Today I woke up at quarter to twelve. I had intended to wake up earlier, but I began to sleep really deeply at perhaps nine and couldn't stop until I did. This profound slumber is, I believe, the result of the nice warm temperature of the late morning. Yesterday evening I finished the last book by Edward P. Roe that is available at gutenberg.org, and it made me feel ready to wean myself from the exciting but pointless world of the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century popular novel. From now on I intend to spend my evenings over non-virtual books, periodicals, perhaps drawing or sewing, and music.
At perhaps twelve I set off down the street to the bank, and thence to the fish shop. At least four other customers were waiting, but the two men behind the counter were working concentratedly and yet not hastily. The men scraped the scales off fishes, disembowelled them, and beheaded them, then ranged the gleaming grey unfortunates onto white butcher's paper, rolled them up, weighed them, and put them in striped blue and white plastic bags. Then, of course, one of the men accepted money and paid out the change. One or two people who were waiting for the bus outside peered in through the windows. I also spent some time looking at the array of fish in the counter, some deeply embedded in ice, from salmon steaks to sardines (fresh, of course), mackerel and trout, mussels and octopus and calamari, bonito, and prawns. Above the counter the German, scientific, and Turkish names of the fish were given, so I looked at those too.
After the fish shop I crossed the road to the big grocery store. The fruit looked particularly tempting, so I bought pears and clementines (with leaves attached) and bananas and grapes on impulse -- as well as a box of more or less authentic Turkish cotton candy, which, it turns out, tastes rather floury (for the highly logical reason that there is flour in it). I had forgotten to bring along the shopping basket, so it took a long time to pack everything up. Further down the street I bought lemons and flatbread at another store. Then I went home, though after a while I did go to Plus across the street again.
So, after the shopping whirlwind, I spent a quiet quarter of an hour with the Propyläen Weltgeschichte. I am now reading about the formation of the National Assembly; the Tennis Court Oath has already taken place, and Mirabeau has declared his and the assembly's defiance of the King to the point of the point of a soldier's lance. Louis XVI, as far as I understand goaded to the step by fearful courtiers, has stationed troops around Versailles (from distant regions, so that they are more trustworthy), and given a negative answer to an appeal from the National Assembly that they be withdrawn. I decided while reading this that I would really like to write a historical novel about an aristocratic delegate to the Meeting of the Three Estates, and his family. I don't know whether the delegate should be a sympathizer with the National Assembly or not. Either way, he and his family would end up fleeing to England. I'm already wondering what books would be in fashion at the time, and what philosophical questions, and how far an aristocrat would share the ideals of John Locke or Jean-Jacques Rousseau, for instance.
Anyway, after my short studies, I wandered into the kitchen and prepared to do the dishes. Somehow I cut my finger in the process, so I stopped washing the dishes and asked others to do it instead. To my surprise, Gi. and Ge. did wash the dishes, and T. dried them. I carefully set the table, using the appropriate white and blue soup plates with the fish motif. Then I prepared tomatoes, a cucumber salad, quark with dill and green onions, and boiled potatoes, with Ge.'s help. Papa made the salmon steaks. All of this wasn't quite done when Mama came home from work, but I think that she enjoyed the anticipation (and perhaps the fact that it's the weekend made her happy anyway). At the last moment I tried to make "Zitronenschaum" (lemon foam), which was a signal failure despite the fact that I had not "improvised" it.
Finally, having eaten a generous amount and feeling quite content, I was ready to go on a bike trip to the Viktoriapark in Kreuzberg, which contains in it the peak of the hill from which the area Kreuzberg takes its name. Gi. and Ge. were willing to come along, so (after some preparations) we set off, with Ge. striding at the front (on foot), and Gi. and me following on Gi.'s and J.'s bikes respectively. It's good that I didn't go alone, because I would have very confidently gone the wrong way. It was turning dark already. When we reached the bridge on the Monumentenstrasse the view was arresting. Below the bridge run many railroad tracks, bordered and interspersed by a lake of light leafy trees that are now yellow and light green and orange. A bank runs up the other side, and apartment buildings, generally white, with dark red tile roofs, cluster along it. Looking down the tracks in the middle of the bridge I saw the glowing white dome (which resembles a tent, or, in my opinion, a flattened badminton birdie) of the Sony Centre, as well as a clump of surrounding buildings, and the isolated grey spire of the Radiofunkturm to the right.
By the time we had reached the top of Kreuzberg it was already quite dark. The horizon glowed orange as dark-grey stratocumulus clouds moved across it. The crescent moon was unusually bright. In a nearly perfect 360-degree view we saw the lights of the city, including Potsdamer Platz and the revolving spotlight of Tempelhof Airport, contrasting with the solid bluish-black of the buildings. There was the occasional gust of wind. As we returned home the sounds of the wind and of the cars passing in the distance were a perpetual subconscious undercurrent. Ge.'s shoes plodded firmly on the pavement. Occasionally the wind swept the leaves, still dimly visible because of their bright yellow colour, up from the pavement, or whirled it along the side. The buildings were in half-shadow, but many windows were lit, so it was cheerful. There were few neon signs along the way, so there was something very classic and picturesque about the scene. Perhaps ten people passed us, some with the air of preparing for an evening out in a leisurely way and others giving the impression that they were hurrying home. A photographer was adjusting his tripod on the bridge. There was something pleasantly chaotic and fleeting about the trip (perhaps the swiftness of the falling of night contributed to it), and it was agreeable especially because it was still early and because therefore the darkness did not seem menacing.
