Cicero wrote a dialogue called De Re Publica, which has sometimes been referred to as his Republic a la that of Plato, but is more properly translated as "Of the Republic." The Republic in question was that of Rome, still in existence at that time but shortly to be extinguished by the civil war leading to the dictatorship of Julius Caesar, which in turn was followed by another civil war leading to the establishment of the Empire by his grand-nephew and adopted son, known to history as Augustus.
Cicero's work may be distinguished from that of Plato both because it dealt with an actual nation and government (though justice and ideal government is addressed) and because it was written by an astute practical politician and thinker--someone who actually governed, as a senator and consul of Rome. He also had an axe to grind. He wished to point out that good government is contrary to the cult of personality surrounding Caesar, and that Caesar sought power merely through ambition and for the satisfaction of his pride. Plato, of course, was speculating regarding an ideal state, though some like me may think his ideal to be deplorable. It's unclear whether Cicero's work was ever finished and that we know all he wished to say; it has come to us in fragmented form.
Within those fragments is a description of a dream itself described as "The Dream of Scipio" (Sonium Scipionus). The Scipio in question is not the Scipio who defeated Hannibal at Zama, who we know as Scipio Africanus, but rather his grandson, who we know as Scipio Aemilianus. The grandson in turn was given the honorific Africanus as he was Rome's general in the Third Punic War in which Carthage was finally annihilated by Rome (he had the name before then as it was a hereditary title, but subsequently earned it as well).
Scipio Aemilianus was notable not only as a general but as a friend of philosophers, known to converse with them regularly. This practice earned him the public dislike of the dour censor Cato, who thought him far too Greek and frivolous. It may have been his fame as a philosophical sort of Roman which led Cicero, another philosophical sort of Roman, to provide a fictional account of a dream Scipio Aemilianus supposedly had before the destruction of Carthage by the Roman legions.
In that dream, the grandson finds himself in the presence of his grandfather, gazing down on the Earth from a great height, among the stars. They converse, one Africanus to another. Grandpa Scipio tells his grandson of his victory over Carthage two years away, and of his future in general, but also invites him to consider how small the Earth is--a tiny part of the universe. Rome, of course, is even smaller; a small part of the Earth which is a small part of the universe. The living Scipio is asked to reflect on the insignificance of the Earth, of life, of we humans, and understand that our true nature is divine and does not end in death, and we should hold dear only that which is eternal in us and in the universe.
Perhaps this dream is intended to function much as the slave's reminder to those granted a triumph. "Remember you are mortal" are the words supposed to have been repeated to the honored victor by the slave riding with him in his triumphal chariot. The message that all glory is fleeting, soon forgotten, seems to be one which can be derived from the dream.
But it seems something more was involved. Cicero was a lawyer and politician who tried to be a philosopher as best he could. He studied with philosophers and wrote philosophy. We owe a great deal of our knowledge of ancient philosophy to him, as he wrote of books no longer available to us, lost in time. He seems to have been making the point that we should not consume ourselves over worldly matters like fame, victory, conquest and power, but devote ourselves to wisdom, virtue, and ascertaining the laws of nature and through nature, God.
Cicero knew Stoicism well and was sympathetic with it, though we know he did not consider himself a Stoic. This is a Stoic perspective. The quest for fame and power and what goes with them is a quest for things not in our control. When we read Marcus Aurelius we find that he often points out that the great of the past are long forgotten as we will be forgotten after we die, and that which concerns us so much now is insignificant. I think the great schools of philosophy which existed in ancient times agreed on certain things, and that most if not all of them emphasized that the universe is vast and we and all we do is small in comparison; our petty fears and hatreds and desires all mean nothing, and we should concern ourselves only with eternal truths.
But if our world is insignificant, and we are even more insignificant, what do we matter? Why should we try to do anything with our lives? We know now the universe is much larger than any of the ancients could even imagine. From the cosmic perspective, we aren't even noticeable. We may as well not exist. Our pretensions are laughable; our concerns less than trivial.
We know how this question was addressed by Christianity, which denigrated this life and even delighted in its denigration. It profits a man nothing if he gains the world, as our lives, here, are not only unimportant but are sinful. It is only the next world that is significant. So, certain Christian sects even accepted the view that "good works" in this world mean nothing.
