"Sleep and the Dream" by László F. Földényi at The Paris Review

Francisco Goya, El sueño de la razon produce monstruos, 1797–1798, Etching and Aquatint. From Wikipedia Commons

At the risk of overwhelming you with Dostoyevsky Reads Hegel in Siberia and Bursts into Tears, I wanted to relay this complete essay by László F. Földényi at The Paris Review posted last week. I'm only about a third of the way through the collection of essays, and one common theme has been looking at dichotomies, "not so that one side would be necessarily defeat the other, but rather so that an argument for a multiplicity could be made." (Preface, page xiii)

One such split or partition Földényi evaluates is that of the Enlightenment and the religious beliefs it meant to replace. In attempting to set aside one metaphysics, a new type of metaphysics sprang forth, demonstrating "that we cannot exist without metaphysics. Even in a secularized age, as sense of our existence within this universe, for the great wonder of the incomparability and unrepeatability of each moment of every one of our lives." (Preface, page xii)

I hope this intro helps frame "Sleep and the Dream" for you. First Földényi looks at the mystery of what happens when we sleep, positing that maybe sleep allows relationship of body and soul to move more in harmony, or at least be less differentiated. Földényi then looks at Goya's etching El sueño de la razon produce monstruos. The sleep of reason produces monsters.

The ambiguous title allows for several interpretations, questions between reason and intellect (and the area that falls outside each), issues that were not raised before the Enlightenment. Are the monsters an external unknown, or do they represent an internal unknown? Maybe the limits of our knowing which is which inspires us to deal with this confusion. Coincidentally, this is somewhat related to my earlier questions regarding the articles on Walker Railey.

I realize the collection won't be for everyone, but hopefully this essay and introduction to it gives you a taste of what is in Dostoyevsky Reads Hegel in Siberia and Bursts into Tears. I'll post more on it once I finish the book.

Article: The Silent Spring of Walker Railey (D Magazine, October 1987) by Mike Shropshire

It seems like a good time for long articles to read while at home. One article I highly recommend is Mike Shropshire's article in the October 1987 D Magazine titled "The Silent Spring of Walker Railey" regarding the attack on Peggy Railey, wife of high-profile Methodist minister Walker Railey. I lived in Dallas at the time, working in an office that had a view of the SMU campus (a beautiful view across North Central Freeway). The attempted murder of Peggy Railey was a huge story at the time, but I'm not sure how widespread the story went outside of north Texas.
Unfortunately, the transition from the print article to online has many typos, but they're easy to decipher.

I can't imagine sitting across the table from Railey and interviewing him. What's most worrisome for me is not that Railey is a monster, although that would be part of the concern. It's more that he is an "everyman," a successful everyman, and we see part of ourselves when we look at him. How much of that monster is inside each of us? And what does it take for that part of us to surface?

As I said the event and story sent seismic waves through Dallas at the time. I don't see many thorough online articles regarding the story from the year of the attack, but that is probably due to few print publications from that period available online to us now. Another article that covers much of the same ground but adds an additional interview with Railey after the events is "The Sins of Walker Railey" by Lawrence Wright in the January 1988 edition of Texas Monthly. I admire Shropshire and Wright for the work they did given the disturbing nature of the story.

Railey's story takes many twisted turns regarding the minister and the Methodist church. I remember a friend working on his PhD in religion at SMU during this period who would stay overnight at our house during his visits. We would stay up late while he filled me in on issues that wouldn't become public for several months negatively impacting the church, its image, and more importantly its principles.

I link to these posts since they were published within a year of the story. Many good articles were published years later when Peggy Railey died almost 25 years after her attack, a timing that coincided with more news sources publishing online and when more information was available.

Articles on László F. Földényi at Hungarian Literature Online

(Pictures from hlo.hu)

László F. Földényi was author of the month for February at Hungarian Literature Online, and they have closed out the month with a bang. Today they provided one of Földényi's essays, "Goya's Dog," at their site. The translation is by Ottilie Mulzet, the same translator for the collection of essays Dostoyevsky Reads Hegel in Siberia and Bursts into Tears, released last month by Yale University Press in The Margellos World Republic of Letters series. "Goya's Dog" is a bonus essay, not included in the collection.

