Showing posts with label Flaubert. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flaubert. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Glossaire

- being a short compendium of the inanities known to emanate from the famous aesethician, JA


Affectation – the science of the affects.

Animal – charming, often affecting creatures that don’t have proper souls. See also: vegetable, mineral.

America – we wouldn’t be where we are today if the Spanish had settled it instead of the British, now would we?

Anagnorisis – heart-quickening moment in a play. “Do you recognise me?” “How could I fail to?”

Angel – almost invariably female. Adorable.

Anglicanism – bastion of taste and learning.

Arabesque – what the terrorists need to go back to being.

Architecture – its three finest achievements are churches, homes and ruins.

Argument – screw up your face, over-pronounce your words. Even if you don’t know why you think it, they’ll think you mean it.

Armpit hair, women’s – formerly one of the delights of the south of Italy.

Arrogant – scholars, critics and the like are often "blisteringly" so.

Art – an enchanted world, has a soaring aspect, etc.

“as it were” – a sturdy phrase for an occasion when one’s bladder is full. (See also: Lecture). Pronounced “as’t’were”, the initial consonant of “were”, clearly, aspirant.

Australian – blasé when sober, aggressive when drunk.

Authority – try to hold it over others by being loveable, not terrifying.

Authority, appeal to – what’s so wrong about it? Can’t one see the important thing is to appeal to it sensibly?

Bed – “creaks sweetly under the weight of a man and a woman mutually delighting in intimate sensitivity.”

Bible - full of sinning and smiting, though terrifyingly humane as well.

Body – how on earth does it work? If your heart beats a little faster when you contemplate this, you know yours is in good working order.

Bovary, Madame! – a charming way to greet a married woman in parts of provincial France.

Bluff – an adjective meaning good-naturedly frank and hearty. (“Goethe’s manner with the young prince could be bluff if the occasion required.”) As a noun it means a steep promontory. (“In his early views of the Cornish coast Turner is merely bluffing.”)

Buddhism – made up of a big wheel and a little wheel, the latter of which obviously fits inside the former.

Calisthenics – children of the lower orders do it instead of ballet.

Carafe – rhymes with “giraffe”. For holding wine, unless you’re a genius, in which case you can leave one half full of your own urine lying round to catch the sunlight at an interesting angle . . .

Catholic, Catholicism – being a reluctant one gives it a lovely twist.

Cellos – sonorous, woody. What are those little tattoos they have on their pelvises?

Chance – or hazard. The unknown element in affairs both great and small. E,g. appalling weather.

Chinese – skin of the young ladies as delicate as porcelain. Great number of them at university. Vast majority seem pleasant, unexceptionable.

Christian – one isn’t necessarily a Christian, though one aspires in every respect to be a gentleman.

Common herd – (Lat. mobile vulgus) – the trouble with them is that they applaud the crudest arguments in favour of whatever they already believe.

Concern – two types, commercial (“His father owns a shipping concern”) and philosophic (“Being good for Plato is always a going concern”).

Courtliness – the art of being and not merely seeming indispensable.

Criticism – all the more dangerous in that it is often latent.

Dante – Italian. Belongs to a triumvir of genius that also includes Shakespeare and Goethe. Also: an inferior brand of olive oil. (Note to oneself: make a more concerted effort to learn the language once the children are grown.)

Dawn – a woman with this name generally looks well in a russet mantle.

de Botton, Alain – “swan of Zurich”. Titanic man of measure. Empyrean worker within his own limitations. One feels his candour and grace have revealed something wonderful in oneself, etc.

De gustibus non disputandum – Latin adage relating to taste meaning that one can’t dispute about it. Being practical fellows, the Romans would surely have been the first to admit that its indisputability should never stop one earning a living by it.

Desires – we have so many of them. One of the jobs of the aesthetician is to help people untangle the difficulties here.

Details – when seen in the right light they can be extraordinarily revealing.

Dictators – it’s an amazing thought, but perhaps they’re just trying to be happy too.

Distinction – always rhetorical. Throw together a pair of “virtues”, “capacities” or “qualities” and imply that there is a significant point of contrast to be observed. Employed skillfully a distinction creates a “concentrated point of grandeur.”

Dreams – everything in them appears laden with significance, yet we can’t quite grasp what the overall meaning is.