That doesn't seem to have been the response of ancient pagan philosophy, though. Stoicism's "things not in our control" were what is of no concern, and the view from above the Earth granted Scipio Aemilianus confirmed this fact. What saved us from insignificance according to Stoicism, it seems to me, was its pantheistic conception of Nature and the belief that we as rational creatures shared in the divine. Christianity held that we and the world in which we live are evil; the Stoics believed we, and the world, are part of and partake in the deity and so cannot be evil. We escape the trivial by virtue of being part of Nature itself, and acting in accordance with the divine reason in which we share.
By acting according to reason, or Nature, we naturally (pun intended) do good works and our actions are thereby significant, one might almost say inherently so. It's when we act inconsistently with Nature that we become trivial.
This seems to me a far nobler and more satisfying response to the vastness of the universe.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Friday, April 17, 2015
Paging Philo Vance
This will be another rather fluffy post to relieve the dreariness of these times, or at least the dreariness of my mind.
As some few of us may recall, Philo Vance was a fictional detective, of a sort, created by Willard Huntington Wright and featured in a series of quite popular books by that author under the pen name S.S. Van Dine. They were popular in the 1920s and 1930s, though, and so may be forgotten now by most. They were the subject, at least nominally, of popular films and a radio series. I've listened to some of the radio broadcasts, and would think that Vance as portrayed in them would be hardly recognizable to readers of the books.
Vance was an odd sort of detective. He wore a monocle (some stills of the movies show him with a monocle, so perhaps the films are more accurate). Independently wealthy, educated in Europe, possessing an Oxford accent (he even uses "old boy"), knowledgeable about most everything, expert in most everything, an artiste, a gourmet, a dog show enthusiast; effete, cynical, pretentious, a fop, dandy and a dilettante according to critics. Ogden Nash was moved to say that Vance needed a kick in the pants. Writers of the hard-boiled detective fiction who succeeded him, like Raymond Chandler, thought him a contemptible character. But even so, he displayed on a few occasions a knowledge of martial arts, something which would have been rare at the time, which allowed him to subdue those who underestimated his physical prowess.
The Vance of the radio broadcasts has none of the foregoing characteristics, and in the last episode I heard was beating a suspected killer to make him talk.
His creator was an unusual fellow himself. He was an art critic and friend, perhaps even a protégé, of H.L. Mencken, author of books on Nietzsche and art, a proponent of unusual, "modern" writers of the time and of fiction then considered sexually explicit (which got him fired from the magazine The Smart Set). He also wrote a very odd book I'm currently reading in which he rants against the Encyclopedia Britannica, entitled Misinforming a Nation. He was infuriated by the editors and writers involved in that encyclopedia, and what he considered to be their irrational and unfair prejudice in favor of English authors and artists they considered representative of the morals of the English middle class.
He was also incensed by the fact the encyclopedia sold so well in the United States although to him it denigrated American and neglected American writers and artists. It's an interesting if sometimes peculiar read, full of references to authors I've never heard of in addition to those I have read, and if the descriptions of entries in the encyclopedia are accurate it was indeed prejudiced, but I find it odd that someone published a book saying so.
I read these books while a teenager, and was impressed by them. Now, I'm not so much impressed as amused, entertained. While in some respects the continuing characters are stock, and duly stupid in the manner Watson is to highlight the cleverness of Sherlock Holmes, Vance and some of the villains are interesting in a weird way, and some of the plots, though contrived, are interesting, and involve such things as classical music and one in particular somehow combines chess, nursery rhymes and the higher mathematics and theoretical physics into motives for murders.
A perpetually perplexed District Attorney who has long been a friend of Vance comes to him with murders and they are presently solved by Vance, who determines the killer primarily by consideration of psychological factors. Investigations are interrupted by afternoon teas, attendance at concerts, perusal of displays of art, and lunches, dinners and sometimes even breakfasts made up of delectables lovingly described.