February posts at hlo.hu on Földényi:

• Their announcement of Földényi as author of the month, which includes some background on the author
• More on Dostoyevsky Reads Hegel in Siberia and Bursts into Tears
• An interview with Jozefina Komporaly, translator of The Glance of The Medusa, another collection of Földényi essays, released earlier this year by Seagull Books (I had linked to hlo.hu's excerpt from the collection last fall)
• Interview: László F. Földényi: Being Streamlined Has Become a Universal Criterion
• Additional posts on Földényi at hlo.hu can be found here

I'll see if I can post on these collections later this year, along with notes on Földényi's earlier book Melancholy, once I get my books unpacked.

Excerpt from The Glance of the Medusa by László F. Földényi

Földényi's The Glance of the Medusa: The Physiognomy of Mysticism is a book I have on my Christmas list, so I hope to read more of it soon. Hungarian Literature Online has an excerpt from the book's second chapter:

For this reason, the moment of love is not only about finding oneself but also about dispossession. While those in love are able to compress into someone else all the desire and longing that they have previously considered to be their own, and could not handle to a satisfactory extent, they also find that they ended up beyond themselves. They found their centre, yet this happens to be located outside the boundary of their selves. This does not mean that the existing centre has suddenly ‘shifted’ into another being, but, rather, that this centre has just come into being—sameness is the outcome of difference. In parallel with the ‘lightning glance’ and the ‘silver flash’, it becomes increasingly likely that the individual should lose itself at the very point when it supposedly found itself, because existence itself lacks a centre. Its alleged ‘basis’ is being, which permeates everything yet remains on the outside, so it becomes noticeable only in the lack inherent in things. Whenever one tries to ‘pull oneself together’, one cannot help finding oneself set into motion by a faith placed in some sort of a supposed centre. Beyond a certain point, however, it becomes obvious that this is impossible. The more existence ‘thickens’, the less one can find one’s way around, and ultimately all one is in a position to perceive is the fact of being at the mercy of the impossible.

In an earlier post, HLO included this from the bookflap:

In The Glance of the Medusa, Lászó F. Földényi offers a mesmerizing examination of the rich history of European culture through the lens of mythology and philosophy. Embracing the best traditions of essay writing, this volume invites readers on a spiritual and intellectual adventure. The seven essays bear testimony to Földényi’s encyclopedic knowledge and ask whether it is possible to overcome our fear of passing away. In doing so, they illuminate moments of mystical experience viewed in a historical perspective while inviting readers to engage with such moments in the present by immersing themselves into the process of reading and thinking.

Under the Big Black Sun by John Doe, with Tom DeSavia and Friends

Under the Big Black Sun: A Personal History of L.A. Punk by John Doe, with Tome DeSavia and Friends
Da Capo Press, 2016
Hardcover, 336 pages

Under the Big Black Sun explores the nascent Los Angeles punk rock movement and its evolution to hardcore punk as it's never been told before. Authors John Doe and Tom DeSavia have woven together an enthralling story of the legendary west coast scene from 1977-1982 by enlisting the voices of people who were there. The book shares chapter-length tales from the authors along with personal essays from famous (and infamous) players in the scene. Additional authors include: Exene Cervenka (X), Henry Rollins (Black Flag), Mike Watt (The Minutemen), Jane Wiedlin and Charlotte Caffey (The Go-Go's), Dave Alvin (The Blasters), Jack Grisham (TSOL), Teresa Covarrubias (The Brat), Robert Lopez (The Zeros, El Vez), as well as scencesters and journalists Pleasant Gehman, Kristine McKenna, and Chris Morris. Through interstitial commentary, John Doe “narrates” this journey through the land of film noir sunshine, Hollywood back alleys, and suburban sprawl-the place where he met his artistic counterparts Exene, DJ Bonebrake, and Billy Zoom-and formed X, the band that became synonymous with, and in many ways defined, L.A. punk.

Under the Big Black Sun shares stories of friendship and love, ambition and feuds, grandiose dreams and cultural rage, all combined with the tattered, glossy sheen of pop culture weirdness that epitomized the operations of Hollywood's underbelly. Readers will travel to the clubs that defined the scene, as well as to the street corners, empty lots, apartment complexes, and squats that served as de facto salons for the musicians, artists, and fringe players that hashed out what would become punk rock in Los Angeles.
- From the inside bookflap, and also at John Doe's books webpage

While I'm slowly working through Stalingrad I thought I'd try to get to books I wanted to post on but just haven't had a chance yet. The other day I saw a review of the recently released More Fun in the New World by John Doe and TomDeSavia, which I'm looking forward to reading, and realized I had never posted on Doe's first book. I'll try and fix that.