Tomorrow I might go out with my or Gi.'s camera and take photos before the leaves disappear from the trees. Even the foliage of the oaks in front of our apartment is wonderful: intensely yellow with rich reddish-brown edges. Autumn is, after all, my favourite time of year.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Das Fräulein von Scuderi
Yesterday I started and today I finished a short novel by E.T.A. Hoffmann entitled Das Fräulein von Scuderi. It is about a serial murderer and jewel thief in Paris at the time of Louis XIV, a tormented young man who is privy to his secret, and about the title character, a good, refined, witty and well-respected lady of seventy-three. Mademoiselle de Scuderi is a beloved figure at the court, commanding the attention and affection of Madame de Maintenon and even of the king himself. Initially unknown to her, the young man who first brings her a mysterious box of jewels,then dashes up to her carriage and hands her a note begging her to return the jewels to the goldsmith who made them, is the son of her adopted daughter. When Cardillac, the goldsmith, is killed, this young man is believed to have murdered him. Mademoiselle de Scuderi, interested in the young man for himself and for the young girl whom he wishes to marry, and still more for the sake of his mother, must clear him and save him from torture and execution.
I don't think I've read a historical novel (perhaps other than War and Peace) that drops so quietly and naturally into the past time in question. There is no evident effort at setting a scene, and there are no elaborate anachronisms of speech, manner, and dress in the characters. The nineteenth century shapes the language and narrative and, to a certain extent, the characters, but it does not overwhelm the consciousness that the events take place in 1680. Someone has said about Sir Walter Scott's historical novels that his Middle Ages are a sort of play-Middle Ages, an unserious world primarily of the imagination. In Das Fräulein von Scuderi there is seriousness. Even though the events described have taken place in the past, the author does not distance himself from their horrible nature -- also, they could really have taken place at any time. At the same time I think I would be much more concerned about the violence described in the book if it were set in the present time.
The book is altogether highly readable, and as interesting as, but more healthy than, Die Richterin. The mood is dark and fairly light by turns, the characters are convincing, and altogether I found it hard to tell where historical fact left off and fictional invention began -- though I don't know if anyone would have been quite as good as Mademoiselle de Scuderi was, or if King Louis XIV would really have acted as he did in the end.
I don't think I've read a historical novel (perhaps other than War and Peace) that drops so quietly and naturally into the past time in question. There is no evident effort at setting a scene, and there are no elaborate anachronisms of speech, manner, and dress in the characters. The nineteenth century shapes the language and narrative and, to a certain extent, the characters, but it does not overwhelm the consciousness that the events take place in 1680. Someone has said about Sir Walter Scott's historical novels that his Middle Ages are a sort of play-Middle Ages, an unserious world primarily of the imagination. In Das Fräulein von Scuderi there is seriousness. Even though the events described have taken place in the past, the author does not distance himself from their horrible nature -- also, they could really have taken place at any time. At the same time I think I would be much more concerned about the violence described in the book if it were set in the present time.
The book is altogether highly readable, and as interesting as, but more healthy than, Die Richterin. The mood is dark and fairly light by turns, the characters are convincing, and altogether I found it hard to tell where historical fact left off and fictional invention began -- though I don't know if anyone would have been quite as good as Mademoiselle de Scuderi was, or if King Louis XIV would really have acted as he did in the end.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Studies, Present and Prospective
This morning I surprisingly woke up before 9:00. So I took advantage of the time until lunch by "hitting the books." I started by finishing Die Richterin. It is the tale of a female judge, Stemma, who rules a region in Switzerland in the time of Charlemagne, her daughter Palma, and her stepson Wulfrin. The writing is rich and the mood turbulent, contrasting with the clear, stern, superhuman knowledge and wisdom of the main character, and the turbulence is reflected in the rugged and violent scenery. Charlemagne is portrayed as a benign arbitrator of great mental stature and nobility, and yet human. Wulfrin is a conflicted, somewhat harshly mannered warrior. As for Palma, she is obviously a figment of a masculine imagination, being an unlikely idealized compound of naivete and truth and vulnerable affectionateness. A good read, also funny to read nowadays because of its occasionally very stilted language.
After that -- much to my surprise -- I spent fifty minutes over the first chapter in my Macroeconomics textbook (fortified by Glühwein, this time with orange and lemon juice added). In the course itself we began at Chapter 19, but considering that I understood about 1/50 of everything that followed, it seems wisest to begin again at the beginning. So I took notes on market vs. command economy and the definition of "resources." Then, for the next fifty or so minutes, I tried to understand Proposition I of Book III of Euclid well enough to be able to carry out the proof myself. When I finally understood the proof some forty minutes in (some time was taken up in searching for a ruler), I discovered in the footnotes that a certain De Morgan has come up with another, much better proof, which was recorded underneath. #$%?!
During the lunch break I went grocery shopping. I intended to make potato soup, Greek salad, and a pear soufflé with a meringue topping. Once I was back I first of all heated up the last of the mushroom soup, then polished it off with my spoon in one hand and The Carolingian Empire by Heinrich Fichtenau (a translation) in the other. But then my studies had to end, and I did the dishes, which took a really long time for some reason.
