Wit & Whim

I am not too shy to claim wisdom, at least of a kind. The passing of the last few years has lead through a thorough reading of some of the foundational texts for western political and religious thought. In the course of these readings, I have taken the beliefs and givens which I held as a child and I have filled in beneath them a concrete ground. I can now draw my arguments from church fathers, the ancients, and the great thinkers across history. I am also able to draw from history examples of the consequences of ideas, and also a clearer picture of human nature and interaction. I am wise, like Socrates is wise, but with a separate final conclusion. I know myself. I know that I am not an individual, untouched and sacrosanct in my inviolate sovereignty. I know myself as I fit into the place of human history; where the society I see around me has come from. I know myself in who I am to my family and friends. And, most importantly, I also have theological perspective, which informs my pol...

Between last night and this morning I had a minor panic thing. In German, we were assigned to find a German job application, and write a cover letter to hand in with our CV. I had a minor issue. In the course of several hours of hard search, I was not able to find a single job in Germany for which I was remotely qualified. Even German internships require that you have had prior internship or work inexperience in the chosen field. Later, still panicking, I met up with Dr. Roberts, who laughed, grinned, and said that she should have stressed that our ads could just be made up. It is, apparently, the case in Germany right now, that many young Germans are going through four or five Internships before ever getting a serious job. So someone like me, from the American way of doing things, would be competing for low level internships with 25 year old Germans with B.A.s and two or three internships under their belts. No wonder it is so extraordinarily hard to change career in Germany. :-/ That...

Tests can be a lot of fun; the equivalent of a high octane Sporcle quiz, dealing only in interesting information. Some tests, however, are more akin to seventy-five minute torture sessions. I had one of these last week, and it was not a matter of the subject matter being beyond me, but more a function of needing to write out 3 major essays and one minor essay--after the 30 multi choice-- in the time allotted. I felt like my hand was going to fall off at the end, and I had just barely managed to scribble out the last essay in outline form. After this debacle, I was on my way to German in the language lab, and feeling slightly crumby. There must have been some kind of magic in the upholstery of the chair I chose, because I had just lowered myself into it when I was galvanized into decisive action. I went to my professor, told said professor that I had not finished in a satisfactory manner, and requested permission to type my essays next time. So far was my professor from objecting to my ...

We are rapidly becoming a more democratic nation, and this is a most calamitous trend. The chief desire of the democratic citizen is freedom, or license. The best democracy is where men are most free and equal. Democracy, however, is but a third part of what our republic should be. Ancient philosophers understood that democracy, just like kingship and aristocracy, would destroy itself and evolve into something else. In all three, the principle is the rule of men, the will of men, is supreme. When these rulers follow the law and make themselves subservient to it, then is greater stability achieved in the regime, for a time. But men, it is rightly said, have endless desires and where men are greater than the law the law must eventually fall victim to our desires. In democracy people want to enjoy freedoms, and this comes to mean the freedom to do what they want and enjoy themselves. Nothing is so useful for procuring luxuries and a good time as money. So the democratic man will come to p...

I really need lessons on taking a compliment. It is a rough business, and I am yet to figure out how to do it gracefully. Earlier, while getting coffee, someone commented on my looks. I--naturally--felt the compliment to be just, but I am still uncomfortable receiving praise, and received it as I receive all such comments: a trifle awkwardly. Naturally, I thanked the person, but I feel as if that is only a partial completion of the social ritual, the latter half of which is nothing short of arcane mystery. And when I receive a compliment is the one time that, for reasons unknown, I find it damn near impossible to look someone in the eye. I think part of the discomfort, especially when it comes to remarks about looks, is that it is has nothing to do with any virtue of mine, other than basic care of my person. Clothing is even harder, but for a very different reason. When my dress is complimented as being tasteful, or looking particularly neat, the first thing that goes through my head i...

This morning it felt and smelt of fall. It was one of my beloved rainy mornings, and world seemed just a little sleepy; the streets were blessedly empty. A good way for any morning to begin. Consternation was soon to follow. My roman history class shows every sign of being fascinating, but it has a problem which is rather difficult to escape on a college campus. my fellow classmates are all cynics, and they are searching hard for a theme they have been taught to seek in all history--a theme which has been given to them as the motive power of all historical events. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I mean class struggle. None of them there seem to want to understand what made Rome great; they are there to figure out why it was not as great as purported, and why we are so much better. Nevermind that Rome boasted an average standard of living that was not to be matched again for 1400 years, or that they valued and perpetuated a form of government that has proved to be the only form whic...

Today I went for a long walk. I walked in the pleasant afternoon rain. I walked in the excellent, if bizarre, company of Dogmeat. Walking is not a new thing to me; I'm rather a practiced hand--foot?--at it, and I fancy myself to be quite the fine walker. More than a walker, I style myself a flaneur, one who walks about for the pleasure of observing his surroundings. As I made my way through the twisting neighborhoods south of Rudisill--Dogmeat padding alongside--I could not help but notice a vast difference in this jaunt from my previous nine years meanderings. The difference I found was further underscored by my earlier return to the old house on the other side of town. In our adventures in Harrison Hill, Old Mill, and Beyond, Dogmeat and I witnessed a constant and varied stream of humanity; people walking, People sitting outside and talking, a massive block party, joggers (cute joggers!), etc. This right on the heels of being in the other neighborhood for more than an hour...