Long poems generally bore me. Even the most eloquent verses, stacked up on each other at great length, can wear on the reader. Perhaps every long poem is best digested as a series of short poems, read at one’s leisure. No one ever wished a long poem to be longer.
In this spirit, I will make a short post today. I’ll give you a little something to flavor the palate. The heavy lifting we can do some other time.
I often get questions on book recommendations. People will ask me, “What book do you recommend for learning about XYZ historical event?”
Or they will say, “What book do you recommend for learning about XYZ philosophy?”
Or whatever.
And this is fine. I always am happy to give my opinion. I like to discuss, to critique, and to analyze, because this is how the forward movement of knowledge works.
Plutarch’s essay On God’s Slowness to Punish (563C et seq.) relates a vivid fable on the punishments meted out to those to commit evil acts in their lives. It also relates to us the requirements and possibilities for moral redemption.
The fable takes the form of an out-of-body experience that has much to say about ethics and human responsibility. But it is parable rich in metaphor and meaning. Readers can interpret it in a variety of ways.
This is the story.
There was a native of the town of Soli named Aridaeus. He indulged himself in every type of sensual and mortal passion that he could, and was undeterred by the effects that these pursuits caused to others. He quickly exhausted his money, and turned to a life of crime. His sole motivation was profit and gain.
I like to listen to audiobooks when driving around. News doesn’t interest me as much as in years past, and I can get what I want from websites.
I recently rented Stephen Mitchell’s new translation of The Iliad
[My article this week at Return of Kings is about my impressions from reading Jerry Heller’s 2006 book Ruthless: A Memoir
I still remember the time I first listened to N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton. I was in college, and a friend of mine had dubbed a tape for me and said, “Man, you need to check this out.” So I brought it back to my dorm room and let it rip. I couldn’t believe they were saying the things they were saying; no one had ever cursed like that on a record before, or spun such violent fantasies.
The attraction of the music for white kids like me with no experiences in the inner city was this: it was angry, rebellious, and somehow bizarrely life-affirming in its exuberance. In 2015, this type of music is no big deal any more. But in 1988, it was incendiary.
When I heard last month that a movie was being made about the formation of N.W.A., I decided to read Jerry Heller’s 2006 book Ruthless: A Memoir
[To read the rest of the article, click here].
There are moments in life for quiet contemplation. These are moments when we set aside our worldly cares, our tumescent and irritating thoughts, and contemplate the awesome Unknowable of what is in this world. Of all that has ever been, or is, or will be, we in our poor powers of comprehension will only know the minutest fraction of a fraction. We become aware of our limited vision, of our puny pretensions, when we see creatures who have access to realms that are beyond our powers.
Is there any living thing more awesome to contemplate in person than a giant redwood tree, extending its many fingers to the sky?
I had one such reminder of this truth today, and wanted to share it with readers while the feeling was still fresh.
This soliloquy comes from Chapter 70 in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. The title of the Chapter is The Sphynx. On deck lies the carcass of a captured whale, in the process of being stripped of its blubber. The severed head of the whale has been hoisted against the ship’s side.
Another writer might see nothing of significance here. After all, this is just the stinking remains of a whale. But Melville sees something more. He uses the ordinary, the repulsive, and the insignificant to make grand philosophical statements. This is one of the reasons why Moby-Dick is such supreme literary achievement.
Read this passage aloud to yourself in a quiet moment. It is Ahab’s soliloquy on the whale’s head. The Shakespearean grandeur of the prose is unmatched. It remains for me one of my favorites passages from the book:
Taking a few turns on the quarter-deck, he [Ahab] paused to gaze over the side, then slowly getting into the main-chains he took Stubb’s long spade–still remaining there after the whale’s decapitation–and striking it into the lower part of the half-suspended mass, placed its other end crutch-wise under one arm, and so stood leaning over with eyes attentively fixed on this head.
It was a black and hooded head; and hanging there in the midst of so intense a calm, it seemed the Sphynx’s in the desert. “Speak, thou vast and venerable head,” muttered Ahab, “which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and there look hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret thing that is in there. Of all divers, thou has dived the deepest. That head upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world’s foundations.
Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home. Thou has been where bell or diver never went; has slept by many a sailor’s side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down.
Thou saw’st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed false to them. Thou saw’st the murdered mate when tossed by pirates from the midnight deck; for hours he fell into the deeper midnight of the insatiate maw; and his murderers still sailed on unharmed–while swift lightnings shivered the neighboring ship that would have borne a righteous husband to outstretched, longing arms. O head! Thou has seen enough to split the planets and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine.”
