RD: Dull.

JS: Mean.

RD: Honest.

JS: Sad.

RD: My feelings exactly. I love to doodle...as do all cartoonists..but "real" doodles come form the subconscious..often leading to creations of ideas you would never have had otherwise. I'm always amazed at what doodles can often lead to. Your doodles lack that spontaneity. I'm not being mean, I'm just trying to be honest. If you don't want a response...don't ask for it.

JS: The funny thing is I totally agree with you about what constitutes "real" doodling. What you don't get is I'm just having fun with it by doing an "analytical" number on it. It's satire. Lighten up.

The fact that I had to explain what I was up to indicates that my mild attempt at satire failed, or perhaps it was too clever by half and simply went over RD's head. But the thing I still can't understand is why he would go to the trouble to send a mean-spirited response to it in the first place. I don't understand pettiness in any form. (There was a bit more to today's exchange, but in the later stuff RD went completely off the doodle track and began to critique my gag cartoons in political terms as "right wing." That's where he really lost me.)

If I were playing the part of a movie pulp fiction detective (think Bogart's "Sam Spade"), and a leggy blond perched on the end of my desk asked me to take the "Too Happy for Words" case, a mystery in the form of an essay, the first question I would have is: Why in the world did someone (me, in real life) doodle a guy chasing a hare (or is it a rabbit?) on the last page of an otherwise straightforward essay about marriage, motherhood and fiction writing? I'm sure of one thing, the real me didn't unconsciously doodle the image as an audition to illustrate the text. If by some chance I were to get such a gig, a rabbit would be the last thing to occur to me. I just re-read the McDermott essay (excellent, by the way), and there are no rabbits or hares in it; and discounting human babies, no small animals of any description. So far, then, my investigation has dead-ended.

The "Too Happy for Words" essay by novelist Alice McDermott ("A Bigamist's Daughter, "That Night," "Charming Billy"), is collected in the book The Writing Life: Writers on How They Think and Work, a paperback published in 2003. From the rereading I've concluded that the essay is concerned mainly with the different attitudes to marriage and motherhood held by some wary young feminists and their older "sisters," many of whom have married and are, on the surface at least, happily raising kids. It seems the question the younger women are asking (and some of the older women are asking themselves), is to what extent, if at all, does familial devotion stunt their ambition and creativity. Here's how Ms. McDermott puts it: "I wonder if it's superstition: if we feel that to admit to such contentment in life would compromise our status as artists—perhaps recalling the poor actress in The Portrait of Dorion Gray who fell in love and lost her talent." And Ms. McDermott goes on, "As a writer I recognize that much of this can be accounted for by the demands of plot—no doubt all happy mothers are like happy families: alike. And as Tolstoy warned us, sustained joy doesn't make much of a story."

This final McDermott quote I marked provides the clue I need to solve the case. On the last page, just above my doodle, she writes: "Fiction requires the attendant threat, the dramatic reversal, not only because these are the things that make for plot and tension and a sense of story, but because without them any depiction of our joy might appear overstated. We hesitate to include in our fiction what so often strikes us in life as something too good to be true."

Put another way, Ms. McDermott is talking about conflict, the device that drives all story telling. And with that I think I've found my little insight, the knowledge which logically leads to a solution of the original query. Rabbits are famous for having lots of babies, right? In fact, they are the very symbol of fecundity—motherhood squared, so to speak? And is there anything cuter than little bunnies hop, hop, hopping in a field of flowers or down the road? But what happens when you add a man pursuing the bunny with something else in mind, perhaps something sinister like dinner? With those questions in mind I think I can say that the mystery of the connection between and among marriage, motherhood, fiction writing, and my doodle, is solved. My unconscious illustrator seems to have come up with an idea my conscious mind would have surly missed, or rejected: The "attendant threat" of a man on the hunt, and the joy he finds in that, contrasted by the sheer terror felt by his prey. Case closed.

"The Tale of the Hare" is the second in a series of occasional posts under the title Marginalia. In these posts I will display and comment upon a full-page scan from one of my personal library books on which I've doodled and/or underlined—or, as some would claim, otherwise defaced a scared text (to the true bibliophile all text is scared). These folks, shocked by the desecration, predict (and seem to wish), that I will suffer some vile punishment for my transgressions.

This reminded me of Jon Stewarts response to the speech Romney delivered when Mitt dropped out of the primary race. Romney's two speeches are quite similar. Stewart's comments can be found here. It is good to now that somebody feels the way that I do. Stewart follows up on Larry King here.