LA punk was born from rock ‘n’ roll and one of the last steps—in the evolution of rock ‘n’ roll music. Although legends were born from this scene, there were very few stars and really no celebrities. This is an attempt to tell the story. When John and I first spoke of writing this book, I told him I thought it was important for the true story of LA punk rock to be told. He replied that everyone in the scene probably had their own truth to tell. He would be interested in that story, regardless of whether it matched his own memory. So here it is—the many true stories from a mostly undocumented era in cultural history. This book is about that time. (Tom DeSavia, xxii)

The book provides stories from those that participated in (and survived) the early LA punk era. The scene began to form around 1975 but came into its own by 1977, and the book focuses on that era up to about 1982. It's interesting to see the various recollections of how this loose communal experience came into being. Former glam rock fans becomes a common source, which made more sense the more I read through the chapters. It's also interesting to see who was included in the scene, groups like The Go-Gos and Los Lobos that you wouldn't necessarily place with The Germs, or Black Flag. Like the sources, though, it all fits together. Normal people, misanthropic misfits, and addled geniuses (and plenty of just-addled) came together and formed...well, we're probably still not sure quite what.

I'll disagree on Doe's use of "undocumented era," although he's not completely wrong, either. There was plenty of documentation of the scene at the time but usually not in high-circulation media. As the contributors note, LA's punk scene consistently placed well behind those in New York City and London when it came to coverage. One of the constant themes was how tight-knit and welcoming the early participants were, which drew in writers making their own fanzines and other outlets. Slash magazine became one of the most important outlets for writers interested in the scene. Existing from 1977 to 1980, the fanzine brought info on the LA punk scene to a worldwide audience. It also was the impetus for the founding of the Slash Records label (and its subsidiary Ruby Records). Coverage also began to go beyond alternative weeklies like the Los Angeles Reader to frequent notices in the Los Angeles Times. Coverage wasn't always positive, but that doesn't seem to have bothered anyone in the scene at the time.

Two important factors in the development of the LA punk scene revolved around where the participants lived and the venues that allowed the groups to perform and practice (such as The Masque). The stories from those that lived close to Hollywood venues allowing the punk bands to practice and play formed a community of sorts, where practice, play, and afterparties were the order of each day. Those that lived some distance from Hollywood usually talk about day jobs that funded their trips to the clubs and the groups they formed. Although not part of the closer-knit locals, acceptance was the order of the day with the scene (early on, especially). Kristine McKenna, a music writer at the time, captures both the volatility of the performances and the acceptance from audiences:

People who went to punk shows in the early days were respectful, they listened, and they were genuinely interested in the band onstage, even if they’d seen the same bank four nights earlier. We knew we’d always see something new, partly because these were mostly not professional musicians, and nobody did the same show twice, because they weren’t able to. Professionalism came later for some, but in the beginning the scene was truly experimental, and the audience was tolerant and supportive. ... We believed we were dangerous and subversive back in the day, but in fact, we were babies, yet to rub the fairy dust from our eyes. (241)

One risk for participants writing about a past movement is glamorizing what happened. While there is an occasional patina of romanticization, it's usually on a more personal level than ascribing it to the scene as a whole. Several reasons are given for the end of the "golden age" of the LA punk scene, around 1980, and these are anything but glamorized. Accidental deaths and suicides, drug abuse, incursions by violent types, record label signings, and the music splintering into various genres (hardcore, roots, country, etc.) pulled apart the feeling of community that had developed during the frenzied growth.

The sections I enjoyed the most centered on the east-side culture. Although late to the Hollywood scene, these bands mastered their own approach, paving the way for a sizable movement. Teresa Covarrubias of The Brat wrote my favorite chapter, going into detail on how the sense of geography (which was largely a factor of race), provided a healthy sense of camaraderie, competition and development within the East LA scene. In a way it was similar to what had developed in Hollywood, but there were many important differences.