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The most famous book of Roman medicine was the work entitled De medicina; the author’s full name was most likely Aulus Cornelius Celsus, and tradition has shortened this mouthful simply to Celsus. We know almost nothing of his life. The rhetorician Quintilian describes him as a learned man writing on a variety of subjects, including agriculture, war, philosophy, and law; but of this output the only surviving part is his treatise on medicine. His year of birth appears to have been around 25 B.C.
It is an unsettled question whether Celsus himself was a practicing physician, or just a compiler of medical information; in those days, it was not uncommon for a wealthy Roman gentleman to equip himself with a wide knowledge of practical medicine which would prove useful in handling his domestics and slaves. The landed estates in the countryside, the latifundia, would need ready access to such information. His book contains many details on surgical procedures, some of them quite advanced; but this is not conclusive. He certainly understood Greek, and with his wide reading, he was able to condense much of the essentials of Hellenic medicine.
It is an interesting work, written in a lucid and simple Latin prose. The introduction, or prooemium, of the book gives a fair and adequate summary of this history of medicine, summarizing the development of the several schools of medical knowledge (dogmatic, methodic, and empiric). Anatomy is one of the cornerstones of medicine, and must be thoroughly understood; for this reason, dissection is essential. He considers hygiene, prognosis, diagnosis, and prevention to be of critical importance; more diseases are avoided, he reminds us, than are cured. Yet he is no faith-healer: drugs and surgery are enthusiastically described and recommended when needed.
Of course, most of the information here has been superseded by the progress in medical science since his day. But it is still interesting to see what riches can be found here, if only to satisfy our historical curiosity. The least perishable part of Celsus’s advice lies in his general principles of good health, which I have tried to extract below. Please note that this information is presented for historical purposes, and is not intended as medical advice or treatment.
1. A man in good health should prefer variety to a tedious routine: now in town, now in the country, with a variety of activities such as hunting, sailing, walking, running, and hiking. Variety is critical.
2. It is a good idea to frequent baths, but cold waters are also essential. Alternating hot and cold baths can cure many maladies (II.17). Frequent visits to the calidarium and the frigidarium should be accompanied by rubdowns.
3. Sex (concubitus) is “neither to be obsessively sought after, nor to be feared; if it is indulged in infrequently, it excites the body. If indulged in frequently, it restores it.” [Concubitus vero neque nimis concupiscendus, neque nimis pertimescendus est. Rarus corpus excitat, frequens solvit.] I.4. These are perhaps the wisest words ever spoken on sexual activity.
4. Be careful about the environment in which you live. You should try to live “in a house that is light, airy in summer, and sunny in winter.” Try to avoid the sun at noon, and the sun in the morning. Avoid also the evening chills.
5. Beware of the vapors rising out of lakes, rivers, and marshes. Frequently the air in such places can be fetid and latent with disease or pestilence.
6. Observe your urine with frequency for any signs of discoloration or strange effect.
7. In winter, it is a good idea to lie in bed during the entire night. Siestas should be before the midday meal; when the days are short, the siesta should come after it.
8. Exercise is always critical, and should preferably come before food. Handball, running, walking, and all varieties of sport are examples of good exercise. The exercise should “come at the end with sweating, or at least rest, which should be not utter exhaustion.” [I.7].
9. With regard to eating, too much is always a bad thing. By the same token, excessive fasting or abstinence is no good either. When eating, it is better to begin a meal with “savories”, salads, and small appetizers; after this, meat should be eaten, whether roasted or boiled [I.8]. Desserts are a matter of choice; they do no real harm to a healthy person in moderation, but to one with a weak stomach, they are a problem.
10. Digestion after a meal is best aided with a drink of cold water, and then not sleeping for a time.
11. If you desire to make any changes in your health routines or eating habits, it is best to accomplish such changes gradually. Sudden changes can cause serious problems.
12. Vomiting should not be seen as a bad thing; purgative action of the stomach sometimes does much good. A vomit can be more advantageous “in winter than in summer, for then more phlegm and more severe congestion in the head occur.” [I.17].
13. You must become acquainted with the nature of your body in all different climates and environments. Only in this way will you learn how to respond adequately to problems.
14. Purging of the bowels can also be of advantage, and should be accomplished regularly by the eating of fibrous substances. If these are unavailable, aloes can be used. But this type of thing must be done with great care, as it may leave the body in a weakened state if done too often.
15. Regarding hunger, we should be mindful of the following: middle-aged people sustain hunger better than do young people and very old persons. Wine should be diluted for children, but for old people, it should be more concentrated. Constipation can be a problem if not addressed. “It is better to be rather relaxed when young, and rather costive when old.” [Melior est autem in iuvene fusior, in sene adstrictior.] I.3.
16. It is better to eat more in winter, and to drink less alcohol. But the alcohol you do drink should be stronger than in the summer.
