Contemplation, No Contemplation


While working for my better half at Eastern Market, I read Tseng Ts’an’s The Hsin-Hsin Ming, a poem illustrating some principles of Zen Buddhism. At the same time, I’ve been doing some very casual, very unsystematic tasting of some ancient, classical philosophers: Aristotle (The Rhetoric), Marcus Aurelius (Meditations), Plato (Gorgias), Plotinus (glancing at, but by no means understanding The Enneads), Quintillan (Orator’s Education), and Cicero (On Duties). None of these particular works address the particular issue I was thinking of, though. However, in other works, all of them do express very clearly that, in some way, shape, or form, the best life (good life, virtuous life) is a life of contemplation and philosophy, through a combination of reading, study, and dialogue with others. Tseng Ts’an expressly forbids seeking ‘Englightenment.’ He expressly tells the reader not to meditate nor contemplate. He doesn’t want you studying, nor reading, not engaging in dialogue on things.

Queen Of The Tearling


9780062290380I can’t remember why I got this. I find myself reading a lot of genre fiction these days, but this one was better than many and most. A sort of fairy tale and a sort of new world myth (travelers take the ‘Crossing’ to a new land to build a utopia; science doesn’t always work, but some magic does; the Crossing is in the distant past and things have… evolved?… into a traditional, medieval-style fantasy world, with some tweaks like pre-Crossing books, including The Hobbit and cigarettes).

The political machinations remind me a little of The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (perhaps not a coincidence that both are written by women and both feature female protagonists who are described as being plain-looking). Magic-wise, there are summoned demon-like creatures and a pair of necklaces (best compared to the titular elfstones of The Elfstones of Shannara).

At less than four hundred pages, it feels almost short and I read it in just a few days, once I started it (the novel had been sitting, unread, on my Nook for months). I’ll certainly read the sequel (and maybe very soon; I’ve got a trip to see family in Arkansas coming up and it could be a nice option for the flight). If I have criticism, it’s that, at times, it can almost feel like YA. I don’t think it is, or rather, I don’t think it was marketed as such, but it comes close. Though I say that having not really read much recently. I read the first few Harry Potter books (and did not love them; didn’t dislike them, but didn’t love them), but that’s really it. No Hunger Games, no Twilight. I have been known to reread a favorite Narnia novel, but that’s it.

 

Tarzan


Despite considerable searching, I have not been able to find the one from my memories.
Despite considerable searching, I have not been able to find the one from my memories.

It’s not possible for Tarzan not to be problematic. Simply not possible.

I have never actually read a Tarzan story, though I will confess to having read half a dozen novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs (four of his Mars novels and two of his Pellucidar novels). Growing up, there was one in the library. The library was small, dusty room with a piano that no on in the house could play. And there was a Tarzan novel (or, perhaps, a collection of short stories; I believe that many of the so-called books were just compilations of short stories originally published in magazines). On the cover was Tarzan and a crocodile in a fast moving river. I can’t remember whether they swimming (Tarzan being chased) or whether Tarzan was wrestling the reptile. Despite loving crocodilians, I did not read it, partly because my mother told me that the stories were racist. So I looked and looked, but never read.

My better half and I saw the movie, The Legend of Tarzan the other day. And I enjoyed it. It worked manfully, it not entirely successful to make the white savior aspects less horrible (though it would have irritated purists and white supremacists alike, it would have been cool if Jane had been played by black actress).

Maybe I will read one finally. One with dinosaurs or lost cities. Or not. Maybe I should not.

‘Dome Around America’ By Jack Williamson


The best part of Ace Doubles are a return to a time when a science fiction novel didn’t have to be heavy enough to crush a man’s skull. One hundred to one hundred and fifty pages of fast moving plot.
I’ve noticed that a lot of these novels seem to have radical changes in plot in the final third – an unexpected crisis/event that acts as a kind of reverse deus ex machina. Saw the same sort of thing in Agent of Chaos and Master of Life and Death.

Anti-communism was a theme. At first, it seemed like it was all prepped to be a criticism of American style capitalism, but then… it wasn’t.

I’ve already started the other side, The Paradox Men, and it seems much more imaginative.

‘Burr’ By Gore Vidal


Vidal signed my copy of his early novel, The Judgment of Paris, at the West Hollywood Book Festival some ten years ago. I read it, enjoyed it, but did not give him much more thought.

