Kafka's Saddest Paragraph

 That most unfortunate Hunter Gracchus - drifting invisibly through time, eternally stranded between this world and the next -  no one knows about him, no one thinks about him, no one will seek him out, no one will find him or hear of him or be able to offer him help or commiserate with his plight...It's quite a symbol that Kafka invokes for us, and it makes me wonder about the type of isolation he was really referring to. It's enough to make deep-thinkers seek out more mundane distractions to lose themselves in...

"...Nobody will read what I say here, no one will come to help me; even if all the people were commanded to help me, every door and window would remain shut, everybody would take to bed and draw the bedclothes over his head the whole earth would become an inn for the night. And there is sense in that, for nobody knows of me, and if anyone knew he would not know where I could be found, and if he knew where I could be found, he would not know how to deal with me, he would not know how to help me. The thought of helping me is an illness that has to be cured by taking to one's bed. I know that, and so I do not shout to summon help, even though at moments - when I lose control over myself, as I have done just now, for instance - I think seriously of it. But to drive out such thoughts I need only look round me and verify where I am, and- I can safely assert- have been for hundreds of years." - from "The Hunter Gracchus"

Newman on "Higher" Education

The following is John Henry Newman's famous description of one* of the major pitfalls of so-called "higher" education" these days, namely, people with "views" and "opinions" on every topic, who the august Newman explains are in fact somewhat discursive in their thinking - even scatter-brained. Such scholarly dilettantes have been trained to dabble in various subjects with the result that they know precious little about almost everything.  They collect data and information as they go and are capable of reciting many facts and snippets of current events, but lack the power to process the empirical data. It scares me to think how much of the following critique applies to me and this somewhat discursive blog of mine, but I do believe Mr. N. has an excellent point to make about our present-day world with its relentless 24/7 news-cycle, where instantaneous "views" are demanded from us on subjects for which we have had precious little time to reflect.  Postscript: The other* serious pitfall of education that Newman mentions is that of narrow specialization - i.e. immersing oneself in a single area of study and fallaciously using that as the benchmark by which to judge other areas of knowledge.

"In like manner, we sometimes fall in with persons who have seen much of the world, and of the men who, in their day, have played a conspicuous part in it, but who generalize nothing, and have no observation, in the true sense of the word. They abound in information in detail, curious and entertaining, about men and things; and, having lived under the influence of no very clear or settled principles, religious or political, they speak of every one and every thing, only as so many phenomena, which are complete in themselves, and lead to nothing, not discussing them, or teaching any truth, or instructing the hearer, but simply talking. No one would say that these persons, well informed as they are, had attained to any great culture of intellect or to philosophy.

The case is the same still more strikingly where the persons in question are beyond dispute men of inferior powers and deficient education. Perhaps they have been much in foreign countries, and they receive, in a passive, otiose, unfruitful way, the various facts which are forced upon them there. Seafaring men, for example, range from one end of the earth to the other; but the multiplicity of external objects, which they have encountered, forms no symmetrical and consistent picture upon their imagination; they see the tapestry of human life, as it were on the wrong side, and it tells no story. They sleep, and they rise up, and they find themselves, now in Europe, now in Asia; they see visions of great cities and wild regions; they are in the marts of commerce, or amid the islands of the South; they gaze on Pompey's Pillar, or on the Andes; and nothing which meets them carries them forward or backward, to any idea beyond itself. Nothing has a drift or relation; nothing has a history or a promise. Every thing stands by itself, and comes and goes in its turn, like the shifting scenes of a show, which leave the spectator where he was. Perhaps you are near such a man on a particular occasion, and expect him to be shocked or perplexed at something which occurs; but one thing is much the same to him as another, or, if he is perplexed, it is as not knowing what to say, whether it is right to admire, or to ridicule, or to disapprove, while conscious that some expression of opinion is expected from him; for in fact he has no standard of judgment at all, and no landmarks to guide him to a conclusion. Such is mere acquisition, and, I repeat, no one would dream of calling it philosophy.

Instances, such as these, confirm, by the contrast, the conclusion I have already drawn from those which preceded them. That only is true enlargement of mind which is the power of viewing many things at once as one whole, of referring them severally to their true place in the universal system, of understanding their respective values, and determining their mutual dependence. Thus is that form of Universal Knowledge, of which I have on a former occasion spoken, set up in the individual intellect, and constitutes its perfection. Possessed of this real illumination, the mind never views any part of the extended subject-matter of Knowledge without recollecting that it is but a part, or without the associations which spring from this recollection. It makes every thing in some sort lead to every thing else; it would communicate the image of the whole to every separate portion, till that whole becomes in imagination like a spirit, every where pervading and penetrating its component parts, and giving them one definite meaning. Just as our bodily organs, when mentioned, recall their function in the body, as the word "creation" suggests the Creator, and "subjects" a sovereign, so, in the mind of the Philosopher, as we are abstractedly conceiving of him, the elements of the physical and moral world, sciences, arts, pursuits, ranks, offices, events, opinions, individualities, are all viewed as one, with correlative functions, and as gradually by successive combinations converging, one and all, to the true centre.