I'll close with a John Doe quote that sums up a large part of the book:

This is how bonds & alliances were made & broken. This is how a bunch of outsiders, fuckups & loners turned into a bohemian, punk-rock community. People exchanged stories of where they came from, crazy shit they had done in their young lives, ideas of what was & wasn’t cool or what was or wasn’t punk rock. It was like going to the strangest, coolest graduate school of music, art & life, even though everyone was just fucking around having a wild time. (55)

What follows is of no interest to anyone else, so skip this paragraph unless you can tolerate someone strolling down amnesia lane.Regarding the noteworthy bands and names mentioned in the book, I saw X live twice. The first time was at a University of Alabama pep rally some time after their release of Under the Big Black Sun, so it must have been the fall of 1982. I can't remember if the pep rally was for homecoming or the Alabama/Auburn game. I still can't believe they got booked in Foster Auditorium! The second time was in Dallas in 1986, a bit after Ain’t Love Grand and The Knitters album was out. On this tour, Billy Zoom had left and Dave Alvin replaced him. Moving on... The Minutemen played one of the greatest sets I've seen, and I saw Mike Watt again with firehose. Strangely (or at least I view it that way), the two names from the book I've seen the most are Javier and Alejandro Escovedo. Javier was with The Zeros in LA for a brief time, while Alejandro was with The Nuns out of San Francisco, so they are minor characters in the book. It was with The True Believers I saw both of them over a dozen times, and if you add the times I saw Alejandro with Rank and File (in Memphis' Antenna Club...sa-lute!) and solo, he would be performer I've seen the most, all-time. Never sat down to try and figure that out before now. As I asked, forgive the babbling.

Links:




Review of More Fun in the New World: The Unmaking and Legacy of L.A. Punk by John Doe and Tom DeSavia at Billboard.com. Includes an excerpt from the book by Charlotte Caffey of The Go-Gos.

An excerpt from Under the Big Black Sun by Henry Rollins.

There are excerpts from the book at the Da Capo Press link at the top of the post.

Under The Big Black Sun: A Conversation with John Doe and Mike Watt at SXSW Music 2016

Slash magazine archives

Punk flyers from 1977 Los Angeles, with additional, related links

Movies with appearances by X can usually be found for free somewhere. X: The Unheard Music is currently available on SnagFilms and The Decline of Western Civilization, which covers some of the LA punk scene around 1980, can be currently be found for free on tubi and Pluto channels.

Ears, Eyes and Throats: Restored Classic and Lost Punk Films 1976-1981, ten short films from punk and alternative bands of the time. See here for more information on the films.

Picture source

Aes Triplex by Robert Louis Stevenson

The changes wrought by death are in themselves so sharp and final, and so terrible and melancholy in their consequences, that the thing stands alone in man's experience, and has no parallel upon earth. It outdoes all other accidents because it is the last of them. Sometimes it leaps suddenly upon its victims, like a Thug; sometimes it lays a regular siege and creeps upon their citadel during a score of years. And when the business is done, there is sore havoc made in other people's lives, and a pin knocked out by which many subsidiary friendships hung together. There are empty chairs, solitary walks, and single beds at night. Again in taking away our friends, death does not take them away utterly, but leaves behind a mocking, tragical, and soon intolerable residue, which must be hurriedly concealed. Hence a whole chapter of sights and customs striking to the mind, from the pyramids of Egypt to the gibbets and dule trees of mediaeval Europe. The poorest persons have a bit of pageant going towards the tomb; memorial stones are set up over the least memorable; and, in order to preserve some show of respect for what remains of our old loves and friendships, we must accompany it with much grimly ludicrous ceremonial, and the hired undertaker parades before the door. All this, and much more of the same sort, accompanied by the eloquence of poets, has gone a great way to put humanity in error; nay, in many philosophies the error has been embodied and laid down with every circumstance of logic; although in real life the bustle and swiftness, in leaving people little time to think, have not left them time enough to go dangerously wrong in practice.

The title, if you're not familiar with it (and I certainly wasn't) is explained in the notes: The title, AEs Triplex, is taken from Horace, aes triplex circa pectus, "breast enclosed by triple brass," "aes" used by Horace as a "symbol of indomitable courage."—Lewis's Latin Dictionary.

After addressing the great divide and separation death causes and how reverential we talk about it, Stevenson looks at how little we allow it to influence our "conduct under healthy circumstances." He mentions South American citizens living on the side of volcanos ("fiery mountains") who act as if they are "delving gardens in the greenest corner of England," not impressed by the "mortal conditions" where they live. And then as he thinks about it, Stevenson claims this example "forms only a very pale figure for the state of ordinary mankind" if we consider the many possibilities of wholesale catastrophes that could happen.