Dutch, the – have ski-jump noses. Rembrandt got on top of the situation by using lots of light and shade.

Elucidation – only illustrate, never elucidate – or else one’s material will seem plodding and coarse.

Elites – all elitist, though why that’s an objection requires a lot of careful discussion.

Exceptions – often prove the rule.

Existential – impossible to say what anything fitting this description actually is, though safe to assume one won’t be able to buy it at the shops.

Feminists – some of one’s most memorable ex-girlfriends are feminists.

Feudalism – see the good in it. Heavenly source of social cohesion.

Feuds – children’s entire sensibilities fall out their ears if parents have too many.

Foibles – are often just the language of the passions speaking in a dialect we are unaccustomed to.

Folly – or carelessness. Makes things worse than they need be.

Fortune – when told about someone with a large one, say “Large indeed, but does he have the qualities of heart to go with it?”

Friendship – “deep” and “enduring”, for preference. Sometimes our friends are, in spite of all, unable to grasp certain things that are deeply important to us: one of the crueler ironies of existence.

Geist – German word which denotes both what the sight of a woman and the thought of God inspires in a German person. (obsolete idea)

German – In German “to smoke” and “to rustle” are expressed by the same verb. Marvellous! (See also: Smoking)

Georgic – a mood that overtakes one at the sight of farming and farms.

Goethe – foremost German. A gentleman. A little like Christ and just a tiny little bit like – oneself, one hopes!

Good looks – no excuse for moral weakness, though they are the occasion of much aesthetic delight.

Government – its role is clearly not to interfere in the lives of the destitute if they are happy.

Gout – if you've got it, your great-grandfather clearly liked boozing and eating lamb’s hearts.

Gracious – use this word primarily of table-legs. "Gracious proportions." "Gracious vista." One of the more technical terms of the aesthetician’s trade.


Great man – is by turns rich, funny, handsome, generous, famous, passionate, keen on his food; quietly domestic and outrageously dirty.

HHK - happy healthy kitten – one’s wife Helen (Latin: Helena)

Heart – human beings don’t have hearts, they feel with them. This astonishing argument was thought up by a man named Wittgenstein. (See: body)

Hell – obviously just a metaphor for something else.

Hello – high-pitched bleating noise that serves tolerably well to indicate to the fellow whose path one crosses what one’s disposition towards him is.

History – basis of historical novels. Don’t worry about the details - who went to war with whom is obvious (painfully so!), who slept with whom usually comes out in the wash.

History, End of – rail against those who say we’ve reached this. Say we’re in a quiet patch. Which will help us take stock.

Hitler – must have been a little bit of good in him, perhaps, if he liked Beethoven and Wagner.

Home – it really is important to have a decent one. Our homes are situated amidst greenery, known technically as Nature.

Human condition – Referring to oneself and one’s readers as “we” will encourage one's readers to believe in it. Contains within it the seed of a sense of beauty.

Idea – only as good as the results it brings in.

Ideal (C.f. shrub) - something you can lop the extremities off and make all the sturdier and more shapely.

Idealism – longing for things to work out really well. In eternal conflict with realism. (See: realism)

Illustration – story based on fact about a fellow one shared a bottle of good wine with, a disarmingly naïve question asked one by a child, etc.

Inferno – toasty place where wicked people don’t get any better. (C.f. purgatory) Australia in summer.

Ingres – masterly romantic realist of the French Nineteenth Century whose frankly sensuous nudes adorn the covers of all my books, obviously. (See: dustjacket)

Justice – an interesting virtue. Reading Shakespeare while drinking red wine will fill you with something very like it.


Kierkegaard – odd gloomy Danish fellow. Got himself into a tangle getting married. Claimed that aesthetics and morality are mutually exclusive. Yet doesn’t good taste conduce to a healthy marriage and thus to a happy life?

Kind people – always recognisable by the fact that they are morally appealing.

Kunderian, Kunderaesque – mystical openness to life that expresses itself in serial adultery.

Laurels – one can’t rest on them if one doesn’t have any, can one?

Lecture – informal presentation. Muddle through. Sometimes accompanied by pictures projected onto a screen.

Leger – French for “light”. What one’s philosophy aspires to be, as well as agreeable and sensible.

Logic – quote Flaubert’s line about the artist needing to know that 2 + 2 = 4 if he is to show that 2 + 2 = 5.