Then T. said that she wanted to go to the Studienberatung at the Freie Universität. So we took the U-Bahn to Thielplatz and eventually found Brümmerstraße 50. We had to wait a few minutes because both people in the office were busy with other worried students. Then we were able to say that we came from Canada and wanted to know how to get into the FU. The person at the desk said with a smile and, in the kind voice generally reserved for children when they do something where they're too young to know any better, said that we should do our own research. I had done research already, but T. was less comfortable with her preparation. Anyway, he took pity on us and sent us on to a small office on the second floor of a wing of the same building. We did have to wait an hour for our appointment, but I took out Der goldne Topf by E.T.A. Hoffmann and had a good time reading it while T. perused a map of Berlin. The friendly person who spoke with us then told us a few things worth knowing. For one thing, even if our marks are too low to get into the FU right away, we'll be put on a waiting list, and it may take up to five years but we'll get in eventually. But he did recommend that we try finding a university in a location where the universities aren't as overrun with applications as Berlin. When T. and I came home we were both tired, and T. took refuge in YouTube while I talked with Papa and Mama and then played movements of sonatas by Beethoven, Schubert, and Mozart (quite well).
Somehow today I was in a good doing-work mood and a good piano-playing mood but not in a very good interacting-with-people mood. It's very silly, but I don't know where to look in the U-Bahn, for example. That's what made me less chirpy than I would otherwise have been. By chirpy I mean genuinely cheerful, and not in the half-hearted surface cheeriness (or, really, frivolity) that has occasionally surfaced in the past few days.
P.S.: I am considering that I should try to apply to the Universität der Künste after all.
After that -- much to my surprise -- I spent fifty minutes over the first chapter in my Macroeconomics textbook (fortified by Glühwein, this time with orange and lemon juice added). In the course itself we began at Chapter 19, but considering that I understood about 1/50 of everything that followed, it seems wisest to begin again at the beginning. So I took notes on market vs. command economy and the definition of "resources." Then, for the next fifty or so minutes, I tried to understand Proposition I of Book III of Euclid well enough to be able to carry out the proof myself. When I finally understood the proof some forty minutes in (some time was taken up in searching for a ruler), I discovered in the footnotes that a certain De Morgan has come up with another, much better proof, which was recorded underneath. #$%?!
During the lunch break I went grocery shopping. I intended to make potato soup, Greek salad, and a pear soufflé with a meringue topping. Once I was back I first of all heated up the last of the mushroom soup, then polished it off with my spoon in one hand and The Carolingian Empire by Heinrich Fichtenau (a translation) in the other. But then my studies had to end, and I did the dishes, which took a really long time for some reason.
Then T. said that she wanted to go to the Studienberatung at the Freie Universität. So we took the U-Bahn to Thielplatz and eventually found Brümmerstraße 50. We had to wait a few minutes because both people in the office were busy with other worried students. Then we were able to say that we came from Canada and wanted to know how to get into the FU. The person at the desk said with a smile and, in the kind voice generally reserved for children when they do something where they're too young to know any better, said that we should do our own research. I had done research already, but T. was less comfortable with her preparation. Anyway, he took pity on us and sent us on to a small office on the second floor of a wing of the same building. We did have to wait an hour for our appointment, but I took out Der goldne Topf by E.T.A. Hoffmann and had a good time reading it while T. perused a map of Berlin. The friendly person who spoke with us then told us a few things worth knowing. For one thing, even if our marks are too low to get into the FU right away, we'll be put on a waiting list, and it may take up to five years but we'll get in eventually. But he did recommend that we try finding a university in a location where the universities aren't as overrun with applications as Berlin. When T. and I came home we were both tired, and T. took refuge in YouTube while I talked with Papa and Mama and then played movements of sonatas by Beethoven, Schubert, and Mozart (quite well).
Somehow today I was in a good doing-work mood and a good piano-playing mood but not in a very good interacting-with-people mood. It's very silly, but I don't know where to look in the U-Bahn, for example. That's what made me less chirpy than I would otherwise have been. By chirpy I mean genuinely cheerful, and not in the half-hearted surface cheeriness (or, really, frivolity) that has occasionally surfaced in the past few days.
P.S.: I am considering that I should try to apply to the Universität der Künste after all.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Note on Adversity
By the way, in posting the lines from Shakespeare I was suggesting that, in my case, I can see that there is a silver lining to every cloud, but I was not suggesting that suffering is good because people learn from it. First of all, they often don't; secondly, that idea is a convenient excuse for people to behave meanly; thirdly, there are other ways to learn, and perhaps not much need to learn to begin with. And, if other people suffer too while one is learning a lesson, it would be heartless to feel glad about that learning opportunity.
I'm not speaking strongly out of any particular provocation, but sometimes I am very irritated when I think how callously everyone (myself clearly included) can see the miseries of others -- whether in the First or Third World -- and entertain the idea that this has a net beneficial effect. As an example, I need only take my History text, which calmly stated that the wiping out of a third of Europe's population by the Black Plague was actually a positive thing because the continent was becoming overcrowded. ! The superiority that each generation assumes over the preceding ones is little different from the superiority that one part of the world assumes over another today, and I think that this cruel mentality in dealing with the past is identical to the cruel mentality that informs foreign policy now (vide 650,000 Iraqi deaths).
It's the same thing with World Wars I and II. Up to a certain age I thought it was a glorious thing, where Allied soldiers killed the evil Nazis (the two wars were conflated in my mind), and that was that. And the general idea is that "all's well that ends well." But the more I read, the more I found out that the Axis soldiers were not always evil (certainly not all Nazis) and that the Allied soldiers were not always good, and that, to put the soldiers aside completely, it was mostly civilians who died. Tens of millions of people were killed, and many more wounded. But people play computer games based on this in their living rooms today. It would, of course, be unhealthy and unreasonable not to put the past behind us, but this should not be done before ensuring that the past will not be repeated, and understanding that the past should not be banalized.
