The Confidence-Man was Herman Melville’s last novel. By some weird cosmic joke it was (perhaps suitably) published on April Fools’ Day in 1857. It is a difficult and in some ways ambiguous work, but yields up rich rewards for those willing to stay in the race to the end.
Abu Ma’ashar al-Balkhi (A.D. 787-886) was a Persian philosopher and astrologer who flourished during the time of the Abbasid Caliphate in Baghdad. Educated in the usual manner of his day with logic, jurisprudence, rhetoric, and the religious sciences, he turned to astrology late in life at the age of 47. We cannot quite call him an astronomer, for in his day that science was still in its embryonic stage; but he did assemble some astronomical tables that added to the collective wisdom in the field. Just as alchemists eventually contributed to chemistry, so did medieval astrologers serve a function as a bridge between superstition and reason.
In medieval times there was a Syrian poet known for his acrid wisdom in verse, as well as for his distaste for dealing with nonsense. Time and convenience has mercifully shortened his lengthy name (which we will not trouble the reader with here) to Ibn Munir al-Tarabolusi, or more commonly Ibn Munir.
When we feel something passionately and sincerely, we have an urge to express this emotion to the objects of our affection. If the feeling is reciprocated (or at least acknowledged) by the beloved, we feel pleasure. But if the feelings are not returned, we will initially feel the sting of rejection.
Peroz I (or Pirouz) was a Persian king who wore the royal diadem from about A.D. 459 to 484. The Greek historian Procopius (I.4.18) relates a great fable about him and his pearl, which we will reproduce here. As is often the case with these enchanting old tales, the reader will be asked to suspend his credulity as to the fable’s literal truth, while being mindful of its deeper purpose as a moral exemplar.
We all desire to retain a sense of connection to the past. It is part of human nature. Too sudden a break with tradition can produce something very much like insanity; in individuals we call this a broken mind, and in nations we call it revolution. And both of these reactions are destructive. And at the same time, we need to feel we can project ourselves into the future, somehow. We want to escape the limitations of this frail physical life, with its miserly duration and inconstant rewards.
Here’s a very good paper from 2014 that discusses the importance of On Duties in the Western tradition.
It’s one of the best summaries out there, and I think readers will benefit from going through it. The writers call it a “core text for every curriculum.”
The Renaissance literary figure Petrarch met his fame and success with ambivalence. On the one hand it was the fulfillment of what he had worked for, but on the other, it left him with deep feelings of unease. These feelings eventually ripened into outright contempt for those who could not understand the origin of his malaise.
I was recently corresponding with a reader on the topic of finding inspiration for creative activity. The conversation veered into the subject of dreams. In what way, we wondered, do dreams inspire or retard development of the creative impulse? And what is the source of dreams? The subject is one of general interest, and seems to come up over and over again.
Little Portugal, located at the western-most tip of Europe, was not endowed by fortune with natural resources (save for its Atlantic proximity). Yet it did have the daring, tenacity, and vision of great men, and that proved to be sufficient to propel it to world prominence.
Quintus Curtius 
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