As Stevenson contemplates how old people act (for the most part), he uses a beauty and ruthlessness in his imagery, in passages such as

For, after a certain distance, every step we take in life we find the ice growing thinner below our feet, and all around us and behind us we see our contemporaries going through. By the time a man gets well into the seventies, his continued existence is a mere miracle; and when he lays his old bones in bed for the night, there is an overwhelming probability that he will never see the day. Do the old men mind it, as a matter of fact? Why, no. They were never merrier; they have their grog at night, and tell the raciest stories; they hear of the death of people about their own age, or even younger, not as if it was a grisly warning, but with a simple childlike pleasure at having outlived someone else; and when a draught might puff them out like a fluttering candle, or a bit of a stumble shatter them like so much glass, their old hearts keep sound and unaffrighted, and they go on, bubbling with laughter, through years of man's age compared to which the valley at Balaclava[6] was as safe and peaceful as a village cricket-green on Sunday.

and

Death may be knocking at the door, like the Commander's statue; we have something else in hand, thank God, and let him knock. Passing bells are ringing all the world over. All the world over, and every hour, someone is parting company with all his aches and ecstasies. For us also the trap is laid. But we are so fond of life that we have no leisure to entertain the terror of death. It is a honeymoon with us all through, and none of the longest. Small blame to us if we give our whole hearts to this glowing bride of ours, to the appetites, to honour, to the hungry curiosity of the mind, to the pleasure of the eyes in nature, and the pride of our own nimble bodies.

and

Indeed, it is a memorable subject for consideration, with what unconcern and gaiety mankind pricks on along the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

Stevenson looks at some examples that literature uses to try and explain the human condition after he declares, "We confound ourselves with metaphysical phrases, which we import into daily talk with noble inappropriateness. We have no idea of what death is, apart from its circumstances and some of its consequences to others; and although we have some experience of living, there is not a man on earth who has flown so high into abstraction as to have any practical guess at the meaning of the Word life." Stevenson mocks philosophers if the best definition they can come up with is John Stuart Mill's "Permanent Possibility of Sensation." After all the word tricks that people play, "[O]ne fact remains true throughout—that we do not love life, in the sense that we are greatly preoccupied about its conservation; that we do not, properly speaking, love life at all, but living." OK, that seems like he's using a little word trick himself, but he uses that distinction to come to his point about the necessity of courage (back to the aes triplex). With courage, we can do more than just stay alive, but truly live:

To be deeply interested in the accidents of our existence, to enjoy keenly the mixed texture of human experience, rather leads a man to disregard precautions, and risk his neck against a straw. For surely the love of living is stronger in an Alpine climber roping over a peril, or a hunter riding merrily at a stiff fence, than in a creature who lives upon a diet and walks a measured distance in the interest of his constitution.

Just because we know we're mortal doesn't mean we should abandon intelligence, though. "As courage and intelligence are the two qualities best worth a good man's cultivation, so it is the first part of intelligence to recognise our precarious estate in life, and the first part of courage to be not at all abashed before the fact. A frank and somewhat headlong carriage, not looking too anxiously before, not dallying in maudlin regret over the past, stamps the man who is well armoured for this world."

Last month I decided to read some of Robert Louis Stevenson's essays (available at Project Gutenberg), skipping around to different ones depending on how much time I had to read that day. Little did I know that a couple of days after reading "Aes Triplex" my mother would pass away. She was 97 years old and lived a full life. Her health had been in serious decline the past year, so while it wasn't unexpected, her passing still fit many of the descriptions of Stevenson's opening paragraph. I can attest that she lived fully with a triple brass shield of courage.

Despite my liberal use of quotes from the essay, there is much more in this short piece. Do make the time (in the "hot-fit of life") to have a look at the essay. And if you like what you read, be sure to check out the others. There's a lot of enjoyable writing in these pieces.