Love – one of the great mysteries. We must complexly recognise its power to move us. (What economists refer to as “growth”.)

Mad – say it’s not so much people as their ideas that are mad, or “as mad as can be”.

Madonna, The – must have been a fine person to have given birth to such a loving son. Would’ve been nice to meet her.

Martini – shaken not stirred. (Unlike works of art – be sure one is stirred not shaken here!)

Meadow – Covered in flowers in spring. Like a carpet that waves to one. (Charming conceit of Willy, our eldest, pronounced on the eve of his 5th birthday.)

Melancholy – professional risk of being an artist, philosopher or religious believer.

Men of genius – often say things which make them sound like unhappy dunces trying to re-invent the wheel. The reality is usually more complicated.

Mind-bodice problem – The problem of what to do when images of women’s corsetry are constantly passing before one’s mind’s eye. Not to be confused with the mind-body problem, which is a more abstract difficulty.

Mistake – always admit one’s mistakes, it's a sign of character. If necessary admit them whilst at the lectern.

Mistress – “unquenchable friend” etc.

Modernity – pretext for using public spaces as latrines. All students who use the word “modernity” more than twice in an essay should be marked zero (0), F (fail).

Monks – defrocked paedophiles condemned to brew delicious alcoholic beverages.

Moustache – before 1900 a man could have more than one – enchanting!

Nightmare – horrifying series of imaginary events in which someone familiar approaches one and says “You smell of earth”.

Odalisque – the best of them gaze at one passively, yet challengingly. Sends shivers down one’s spine. See also: recumbent.

Paradoxes – can function as intellectual laxatives and should never be too paradoxical. Everything can be formulated as a paradox if seen in the right light. C.f. detail.

Parents – we must acquire the knack of breaking with them physically without renouncing the succour and inspiration they have given us.

Pessimism – we are born in obscenity and destined for death, etc.

Peeing in one’s pants – makes virtually no noise and gives one a warm feeling. Like contemplating a good painting.

Philia, joys of – enchanting something that passes between friends. What Odysseus felt for Penelope, what Scylla felt for Charibdis. (See: friendship)

Philosopher – someone who, ideally, keeps his nose so close to the ground that he occasionally falls down holes, at the bottom of which he finds huge pots of money.

Philosophy – a style of life, not a system of thought.

Picasso – unpleasant, lusty chap. Over-admired. Some say he changed art for good.

“Pits, it’s the” – say it if something’s awful or if you own a mining concern.

Pity – is the queen of the emotions. Though ensure she is a monarch of the constitutional variety.

Plants – see also: animals, rocks. Civilised, civilising beings. One has so many thoughts in their vicinity one begins to sense they have thoughts of their own. Can it be?

Platonist – descends into caves and is told, to his chagrin, that he’s an idiot.

Pleasure – certain things we are attracted to get in the way of us doing other more important and ultimately more rewarding things: one of the crueller ironies of existence.

Plot – Plot, character, imagery - the three most important elements of a novel, pace the eternal onanism of the structuralists. (See: structuralists) The faults of all novels are identifiable as faults of either plot, character or imagery. E.g. Daniel Daronda.

Politics – doesn’t exist. Proof of which is that it has no business in philosophy. Say it’s about people, not systems.

Post-coitum – the animal may be sad, but the aesthetician lies awake thinking about many things.

Post-structuralists – structure their obscure “discourse” around the pronouncements of so-called structuralists. It’s oddly inconsistent.

Priest – holy being whose profession is to think in terms of hierarchies. Mind as sharp as a knife. And a good knife, as we all know, can cut through almost everything, as well as spreading butter.

Principles - sacred, even if one has never precisely made a list of one’s own.

Problems of philosophy – generated by taking very simple ideas and pointing out that they can be taken in opposite senses.

Problems of policing – generated when you tell a bad person to go away and he says “No-o.”

Profound – the most dependable way to say something profound is to say something stupid then correct oneself.

Prostitute – (Greek: hetera, pl. heterae) A young man of sensibility should visit the same one many times. The conversation afterwards can be a significant part of the experience. All prostitutes in literature are called Aspasia. (See: sex)

Proust – Great themes are love and memory. Striking allusions to sodomy. The first writer to use the first person plural pronoun in the lyrico-didactic sense. “Unforgettable”

Proverbs – a light sprinkling of these does wonders. Always true in a sense.