Anyway, I'm sure that Shakespeare was not thinking of adversity of this general scope, but I did need to rant a little.
I'm not speaking strongly out of any particular provocation, but sometimes I am very irritated when I think how callously everyone (myself clearly included) can see the miseries of others -- whether in the First or Third World -- and entertain the idea that this has a net beneficial effect. As an example, I need only take my History text, which calmly stated that the wiping out of a third of Europe's population by the Black Plague was actually a positive thing because the continent was becoming overcrowded. ! The superiority that each generation assumes over the preceding ones is little different from the superiority that one part of the world assumes over another today, and I think that this cruel mentality in dealing with the past is identical to the cruel mentality that informs foreign policy now (vide 650,000 Iraqi deaths).
It's the same thing with World Wars I and II. Up to a certain age I thought it was a glorious thing, where Allied soldiers killed the evil Nazis (the two wars were conflated in my mind), and that was that. And the general idea is that "all's well that ends well." But the more I read, the more I found out that the Axis soldiers were not always evil (certainly not all Nazis) and that the Allied soldiers were not always good, and that, to put the soldiers aside completely, it was mostly civilians who died. Tens of millions of people were killed, and many more wounded. But people play computer games based on this in their living rooms today. It would, of course, be unhealthy and unreasonable not to put the past behind us, but this should not be done before ensuring that the past will not be repeated, and understanding that the past should not be banalized.
Anyway, I'm sure that Shakespeare was not thinking of adversity of this general scope, but I did need to rant a little.
Edithorian Cuisine
Today I woke up after one o'clock, feeling too seriously drowsy to get up any earlier (though I must say that I hadn't any idea of the time). In the Berliner Zeitung , in the weather section, it was recently written that the weather at present is conducive to very good sleep, and I must say it has proven true in my case. It was a very cheerful day, too, with sunlight pouring down the street without being hot or intense.
Once I was dressed I set off to a nearby grocery store, then to Plus, for ingredients for dinner. I found everything except "Backöl Zitrone" (lemon extract), so I bought a bottle of lemon liquor instead. Also, I resisted the temptation to buy a pomegranate just to see how it tastes. When I was at home again I prepared the cream of mushroom soup, with the help of Ge. and Gi. If I make it again I'll double the butter and flour for the thickening, because the soup looked quite watery, though the creme fraiche that Papa added really helped. The flavour was fine, though. Then Papa prepared the chicken, with bread stuffing, and put it into the oven. I washed the rapunzel, cut up cherry tomatoes to go with it, and made a light dressing for it, and, after that, made the apple cake, with T.'s help. The rapunzel tasted delicious -- sweet and fragrant and crunchy -- which rather surprised me. The chicken was excellent, as always. As for the apple cake, it was my best one yet. This probably sounds very Martha-Stewart-y, but since it's so unusual for me not to be disgruntled while cooking, or to mess up, I can't really help feeling self-satisfied. And, at the end, Gi. and Ge. washed and dried all of the dishes that Mama hadn't already washed. (c:
The other things I've done today are reading a forum, doing a load of laundry, and reading another pious online book. Also, T. got out her high school chemistry notes and briefly explained to me what "significant digits" in measurements are, and what a "mole" is. I feel much enlightened. (c: Yesterday evening I finished the first act of Zaire, and because of the interest of the plot (though I know how it all ends) it was hard to break off there. I'm trying to read through it slowly, so that I can appreciate it better (and actually remember some of it).
Tomorrow I plan to read more of Two Gentlemen of Verona, do some Latin exercises out of Ludus Latinum, continue reading about France just before the Revolution, and maybe look at a German book and read poetry by Tennyson. Perhaps I should take up Conrad Ferdinand Meyer's Die Richterin again, because it impressed me when I started it perhaps two weeks ago. I don't know if these plans sound tempting to anyone else, but I nearly wish that it were tomorrow already (well, technically it is, but still . . .).
I do wish that I felt more like playing the piano, but somehow I don't find much pleasure in it at present; perhaps I am temporarily "stale." I guess that's a bad sign, and that I should bestir myself in other parts of my life so that I have energy and new thoughts and so on again. It's not that I'm doing badly "plodding my weary way" (well, not that weary), but on the whole I am impatient to undertake something, even though at the same time I'm cautious about what it is that I will undertake. There are two possible frames of mind that I would like to attain. The first is one where I am completely at peace, where I feel no pressure and no restraint and no fear, where I find out what I want to do with life without worrying about not finding anything, and where I lose the restlessness that makes it difficult for me to read or listen or learn with concentration and at greater length. The second is one where I have the energy and hope and self-confidence to learn and plan and grow. With age I will probably reach one or both of these states anyway, but at this point a little of them would be useful, too.
