Just Because You Can't See Les Miz Too Many Times

This was our cast:

Some Philosophy Podcasts

Jim was a gracious host during my few days in Mt. Lebo last month, and between grocery shopping and travels around Pittsburgh we got to talking a bit about philosophy and online resources for its study. I'd promised to share some podcasts that I've found interesting, so I thought I'd post them here for those who might also be interested.

The first is the Partially Examined Life, which just posted an interview with Michael Sandel, the professor behind Harvard's popular "Justice" class, one that has been featured on this blog (I believe).

http://www.partiallyexaminedlife.com/

And the second is called Entitled Opinions with Robert Harrison, of the Italian Department at Stanford. He's a Dante scholar and, as best as I can tell, a kind of Catholic Heideggerian. I've especially enjoyed his interviews with Thomas Sheehan on the historical Jesus and on various continental philosophers. His favorite philosopher of the 20th Century: Hannah Arendt.

http://web.stanford.edu/dept/fren-ital/opinions/

He also recently published a criticism of the culture of Silicon Valley in the New York Review of Books (low hanging fruit, but still a good read):

http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2014/jul/17/children-silicon-valley/

I'd be interested to hear of other resources visitors here have found interesting.

Cheers.

Mike (the younger)

Mental Health Break -- Louis Prima

We celebrated the Fourth of July this year by attending an outdoor concert given by the Harrisburg symphony orchestra. As we approached the end of the concert, the conductor -- who had commented on his musical selections thoughout the evening -- declared that he has gotten sick and tired of July 4th concerts always concluding with the 1812 Overture.   He said that he never understood what a musical piece about a victory of the Russian Imperial Army over the French was doing in a celebration about American independence. So, this time, he replaced the 1812 Overture with this American classic, written by Louis Prima and made famous by Benny Goodman.   What music better captures the urgency and pandemonium of American life?

Note: the video is from the 1993 movie Swing Kids.  Despite the presence of Robert Sean Leonard, the movie got mixed reviews at best.  But it's a good enough backdrop for one tremendous song. By the way, this was released in 1936.  Mom would have been 17.

The Most Admired People in the World 2014

Out of the Mouths of Our Children...

Ellen tells this story about when she was in Prague studying. While there, she was lucky enough to be able to see a qualifying match for the 2012 European Championship between Scotland and the Czech Republic. Days before the game, Prague was invaded by what appeared to be thousands of Scottish soccer fans who more or less took over the city. Ellen learned that these folk called themselves the Tartan Army and followed the team around the world attending matches.  They were a good-natured and amazingly exuberant lot, and inhibited is not a word that would naturally spring to mind to describe them.  While the Scots were in Prague, they generally hung out, held parades in full Scottish regalia and partied a lot.  She ended up falling in with one group and had a pretty boisterous night in one of the local pubs (even though she had supported the hometown team).

Anyway, perhaps you have seen Ann Coulter's recent piece that decries the current American passion for soccer sparked by our team's modest success in Brazil.  AMERICA'S FAVORITE NATIONAL PASTIME: HATING SOCCER.  So, knowing Ellen's past association with soccer, I shared with her a little of Coulter's column today by email. Here’s the discussion:

Me:

Finally, I've got the latest from Ann Coulter on the recent American enthusiasm for soccer.  Coulter writes:  "I've held off on writing about soccer for a decade — or about the length of the average soccer game — so as not to offend anyone. But enough is enough.  Any growing interest in soccer can only be a sign of the nation's moral decay.”  How do you think your Tartan Army would respond to this?

Ellen:

Haha, the Tartan army wouldn't pay her any mind. They're too busy getting drunk in public and dancing on tables. We should all probably follow their lead.

Out of the mouths of our children comes truth and wisdom.

Ellen and HWS friend with two footsoldiers in the Tartan Army

We are all concerned about reality, right?

The author's science is undoubtably stronger than his philosophy, but this article is an interesting, if incremental, read.

Observation from Middle Earth

What does Treebeard have to say about the Hachette-Amazon

squabble?  As it turns out, plenty:  Hachette vs. Amazon Dispute is a Lose-Lose for Authors.

Trinity Sunday

This past Sunday was Trinity Sunday.  There was a time when it seemed that every Trinity Sunday sermon began with some form of the story originally told by Jacobus de Varagine in his book on the lives of saints, the Golden Legend.  The book was written around 1260, and was immensely popular in the late Middle Ages.  From 1470 to 1530 it was the most frequently printed book in Europe.The Trinity Sunday story is about St Augustine of Hippo, who apparently spent much time pondering the Trinity.  I let Jacobus take up the tale:

As Augustine went by the sea-side in Africa, studying on the Trinity, he found by the sea-side a little child which had made a little pit in the sand, and in his hand a little spoon. And with the spoon he took out water of the large sea and poured it into the pit.