Off the beaten track, as usual

I started Bulgakov's Heart of a Dog this week and quickly fell in love with it. I also have a copy of the 1988 Russian movie that I hope to watch this weekend. For anyone not familiar with this short novel, it

"tells the story of a scroungy Moscow mongrel named Sharik. Thanks to the skills of a renowned Soviet scientist and the transplanted pituitary gland and testes of a petty criminal, Sharik is transformed into a lecherous, vulgar man who spouts Engels and inevitably finds his niche in the bureaucracy as the government official in charge of purging the city of cats." (from the back cover)

The other recent acquisition that I'm eager to dip into is Off the Beaten Track in the Classics by Carl Kaeppel. I found out about this book through a review by "Dr. Beachcombing" at Beachcombing's Bizzare History Blog. This excerpt is from Kaeppel's entry in the Australian Dictionary of Biography:

After the Armistice Kaeppel studied archaeology in England, his researches in the British Museum laying the foundation for his profound knowledge of ancient geography. He returned to Australia in August 1919 and next year was appointed classics master at Melbourne Church of England Grammar School where the headmaster R. P. Franklin, a former fellow teacher at Shore, was a close friend.

A voracious reader with a photographic memory, Kaeppel excelled as scholar and teacher. Although he lacked an ear for phonetics (and could not pronounce an r), he had not only an intimate knowledge of Greek and Latin but 'explored with indefatigable thoroughness' the lesser-known ancient languages. A short man, in grey slacks and a well-worn sports jacket, he was a firm disciplinarian in the classroom; he carried an ash walking-stick which he banged on the ground to emphasize points and reputedly could inspire even the recalcitrant idler. His 'lads' greatly respected him.

He lived in the school lodge, made generous, impulsive gifts to his friends from his extensive library, and was an habitué of the Savage and Naval and Military clubs. He was a spell-binding conversationalist. However, his heavy drinking increased with the years and in 1931 he was forced to leave Melbourne Grammar. He moved to Sydney where he lived by coaching and by freelance journalism. In 1932 he wrote A Short History of Latin Literature and in 1935 the fascinating Off the Beaten Track in Classics.

A. R. Chisholm, who considered him 'one of the three or four most eminent scholars that Australia has produced', described him as 'exuberant, but moody; purposeful, but nostalgic; almost blatant at times, but fundamentally shy'.

The index page is at the end of this post and the listed essays "are based, in the main, upon the author's reading when working in the British Museum." (from the jacket cover) I'll probably mention these essays in posts as I get to them. (For anyone not familiar with the term "periplus", which until this week included me, a definition can be found here).

Nobility of Spirit

Paul L Martin at The Teacher’s View posted a review/summay on Rob Riemen’s book Nobility of Sprit (Yale University Press; $12.00, paperback). His review intrigued me enough to order it—if you’re not familiar with the book, please go read his wonderful summary at the link. There are three essays and a long introduction, all of which Martin covers very well. Here is the product description:

Nobility of Spirit is a spiritual journey to the source of those values—especially truth, freedom and dignity—that must be sustained in order for civilization to flourish. Riemen explores the tradition from Socrates and Spinoza, to Goethe, Whitman, and Thomas Mann—singular individuals who courageously refused to compromise their ideals, and he engages with them with great insight, intimacy and invention. It is the anti-fascist Mann with whom Riemen feels a particular affinity, and who serves as a beacon to a world free of barbarism. Mann’s 1945 volume, Nobility of Spirit: Sixteen Essays on the Problem of Humanity, inspires the form of Riemen’s inquiry. Indeed, Riemen’s eloquent meditation on "nobility of spirit" begins with an extraordinary encounter with Elisabeth Mann Borghese, guardian of the oceans, and the last surviving daughter of the great author of The Magic Mountain and other masterworks. Riemen’s slim, powerful volume ends with an essay on Leone Ginsberg, an Italian Jewish intellectual murdered by the Nazis, who implores his wife—the novelist Natalia Ginsburg—to “be brave” as he is taken to his death. Ultimately, Riemen calls for all of us to “be brave” as we battle those forces—terror, hate and ignorance—that are conspiring against humanity.

The essays I enjoyed the most were the first two: “The Quest of Thomas Mann” and “Untimely Conversations on Timely Questions”. Because Martin does such a good job on highlighting the strong points of the book, I’ll raise a couple of issues that surfaced while reading it. And possibly they are more than just quibbles.

