Currently contemplating: Portfolios of Ansel Adams by Ansel Adams, John Szarkowski. I bought this book in 1982, but this is the first time I’m going through it systematically and very slowly. 📚
Ansel Adams, Moon and Half Dome (1960). Larger version here, and you have to see the larger version. It’s worth remembering that, as Louise Story wrote some years ago, “Yosemite does not often appear as it did at the moments Adams tripped his shutter. Nor is it easy to stand where he stood and capture the same images.”
When I finish reading James on Spencer, as when I finish reading Robinson or David Bentley Hart on Dawkins or Tallis on Dennett or Midgley on everybody, I appreciate again the infinite variety of consciousness, the plurality of its ends. Its excessiveness.
And James's last point reminds me why people like Hart and Robinson and Tallis and Midgley keep having to do this over and over again: it's about desire. Some people want the mind to be a machine, and they will jerry-rig the worst arguments together in order to have it so, and they will patch those arguments as many times as they need to. It's a longing to be unburdened from consciousness, to just be chemicals again. Some people desire this, as some people think Maria the robot from Lang's Metropolis is hot. I don't get it, but it's clearly a real thing that people feel. The facts, however, do not care about their feelings, any more than Maria the robot does.
Walking Angus this morning we passed a house with an enormous murder of crows on it, maybe thirty or forty of them, all cawing as loudly as possible. I remembered E. B. White’s poem:
In their assemblies at the edge of town,
Crows introduce resolutions, then vote them down.
How many times in summer, waked early by the mosquito,
Have I lain listening to the crow’s loud veto!
The Separation of the Learned from the conversible World seems to have been the great Defect of the last Age, and must have had a very bad Influence both on Books and Company: For what Possibility is there of finding Topics of Conversation fit for the Entertainment of rational Creatures, without having Recourse sometimes to History, Poetry, Politics, and the more obvious Principles, at least, of Philosophy? Must our whole Discourse be a continued Series of gossipping Stories and idle Remarks? Must the Mind never rise higher, but be perpetually “Stun'd and worn out with endless Chat / Of WILL did this, and NAN said that.” This would be to render the Time spent in Company the most unentertaining, as well as the most unprofitable Part of our Lives. […]
In this View, I cannot but consider myself as a Kind of Resident or Ambassador from the Dominions of Learning to those of Conversation; and shall think it my constant Duty to promote a good Correspondence betwixt these two States, which have so great a Dependence on each other. I shall give Intelligence to the Learned of whatever passes in Company, and shall endeavour to import into Company whatever Commodities I find in my native Country proper for their Use and Entertainment.
Currently reading: Rightful Heritage: Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Land of America by Douglas Brinkley. 📚 Brinkley reports that one Civilian Conservation Corps company in New Mexico had a newsletter called The Woodpecker in which this psalm was featured:
Roosevelt is my shepherd, I shall not want;
He maketh me lie down on straw mattresses,
he leadeth me inside a mess hall,
he restoreth to me a job.
He leadeth me in the paths of reforestation for his country’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of poison oak and ivy,
I will fear no evil, for he is for me.
His blankets and uniforms, they comfort me.
He prepareth a saw and ax before me in the presence of my commanding officer,
my shoes runneth over.
Surely beans and employment will follow me all the days of Roosevelt’s administration
and I shall dwell in a tent forever.
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Currently reading: Anna Karenina, for the first time in some years. Endless joys here, and I’m reminded that there’s a certain kind of scene that Tolstoy does uniquely, and wonderfully. Here, for instance, a dinner party at which Levin finds himself encountering Kitty, who some months earlier had rejected his proposal of marriage. Several of the others are discussing Issues of the Day, especially the education of women, but Levin and Kitty are absorbed in a tête-à-tête, and Levin’s heart is not-so-strangely warmed. He tells Kitty about having seen her in a coach.
‘Wasn’t I all dishevelled?’ she thought; but seeing the rapturous smile these details evoked in his memory, she felt that the impression she had made must on the contrary have been a very good one. She blushed and laughed with happiness.
‘I honestly don’t remember.’
‘What a good laugh Turovtsyn has!’ said Levin, admiring his moist eyes and shaking body.
‘Have you known him long?’ asked Kitty.
‘Who doesn’t know him!’
‘And I see that you think he’s a bad person?’
‘Not bad, but worthless.’
‘That’s not true! And you must stop thinking that straight away!” said Kitty. ‘I used to have a low opinion of him too, but he — he is an exceedingly nice and remarkably kind man. He has a heart of gold.’
‘How did you manage to find out about his heart?’
‘We are great friends. I know him very well. Last winter, soon after … you came to see us,’ she said, with a guilty but at the same time trusting smile, ‘all Dolly’s children had scarlet fever, and he came to see her one day. And can you imagine,’ she said in a whisper, ‘he fel so sorry for her that he stayed on, and began helping her look after the children. Yes, and he went on living with them for three weeks, and looked after the children like a nanny.’
‘I am telling Konstantin Dmitrich about Turovtsyn during the scarlet fever,’ she said, leaning over to her sister.
‘Yes, it was remarkable, he was wonderful!’ said Dolly, glancing at Turovtsyn, who sensed he was being talked about, and smiling at him gently.
Levin cast Turovtsyn another glance, and was amazed he had not realized the extent of this man’s charm before.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never think ill of people again!’ he said merrily, expressing what he genuinely now felt.
📚
Lionel Trilling (1963):
How far from our imagination is the idea of “peace” as the crown of spiritual struggle! The idea of bliss is even further removed. The two words propose to us a state of virtually infantile passivity which is the negation of the "more life" that we crave, the "more life" of spiritual militancy. We dread Eden, and of all the Christian concepts there is none which we understand so well as the felix culpa and the "fortunate fall"; not, of course, for the reason on which these Christian paradoxes were based, but because by means of sin and the fall we managed to get ourselves expelled from that place.