And when St. Augustine beheld him he marveled, and demanded him what he did. And he answered and said, ‘I will lade out and bring all this water of the sea into this pit.’

‘What?’ said he, “‘it is impossible, how may it be done, sith the sea is so great and large, and thy pit and spoon so little?’

‘Yes, forsooth,’ said he, ‘I shall lightlier and sooner draw all the water of the sea and bring it into this pit than thou shalt bring the mystery of the Trinity and His Divinity into thy little understanding as to the regard thereof; for the Mystery of the Trinity is greater and larger to the comparison of thy wit and brain than is this great sea unto this little pit.’

And therewith the child vanished away.

My reaction to this story these days is that, well, apparently the Trinity is like just about everything else in the universe. It seems that almost any aspect of reality may be greater and larger than our wit and brain.

We’re seeing more clearly that we do not “know” anything as it is.  Instead, we see reality as our brains permit.  Neuroscientist David Eagleman goes so far as to say:  “You're not perceiving what's out there. You're perceiving whatever your brain tells you.”  For example, our eyes are sensitive to a very narrow band of frequencies within an enormous range of the total frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum. Visible light that registers on our retina is but one millionth of one percent of the entire spectrum.  Who’s to say what other aspects of reality our mind and senses filter out?  “Now my own suspicion,” says geneticist J.B.S. Haldane, “is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.”

The physicists see this most acutely.  According to Richard Feynman, “In physics the truth is rarely perfectly clear, and that is certainly universally the case in human affairs. Hence, what is not surrounded by uncertainty cannot be the truth.” 

Niels Bohr questions whether the “truth” should even be the goal:  “There is no quantum world. There is only an abstract quantum physical description. It is wrong to think that the task of physics is to find out how nature is. Physics concerns what we can say about Nature.”   Thus, “Physics is to be regarded not so much as the study of something a priori given, but rather as the development of methods of ordering and surveying human experience.”  Indeed, the physicist is more of a poet than anything.   “We must be clear that when it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry. The poet, too, is not nearly so concerned with describing facts as with creating images and establishing mental connections.”

As St. Paul says, “we see through a glass, darkly.”  The best that scientists can do is to find language that illuminates the hints they gather from the universe and creates a cohesive picture.   As Bohr says, “Our task is not to penetrate into the essence of things, the meaning of which we don't know anyway, but rather to develop concepts which allow us to talk in a productive way about phenomena in nature."

Of course, my man, Nicholas of Cusa, saw all this back in 1440, long before anyone had encountered the anomalies of the atom.

Hence, regarding truth, it is evident that we do not know anything other than the following: viz., that we know truth not to be precisely comprehensible as it is. For truth may be likened unto the most absolute necessity (which cannot be either something more or something less than it is), and our intellect may be likened unto possibility. Therefore, the quiddity of things, which is the truth of beings, is unattainable in its purity; though it is sought by all philosophers, it is found by no one as it is. And the more deeply we are instructed in this ignorance, the closer we approach to truth.

Happy Trinity Sunday!

World Cup Guide for Newbies

Here is a guide for all you World Cup amateurs out there!

Compare your cognitive ability with a chimp

Here's a simple memorization game. Courtesy of Alex Tabarrok of Marginal Revolution.

A tree in the woods

There is a tree growing in the woods somewhere so "off the beaten path" that no one has ever seen or experienced it. Does that tree exist? Similar to the old "tree falls in the woods" query, most everyone would confidently say that of course it exists. Now let me add this: Not only is the tree itself not perceived but in any ecological study or data collection, the tree exerts no perceived influence. In other words our whole world and universe functions as if the tree does not exist. The tree has no perceived influence. Now you say, "Well, if it tastes like nothing, smells like nothing, it is nothing. What you just described is not a tree at all but nothing." And I say, "Just so." However, did we not now just describe a tree as something that needs to be perceived for it to exist?

(I was researching something else and this popped into my head, and I thought it might make a nice discussion. On this blog we have mentioned George Berkeley's philosophy and Ronald Knox's limericks, but we haven't much discussed different types of existence (re: a unicorn exists in some manner or we wouldn't use the word). Also, perhaps one area to explore is that the house of being (language) is not so well constructed—more like the "shack of being." Anyway, I really have no other thoughts, but would like to learn what others think. Perhaps it is just a nonsense question, …or perceived as such.)

It's been awhile.

Hey all.

Now I know you are probably wondering about what I am up to now, where I've been, what I've been doing, and if not and of those questions then who am I and why do I share your last name.

I know, it's been awhile.