It seems to me that some clever person should resurrect Vance as a detective for the times. Surely we're all weary unto death of the various Law & Order and NCIS spin offs and their copy cats. The British "mystery" series which we see now and then on PBS are interesting, but we see them only when the local PBS channel is not otherwise involved in soliciting money or broadcasting episodes of such as This Old House. There are also the Sherlock Holmes derivatives, one of which features Holmes as a smirking know-it-all accompanied by a female Watson, the other of which is much better but still involves the fantasy of Holmes living and investigating in our time, and so necessarily anachronistic.
The TV or movie Vance of today should, I think, remain in his own time. His rather androgynous character and ambiguous sexuality would have broad appeal in a time where sexuality is of such importance; one can think of him as most anything one cares to, in that respect. Psychology being something we've all been taught to "practice" in one way or another, his criminal theories would be entertaining. His erudition would be enlightening, and his stories a welcome relief from the bang-bang, kiss-kiss that characterizes so much of our visual media. It's true that all the characters in the Vance stories are white, though there are a few Chinese now and then in one or two books, and I suppose that would create some problems, but it would, after all, be a period piece.
If some clever media type really does take this idea and run with it, though, I would hope that at the least some credit for the idea be given to me, Ciceronianus the lawyer and sometimes whimsical blogger.
As some few of us may recall, Philo Vance was a fictional detective, of a sort, created by Willard Huntington Wright and featured in a series of quite popular books by that author under the pen name S.S. Van Dine. They were popular in the 1920s and 1930s, though, and so may be forgotten now by most. They were the subject, at least nominally, of popular films and a radio series. I've listened to some of the radio broadcasts, and would think that Vance as portrayed in them would be hardly recognizable to readers of the books.
Vance was an odd sort of detective. He wore a monocle (some stills of the movies show him with a monocle, so perhaps the films are more accurate). Independently wealthy, educated in Europe, possessing an Oxford accent (he even uses "old boy"), knowledgeable about most everything, expert in most everything, an artiste, a gourmet, a dog show enthusiast; effete, cynical, pretentious, a fop, dandy and a dilettante according to critics. Ogden Nash was moved to say that Vance needed a kick in the pants. Writers of the hard-boiled detective fiction who succeeded him, like Raymond Chandler, thought him a contemptible character. But even so, he displayed on a few occasions a knowledge of martial arts, something which would have been rare at the time, which allowed him to subdue those who underestimated his physical prowess.
The Vance of the radio broadcasts has none of the foregoing characteristics, and in the last episode I heard was beating a suspected killer to make him talk.
His creator was an unusual fellow himself. He was an art critic and friend, perhaps even a protégé, of H.L. Mencken, author of books on Nietzsche and art, a proponent of unusual, "modern" writers of the time and of fiction then considered sexually explicit (which got him fired from the magazine The Smart Set). He also wrote a very odd book I'm currently reading in which he rants against the Encyclopedia Britannica, entitled Misinforming a Nation. He was infuriated by the editors and writers involved in that encyclopedia, and what he considered to be their irrational and unfair prejudice in favor of English authors and artists they considered representative of the morals of the English middle class.
He was also incensed by the fact the encyclopedia sold so well in the United States although to him it denigrated American and neglected American writers and artists. It's an interesting if sometimes peculiar read, full of references to authors I've never heard of in addition to those I have read, and if the descriptions of entries in the encyclopedia are accurate it was indeed prejudiced, but I find it odd that someone published a book saying so.
I read these books while a teenager, and was impressed by them. Now, I'm not so much impressed as amused, entertained. While in some respects the continuing characters are stock, and duly stupid in the manner Watson is to highlight the cleverness of Sherlock Holmes, Vance and some of the villains are interesting in a weird way, and some of the plots, though contrived, are interesting, and involve such things as classical music and one in particular somehow combines chess, nursery rhymes and the higher mathematics and theoretical physics into motives for murders.
A perpetually perplexed District Attorney who has long been a friend of Vance comes to him with murders and they are presently solved by Vance, who determines the killer primarily by consideration of psychological factors. Investigations are interrupted by afternoon teas, attendance at concerts, perusal of displays of art, and lunches, dinners and sometimes even breakfasts made up of delectables lovingly described.