Here's the plot:  A guy named Mack goes to a shack to meet God who is named Papa and is actually an African American woman.  Got that?  But, Jesus is also hanging around in his workshop, along with a whispy, gardening, Asian lady named Sarayu who is supposed to be the Holy Spirit.

When I first read about the plot, I laughed.  It sounds like something from a cult's Sunday school class for pre-schoolers.  I can see the coloring pages now.

But, I started getting upset when I saw this in Christian bookstores and being promoted by prominent Christians (most notably Michael W. Smith). However, what really got me riled up (we'll call it righteous indignation) was the quote on the cover, calling it this generation's Pilgrim's Progress.

William P. Young is no John Bunyan. And this little work of heresy is no Pilgrim's Progress, the most printed work of literature next to the Bible.

Bunyan and I have a bit of a history.  I wrote my Master's thesis on him, and I've spent years reading and researching his work.  I'd recognize a Bunyan if I saw one.

John Bunyan was a puritan in the 1600s who was persecuted because of his faith.  In fact, he wrote the Pilgrim's Progress while in a jail cell, impoverished and supporting his family by making shoe laces in his cell.  That's poor.  He was in jail because he didn't agree with the state church and the state's politics.  He wanted to lead his own congregation and to preach freely.  His doctrine was sound, bible based, Trinitarian, and also Calvinist (for those who care about that kind of thing).

While sitting in jail, amidst his own trials, Bunyan wrote for his persecuted flock an allegory about the dangers and snares Christians face on the road to the "Celestial City" (heaven).  Buyan allegorized ideas, the problems people face on this road, such as the "slough of despond" and "vanity fair."  Young's story also addresses pain, but it's the overarching "why is there evil in the world?" question.  His approach isn't to allegorize ideas.  He chooses to allegorize God himself, something that Buyan never did in all his allegories (this might be because it would have gone against his puritan iconoclasm and been a form of idolatry for him).

According to an article in USA Today, Young grew up a MK (missionary's kid), where he experienced sexual abuse at the hands of the tribesmen.  He's had seminary training through the Christian and Missionary Alliance and was also a pastor for a Foursquare church for awhile.  But, what could have been the foundation for solid theology didn't end up that way.  Young was working a series of odd jobs while writing this, supposedly for his children, but after failing to find a mainstream publisher, he eventually self published.  A strong word of mouth got the publishing industry to reconsider their previous objections to the work.  I can only assume that they were hesitant to publish a first time author with blatant heresy in his writing.

Both men faced hardship in their life.  No doubt there.  I won't get into "who had it worse."  Wheras both men are committed to dealing with the issue of human suffering, only Bunyan fully looks to scripture to find the answers.  No, I'm not critiquing Young for his lack of scripture verses, where Bunyan cites many.  I'm taking issue with Young's weak theology and misuse (or neglect?) of scripture to shape his picture of the trinity.

There are two great critiques of the book available online in video format from two authoritative sources who can speak to the doctrine and misuse of scripture in the book.  One is Pastor Mark Driscoll (a regular on this site).  The other is Dr. Albert Mohler, President of the Southern Baptist theological Seminary.

Some of the most powerful issues they raise are the problems of the trinity being separated into three who are never fully one (hence the problem with making an allegory out of the trinity--nothing compares), Young's denial of the authority that is biblically acknowledged in the trinity (God the Father in charge with JC and HS submitting), the universality of salvation (Jesus will seek and save everyone), and the low view of scripture given by the "trinity" characters.

I'm not one to say, "Don't read this book."  But, I am one to caution you to hold the Bible in one hand while you read it.  Just because it's a work of fiction, it doesn't mean you can let your guard down for one moment.  In fact, theology comes less thinly disguised than this. The DaVinci Code comes to mind as a prime example.

One final word.  Then I'll shut up with the lecture.  I'm not saying there aren't thought provoking, inspiring moments in the book.  Don't get me wrong, it's a poorly written, predictable, clunky, and often sermonizing narrative.  But I was convicted that I need to call Jesus my "Abba" (Papa) more often, as Jesus instructed us to do.  The parts about forgiveness of others were also very insightful.  I'm still digesting those.  So, no, I'm not dismissing everything.  But I'm also not going to buy a copy of the book to endorse it with my money (I borrowed the one I read), nor am I going to encourage others to buy it just to read the few good points in the pages.  I think the dangers far outweigh the benefits.

I went out to Charing Cross, to see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn and quartered; which was done there, he looking as cheerful as any man could do in that condition.