17. Cold is very bad for aged people, but rather good for the very young. Cold water baths or immersions are very good for the health generally. It helps the stomach and joints, and tightens the sinews.
These, then, are some of Celsus’s general rules for the maintenance of good health. It is interesting to note how frequently he mentions baths, rubdowns, anointments, and purgatives; these things were common in the Roman world, but fell out of widespread use in later centuries. We moderns probably could still use more of them.
Reading him, we become suddenly conscious of just how toxic most of our daily habits can be to our general well-being. It is also interesting to note how he links eating and drinking with times of the day, and the seasons of the year; perhaps we should pay as much attention to how we eat and drink, as to what we actually consume. Balance, moderation, and variety emerge as underlying principles of health. We would do well to remember this.
The information in this article is presented for historical purposes and is not intended as any specific medical treatment or healthcare regimen. Readers looking for medical advice for their situation should consult with their physician.
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My second book, Pantheon, is on schedule to be released this week. It is the culmination of a great deal of effort on my part.
I have forged the sword. It is now for you to grasp the pommel.
Pantheon is a longer (35% longer, to be precise), more complex, and more textured work than my first book. We continue our exploration of history, biography, and philosophical problems, with a continuing emphasis on character and Fate.
Compared with Thirty-Seven, there is a much greater emphasis here on the perfectibility of man’s soul, the resolution of moral problems, and the union with the Divine.
Many of the essays in Pantheon are greatly extended and reworked pieces that have appeared at Return of Kings. I consider these to be the definitive versions of these essays. But there are also many new essays, including:
Prologue (A historical fiction narrative)
The Ghost Of Christopher Hitchens (A philosophical dialogue)
The Fortress Of The Mind
On Detractors
On Conflict
On Grief
Smashing The Paradigm
The Source-Book Of Plotinus (a treatise on Neoplatonism)
The Consolation Of The Natural World
Afterword
The essays are extensively documented. As before, I have made a point of reading sources in their original languages, whether it be Latin, Arabic, or Portuguese. The footnotes form an integral part of the text.
Platonism also makes a strong appearance here. One chapter constitutes nearly a book-within-a-book, and proposes to instruct the reader, in a step-by-step way, in the basic tenets of Neoplatonist philosophy. I consider this subject to be an important one for the creative and probing mind.
I can say with confidence that there cannot be found another book quite like this one in the contemporary literary scene.
A further announcement will follow when the book actually makes its appearance.
It is hoped that readers will now not begrudge this exhausted writer some rest. I will shortly turn, bleary-eyed, to a much-deserved trip to a favorite foreign destination. Life is short, and the advance of time must never dull our appreciation of the rewards of an active and fruitful regimen.
I like to listen to audiobooks in my car. A few years ago I made the decision that listening to the news was just too much like drinking hemlock, day in and day out. I couldn’t handle the constant negativity, the snippets of bullshit that are designed to confirm the prejudices of the listener, and the sonorous voices of the politically-correct announcers.
NPR was the worst. I just didn’t care what some feminist poet in Uganda had to teach me about life’s lessons.
Enough was enough.
Audiobooks are a good compromise. I could get them from the library for nothing, and I could generally learn something from every book. I usually stayed with history or biography, but every now and then I’d try something new, like a fiction book or a memoir.
It’s good to mix things up. The mind, like a muscle, needs to be shocked out of its routine regularly.
I somehow stumbled on Anthony Swofford’s Hotels, Hospitals, and Jails: A Memoir
I have neither read Jarhead, nor seen the movie. But I felt like I had at least something in common with the author, both of us having had spent time in the same military service in the early 1990s. When men have drunk from the same doctrinal founts, they can recognize a kindred quality in the choice of diction, phrases, and attitudes.
I can hear you, Tony. I can hear you.
His experiences were not mine, but I recognize a fellow traveler. And it is my obligation to share my food and drink with him, and lend him an ear.
Hotels, Hospitals, and Jails deals with the effects of grief and repressed rage. It explores the same psychological ground as the Nicolas Winding Refn film Fear X
These things, happening in the wake of the success of his first book, nearly consumed him.
Everything is resolved, and nothing is resolved. And this is how it is, in real life.
Most of all, Swofford tells us how these personal crises nearly caused his own self-destruction. We are treated to glimpses of a soul’s dark night: the deliberate courting of death by reckless behavior, the indulgence in drugs and sex, and the self-loathing that comes from unresolved childhood traumas.
I was fully prepared to hate this book, after getting through the first quarter of it. I’m not sure what it was. Perhaps it was too much reality, and too much pain.
But then the clouds lifted, for some reason, and I put myself in the author’s hands, and let myself get carried along with the stream of his deadpan prose. I surrendered to Swofford’s grief, and found satisfaction in this surrender.
