Thoughts of a sentimental humanist

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Recently, I was involved in an electronic chat with an old acquaintance. The subject of the chat was my rather strong (and at times, especially with regard to another gentleman I will refer to as Larry from Las Vegas, childish) reaction to a particular sentiment expressed by my acquaintance. I will not repeat the conversation verbatim, nor will I repeat the exact phrasing that raised my hackles. I will candidly admit that, given my slight anger, it was not my finest hour. In short, the current president was called a form of Nazi, based on what some view as a socialist agenda.

My objection has nothing to due with any form of socialism or tinge of socialism associated with any of the programs put forth by either this administration or any other. I feel that would be a good argument, as would a debate on the current structure of government, the private sector, the courts, etc. What bothered me was the term referring to Nazism. In light of the murder of Dr. Tiller in Kansas a few weeks ago and the shooting and murder today at the Holocaust museum in NYC, there has been both a rise in violence and a rise in invective.
In short, words matter.
Before I post my thoughts, I would like to hear yours. Fire away, but be respectful and, if you have something to say, back it up.

A few of “Richard’s ingredients for a good life” in no particular order and with scant explanations:

Coffee. Fresh, hot, with cream and a little sugar. To be consumed either in my leather chair in the morning, my princess on the floor playing with Lego blocks and my wife rocking in her chair, or at my DBC, doing a little research as the anticipation of heading home builds within me.

Anticipation: It is the moment before the action that is most exquisite. The half-second before lips touch in a kiss, the soccer ball on its course before entering goal, the sliver of light as the front door of a loved one, a friend or family member whom you have not seen in ages, opens to you. When you smell the wine and it is traveling from glass to tongue, when you turn to the last page of the book, awaiting the starting and satisfying dénouement, these are the moments of joy. They are joyful because they offer unlimited promise mixed with fleeting uncertainty, and therefore are illusory.

Books. Of course.

Family. My favorite line from any movie comes from the Godfather. Having promised to provide justice to a client, Don Corleone gives the following advice, words that have become a creed for me: “Do you spend time with your family? Good, because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man.”

Music. Beethoven for the heart, Bach for the mind, Vivaldi for sunny days and Chopin for rain.

Art. From Ketelhut to Renoir, music for the eyes.

To be continued…

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I have of late been thinking a great deal about what it means to live a good life. By this, I mean a life that is both reflective and proactive, a life that nourishes not only intellectual and spiritual concerns and interests of the individual, but also seeks to contribute to (and tries to stop the impeding of) other human beings. My ponderings have ranged from debates with old friends on Facebook over same-sex unions, to calls to donate and help assuage world hunger, a vow to live a more green existence, an attempt to start a “poverty eating week” (more to come), efforts to improve my Latin and Greek and French, etc. I have come up with a series of questions I have been asking myself:

What does it mean to be Ethical?

What does it mean to be moral?

What are the benefits of the interior life?

How does one lead an intellectual life in modern culture?

What role does faith play in ethics?

What can I do to alleviate suffering?

Will it ever be enough?

Why is there so much hatred (on the right and the left)?

What is it to be a good father? Husband? Friend?

How honest should we be in expressing our opinion?

Does the intellectual (whose august group does not, alas, include the likes of me) have a responsibility to the public to be painfully frank in their opinions and arguments?

When I die, what will I have left behind?

From a religious perspective, am I doing god’s work?

If not, what has been in my way?

Am I responsible, through my lifestyle, consumption, etc. for the suffering of others, even those I have never met?

Am I the man my daughter would be proud to call her father? My wife her husband?

What are your thoughts? How would you answer these questions if you had (or have) posed them to yourself?

Unfortunately, fathering, husbanding, and studying are hampering my blogging. My “blog of the week” segment is therefore being changed to “blog of the month.” For the month of April, enjoy this academic blog:
http://www.digital-era.org/academia/

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First, a glimpse into the future. This photo of my little girl stopped me in my tracks. I do not talk about my beliefs much, but surely I am blessed to have such a wonderful family.