Once I was dressed I set off to a nearby grocery store, then to Plus, for ingredients for dinner. I found everything except "Backöl Zitrone" (lemon extract), so I bought a bottle of lemon liquor instead. Also, I resisted the temptation to buy a pomegranate just to see how it tastes. When I was at home again I prepared the cream of mushroom soup, with the help of Ge. and Gi. If I make it again I'll double the butter and flour for the thickening, because the soup looked quite watery, though the creme fraiche that Papa added really helped. The flavour was fine, though. Then Papa prepared the chicken, with bread stuffing, and put it into the oven. I washed the rapunzel, cut up cherry tomatoes to go with it, and made a light dressing for it, and, after that, made the apple cake, with T.'s help. The rapunzel tasted delicious -- sweet and fragrant and crunchy -- which rather surprised me. The chicken was excellent, as always. As for the apple cake, it was my best one yet. This probably sounds very Martha-Stewart-y, but since it's so unusual for me not to be disgruntled while cooking, or to mess up, I can't really help feeling self-satisfied. And, at the end, Gi. and Ge. washed and dried all of the dishes that Mama hadn't already washed. (c:
The other things I've done today are reading a forum, doing a load of laundry, and reading another pious online book. Also, T. got out her high school chemistry notes and briefly explained to me what "significant digits" in measurements are, and what a "mole" is. I feel much enlightened. (c: Yesterday evening I finished the first act of Zaire, and because of the interest of the plot (though I know how it all ends) it was hard to break off there. I'm trying to read through it slowly, so that I can appreciate it better (and actually remember some of it).
Tomorrow I plan to read more of Two Gentlemen of Verona, do some Latin exercises out of Ludus Latinum, continue reading about France just before the Revolution, and maybe look at a German book and read poetry by Tennyson. Perhaps I should take up Conrad Ferdinand Meyer's Die Richterin again, because it impressed me when I started it perhaps two weeks ago. I don't know if these plans sound tempting to anyone else, but I nearly wish that it were tomorrow already (well, technically it is, but still . . .).
I do wish that I felt more like playing the piano, but somehow I don't find much pleasure in it at present; perhaps I am temporarily "stale." I guess that's a bad sign, and that I should bestir myself in other parts of my life so that I have energy and new thoughts and so on again. It's not that I'm doing badly "plodding my weary way" (well, not that weary), but on the whole I am impatient to undertake something, even though at the same time I'm cautious about what it is that I will undertake. There are two possible frames of mind that I would like to attain. The first is one where I am completely at peace, where I feel no pressure and no restraint and no fear, where I find out what I want to do with life without worrying about not finding anything, and where I lose the restlessness that makes it difficult for me to read or listen or learn with concentration and at greater length. The second is one where I have the energy and hope and self-confidence to learn and plan and grow. With age I will probably reach one or both of these states anyway, but at this point a little of them would be useful, too.
Monday, October 16, 2006
The Pierian Spring
Today was somehow a happy and eventful day, without anything really happening. The one exception is that my youngest uncle (also godfather) returned to Kevelaer today after visiting us over the weekend. I woke up early (before ten!!) in order to say goodbye.
After breakfast I browsed YouTube. In between video clips I tried to make Glühwein (mulled wine) for a second time because the weather is becoming very cold. Since I hadn't accidentally dumped tons of powdered cinnamon into the wine this time, it was not gruesomely bitter. Invigorated (and with slightly flushed cheeks), I then took up my studies, still in the format where I pretend that I'm still at university and learn things for fifty-minute segments until five o'clock, with a lunch break from noon to one o'clock.
First of all, I listened as Papa read out a chapter from Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy on Spinoza. Some of Spinoza's opinions I admired (for the simple reason that I share them), while others seemed completely bizarre to me -- for instance that no one can change the future. I fear that not much of the information about Spinoza is sticking, and that I did not think about any of Spinoza's ideas in any depth, but I'm hoping that I will make more of the ideas when I'm older and that some previous knowledge will help then. A very amusing sentence described how irate religious authorities showered Spinoza with select Biblical curses, in spite of which, Russell informs us, that much-maligned philosopher was not eaten up by She-Bears. Anyway, then I read part of Two Gentlemen of Verona before dozing off for about twenty minutes. After that it was time for lunch, so I went for a walk to the Kleistpark.
Then I resumed my studies rather irregularly. For about half an hourI read about France up to the meeting of the Estates General on May 5, 1789, and perused a map of Europe at that time, in the Propyläen Weltgeschichte (1929 edition).
Some thoughts:
1. It was interesting to note the effect that the reforms under Louis XVI had -- quite adverse.Once I find a more detailed source, I will try to answer this question: is making concessions to rebellious parties merely ceding to the inevitable, or actually hastening the inevitable, or even enabling events that are not inevitable?
2. It's interesting how, even before the French Revolution truly began, the Wheel of Fate was already remorselessly turning to crush those who had once been at its top, and who had themselves done what they could to facilitate the crushing of others. For instance, the discontented actions of the aristocrats and of the clergy against the king set in motion a tide of rebellion that soon turned against them.
3. There is something deeply pitiful in the ill-starred French government's bottomless spending and borrowing, appointment of minister after minister, formulation of strict edicts that could not be enforced, and hard-won concessions that in the end helped nothing. At the same time,
4. I was surprised that the point of view of the French peasants was not represented, except that it was clearly shown that they had to bear an obscene tax burden that was intensified by corruption.