~ Samuel Pepys, October 13, 1660

[It’s an almost super-human talent, the ability to keep composed and smile winningly while being publicly dismembered.  No one lacking it is advised to enter politics.]

Mr. Teachout's pieces in the Journal, Commentary, and elsewhere are well worth reading too; we recently enjoyed "Hating the New: Are Joe Queenan's Ears on Wrong?", his eloquent rebuttal of fellow critic Queenan's contention that the past 100 years of classical music have been a cochlea-assaulting disaster. In general, Mr. Teachout is one of the best arbiters of style (small capitals) working today, and if for some reason you ever needed an opinion besides Abbeville's, we'd be happy if you sought out his.

From Thomas Cheshire, A sermon preached at Saint Peters Westminster on Saint Peter's Day (London, 1642).

If you're at all like me you love to write in the margins of books, or doodle there, or both. (And what's the difference?) And if you are really, really like me, the marginal writing and/or doodling may or may not have anything to do with the text printed on that particular page, or in the book generally. Our mad jottings may be provoked by what the author has written, but in many cases—especially when it comes to the visual doodles—the connection, if any, will be all but undetectable. While reading the fascinating essays in The Writing Life, pictured here (click for a larger view), in addition to the usual underlinings and asterisk-starring, I found myself in some sort of creative zone and doing an instant doodle on five different pages. These quick images, thematically connected, will lead off the series in which I'll present full pages of text on which I've sketched and/or written something, plus I'll add speculative comments about what I think the image may or may not mean. I'll also include comments on, and quotes from, the essay I was reading; a sort of short essay about the essay. And of course, as always, you'll be encouraged to comment and make of it all what you will. The first Marginalia begins below.

The Dance Story

The ecstatic cartoon guy above may visually represent the feeling a man has while he's in the "dance zone" at a wedding reception, fully in that happy moment and in sync with his partner and the music—or it may simply show him home alone and transported by rock and roll on the radio. If either situation is true, though, you may ask what it has to do with Jonathan Raban's essay "Notes From The Road," on the final page of which we find the image? Why did the essay reader (me) choose to doodle that particular figure in that particular spot? Or was it a conscious choice at all?

The Raban essay, collected in The Writing Life: Writers On How They Think and Work, has not one word to say about dance, dancers or dancing. The essay is, for the most part, simply about making notes. Specifically, it's about the obsessive note-taking done by many "serious" writers. For example, here is Raban on the writer as he dines alone: "So it's scribble, scribble, scribble all through dinner. Into the notebook go long descriptions of landscape and character; some fuzzy intellection; scraps of conversation; diagrammatic drawings; paras from the local paper; weather notes; shopping lists; inventories of interiors (the sad cafe gets grimly itemized); skeletal anecdotes; names of birds, trees and plants, culled from the wonderfully useful Peterson guides; phone numbers of people whom I'll never call; the daily target-practice of a dozen or so experimental similes."

That last bit is so good it deserves repeating: " . . . the daily target-practice of a dozen or so experimental similes." Any of us who write know how true that is, how we struggle to find just the right word or phrase, and how it just comes to us sometimes from we know not where. So of course the essay is also very much about the act of writing, which often feeds off, if not directly from, those random notes. Later in his text Raban ties the note-taking habit in with writing a particular book, but comes at that issue from an interesting angle. He says: " . . . the act of writing itself unlocks the memory-bank, and discovers things that are neither in the notebooks nor to be found in the writer's conscious memory." Then he goes on, quoting the painter Jean Francois Millet: "'One man may paint a picture from a careful drawing made on the spot, and another may paint the same scene from memory, from a brief but strong impression; and the last may succeed better in giving the character, the physiognomy of the place, though all the details may be inexact.'"

In his essay Jonathan Raban appears to be saying that the best writing, or at least the best parts of a writer's output—especially its most creative aspect—is free-form, intuitive and impressionistic. If that is what he means, I agree. And with my small impressionistic doodle above, I claim that it's exactly the same for a guy (or gal) on a dance floor.