But I am not here to talk about me, there will come a time and a place and frankly here, now, is neither. I am here to talk about a person near and dear to all our lives. The person who has pushed us to be better in every aspect of ourselves. I think this person needs to be especially recognized since mother's day just passed and they have been a mother to us all.

Of course, I am talking about Bill Murray.

The iconic, quirky, funny-man that is Bill Murray. Obviously, we all love his movies. That's a given. But I also love him for his mythos. Bill Murray has become a spook story told throughout the country. Tales of him showing up in expected places, say for example underneath your chair at the movie theatre, doing some ridiculous stunt and then muttering the ever taunting phrase "No one will ever believe you." has become a never ending internet meme. I remember just a few years ago Bill Murray was supposedly going through Philadelphia and he promised he would stop at anyones house if they had karaoke going and had his name on a sign outside. I remember every house, every bar, every cardboard box was emblazoned with Bill Murray. His mythos is mysterious and ever sage-like, with him showing up and taking a lucky man or woman on crazy adventures through out the city with the night only ending with life advice from the one and only.

So here's the thing. I love Bill Murray, and while I wanted to believe all these things I just believed they were over zealous fans spreading the idea of Bill. Until today. Today my facebook newsfeed trended with Bill Murray, crashing a bachelor party and giving life advice to the groom and to all those in attendance. Maybe this doesn't match up to the stories I've been told. The stories told only in hushed voices in the back of dark bars by strangers with hidden faces. But, to me, this gives me hope that it is all true.

If you have never heard Bill Murray story here are a few:

Years ago, I left my laptop open at a Starbucks while I left to get my drink. When I returned, Bill Murray was sitting in front of my screen tapping away on the keyboard. I looked over his shoulder as he anonymously posted a number of stories regarding encounters with himself. They ranged from tackling others, stealing food and other fun oddities. When he finished, he closed my laptop, stood up, and looked me in the eye. Then he said, “No one will ever believe you” and walked away.

----

Bill Murray came in and ordered a basket of Suicidal wings and a scotch, neat. He was carrying a manuscript under his arm, which he laid on the seat next to him. I wanted to say hello but I didn’t want to seem starstruck so I just smiled and waved my drink at him.

As the night progressed, he ordered more drinks and more wings. At some point, as is usually the case at DTH, with his hands covered in wing sauce, Bill Murray ran out of napkins. After a couple of halfhearted attempts at getting the bartender’s attention, Mr. Murray began tearing pages off the top of the manuscript next to him and using them to wipe his hands. Odd, but not altogether crazy.

After a few drinks of my own, I finally mustered the courage to approach him and offer to buy him a round. Before I could get the words out of my mouth, however, Mr. Murray grabbed me by my wrist, pulled me towards him and said “You’ve got something…a bit of schmutz right…there.” He then tore a page off the top of that manuscript and wiped something off the corner of my mouth.

I thanked him and unsure of what to say after that, I cast my eyes towards the pile of crumpled-up pages and napkins on the bar beside us. It was then that a watermark on each page caught my eye: “Ghostbusters 3: Back In Business.”

Bill must’ve seen a change of expression on my face because at this point, he pulled me closer, leaned over and whispered in my ear “No one will ever believe you.“

----
Some can be more ridiculous than others.

And Finally

Bill Murray's Response from GQ magazine when asked about this phenomenon:

[long pause] I know. I know, I know, I know. I've heard about that from a lot of people. A lot of people. I don't know what to say. There's probably a really appropriate thing to say. Something exactly and just perfectly right. [long beat, and then he breaks into a huge grin] But by God, it sounds crazy, doesn't it? Just so crazy and unlikely and unusual?

So to finish Bill Murray is great with his fans and creating this mythos. If I could choose one person to live forever with no adverse affects it would be Bill Murray. Stories are a bound, pictures are few and movies... well I've only ever found one.... or two.

Below is the movie of the bachelor party in question:

We're Number 19

Corbett will not appeal.  "Pennsylvania governor: I won't appeal court's gay marriage ruling".  That makes Pennsylvania the 19th state to legalize same-sex marriage.

Even our Best Friends Can Let Us Down

The linked article recently published in the New Yorker, Is Heidegger Contaminated by Nazism?, really needs no comment, except a personal one.   It captures for me a lot about why I loved studying Heidegger so much in my undergraduate days, along with my profound disappointment at his anti-semitism.  And, perhaps, there is also an object lesson here.    As the article notes, philosophy professor Peter Trawny said this about Heidegger's anti-semitism: “The problem is not just that I’m morally shocked—it’s also a problem that he is so dumb.”  It seems that no amount of brilliance in one area can innoculate us against stupity in another.

As many a curbstone philosopher has observed....