Then, for perhaps another half hour, I read gardening tips. If only I had been more interested and willing to learn when I had a garden at my disposal! But it was nice either way. And that is the sum of my official learning today. After my studies I
- made lunch (beef bouillon with sliced onions and noodles and egg and a dash of wine; boiled potatoes; and a universally acclaimed mixture of yoghurt, whipped cream, cherries, vanilla sugar, and a dash of sherry)
- played pieces from Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II
- watched more video clips on YouTube
- read a letter from a relative
- read An Illumined Face and From Jest to Earnest by Edward Payson Roe (I don't know whether its literary worth is particularly great, but it's the kind of book that leaves a nice feeling behind after you -- or at least I -- read it)
- planned dinner for tomorrow (cream of mushroom soup from scratch, chicken prepared by Papa, rapunzel salad, and an apple cake)
- accompanied J. on the piano while he sang German folksongs admirably in a hilarious high-pitched imitation of professional lady singers (we collapsed into giggles frequently)
The abovementioned books of questionable literary merit have again raised thoughts of religion that have been stirred up by the other pious works that I've come across in Project Gutenberg. It's pleasant to speculate that a beneficent omnipotent and omniscient entity may be out there. What if goodness is not in vain, and people always find happiness in the end? At the same time these thoughts of religiousness prompt the question whether I shouldn't be doing something useful for other people. I can feel intense sympathy for people, but I think that my only real contribution to humanity (i.e. my work with Amnesty International) has been mostly motivated by a desire to feel good about myself, and that I don't understand the reality of the people whom I'm trying to help. I don't know if I can step out of my own self-centred preoccupations thoroughly enough to give others genuine understanding and sympathy and help.
P.S.: Out of the books mentioned yesterday, so far I have read the first scene of Zaire.
P.P.S.: Disclaimer: Regarding the post title, while I do know the quotation "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing . . .", plus the fact that it comes from Alexander Pope's Essay on Criticism, I haven't the least idea what a "Pierian spring" is.
After breakfast I browsed YouTube. In between video clips I tried to make Glühwein (mulled wine) for a second time because the weather is becoming very cold. Since I hadn't accidentally dumped tons of powdered cinnamon into the wine this time, it was not gruesomely bitter. Invigorated (and with slightly flushed cheeks), I then took up my studies, still in the format where I pretend that I'm still at university and learn things for fifty-minute segments until five o'clock, with a lunch break from noon to one o'clock.
First of all, I listened as Papa read out a chapter from Bertrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy on Spinoza. Some of Spinoza's opinions I admired (for the simple reason that I share them), while others seemed completely bizarre to me -- for instance that no one can change the future. I fear that not much of the information about Spinoza is sticking, and that I did not think about any of Spinoza's ideas in any depth, but I'm hoping that I will make more of the ideas when I'm older and that some previous knowledge will help then. A very amusing sentence described how irate religious authorities showered Spinoza with select Biblical curses, in spite of which, Russell informs us, that much-maligned philosopher was not eaten up by She-Bears. Anyway, then I read part of Two Gentlemen of Verona before dozing off for about twenty minutes. After that it was time for lunch, so I went for a walk to the Kleistpark.
Then I resumed my studies rather irregularly. For about half an hourI read about France up to the meeting of the Estates General on May 5, 1789, and perused a map of Europe at that time, in the Propyläen Weltgeschichte (1929 edition).
Some thoughts:
1. It was interesting to note the effect that the reforms under Louis XVI had -- quite adverse.Once I find a more detailed source, I will try to answer this question: is making concessions to rebellious parties merely ceding to the inevitable, or actually hastening the inevitable, or even enabling events that are not inevitable?
2. It's interesting how, even before the French Revolution truly began, the Wheel of Fate was already remorselessly turning to crush those who had once been at its top, and who had themselves done what they could to facilitate the crushing of others. For instance, the discontented actions of the aristocrats and of the clergy against the king set in motion a tide of rebellion that soon turned against them.
3. There is something deeply pitiful in the ill-starred French government's bottomless spending and borrowing, appointment of minister after minister, formulation of strict edicts that could not be enforced, and hard-won concessions that in the end helped nothing. At the same time,
4. I was surprised that the point of view of the French peasants was not represented, except that it was clearly shown that they had to bear an obscene tax burden that was intensified by corruption.
Then, for perhaps another half hour, I read gardening tips. If only I had been more interested and willing to learn when I had a garden at my disposal! But it was nice either way. And that is the sum of my official learning today. After my studies I
- made lunch (beef bouillon with sliced onions and noodles and egg and a dash of wine; boiled potatoes; and a universally acclaimed mixture of yoghurt, whipped cream, cherries, vanilla sugar, and a dash of sherry)
- played pieces from Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, Book II
- watched more video clips on YouTube
- read a letter from a relative
- read An Illumined Face and From Jest to Earnest by Edward Payson Roe (I don't know whether its literary worth is particularly great, but it's the kind of book that leaves a nice feeling behind after you -- or at least I -- read it)
- planned dinner for tomorrow (cream of mushroom soup from scratch, chicken prepared by Papa, rapunzel salad, and an apple cake)
- accompanied J. on the piano while he sang German folksongs admirably in a hilarious high-pitched imitation of professional lady singers (we collapsed into giggles frequently)
The abovementioned books of questionable literary merit have again raised thoughts of religion that have been stirred up by the other pious works that I've come across in Project Gutenberg. It's pleasant to speculate that a beneficent omnipotent and omniscient entity may be out there. What if goodness is not in vain, and people always find happiness in the end? At the same time these thoughts of religiousness prompt the question whether I shouldn't be doing something useful for other people. I can feel intense sympathy for people, but I think that my only real contribution to humanity (i.e. my work with Amnesty International) has been mostly motivated by a desire to feel good about myself, and that I don't understand the reality of the people whom I'm trying to help. I don't know if I can step out of my own self-centred preoccupations thoroughly enough to give others genuine understanding and sympathy and help.