Spring has sprung, and I sit inside a coffee shop drinking café americanos and reading Horace’s Roman odes. They are, of all his works, the most stupendously boring. Military prowess, manly virtue and “that old lie: dulce et decorum est/ pro patria mori.” Give me instead the Soracte ode (1.9) or any dealing with friendship and wine. One of my favorites, and one that works well for the season is ode 4.7:

Diffugere niues, redeunt iam gramina campis
arboribus comae;
mutat terra uices et decrescentia ripas
flumina praetereunt;
Gratia cum Nymphis geminisque sororibus audet
ducere nuda chorus.
Inmortalia ne speres, monet annus et almum
quae rapit hora diem.
Frigora mitescunt Zephyris, uer proterit aestas,
interitura simul
pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox
bruma recurrit iners.
Damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae:
non ubi decidimus
quo pater Aeneas, quo diues Tullus et Ancus,
puluis et umbra sumus.
Quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae
tempora di superi?
Cuncta manus auidas fugient heredis, amico
quae dederis animo.
Cum semel occideris et de te splendida Minos
fecerit arbitria,
non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te
restituet pietas;
infernis neque enim tenebris Diana pudicum
liberat Hippolytum,
nec Lethaea ualet Theseus abrumpere caro
uincula Pirithoo.

My translation would begin:

“The snows have fled, grass returns to the fields,
leaves to the trees;
Seasons change the land and dissipating streams
Flow past stream banks;”

And so on. Housman does it much better than I ever could:

“The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
And altered is the fashion of the earth.

The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.

Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring
Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.

But oh, whate’er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
The fingers of no heir will ever hold.

When thou descendest once the shades among,
The stern assize and equal judgment o’er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.

Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
The love of comrades cannot take away.”

Now, back to study for me, back to the Roman odes and war and politics and all of the seedy business that seems to be so important to my field.

A.D. Nuttall was absolutely correct in titling his book about academics “Dead from the waist down.” God save me from such monstrosities!

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I have been reading Henry Hitchings’ wonderful book on the late great Samuel Johnson and his dictionary, Defining the World. I have found it quite enjoyable. One passage struck me quite hard as I read.
I do not, as a rule, talk about my childhood or my parents. Those closest to me know why. Only the wonderful times with my aunties make it into my biography. Reading last night, I read this:
“Johnson’s childhood was no idyll of scholarly precocity. Reading was, as it is for so many unhappy children, a retreat from the wretchedness of family life. [...] books afforded a vital escape from this curdled domesticity.”
Johnson himself had something to say about his mother. When she once became angry at him and called him a puppy, he asked her if she knew what they called a puppy’s mother.

As Hartley writes in the Go-Between, “the past is a different country.”

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Cooking is a swirl of failure, the constant possibility of failure, and the rare spark of success. Though I have been complimented of late, I cannot let go of my “Black Forrest Cake” disaster over Thanksgiving. My wife and brother-in-law were kind enough each to eat a piece, though I could clearly see the valiant workings of their jaw muscles as they struggled to choke down the rubbery substance that was the cake portion of the dish. This deflated dessert has led me to think of aspects that distinguish the great cook from the good, and the good from the poor. It all comes down to tools and philosophy. So, the next time you are invited over to someone’s house for dinner, look for these things to gage the upcoming meal:

1. The Knife.
I own a middle-of-the-road knife set and keep them very sharp. I think this reflects my overall abilities as a cook. I am average, with sharp occasional creations. If you spy a fancy German or Japanese model that is kept in excellent condition, you are in the hands of a professional. They not only care enough to shell out the bucks for the best, but obvious TLC means that they didn’t just buy that thing because the wallet was fat. And, unless your meal is coming straight from the microwave, every cook needs to cut. A good knife, little used and hanging around in a gadget drawer, signals rich people with poor taste. Expect a fancy dish made poorly or a catered dish plopped into a serving bowl. A bad knife ensures well-deserved self-mutilation. Is that a homemade marinara or blood from the finger of the boss’s spouse? If you are trying to become a better cook, forget the fancy books and exotic spices. Dole out the bucks for a knife that will last you a lifetime. I soon hope to be taking my own advice on this matter.