To have even a portion of this illuminative reason and true philosophy is the highest state to which nature can aspire, in the way of intellect; it puts the mind above the influences of chance and necessity, above anxiety, suspense, unsettlement, and superstition, which is the lot of the many. Men, whose minds are possessed with some one object, take exaggerated views of its importance, are feverish in the pursuit of it, make it the measure of things which are utterly foreign to it, and are startled and despond if it happens to fail them. They are ever in alarm or in transport. Those on the other hand who have no object or principle whatever to hold by, lose their way, every step they take. They are thrown out, and do not know what to think or say, at every fresh juncture; they have no view of persons, or occurrences, or facts, which come suddenly upon them, and they hang upon the opinion of others, for want of internal resources. But the intellect, which has been disciplined to the perfection of its powers, which knows, and thinks while it knows, which has learned to leaven the dense mass of facts and events with the elastic force of reason, such an intellect cannot be partial, cannot be exclusive, cannot be impetuous, cannot be at a loss, cannot but be patient, collected, and majestically calm, because it discerns the end in every beginning, the origin in every end, the law in every interruption, the limit in each delay; because it ever knows where it stands, and how its path lies from one point to another." - from The Idea of a University by John Henry Newman

Goodreads.com

Calling All Introverts: Hey...Uhm...Let's...Unite...Yeah

Hello. I'm really glad you could make it to this little blog post of mine - for the type of gathering that we introverts can really appreciate without feeling "drained" or "depleted." Uhm...I just want to say that if you do consider yourself one of us and you are dealing with certain stress points throughout your day - such as the burden of mingling and making "small talk," or navigating your way through crowds, back-slapping and hand-grabbing, offering painted smiles to one's fellow actors, or having to attend another "meeting" or "party" or getting uncomfortable while people-you-don't-really-know and don't want to know decide to "unwind" and "open up" in front of you,  or keeping your "game face" on for people in authority,  not to mention having to explain "one more time" to someone who "just doesn't understand" that you're really not in a bad mood or trying to be mean, that what you really need right now is just a little space to "catch your breath" and "re-charge your battery" ... be aware that the rest of us are dealing with the VERY SAME ISSUES and are having a hard time of it. The good news is that we do understand what you're going through and we affirm your amazing talent and creativity in various areas which are only now (perhaps) beginning to emerge. We hope you have a wonderful day - and keep fighting the good non-violent fight until such time as the forthcoming REVOLUTION shall break out and go public, however gently, however mildly, if not too-too gradually, and we shall at last garner our fair share of well-deserved "acclaim" and "respect" from members of the otherwise recalcitrant, incorrigible "extrovert majority."  

Art speaks...I listen

Direction of the Modern Novel

I wish Mr. Lukacs would offer more specific examples of books that illustrate what he's saying here, but I like where he's going with this description. I think it's accurate as far as it goes. What say you?

"In the nineteenth century novel, the other type of necessarily inadequate relations between soul and reality became the more important one: the inadequacy that is due to the soul's being wider and larger than the destinies which life has to offer it. The decisive structural difference is that here we are not dealing with an abstract a priori condition on the face of life, a condition which seeks to realize itself in action and therefore provokes conflicts with the outside world which make up the story of the novel; but rather a purely interior reality which is full of content and more or less complete in itself enters into competition with the reality of the outside world, leads a rich and animated life of its own and, with spontaneous self-confidence, regards itself as the only true reality, the essence of the world: and the failure of every attempt to realize this equality [between interior soul and outside world] is the subject of the work....
...Whereas abstract idealism [i.e. the epic form of the novel from Cervantes onwards?] in order to exist at all, had to translate itself into action, had to enter into conflict with the outside world, here the possibility of escape [from an alien world] does not seem excluded from the start. A life which is capable of producing all its content out of itself [norms, values, accomplishments, etc.] can be rounded and perfect even if it never enters into contact with the alien reality outside. Whereas, therefore, an excessive, totally uninhibited activity toward the outside world was characteristic of the psychological structure of abstract idealism, here the tendency is rather towards passivity, a tendency to avoid outside conflicts and struggles rather than engage in them, a tendency to deal inside the soul with everything that concerns the soul." - From Georg Lukacs, Theory of the Novel


Note: This description really reminds me of Kafka whose "passivity" - as far the the narrative goes - if that's the right word - is produced by a constant bumping up against an alien, outside world whose logic and customary demands are totally at odds with what the individual requires for sustenance.

