of John Ruskin in Mr Turner corrupted my imagination, and I pictured a lisping flatterer who was socially-tolerated, yet privately thought a fop. But now having read Ruskin "in the flesh", I am inspired, and, in addition to finding another guide to so many things I enjoy (landscape painting, Clark's Civilisation, Turner's art, etc), I have developed a new appreciation for the role of the critic.

View all my reviews

On Criticism: Pope. Spawn of the Glorious Revolution

Pope's Villa at Twickenham by J.M.W. Turner (1808)
Public Domain via Wikimedia.

An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

There are a number of famous phrases in this essay:

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

A little learning is a dang'rous thing.

For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

And I learnt a new word: "coxcomb" - an archaic term for a dandy. Pope draws on numerous place names as synonyms for The Ancients, so Aristotle is "the Stagirite"; Virgil is "the Mantuan Muse"; and,

To copy nature is to copy them.

After reading a few articles by and about Harold Bloom, having almost finished John Ruskin's On Art and Life, and having made a start on Oscar Wilde's The Critic as Artist, I have gained an appreciation for the work of the critic. Pope points out that Aristotle was a critic of Homer, and Maevius, known for his criticism of better writers (and of Augustus Caesar's vintage), was well-critiqued by both Virgil and Horace. Pope provides advice for the genius, too:

Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

and

One science only will one genius fit; So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

Our talent requires constant effort, and spreading ourselves too thin means:

Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before.

Reading is important (especially to "know well" the Ancients), and we should:

Read them by day, and meditate by night.

I could feel Mortimer Adler lurking in the background, and a return to How to Read a Book revealed Pope's sentiments (p. 11):

There have always been literate ignoramuses who have read too widely and not well.

As Pope said:

The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head.

But Pope also touches on the problem for converting sound reading into writing (which is increasingly my problem):

That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes.

Adler spoke of "coming to terms with the author", and Pope seems to be Adler's inspiration:

A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ

Yet Pope draws on the folk tradition, too, especially in relation to the "father" of all sins, pride, "the never-failing vice of fools"; and Socrates' notion of the more we know, the more we know we don't know much ("New, distant scenes of endless science rise!"). In effect, Pope argues that pride prevents reason. If pride can be driven away, then we can use feedback from friend and foe alike to correct our faults. The Stoics, too, can be seen in the background, with echoes of Epictetus' (Discourses 3.24.17) warning that happiness and yearning for something one doesn't have are incompatible, in effect, perfectionism is desiring the impossible, reflected in:

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.

Nietzsche gets a guernsey, too, or, should I say that Nietzsche draws on Pope's Dionysian-ness ("Dennis of the Grecian stage"). There is so much in this essay that a second and third reading will be rewarding. And not just for lessons in literature and history - geography, too. As it turns out, London's Duck Lane (not the current Duck Lane, which Google Maps shows is an alley), now known as "Little Britain", was in Pope's time an area for second-hand booksellers, and before that an area for publishers, too. There is so much in Pope that is familiar, much like John Stuart Mill's On Liberty (which is like reading my own mind, the content is basically the liberal arts curriculum of a modern education). But the difference is that Pope's work requires a more thorough reading of the Great Books. While I have much more to learn about the classics, it is clear that the more familiar one is with them, then the more rewarding a reading of Pope will be.

And what about the Glorious Revolution? The Westminster political system begins with the end of the old regime in 1688, thanks to William of Orange. Alexander Pope was born in 1688. So there you go.

View all my reviews

Beyond Good and Evil: or, Breathing is a Virtue

Quatre danseuses et Nijinski (Four Dancers and Nijinsky) by Adolf de Meyer, circa 1914.
Public domain via Wikimedia.

Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future by Friedrich Nietzsche

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The other evening, a few pages from the end of this work, I fell asleep listening to Alan Watts lecturing on virtues. I find it difficult to articulate the connection to Nietzsche, but what I comprehended as I awoke, while being in a state not dissimilar to that of Debussy's faun, was this rough recollection:

You cannot be virtuous. If you become virtuous and you are aware of being virtuous, then you are prideful and thus no longer virtuous. Virtues are not self-conscious, and you cannot consciously be virtuous. Breathing is a virtue. You don't think about it, you are not responsible for it, it happens 'un-self-consciously'. That is virtue.

I understand that Alan Watts was discussing elements of Eastern philosophy, but Nietzsche mentions Eastern philosophy numerous times. Following Mortimer Adler's guidance in How to Read a Book, I now take notes in pencil in the margins of my books. This rather short book is full of notations; Latin, French, Greek, German, and Italian words and phrases; class consciousness, waiting too long to display one's genius, "the herd"; the Will to Power; morality; and so on. Too much to summarise here appropriately. But I read in Nietzsche a critique of mediocrity, and it provides me with an awakening to the class-based cringe that has been highlighted by my reading and study over the years. Alan Watts said something like being self-conscious won't help one to be virtuous. Benjamin Franklin wrote that although he worked to consciously improve himself, using his 13-week virtues checklist, he was aware that he could never be perfect. If I take into account Nietzsche's critique of the herd morality and religion, and the privilege of rank and the position adopted by others in relation to my lowly class-based existence (which doesn't manifest itself in any meaningful way outside my own head), then the idea of "beyond good and evil" makes some intuitive sense. Nonetheless, I am far from articulating Nietzsche's ideas beyond what I can grasp from a handful of his work. I may take some solace in that Franklin couldn't be virtuous, that Adler tells me there is nothing wrong with interpreting my reading without the aid of others, that Nietzsche writes much like La Rochefoucauld, and that he thought the Stoics were wrong. This is interesting because the Stoics advocated "living according to one's nature". As it is so natural, then how can one "will" oneself to live in a way that is predestined? This is one of the most helpful explanations of the deductive method! On flicking back through my notes, two things are noticeable. First, the race elements the Nazis picked up on (thanks to Nietzsche's sister, I believe). This is no worse than Jack London, writing not that long after Nietzsche and I encountered parts that wouldn't fit with Nazism. Second, the attitude towards women. This was written before universal suffrage, but clearly, Nietzsche was no John Stuart Mill. Indeed, Nietzsche was a critic of utilitarianism. I will finish with this quote on scholars and artists (I had heavily underlined it while reading - there is always a pencil on hand these days), one that brings together in Nietzsche's words what I felt in my "faunish" moment while listening to Alan Watts (pp. 142-3):

One finds nowadays among artists and scholars plenty of those who betray by their works that a profound longing for nobleness impels them; but this very need of nobleness is radically different from the needs of the noble soul itself, and is in fact the eloquent and dangerous sign of the lack thereof. It is not the works, but the belief which is here decisive and determines the order of rank - to employ once more an old religious formula with a new and deeper meaning - it is some fundamental certainty which a noble soul has about itself, something which is not to be sought, is not to be found, and perhaps, also, is not to be lost. -The noble soul has reverence for itself.

It would seem that it is "beyond good and evil".

View all my reviews