Ach Paul, mój drogi Paul! Ach ten twój pierwszy aksjomat teorii komunikacji! Takie proste zdanie a tyle zamieszania w głowach. Tyle pytań do znanych odpowiedzi. I nigdy już nie będziemy mogli w blasku kalifornijskiego słońca porozmawiać o tym, kto z nas dwojga bardziej nadaje się do sprawowania jakże zaszczytnej funkcji Przewodniczącego Związku Jednorękich Fryzjerów. Paradoksy odchodzą tak samo jak ludzie. Jak emocje i uczucia. Nawet te najpiękniejsze. Albo, zupełnie nieoczekiwanie, przestają być czytelne. Bo w raz z ludźmi odszedł na zawsze kontekst. I nagle jest tak jak z pismem Majów, którzy gdy przeminęła świetność ich kultury, nadal żyli w pobliżu budowli, których konstrukcji nie rozumieli, dzieł sztuki, których nie byli w stanie ocenić i napisów, których nie byli w stanie odczytać. Zyjemy w przedziwnym, aczkolwiek zupełnie irracjonalnym przeświadczeniu, że postęp jest czymś naturalnym, prawem natury, czymś co jest dane i co posiada własną dynamikę. Coraz więcej wiedzy, dóbr doczesnych, coraz bardziej ucywilizowane obyczaje, coraz więcej dzieł sztuki i człowieczeństwa. Zyjemy tak, nieświadomi, że los Majów czyha cały czas w cieniu, za rogiem, za następnym drzewem. Ze bliźni, wyciągający do nas rękę i pocieszający nas dobrym słowem w każdej chwili może zapragnąć wyrwać nam serce z piersi i pożreć je na surowo.

Są takie dni, gdy tylko zmęczenie jest prawdziwe.

I go to bed Lord Byron, and wake up bald.

~ Robert Lowell

[My day, I find, charts an opposite course.  I wake in the morning a romantic genius with keenest confidence in my ability to astonish the world, but by day’s end am so brow-beaten and reduced I’m shocked to find a full crop of hair reflected in the mirror.  I brush my teeth and meditate on the happy disjunction between outward appearance and inward reality.  Days like this Fernando’s dictum (“It’s better to look good than to feel good”) is a welcome consolation.  At least I have my hair.]

Still, since the book trailer is such a new, strange breed, no clear frontrunner has emerged among Web outlets vying to be the place to view them. We've seen a couple halfhearted or under-construction sites with "booktube" in the domain name, but nothing that made us sit up straighter in our chairs until we came across Bookscreening. Sure, it's a humble blog for now, but Bookscreening has a nice simple title, a nice simple logo, a nice simple format, and—who knows, it could be the next big nice simple thing. Anyway, we recommend it. The trailers we've watched there are entertaining and well-produced, although the books themselves could use a little more...Abbeville. We'll have to see what we can do about that.

But alas, I am Mogget the Bible dork and teacher. And the teacher in me also noticed quite a spread in the level of the arguments. I am not talking about who is right or wrong, but a matter of how each writer “sold” his or her ideas. For example, when it comes to time to take account of feelings, those who have experienced something have a natural lead. And in talking about the legal aspects we accord those with the appropriate credentials some respect. These are all issues of credibility.

Credibility has other aspects, however. On a more fundamental level it is also carried by things such as syntax and diction. Almost without being conscious of it we accord credibility to those who can choose precisely the right word or expression for an idea. Likewise, we are intuitively sensitive to sentences and paragraphs that are well-formed. And we always appreciate variety, that is, writers who “mix up” the form of their sentences and the structure of their paragraphs. No one likes to drive the same road three or four times in a day, much less in three minutes.

A third aspect of credibility is carried by the ability of a writer to anticipate and respond beforehand to the potential objections of a reader. When we encounter this in argumentative prose we know that the writer has done some serious thinking. And if these potential objections are framed sensitively, in language that does not offend, then we know that we are interacting with someone who genuinely cares about the well-being of others. I cannot overemphasize the boost that this gives credibility, particularly on “hot” issues.

This awareness of the potential audience leads to another aspect of credibility, the self-awareness of the author. Writers who are aware of their own limitations engender credibility in a reader. Folks who are experts in a field can recognize a poseur almost immediately. And I know from reading outside my field that folks who are not experts also “catch on” pretty quickly. We recognize clues such as over-reliance on a single source or a failure to anticipate potential objections, and we draw the appropriate conclusions. But writers who employ a judicious caveat give a sense of their own internal balance and humility that we often find attractive.

There is, I think, another distinction that maps relatively easily onto the effectiveness of arguments. This is the difference between some of our bloggernacle autodidacts and those who have some experience with graduate schools. Almost without exception, the latter group are more persuasive. This is not, I think, a reflection of either raw intelligence or the validity of the point being made. At least to some extent it is a product of the grad school experience.