1) What does Riemen mean by “nobility of spirit”? I’m not trying to be pedantic—this is the title and unifying theme of his essays. From the conversation with Joseph Goodman in the introduction:

“Nobility of spirit is the great ideal! It is the realization of true freedom, and there can be no democracy, no free world, without this moral foundation. Whitman’s masterpiece, his whole vision, is exactly about this: life as a quest for truth, love, beauty, goodness, and freedom; life as the art of becoming human through the cultivation of the human soul. All this is expressed by ‘nobility of spirit’: the incarnation of human dignity.”

Variations of truth, dignity, and the timeless ideal of civilization are frequently used in conjunction with the phrase. Riemen quotes Thomas Mann, who believed nobility of spirit was the “sole corrective for human history.” OK, I have the general gist of where he’s going, but… For someone that includes Socrates in a large portion of his essays, I don’t see Riemen’s non-definitions carrying much weight in an Athenian conversation two millennia ago.

2) What is the role of the intellectuals in Riemen’s view? Reimen seems to be following in Mann’s footsteps from The Coming Victory of Democracy (initial quote from Reimen):

”True democracy can’t do without an aristocratic bent—it must have a nobility, though not by birth but of spirit.” (Quote now [supposedly] from Mann) “In a democracy that does not respect intellectual life and is not guided by it, demagogy has free rein, and the level of the national life is lowered to that of the ignorant and uncultivated. But this cannot happen if the principle of education is allowed to dominate and if the tendencies prevail to raise the lower classes to an appreciation of culture and to accept the leadership of the better elements.”

OK, so an intellectual class can help democracies (in which “without nobility of spirit a democracy will fail of its own freedom” we are told many times). Giving examples of the “intellectuals’” responses to 9/11 doesn’t help justify the statement, however, but does get bonus points for full inclusion. To Riemen’s credit, he lets luminaries like Norman Mailer and Susan Sontag demonstrate their moral bankruptcy in their own words. If anyone wants to include them in the intellectual class, it says more about how far the bar has been lowered for membership.

Riemen spends plenty of time showing what the ‘intellectual class’ needs to avoid in order to …well, I’m not sure what. Stay relevant? Achieve the leadership “intellectuals” are supposed to show? Throughout the essays, Riemen gives examples of classical humanists that demonstrate courage and (possibly) “nobility of spirit”. Yet what is the purpose of these examples? While they provide inspiration toward dignity and civilization in general, it was almost as if the message was that intellectuals have no influence. Camus’ question on responsibility ("Aren't we all responsible for the lack of values? Shouldn't we be the ones to openly declare that we were wrong and that moral values do exist?") went unanswered by his fellow philosphes because they had other objectives than freedom and truth.

One intent of the examples (in the past or from literature) seems to be held up to inspire the “lower” and “better” classes. From Elisabeth Mann Borghese in the introduction, who can reference Marx with a straight face, through the last essay there seem to be an unresolved tension between viewing people as individuals and/or as members of a class.

3) The last quibble mostly impacts the final essay, but casts doubt on prior descriptions portrayed as quotes. Taking pride that there are no footnotes at Joseph Goodman’s request (although Riemen does provide a ‘selected bibliography’), the scenarios described make for powerful stories but how accurate are they? Socrates encouraged Plato to go to war in order to understand life? I think I missed that dialogue. And Leone Ginzburg's dream/hallucination that seems to equte the Catholic Church and the Nazi party fits in...how? Again, the stories are wonderfully drawn but there seems something contrived in the manner they are told. In addition, it causes me to question other quotes in the book—is that really what Mann wrote,for example?

Am I getting bogged down in minutiae? I wouldn’t doubt it. But the issues, as I noted, have the possibility of moving beyond mere quibbles and undermine some (or more) of the work. All that being said, I really enjoyed the book. Riemen is able to pull together disparate works and authors, showing connections and consistency of thought through the years. It expands areas I want to explore for myself, which I would guess is one of the author’s goals—exploring classical ideas in order to maintain civilization. And while I probably focus too much on a definition of “nobility of the spirit”, despite some clichéd descriptors it’s possible to get at least part of the essence Riemen is driving toward. I’ll end with part of the quote in the final note, which is from one of Machiavelli’s letters regarding entering his study after a day’s work:

I step inside the venerable courts of the ancients, where, solicitously received by them, I nourish myself on that food that alone is mine and for which I was born; where I am unashamed to converse with them and to question them about the motives for their actions, and they, out of their human kindness, answer me. And for four hours at a time I feel no boredom, I forget all my troubles, I do not dread poverty, and I am not terrified by death.

Yes.