It seems to me that some clever person should resurrect Vance as a detective for the times. Surely we're all weary unto death of the various Law & Order and NCIS spin offs and their copy cats. The British "mystery" series which we see now and then on PBS are interesting, but we see them only when the local PBS channel is not otherwise involved in soliciting money or broadcasting episodes of such as This Old House. There are also the Sherlock Holmes derivatives, one of which features Holmes as a smirking know-it-all accompanied by a female Watson, the other of which is much better but still involves the fantasy of Holmes living and investigating in our time, and so necessarily anachronistic.
The TV or movie Vance of today should, I think, remain in his own time. His rather androgynous character and ambiguous sexuality would have broad appeal in a time where sexuality is of such importance; one can think of him as most anything one cares to, in that respect. Psychology being something we've all been taught to "practice" in one way or another, his criminal theories would be entertaining. His erudition would be enlightening, and his stories a welcome relief from the bang-bang, kiss-kiss that characterizes so much of our visual media. It's true that all the characters in the Vance stories are white, though there are a few Chinese now and then in one or two books, and I suppose that would create some problems, but it would, after all, be a period piece.
If some clever media type really does take this idea and run with it, though, I would hope that at the least some credit for the idea be given to me, Ciceronianus the lawyer and sometimes whimsical blogger.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Homage to The Conch Republic
During the Reagan administration, inspired perhaps by a message conveyed to that President and his nay-saying wife by their favorite astrologer, the federal government implemented a very odd, very stupid policy (one of many, some would say). It established a border-crossing where no border with another nation exists, where the Florida Keys meet the mainland, at or around Miami.
It was believed, apparently, that all kinds of naughty drugs and even naughtier immigrants crept into our Great Republic by way of the keys and that this traffic must be stopped. And so a great traffic stop was duly created, and cars were backed up for miles and people spent hours while federal agents combed through their vehicles and belongings and required proof of citizenship.
In its zeal to protect us from the drugs some of us--declining to "just say 'no'" as helpfully suggested by the FLOTUS of the time--wanted to consume and from nasty foreigners, it seems that the Reagan administration forgot, if indeed it had ever known, that legal problems result when those privileged to be American citizens are subject to search and seizure merely for traveling from one place in the United States to another. It also seems that administration either didn't know or didn't care that by establishing the equivalent of Checkpoint Charlie at such a place it would devastate the tourism-based economy of the wonderful islands that make up the Florida Keys.
The inhabitants of these islands knew very well that this would result, though, and could observe the devastation taking place. The response of those in Key West was dramatic, witty and effective. And so it came to pass that The Conch Republic was proclaimed on April 18, 1982 amid considerable ceremony and publicity, and Key West seceded from the Union because its people were being treated as second-class citizens or, worse yet, as foreigners. They could indeed claim "Civis Americanus Sum" but had been deprived of the rights and dignity traditionally accorded those entitled to make that claim.
The border-crossing was removed within a matter of days. Nonetheless, The Conch Republic lives on at least in the sense that one sees its name everywhere in Key West and its flag graces a number of buildings, hats and t-shirts.
I've visited Key West three times now, and find it charming and relaxing despite the many tourists to be encountered. Most of them have disembarked for the day off one of the floating stews of bacteria called cruise ships which you'll find tied to the docks by Mallory Square. I can understand why the likes of Wallace Stevens, Hemingway, Tennessee Williams and even John Dewey spent a good deal of time in the place. Hemingway's home--a very handsome building and one of the oldest on the island--has become a kind of shrine to the writer, and is dignified by the presence of some fifty cats descended from his cat Snow White. Wallace Stevens, it seems, lived in the Casa Marina when he was there, and he and Hemingway managed to come to blows one fine night for some reason; it hardly matters what. John Dewey's house is now a bed and breakfast.
It's remarkable, but even a few blocks from Duval Street, where most of the shopping, drinking and eating takes place, one can find streets and neighborhoods that are profoundly silent, and which when the sun has gone down are very dark and still but not at all in a frightening or disquieting way. Tranquility can be found there, as well as beauty and order in the neat smallish homes festooned with bougainvillea and plants and trees of all kinds from all over the world. Key West was once a thriving port, and its ship captains brought small parts of what they found and admired home with them on their return.