2. Stock.
I Follow Michael Ruhlman on this one (well, I follow him on almost everything. See “books” below). Canned stock and cubes are for the weak. If you want a ball-less, tasteless, cloudy, over-salted liquid defiling your expensive Italian risotto, then by all means, toss in the jarred bouillon and tap water. If you want to take the next step forward, make your own at least once a month. Though not difficult, it takes time. It is worth it. If you happen to glimpse a pan of bones anywhere in the kitchen, other than in the garbage, get ready to dine sublime.

3. Fresh
Except for cheese, certain steaks, wine, and scant other things, food is best fresh. The fresher the ingredients, the better the finished product. Period. Moldy apples in a fruit bowl or a lumpy gallon of milk in the refrigerator at your host’s place, whether they use them or chuck them out with shame, is a crystal ball for tomorrow’s all-day ride on the porcelain horse. Masking sauces are never enough because, though they may cover the two week-old asparagus, they cannot cover the silent shame.

4. Books
Many cooks have cookbooks. Good cooks have good ones. Look for these six on the shelves:
The Elements of Cooking by Michael Ruhlman.
On food and Cooking by Harold McGee (the most important book on food ever written in English)
The Professional Chef by the CIA
Les Halles Cookbook by Anthony Bourdain
The Auberge of the Flowering Hearth by Roy de Groot (the most beautiful book on food written).
Art of Eating by M. F. K. Fisher.

Notice that only one of these is a recipe book in the traditional sense. This is because very little of an excellent meal comes solely from what ingredients are put in it. Without technique and philosophy, there simply is no excellence. Did I say philosophy?

5. Philosophy
Good cooks have one. They may differ in detail, but all have one, and their opinions should be strong, almost to the point of pontificating. As for mine:

Fresh food, limited (and often simple) ingredients, limited and only necessary seasonings, precise heat, balanced flavor and textures. Rich food equals small portions and light fare balances rich food. A sample dinner (wines of your choice):

Tomato and cucumber salad in light balsamic
Mashed potatoes with goat cheese
Roasted whole chicken with garlic, bay leaves, lemon, salt, and pepper.
Soup of blueberries, cream, ginger ale, with a dollop of orange sherbert
Chocolate pots petite
Coffee.

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First, an apology. There will be no books of the year post this year. The fault is mine alone and will be rectified next year.

Second, as far as books of the year go, I recommend “A History of Histories” as non-fiction, “A Month in the Country” for fiction, and “The City of the Sharp-nosed Fish” for both Classicists and Egyptologists.

Finally, a blog of the week. This one is a sharp observation of the graduate existence of an archeaologist who also happens to be a colleague. ‘In Situ’ is well worth a visit!

See:
http://archaeologyinsitu.blogspot.com/

Winter break has so far been wonderful. Santa was good to CC, and I love every second with her and my lovely wife. My bro-in-law came for Christmas day. I have caught up on much of my sleep. And, I am actually reading for PLEASURE! In my next few posts, I will relate my cake disaster, my theory on how to tell a good cook from a great one, and more. Also, my second-annual multi-authored ‘books of the year’ post is on the way. Stay tuned.

My Greek exam terrifies, my Cicero paper is becoming a monster (try fitting 45 pages of info into a 25-30 page paper), and I have spring fever…in early December. I have papers to grade for Tuesday and then a final to grade before the following Tuesday. Not good.

To add to my load, I am still keeping my personal intellectual projects in mind. This is making my brain feel:

Oh, and it is the holiday season, with all the joy and stress that goes with it. Ho! Ho! Ho!