Perhaps there are folks who can execute a personal reading program that gives them balanced insights rather than reading only what they agree with. And perhaps there are folks who can articulate their opinions persuasively without feedback. But for most, time in a graduate program is critical. Grad school is place where you get the context of the discipline from someone who knows more about it. It’s where you learn to take all the sides of an issue with alacrity. And finally, it’s the place where you defend your opinions before peers, who don’t much care about your authority, or any authority for that matter.

So get thee to a grad school. Instead of reading a limited selection of books with ideas that you find congenial, expose yourself to ideas that are less familiar and friendly. Learn to be a productive member of a discussion, which in many instances means eschewing the argument from authority. Figure out how to advance your own ideas with confidence and without callousness. Find out how to spot the nuances. Let your classmates help you lose the desire to pose as something you are not. Find your limits precisely so as to be effective when operating on either side of them. And besides all this, do it just to have fun!

His library annoyed him with its look
Of calm belief in being really there

~ W.H. Auden, The Quest

[The trouble with personal libraries is that sooner or later they tend not only to be there but practically everywhere.  The litter of books throughout the house has recently become a “problem” at home, a point of some unpleasantness between me and my wife.  (Really, it’s not just me.  The kids are as bad, with their library finds stacked in a corner and their bookshelf always a shambles.)  But my lust for new acquisitions never ends.  If I’m ever annoyed at my library’s pretensions, it’s precisely because I know it’s not really there yet – not in any proper sense.  There are always a few choice volumes missing, some necessary portion of it as yet undiscovered…]

But we digress, too! We consult TBPB frequently here at Abbeville and we encourage you to do the same, because it's one of the most useful sites we know of. In the industry.

Przypatrując się niektórym ekscesom bezkrytycznych wielbicieli Dawkinsa, można odnieść wrażenie, że głównym wrogiem ateisty stał się nie fundamentalista lecz agnostyk. Ach ten Dawkins, ten Dawkins. Pewnej pociechy szukać można by było co prawda u dekonstruktywistów, ale od czasu gdy Baudrillard opuścił nas na zawsze, nie jest to ani łatwe, ani efektowne. A jakże piękne mogło by być spotkanie tych dwóch panów.

Filozof przekonany o nieistnieniu Boga spotyka filozofa przekonanego o nieistnieniu świata.

Tak czy owak: coraz częściej jesteśmy świadkami dyskusji, w których motywy uczestników sprowadzają się do chęci nawrócenia misjonarza.

With the Olympics started it looks like all of the VP chatter will have to wait until after the Summer Olympics. The question had been whether or not McCain, or Obama, or both would announce there veep choice before the summer games. Alas, that was mostly wishful thinking on the part of us political junkies.

 We Obama supporters (I have no idea as to whether this applies to anyone else at FPR, so I mean Obama supporters in general), are a bit concerned about the inability of the Democratic candidate to break away from McCain in the polls. There are of course a variety of reasons for this. The primary reason, in my political scientist opinion, is that we are not likely to see a huge popular victory not matter who wins. We are a deeply divided country and rather evenly divided between those of us who are red and those of us who are blue. So lingering with a two to five percent lead might be the norm through November. Either way Obama appears to have a strong electoral college advantage.

I have found a solution to the VP selection game that will make both conservative Mormons and me happy: Have McCain pick Mitt Romney. This act would help Mormons again feel safe within the GOP. They need to have an institutional home (we Mormons are big on institutional belonging), and feel spurned after having their golden boy rejected. I felt the same way about the Dems rejected Bill Bradley (though I do not quite categorize him as a golden boy).

I would be happy if they picked Romney, because it would ensure McCain's defeat in November. What is better in a time of economic turmoil than for the Republicans to put a filthy rich guy in the VP slot. It would help to highlight the disconnect between the GOP and everyday economic troubles. The GOP takes pride in defending the economic interests of people like Romney. However, when they do it, they pretend that they are protecting the economic interests of the middle class common man. That is real faith base politics. Romney on the ticket would remind everyone of who the GOP really looks out for.

Després d'anys de fer-ne de l'alçada d'un campanar, amb la inestimable aquiescència d'ajuntaments i administracions de tots els colors, la nostra estimada Comunidad ha plantat aquest simpàtics cartellets per esperonar-nos a conservar les carrerades del rodal. Per si de cas, ja ha tingut la prevenció de protegir-les amb una bona capa d'asfalt i colònies senceres de nous habitatges a banda i banda.
És el particular sentit de l'humor de la Marquesa de noséquè i Aguirre Gil de Biedma. Encara que sembli difícil, amb el temps hom s'hi arriba a acostumar.
Me'n vaig de vacances fins a primers de setembre. A veure si amb la distància, a més a més de comprensió, també aconsegueixo que em faci una mica de gràcia.
La nostàlgia la dono per causa perduda.