I am reminded of Stevens' poem The Idea of Order at Key West while there, but not I think of the interpretations of it one typically encounters. Stevens was certainly a philosophical poet (or perhaps it's better to say his poetry was philosophical), but I don't think the poem is a reflection on how we shape what we call reality. Instead, I think it acknowledges that though we're part of the world, it is in fact something inhuman and it is an error to think of it as human or something having human characteristics, or merely as a construct of humans. So, the woman in the poem sings beyond the genius of the sea. When we sing, or act, we make something and it may be said we make it because of or out of our interaction with the inhuman. But what we make is not the world or us, but a new part of the world.
That interaction may be rich and rewarding, though, and is particularly so in certain places. Key West is one of those places, for me and its seems for some others.
It was believed, apparently, that all kinds of naughty drugs and even naughtier immigrants crept into our Great Republic by way of the keys and that this traffic must be stopped. And so a great traffic stop was duly created, and cars were backed up for miles and people spent hours while federal agents combed through their vehicles and belongings and required proof of citizenship.
In its zeal to protect us from the drugs some of us--declining to "just say 'no'" as helpfully suggested by the FLOTUS of the time--wanted to consume and from nasty foreigners, it seems that the Reagan administration forgot, if indeed it had ever known, that legal problems result when those privileged to be American citizens are subject to search and seizure merely for traveling from one place in the United States to another. It also seems that administration either didn't know or didn't care that by establishing the equivalent of Checkpoint Charlie at such a place it would devastate the tourism-based economy of the wonderful islands that make up the Florida Keys.
The inhabitants of these islands knew very well that this would result, though, and could observe the devastation taking place. The response of those in Key West was dramatic, witty and effective. And so it came to pass that The Conch Republic was proclaimed on April 18, 1982 amid considerable ceremony and publicity, and Key West seceded from the Union because its people were being treated as second-class citizens or, worse yet, as foreigners. They could indeed claim "Civis Americanus Sum" but had been deprived of the rights and dignity traditionally accorded those entitled to make that claim.
The border-crossing was removed within a matter of days. Nonetheless, The Conch Republic lives on at least in the sense that one sees its name everywhere in Key West and its flag graces a number of buildings, hats and t-shirts.
I've visited Key West three times now, and find it charming and relaxing despite the many tourists to be encountered. Most of them have disembarked for the day off one of the floating stews of bacteria called cruise ships which you'll find tied to the docks by Mallory Square. I can understand why the likes of Wallace Stevens, Hemingway, Tennessee Williams and even John Dewey spent a good deal of time in the place. Hemingway's home--a very handsome building and one of the oldest on the island--has become a kind of shrine to the writer, and is dignified by the presence of some fifty cats descended from his cat Snow White. Wallace Stevens, it seems, lived in the Casa Marina when he was there, and he and Hemingway managed to come to blows one fine night for some reason; it hardly matters what. John Dewey's house is now a bed and breakfast.
It's remarkable, but even a few blocks from Duval Street, where most of the shopping, drinking and eating takes place, one can find streets and neighborhoods that are profoundly silent, and which when the sun has gone down are very dark and still but not at all in a frightening or disquieting way. Tranquility can be found there, as well as beauty and order in the neat smallish homes festooned with bougainvillea and plants and trees of all kinds from all over the world. Key West was once a thriving port, and its ship captains brought small parts of what they found and admired home with them on their return.
I am reminded of Stevens' poem The Idea of Order at Key West while there, but not I think of the interpretations of it one typically encounters. Stevens was certainly a philosophical poet (or perhaps it's better to say his poetry was philosophical), but I don't think the poem is a reflection on how we shape what we call reality. Instead, I think it acknowledges that though we're part of the world, it is in fact something inhuman and it is an error to think of it as human or something having human characteristics, or merely as a construct of humans. So, the woman in the poem sings beyond the genius of the sea. When we sing, or act, we make something and it may be said we make it because of or out of our interaction with the inhuman. But what we make is not the world or us, but a new part of the world.
That interaction may be rich and rewarding, though, and is particularly so in certain places. Key West is one of those places, for me and its seems for some others.
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