P.S.: Out of the books mentioned yesterday, so far I have read the first scene of Zaire.
P.P.S.: Disclaimer: Regarding the post title, while I do know the quotation "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing . . .", plus the fact that it comes from Alexander Pope's Essay on Criticism, I haven't the least idea what a "Pierian spring" is.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Philosophy of Life
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
- William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, Scene 1
* * *
Perhaps it is impossible to be as philosophical as this. I try and fail. But I think that my paternal grandfather came quite close.
Labora omnia vincit
Some ten minutes ago I finished browsing through the bookshelves behind my father's desk. I was looking for books on the French Revolution, since I intend to write a story based on William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night -- and, perhaps, something else -- set in that bloody time. Our books are in a sad disorder; for instance, beside Studien zur Friedensforschung* I found Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. In the end I came away with:
CDs:
1. Bach's Violin Concertos, with Kolja Blacher, Christine Pichlmeier, Lisa Stewart, and the Cologne Chamber Orchestra directed by Helmut Müller-Brühl
2. Mozart's Flute Concertos, with Jean-Pierre Rampal and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Zubin Mehta
Books (in order of size):
1. Historia von D. Johann Fausten (chosen because "history" is what I was looking for)
2. Sketching by John Mills (I want to become better at drawing)
3. Zaire by Voltaire (it was mentioned in Maria Edgeworth's Patronage, and I'm assuming that people still read Voltaire during the French Revolution)
4. Doctor Dolittle's Circus by Hugh Lofting (self-explanatory)
5. Trois Contes by Gustave Flaubert (my mother recommended that I read Flaubert's works, and I'm going to try to start with something that isn't about adultery, because that depresses me)
6. Die Grüne Schule by Wilhelm Matthießen (a peculiar but pleasant German children's book, see item 4)
7. Venedig by Sergio Bettini (it has lots of black and white photos -- and I find Venice interesting)
If I finish any of these books I'll be greatly surprised.
* (Studies on Peace Research)
CDs:
1. Bach's Violin Concertos, with Kolja Blacher, Christine Pichlmeier, Lisa Stewart, and the Cologne Chamber Orchestra directed by Helmut Müller-Brühl
2. Mozart's Flute Concertos, with Jean-Pierre Rampal and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Zubin Mehta
Books (in order of size):
1. Historia von D. Johann Fausten (chosen because "history" is what I was looking for)
2. Sketching by John Mills (I want to become better at drawing)
3. Zaire by Voltaire (it was mentioned in Maria Edgeworth's Patronage, and I'm assuming that people still read Voltaire during the French Revolution)
4. Doctor Dolittle's Circus by Hugh Lofting (self-explanatory)
5. Trois Contes by Gustave Flaubert (my mother recommended that I read Flaubert's works, and I'm going to try to start with something that isn't about adultery, because that depresses me)
6. Die Grüne Schule by Wilhelm Matthießen (a peculiar but pleasant German children's book, see item 4)
7. Venedig by Sergio Bettini (it has lots of black and white photos -- and I find Venice interesting)
If I finish any of these books I'll be greatly surprised.
* (Studies on Peace Research)
Alt Tegel
[Photo replaced due to copyright and bandwith concerns. Photo by JCornelius. From Wikimedia Commons, Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.]
When T. and I were hopelessly wandering around the park containing Schloss Tegel (also known as the Humboldtschloss) yesterday, we saw a fine yellow mansion rising through the trees on the other side of the bay. This mansion is the Villa Borsig, and it turns out that it is presently the property of the German Auswärtiges Amt (foreign office), which intends to use it as a lodging for its guests. It's interesting to see in this photo that only one end of it is yellow, but at least the yellowness of that end is surprisingly tasteful.
North Korea
Is the apparent testing of a nuclear bomb in North Korea a week ago threatening or not?
I am inclined to say not. In an article in the Berliner Zeitung an expert says that the explosion was most likely a failed one of a large nuclear device. So, first of all, the test seems to have been unsuccessful. Secondly, as Stephen Colbert half-seriously pointed out on the Colbert Report, Kim Jong-Il has only so much plutonium at his disposal. The more he gets rid of through testing, the less likelihood there is that South Korea and Japan need fear a nuclear attack. Thirdly, North Korea has no effective means of delivering a nuclear bomb. North Korean scientists do not have the technology to make a nuclear warhead. A conventional bomber plane, the mode of delivery for the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, is easy to detect by radar and to shoot down.
The other threat people mention is that radioactive material and weaponry will end up being sold to and used by terrorists. I don't know if this is really possible or not. But it seems very far-fetched.
I'd say that the biggest concrete (not theoretical) problem is still the poverty in North Korea. It is on solving this problem that the energy of foreign governments should be concentrated. At the same time, I believe it is best for the six-party diplomatic negotiations to continue, because communication is better than nothing.
Finally, the governments of the United States and of the European Union should not see or treat Kim Jong-Il as an inferior, morally depraved being. Whatever may be his faults, statesmen who start or are complicit in devastating wars out of greed have neither the right nor the credibility to pretend to be superior to anyone. It is deeds, not words, that matter; the deeds of the Bush administration and others prove that theirs is a false morality, and false morality is as deadly as no morality at all.