Regardless, we're linking you to Booksquare for the simple reason that its commentary on the publishing world is excellent. Topics recently covered by the site include the death of newspaper book review sections, the birth of e-reading devices, and "Why Publishers Should Blog" (a post we naturally commented on, suggesting that readers look no further than us for an answer). And of course, there are those great Molly Crabapple illustrations, which Kassia says "you wish were yours." We do, Kassia, we do.

As far as we know, Kassia confines herself only to commentary on publishing, and has not yet ventured into Abbeville's other fields of expertise, such as the visual arts and the universe. If she ever did, we might be a little intimidated...but we'd still gladly read what she had to say, and recommend that you do, too.

This roving humor…I have ever had, & like a ranging spaniel, that barks at every bird it sees, leaving his game, I have followed all, saving that which I should, and may justly complain, and truly (for who is everywhere is nowhere)…, that I have read many books, but to little purpose, for want of good method; I have confusedly tumbled over divers authors in our libraries, with small profit, for want of art, order, memory, judgment.

~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy

[Wasn’t it Pascal who named Distraction mankind’s universal foe, the catholic goad of our nature, preventing us at every turn from attending to life’s proper tasks? Though periodically re-lamented (as if just discovered), the habit of distraction must confer certain benefits.  A too constant focus on life’s mortal intentions toward us can be a downer, after all, and there are just so damn many books to read – most of which, like Burton’s, are themselves the happy products of distraction.]

As you've probably guessed, Largehearted Boy is a music and book blog. It contains daily, free, legal music downloads as well as frequent book reviews, but its stock in trade is "news from the worlds of music, literature, and pop culture." These news bulletins (i.e., links to the far corners of the Web) are truly eclectic and stylishly chosen; recent items have included an article defining the musical genre "shoegaze" and the New York Times's original review of The Adventures of Augie March. Finally, and inevitably, the site contains a feature—called "Note Books"—that inverts the Book Notes formula by asking musicians to discuss the books they're reading. In all, Largehearted Boy reminds us of what Dorothy Parker sarcastically told us life is: "a glorious cycle of song, / A medley of extemporanea." Go see it for yourself!

P.S. This Abbeville editor will again be flexing his verbal muscles at the Adult Vocabulary Bee in Chelsea Market tonight. Once again he's slipped a warm-up word ("paronomastically") into the post, as a kind of teaser for anyone who might like to watch the event—or a warning for anyone who might wish to compete against him...

The plants, said Aristotle, live in a perpetual sleep; because they have only a vegetative soul, all their aim is in the flower. They have their mouth in the earth, and it is their hermaphroditic corolla that they expose to the birds of heaven, without the least repression. Literature, today, would be that plant...

~ Jacques Maritain, Art and Poetry (1943)

[“Repression” being a bad word nowadays and people being overfond of exposing their corollas in public, a reader might imagine Maritain intended a compliment; but no, it’s a critique of mindless sensualism.  As one half of a Josephite marriage, Maritain knew a thing or two about repression, I suppose.  Of course, it’s ungenerous to discount a man’s philosophy based on the incomprehensibility of his personal life, so we’ll thank him for the botanically suggestive reminder that -moving heaven downward- the head and heart take anatomical precedence over other symbolic organs.]

O who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?
O no!  The apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

~ Shakespeare, Richard II

[In 1971’s Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the incomparable Gene Wilder, as Wonka, sings in praise of pure imagination: “If you want to view paradise / Simply look around and view it / Anything you want to, do it / Want to change the world / There’s nothing to it…”  Imagine you’re there, in other words, and there you are.  Pace Mr Wonka, his elder namesake begs to differ.  But Shakespeare is always insufferably realistic about the limits of self-deception.]

http://marginalia-project.blogspot.com/

We carry with us the wonders we seek without us: There is all Africa, and her prodigies in us; we are that bold and adventurous piece of nature, which he that studies, wisely learns in a compendium, what others labour at in a divided piece and endless volume.

~ Thomas Browne, Religio Medici

[Gnwqi sauton.  I appreciate the encouragement, not feeling like such a “bold and adventurous piece of nature” today.  But even this sort of listlessness is catalogued in the encyclopedic self.  Africa, by the map, is no stranger to the jungles of vexation or the numbing dune sea of ennui.]