"Bird-Watcher"

You know the person I'm referring to here. You remember him from second grade, the one with the interesting "shock" of hair, the quirky, disheveled kid, somewhat evasive and "mumbly" in speech, obtuse about gravity, unaware of his own body, often roaming about, staring off into space, day-dreamy, neither confident nor entirely phobic. His teachers shook their heads at him because he would always find windows to sit by and stare; he enjoyed drawing birds, liked watching birds and following birds around, hoping to fly.  Colorful exotic birds enchanted him: robins and red jays, bullfinches, grosbeaks, cardinals. He made funny gurgling noises for no reason; he was a savant in a few areas (math, spelling), but quite average in others. He had a fascination for cookies, although he never ate them.  Besides birds, he was drawn to clouds, to trees, to ladders, to roofs, ceilings, kites,  escalators, elevators - to anything moving in an upward direction.  Many of the other children found him amusingly strange; some were annoyed with him and reprimanded him; some found him tedious. A few felt sorry for him and became his confidants. When he was not caught up in his day-dreams of flight, he was an intense observer of other people. He stared at them without staring; he sized them up and found them wanting, but was not judgmental. He accepted them. He seldom cried. He had a rather pleasant laugh - a high-pitched chortle echoing up into space. People learned that they could trust him with their money or their marbles. He was refreshingly honest, without malice, without greed. He did not have a sweet tooth. He was not a pariah, not the prey of bullies - more like a "novelty act" with few friends, but enough allies. Ambition existed for him, but had nothing to do with amassing power (no future there) or acquiring a fortune or building any kind of empire. He was not a hoarder or a collector. His best friends were two girls, who happened to be twins. Their names were (oh, I forget...), but their nicknames were Appie and Zippy. They were twins, but they were very different. Appie liked to pinch people as a way of saying hello; she collected flower petals and bug samples. She loved gardens and any kind of organic life forms. She railed against pollution. Zippy was more the indoors type; she studied music and played the cello until she discovered books. Along with books, she enjoyed arranging and organizing little souvenirs on the shelves in her room. I guess you could say she had a menagerie of miniature animal-vegetable-and-mineral specimens. And stuffed animals. And little men that were too small to be called dolls. She had no dolls. She was the most literate of the group - precocious was the word people used. She stared at people with the same old-soul wisdom. She shared that quality with the bird-watcher and with her sister. The twins had "theories" about everyone and everything, yet they considered these quite dangerous and "top secret." Some of the theories involved alien visitation, but many others were astrological in nature. The twins believed that birthdays were important and could predict how a person's life would unfold. The shape of a person's face was important too as was eye color combined with arm length, shoe size and manner of walking. Entire reservoirs of thought and feeling were condensed into nods and winks about certain individuals, who conformed to certain patterns under the twins' watchful gaze. Aside from the bird-watcher, Appie and Zippy spoke mostly to one another and a girl down the street - Tessa - who had a garden. The most dramatic thing to ever happen to the trio happened during the summer of 1978 when something terrible almost happened to Tessa. The others witnessed the event that almost was and after that it became their secret legacy.  Tessa recovered from the near tragedy that did not happen, but she was nervous afterwards. The bird-watcher liked Tessa quite a bit (especially after this big event) and she felt the same way about him; he would stop and talk every day almost - walking past her garden - but never when the twins were around. He spoke to the twins when they went on nature excursions and he was "hunting" for birds to draw. But he almost never saw Tessa when the twins were there or vice versa, although the twins considered Tessa their good friend. After the near-tragic event almost occurred, the friends spoke of "before" and "after" as a way of charting time. Before referred to those "innocent, carefree, giddy times," while after meant those "subsequent, heavy-laden, cynical days." Tessa was the bird-watcher's confidant, on equal par with the twins, but different nevertheless. Her ambition in life was to be a prophet, to see into the future; she believed that, although the twins had their theories, which she very much respected, she had her special intuitions. She just knew about events-yet-to-happen. She could discern good omens from bad. There was one awkward boy in the neighborhood, Jerry,  an artist of sorts with a large sketch-book - who the bird-watcher got along with despite the fact that Jerry was waylaid in bed with severe allergic reactions and other, possibly psychosomatic ailments. Jerry would come to the window of his upstairs bedroom and show the bird-watcher various drawings from his sketchbook. Jerry liked to draw monsters, but he always gave the bird-watcher helpful tips on how to sketch bird faces, bodies, silhouettes, etc. and how to add in plausible bucolic backgrounds.