"[A]s many a curbstone philosopher has observed, everything is related to everything else.”

          -- Antonin Scalia

All these and more correlations can be found at Spurious Correlations, a blog by Tyler Vigen.  Here Vigen explains his project:

The Easter Octave

At some point over the years, the Church recognized that some celebrations require more than just one day to do them justice. And the octave, an eight day period of celebration, was born.  

I'd like to think that the idea of the liturgical octave came from the musical octave -- the interval between one musical pitch and another with half or double its frequency -- called the "basic miracle of music."  After all, few real celebrations happen without music.

In any event, in the fourth century, annual liturgical feasts began to be honored with an octave. The first such feasts were Easter, Pentecost and, in the East, Epiphany. Later, Christmas was given an octave.  During the Middle Ages the number of octaves expanded to include almost every imaginable feast day, including saints days.  This included days like the feasts of Corpus Christi or the Holy Innocents.  In addition to these, the patron saint of a particular nation, diocese, or church was often celebrated locally with an octave. 

It sorta got out of hand and, just when it looked like the feasting days might outnumber the actual working days, the church started cutting back.  By 1955, only the octaves of Christmas, Easter and Pentecost remained.  And then, in 1969, Pentecost was jettisoned from the elite eight-day holidays.

And so, we just completed the celebration of the octave of Easter.  The day that completes the octave is called simply the Second Sunday of Easter, or sometimes Low Sunday.  It has also been called St. Thomas Sunday, after doubting Thomas, the central character of the Gospel of the day.   (In the Gospel, when the disciples tell Thomas that "we have seen the Lord," he replies, "Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe."  Thomas seems to have anticipated Carl Sagan's aphorism -- endorsed by Christopher Hitchens -- that "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.")

This Sunday has one other quite distinctive name:  Quasimodo Sunday.  Lest you think that the day is intended as some kind of tribute to the unlikely protagonist of a Victor Hugo novel, be advised that the name of the Sunday pre-dates Notre-Dame de Paris by many years.  In fact, the character Quasimodo is so named in part because Frollo, the Archdeacon of Notre Dame, discovers him on Quasimodo Sunday.  

Instead, the last day of the Easter octave derives its name from first words of the Introit -- the entrance chant -- of the Mass for the day: "Quasi modo geniti infantes" ("As newborn babes"). "Quasi" in Latin means "almost" and "modo" means "the standard measure."  In the Introit, the words are simply translated as "like" or "as."   The character Quasimodo is "almost the standard measure" of a human being.  Here's what Hugo says:  

He baptized his adopted child, and named him Quasimodo, either because he wished to mark in this way the day upon which the child was found, or because he wished to show by this name how imperfect and incomplete the poor little creature was. Indeed, Quasimodo, one eyed, hunchbacked, and knock kneed, was hardly more than half made.

Anyway,the great octave of Easter is over and we have to wait until Christmas for another 8-day celebration.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas-Caravaggio 

Adventures with Mary Worth

I recently found out from Renée that her brother, Michael, shared my passion for the Mary Worth comic strip.  So, when he came for an overnight visit on Friday, I took great pleasure  in introducing him to the Mary Worth blog, Mary Worth and Me.   It was difficult for him to contain his excitement.

Just to catch everyone up:  Charterstone resident Iris Beedle's nogoodnik son, Tommy, was recently released from prison where he was serving time for almost killing some college kid with bad meth.  Even though he claims that he found Jesus while in prison, he still refuses to get off the couch and find a job.  Another Charterstone resident, Wilbur Weston, who loves a good sandwich as much as anyone, has his eye on Iris, but hasn't made much headway.  He feels that, if he can help Iris get Tommy back on track, this might lead to romance.

And for the complete backstory, check out the Comics Cumudgeon here and be sure to check out all the links.   (you'll notice that the comic featured in the post is dated 9/29/13.  Glacial does not begin to describe the pace of this comic. Although the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette approves:  The Next Page: Every little thing she does).

Tommy before he went to prison.

Today's Installment

The Ancient Art of Easter Egg Judging

Lenten Reminder

“Some men give up their designs when they have almost reached the goal, while others, on the contrary, obtain a victory by exerting, at the last moment, more vigorous efforts than ever before.”


― Herodotus, The Histories

IT'S HERE!!!

YES! It's here! I just got back from mother's place where I was shocked to find she had a copy of Namibian Collection by Steve Harvey. I didn't expect it until the summer, but there it was as rich and present as could be. Mother kept saying she didn't know her sons were so talented. My responses were "Yes, you did!" or, alternately, "Just Steve!"

I've already ordered my copy. I got it from Amazon. I can't wait for my vicarious trip to Namibia.