When The Best of Enemies, about the 1968 Buckley-Vidal debatescame out, I rushed to see it with a friend at the E Street Theater downtown and, for the first time, saw Vidal as a monumental figure.

But, in a way like Christopher Hitchens (who had a fraught relationship with Vidal), you wonder whether there will be any cultural memory of him twenty years after his death. Will his books and essays be read?

So, I decided to read one of his most famous (and best reviewed) novels, Burr.

Will Burr last?

Maybe. Yes. No.

A little, is probably the best answer. Much better than middlebrow (midcult?), but a shade below masterpiece or classic. It’s far, far, far, far, far, far better than Gone With the Wind, but I can see it having a similar lifespan. Mitchell’s novel has maintained an incredible cultural cachet and readership over the years, but is, I think, finally fading (mainly because it is unreconstructed claptrap).

But the real novel in question.

The character of Aaron Burr himself is a fantastic creation and the novel acts as a fantastic apology/redemption for the figure. For those who don’t the story of the novel, a man named Charles Schuyler finds himself becoming the biographer – or, really, the scribe for a memoir – of Burr. The novel jumps between first person sections from Schuyler’s perspective on his own life in New York City in the 1830s and then first person sections from Burr’s perspective, narrating major parts of his history (and, necessarily, the founding of America).

Based on my own (admittedly slight) readings of original texts from the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, Vidal has a nice sense of an earthy, pre-Victorian mindset for Burr (though it’s still a modern novel; also, thankfully, with regular and recognizable spelling) – less so for Schuyler. His Burr’s depiction of a craven, political Thomas Jefferson is as frighteningly hilarious as his thin-skinned, conniving, and barely competent George Washington.

American history during this period is not really my forte and I’m not going to act as judge on much of the accuracy of this – I just don’t know enough of Revolutionary and early post-Revolutionary American history to stand in judgment – and I know enough about Vidal to believe that, even if he would fudge for literary reasons, he did voluminous research. It’s certainly not news to say that Vidal is deliberately revisionist, in the sense of changing how we view the sacred icons of our founding fathers.

I have read that Vidal’s so-called ‘Narratives of Empire’ (of which this was the first book) is intended to show the evolution of America into an empire, but Burr ultimately feels elegiac. You could say an elegy for a dream lost to dreams of empire, but that’s not what it feels like to me. Schuyler missed the Revolutionary War and is somewhat in between epochs. Around long enough to hear the myths and truths of a great age, but not old enough to have experienced it.

 

Christians In America Are Not Being Persecuted; Or, The Only Christians Being Persecuted By Wal-Mart Using ‘Happy Holidays’ Signs Are Exploited Wal-Mart Employees Who Happen To Be Christian


I am a Christian and we are so ridiculously far from being persecuted in this country, that it’s… ridiculous.

The major holy days of my religion are national, federally recognized holidays. Spring break is entirely designed to make sure people have time off during Easter!

Yom Kippur and Songkram are not holidays. Americans do not suddenly feel compelled to say “happy holidays” to each other during Ramadan, nor are we deluged with signs and holiday sales during it.

And about that whole “Merry Christmas” versus “Happy Holidays” b——t… the entirety of non-Christian America is basically forced to recognize Christmas for an entire month, at least, so “Happy Holidays” does not represent an attack on the Christian faith, but rather a recognition that maybe we could make the state sponsorship of a Christian holiday maybe, slightly, but not really less exclusive of non-Christians. And, frankly, if the Wal-Mart stops using the name of a holiday celebrating the birth of my faith’s messiah to promote the sale of lawnmowers and to celebrate an exploitative system, well that’s okay with me.

The entirety of supposed ‘persecution’ of Christians in America is a response to a half-hearted effort to make our culture less overwhelmingly biased towards one religion.

Ecce Homo


Re-reading Ecce Homo after reading Gros on Nietzsche has given me a new perspective. In my mind, Nietzsche was urban or housebound or almost an invalid. A cantankerous, mustachioed German. But Gros opened me up to Nietzsche the walker, the nature lover. And now, I can see his relationship with and affection for the natural world and he seems more like Thoreau than the Underground Man.