I am inclined to say not. In an article in the Berliner Zeitung an expert says that the explosion was most likely a failed one of a large nuclear device. So, first of all, the test seems to have been unsuccessful. Secondly, as Stephen Colbert half-seriously pointed out on the Colbert Report, Kim Jong-Il has only so much plutonium at his disposal. The more he gets rid of through testing, the less likelihood there is that South Korea and Japan need fear a nuclear attack. Thirdly, North Korea has no effective means of delivering a nuclear bomb. North Korean scientists do not have the technology to make a nuclear warhead. A conventional bomber plane, the mode of delivery for the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, is easy to detect by radar and to shoot down.
The other threat people mention is that radioactive material and weaponry will end up being sold to and used by terrorists. I don't know if this is really possible or not. But it seems very far-fetched.
I'd say that the biggest concrete (not theoretical) problem is still the poverty in North Korea. It is on solving this problem that the energy of foreign governments should be concentrated. At the same time, I believe it is best for the six-party diplomatic negotiations to continue, because communication is better than nothing.
Finally, the governments of the United States and of the European Union should not see or treat Kim Jong-Il as an inferior, morally depraved being. Whatever may be his faults, statesmen who start or are complicit in devastating wars out of greed have neither the right nor the credibility to pretend to be superior to anyone. It is deeds, not words, that matter; the deeds of the Bush administration and others prove that theirs is a false morality, and false morality is as deadly as no morality at all.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Making the Best of Things
I tend to have a revelation once per month; its effects tend to last two or three days, and after that their influence may continue, but only on some deep subconscious level. And, if modern psychology (as I understand it) is correct, thought and feeling are merely the interaction of hormones and nerves, and objective reason is impossible, so these revelations probably have no lasting significance anyway. At any rate, I had a revelation yesterday. It was the afternoon; I was sitting at my laptop in my pyjamas, with a white and dark green blanket over my shoulders, hair dishevelled, reading Mrs. Radcliffe's Sicilian Romance (which bears a funny resemblance to the sort of stories T. and I came up with when we were little), and listening to Telemann's Violin Concerto in D major. This violin concerto is one that I've heard ever since I can remember. When I was very little (three or four) and I listened to it, I was generally in a dark room and therefore could more easily picture in my mind Enlightenment-era paintings of airy trees and elaborately dressed people and stately grey buildings that I'd seen on record covers, and photos of cembali. I didn't know that all of these things come from the eighteenth century as a historical fact, but I associated them nonetheless. So while I was listening to this music I thought about being in Berlin as a baby, and other things.
Altogether I'm beginning to connect the Berlin of 2006 to my home in Berlin when I was a baby, and to feel that I was always meant to live here. Of course I was more or less happy in Canada, but I think that I do have a slightly different way of looking at things from the people in my school (for instance), and that I would never be able to develop as much as a person there as I can here, though I would probably be a lot less complex and mature if I'd always stayed in Berlin.
Anyway, the revelation was that I have basically everything that I need and want here, and that I should take advantage of it. I can easily meet interesting people, travel anywhere I like, take music lessons, learn languages, see old buildings, and read books on every subject. The problem in the past has been that, though these possibilities (if more limited) have always been there, I've always felt that I had other things to do (e.g. homework), and in the end did next to nothing. Of course this doesn't mean that I want to spend the next years having fun with someone else's money while others have to work; it means instead that I want to do the things that will make my life a happy and productive one, without feeling that they're disagreeable duties or that I don't have time for them.
Another part of the revelation was that I've been rather overambitious. I want to be knowledgeable about everything right away, and have not been making sufficient allowance for the fact that some things I will only understand and appreciate when I'm older -- some literature, for instance. This ambition has made me more snobby than I would otherwise be, too. While I'm glad that I have set my standards high for manner, morals, and knowledge, I see now that it would be more comfortable for everyone if they were slightly lower.
So, I'm not sure if this all makes sense, but the essence of it is that I think I am finally in the right surroundings to become the cheerful and reasonably well-informed individual that I was meant to be, and that I should start to work now in good earnest -- whether it's at writing, or going to university, or something else.
Altogether I'm beginning to connect the Berlin of 2006 to my home in Berlin when I was a baby, and to feel that I was always meant to live here. Of course I was more or less happy in Canada, but I think that I do have a slightly different way of looking at things from the people in my school (for instance), and that I would never be able to develop as much as a person there as I can here, though I would probably be a lot less complex and mature if I'd always stayed in Berlin.
Anyway, the revelation was that I have basically everything that I need and want here, and that I should take advantage of it. I can easily meet interesting people, travel anywhere I like, take music lessons, learn languages, see old buildings, and read books on every subject. The problem in the past has been that, though these possibilities (if more limited) have always been there, I've always felt that I had other things to do (e.g. homework), and in the end did next to nothing. Of course this doesn't mean that I want to spend the next years having fun with someone else's money while others have to work; it means instead that I want to do the things that will make my life a happy and productive one, without feeling that they're disagreeable duties or that I don't have time for them.
Another part of the revelation was that I've been rather overambitious. I want to be knowledgeable about everything right away, and have not been making sufficient allowance for the fact that some things I will only understand and appreciate when I'm older -- some literature, for instance. This ambition has made me more snobby than I would otherwise be, too. While I'm glad that I have set my standards high for manner, morals, and knowledge, I see now that it would be more comfortable for everyone if they were slightly lower.
So, I'm not sure if this all makes sense, but the essence of it is that I think I am finally in the right surroundings to become the cheerful and reasonably well-informed individual that I was meant to be, and that I should start to work now in good earnest -- whether it's at writing, or going to university, or something else.
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