John Myles White: Die Sudelbücher

The basic stupidity of anti-intellectual assessments of the works of intellectuals is perhaps most clearly demonstrated by comparing the different treatments received by two different sorts of authors at the hands of the anti-intellectual. Specifically, the author of a mathematical work who expects that his readers will already be familiar with linear algebra and analysis produces a book considered “advanced,” but the author of a literary work who expects his readers to be familiar with Joyce and Sophocles produces a book considered “pretentious.” Implicit in this assessment is the assumption that a work of literature should be immediately accessible, but this assumption is itself founded upon the false assumption that there are no essential ideas about humanity that one must work to understand.

But even philosophy has its pons asinorum.

If solemnity is rightly faulted for treating flesh as if it were marble, frivolity must be faulted for treating flesh as if it were Silly Putty.

It has been said that the transition from childhood to adulthood occurs at the moment one becomes conscious of one’s own mortality, but perhaps it would be better said that one’s maturity is proportional to one’s cognizance of one’s mortality — for such awareness is not a binary division, but a position along a continuum.

It should come as no surprise that the older are generally more mature, for their knowledge that death is ever more imminent brings them to see death as the pre-eminent property of human life.

A common error: to presume that, because one understands an idea, one has learned the idea. When we understand a thing, we do no more than realize that this idea can enter into the edifice of our thoughts without us having to knock down any walls, but that does not prove that the thought has therefore entered — nor that it will remain within thereafter. Many ideas are like water: they leave one’s mind as readily as they enter.

When I think how my taste in music has come to include more acoustic music each year beyond the amount of hardcore I inherit from my adolescence, I usually come to the conclusion that it is a basic calming of my temperament that is being expressed in my taste. At their best, hardcore bands sound like the crowds storming the Bastille, while acoustic music, at its best, sounds like the death of Socrates, as described in Crito — a quiet, plaintive conversation between friends.

Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I see of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.

If there is anyone left who has neither seen the “V for Vendetta” movie nor read the graphic novel, please do so. Thank you.