This is a great book. It is an honest, moving, and at times, frustrating expiation of repressed rage and its effects.
In ancient times, there was a rhetorical style of writing called a “consolation.” The Latin word is consolatio. When a loved one died, or something terrible happened, a writer might compose a “consolation” essay to the bereaved. So Seneca wrote the consolation essays
But Swofford’s book is not a consolation. Not really. Not unless he is writing it to himself, for himself.
No.
This book is more of a funeral dirge. It is a song of lamentation. Think of the Lay Of The Last Survivor from Beowulf. It is a passionate cri de coeur from a man who is finally able to come to terms with his own traumas, and who has succeeded in beating them back away from the clearing of sanity that he has carved out of the forest of his own psyche. That dark forest, choked with brambles.
And to let them go.
I release you, traumas. I release you. Because I have mastered you. This is Swofford’s message to us. It is a profound message, an insight gained through the most ghastly suffering.
And it is like being reborn. And being born is never a pretty sight. But there is no greater imperative: to be reborn. To be recreated, in our own image, not in someone else’s image.
There is no greater necessity.
There is a certain breaking down, a certain self-immolation, that has to occur, before the new shape can take form. And begin anew.
Let us self-immolate, when we need to. And let us be reborn.
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Seneca’s Natural Questions (Quaestiones Naturales)
He presents us with a survey of the natural phenomena in earth and sky. By analogy he tries to demonstrate which theories of his day are wrong, and which are not.
But Seneca is clear on his purpose: the reason to study Nature is for our moral improvement. His primary concern is to moralize. What a marvelous idea! And what scientist of today, in our negligently non-judgmental era, would dare suggest such a purpose?
How does the study of Nature help my moral development? The answer, Seneca tells us, is that the study of Nature’s workings confirms the fundamental tenets of Stoicism. The world moves on; death can come at any time; it is better for us to face our lives with diligence and quiet courage.
Perhaps, in so asking this question, we begin to approach the source of our modern problems in educating and training the youth. “What is most important in human affairs?” he asks. Not material gain or glory, but “Rather to have seen all the Cosmos in your mind and–for no victory is greater–to have conquered your vices.” [1]
In book one, he covers atmospheric phenomena: rainbows, halos, parhelia, meteors, and comets. Book two describes in detail lightning and thunder. And here is where Seneca shows us why he is a philosopher. Not content just to describe these things, he philosophizes about them. So he interrupts his discussion of lightning to discuss the meaning of Fate, and how it is revealed by omens. He reminds us that we should never fear extreme phenomena of weather, since death is unavoidable. Death will come whether we want it or not: so why fret about thunder or lightning?
Book three deals with the earth’s various types of waters and water cycles; book five, winds and tempests; book six, earthquakes; book seven, comets and associated meteorological phenomena. It is a strange and wonderful book, in which every opportunity is taken to digress for our moral edification. So Seneca interrupts a discussion of the earth’s wind patterns to rue that we immorally exploit the earth’s winds to construct murderous warships.
I love this little book. He rises to great eloquence in many passages, among them this passionate plea:
With this, my dear Lucilius, we wrap up our discussion of these causes [of earthquakes]. Now we turn to those things which pertain to the solace of the spirit. It is better for us to be morally strong than to be learned. One does not happen without the others. Strength does not come to the spirit except by the study of good arts, and by the contemplation of Nature….Why should I fear a wild animal, or why should I tremble at the light of an arrow or spear? Greater dangers are waiting for me: lightning, earthquakes, and the entire apparatus of Nature…A man’s life is an insignificant thing, but contempt for mortal life is a great thing. [2]
To the ancients, character and moral development was more important than being “factually correct” in everything. If you must know one thing about ancient literature, know this. We see this tendency in historiography of the period, as well as in works of geography and science. It is us moderns who are preoccupied with technology, truth, and always “being right.” We may be better off now, with out technology and our theories, but have we advanced morally? I am not so sure.
We can learn something from these old books, if only we will listen.
__________________________
[1] Quid praecipuum in rebus humanis est?…sed animo omne vidisse et, qua maior nulla victoria est, vitia domuisse. (III.10).
[2] Haec, Lucili, virorum optime, quantum ad ipsas causas; illa nunc quae ad confirmationem animorum pertinent. Quos magis refert nostra fortiores fieri quam doctiores. Sed alterum sine altero non fit; non enim aliunde animo venit robur quam a bonis artibus, quam a contemplatione naturae…Quid est enim cur ego hominem aut feram, quid est cur sagittam aut lanceam tremam? Maiora me pericula expectant; fulminibus et terris et magnis naturae apparatibus petimur…Pusilla res est hominis anima, sed ingens res contemptus animae. (VI.4).
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Quintus Curtius 
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