Also, as per Gros, rejects bookishness here, claiming he would travel with just a few books (this weekend, I refused to travel a mile to Eastern Market without three books). Later, when commenting on his earlier book, Human, All Too Human, he writes:

I was redeemed from the ‘book,’ for years at a time, I read nothing – the greatest favour I have ever done myself! – That deepest self, as it were buried and grown silent under a constant compulsion to listen to other selves (- and that is what reading means!) awoke slowly, timidly, doubtfully – but at length it spoke again.

Don’t know how I didn’t remember this, but he consistently rejects all things German and proclaims himself Polish and Poland his fatherland. He also constantly returns to Zarathustra, clearly rating it as his greatest work. While Birth of Tragedy does not get so much attention, Dionysos does, with the dionysian aspect being referenced again and again.

I’d been wanting to pick up the companion of my teens and twenties again, but Ecce Homo was probably not the best choice, especially since much of it is a commentary on earlier books by Nietzsche – books that I hadn’t read in a while (else a revisiting to him would be unnecessary).

‘A Short History Of Chinese Philosophy’ By Fung Yu-Lan


9780684836348I was really enjoying this and what I was learning, until I stopped to think about it. Fung is very good on the history, but how much had I actually learned about Chinese philosophy from my reading?

Plenty, certainly, but it seemed like it was more about a more or less chronological succession of figures and their relationship to political-historical milieus than actual philosophy. And he allows various major currents, particularly Taoism and Confucianism, to seem surprisingly philosophically undifferentiated, as if the the major differences between them were in the historical place of major thinkers within the traditions, rather than the philosophical traditions themselves.

Now, he does lay out some wonderful categories of major schools in Chinese philosophy and, while acknowledging their limitations, uses them as a wonderful framework for helping the reader keep up. And I don’t want to suggest that I didn’t learn anything from this book, only that I had hoped to learn – or to feel like I had learned – a bit more about philosophy.

His account of more contemporary philosophy feels incomplete and mostly focused on the influences of and correspondences with western thought. There is an account of ‘intuitive mind’ in later neo-Confucianism, which resembles Socrates’ helping a slave to ‘remember’ a priori knowledge in The Meno.

It was also interesting to learn that the first western philosophy to be introduced to China was primarily non- or anti-metaphysical: Betrand Russell, John Dewey, JS Mill, and William Jevons. He says that the introduction of formal logic was the biggest influence from the west, but that it was more of a coincidence that it was analytic texts that first arrived than  any particular affinity.

Farewell To Old Siam/Nana Thai


A sad moment. I won’t say it was the best Thai restaurant, but it was good. Even when they changed the name to Nana Thai, it remained Old Siam to me. And so it shall in perpetuity, I reckon.

I didn’t even get one last meal in. By the time I had made up my mind to go, the furnishings were on the street and the staff were inside eating pizza.

This place was pleasantly close to my old apartment in DC, but after we moved to a house in the Atlas District, I apostasized and switched my loyalties to a Thai place called Imm on H.

The world keeps moving, I reckon.

‘A Philosophy of Walking,’ By Frédéric Gros


I had a B&N gift card, a coupon, and an hour to kill when I bought this book, which is light reading; something playful that is a very good way to kill an hour or two.

The structure is more or less alternating chapters, with a introspective musings by the author on the nature of walking (and of walking in nature; urban walking gets short shrift) being followed by a biographical sketch of writer or philosopher (usually, though also Gandhi).

Overall, the first half or so of the book is the best. The first author delved into deeply is Friedrich Nietzsche and his story of the German philosopher’s mental and physical decline was downright moving and his deftly illustrated the importance of (usually solitary) long walks in the countryside to his process and mental well being. The section on Rimbaud was almost as good. The one on Kant provided an interesting counterpoint to Nietzsche. The one on Rousseau… was okay. I said he gives short shrift to cities (the walking about which Gros philosophizes is more hiking than a stroll) and the chapter on, ostensibly, Baudelaire, the great flâneur, contrives to be mostly about Walter Benjamin and is not terribly respectful of that mode.

But shouldn’t criticize too much. It is not philosophy, in an academic sense, but a brisk read. Perfect, perhaps, to take on a long, silent walk. Silent because, as Gros writes, ‘But above all, silence is the dissipation of our language.’