Psychology – unless used sparingly can lead to the utmost ruination of one’s sense of the beautiful. (Note of tension with one’s wife on this issue – ended with the birth of our eldest.)

Realism – what one feels when a student comes to tell one she can’t write her essay because of a drug-habit.

Recumbent – Men too often go unaware of the pleasures of the recumbent state. Odalisques are always "recumbent”.

Religion – the spirit of true religion is not in conflict with anything, including, logically speaking, itself.

Rhyme – is only in agreement with reason in the choicest poets.

Romantic School – succeeded the Classical School. If one’s wife rolls her eyes at dinner parties it is because she is of the Romantic School.

Russians - best demonstration that human beings have a soul. And of how frightfully difficult they can be as a result.

Scholarship – no book about art which speaks from the heart should contain any references to the work of mere scholars.

Science – a little science takes one away from art, a lot brings one back to it.

Scumble – to create a softening effect by blurring everything. Scumble your way through expositions of aesthetic theory.

Sea, the – has been shown empirically to be merely another element, yet it can awaken our deepest yearnings.

Sex - known technically as "congress". A smoking gun to certain Christians.

Simplicity – widely available in rural areas.

Sincerity – is, agonisingly, not the substance of life. The third cruellest irony of existence.

Smiling – that must mean one’s soul is doing something rather special. 

Smoking – in parts of Europe “smoking” is the name of a dinner jacket. How confusing that must be when one is enjoying a cigarette after dinner.

Socialists – despise commerce. Almost all poor.

Structuralism – rail against it. The pet term of certain fellows who would like to reduce beauty to something they call "structure" and who, one feels, have very little to say.

Students – have awfully half-baked ideas. The unfettered curiosity of male students is often a sign of inner ugliness.

Stripling – misguided youth. (See: students, male)

Subject and object, problem of – what it inevitably comes down to is that one has to have some perspective on what is not oneself.

Suffering – the sight of others doing it makes us appreciate the very major goods we have.

Summerhouse – place of delights in a garden.

Swagged – stolen property bound into an ornamental festoon.

Taste – fear of expressing it can envelop us like a fog.

Thanks – Always multiple (“many thanks”), though don't make them too effusive. How small an amount of them one gets sometimes when one tries to refine people’s sense of what they need.

Theorist – often not very cleanly shaven. Someone one has one’s fundamental disagreements with.

Theory – never admit to having one.

“There’s something going on here!” – rouse your audience from its aesthetic lethargy by saying this all the time as if you’re about to go out of your mind.

Tragedy – all tragedies are, from one point of view or another, moral. Otherwise they’re just accidents.

Twentieth Century - era in which humanity became "enmeshed in a series of ghastlinesses". Source of boundless controversy. Don't mention any of the details, you'll end up crying at the lectern.

University – where one has one’s office. Centre of learning and enterprise.

Universality – we should aspire to this. But in what sense? There’s the rub.

Ur-pflanze – “Er, pflanze”. Goethe’s charming term for the poetic original of every plant.

Ur-question – “Er, question”. The poetic original of every question – i.e. a question asked hesitantly, haltingly.

Vitality – “secure”, “peaceful” and, most certainly, “inner”. Best enjoyed sitting down.

Veil of Maya – female students swoon when you mention it because they think you're talking about getting married to them.

“We” – literally “you who have paid”. Oneself and one’s readership. Marks an imaginary community of sentiment and aspiration.

Whitegoods – life is a bit like these - first work out how it works, then you’ll have a better idea of its deeper significance. “What’s this button for?” etc.

Willpower – you lack it if you’re still in bed at 11am with a pillow over your head.

Wisdom – in a world gone mad, consists in sitting on the fence. From which one often has an enchanting view.

Women – the difficulty with men is that they have no idea how moving women can be. The Eternal Feminine draws us on. (Goethe) Precisely.

Yearning – a strong desire. Can get the better of one, if it goes unsated. Those in a condition of yearning can be troublesome, yet are they not also a little to be envied?

Yvette – rather grand name for a wife. Alain’s wife. Rhymes with "crevette".

*

By way of explanation. . .

"Perhaps we are inescapably marked – when it comes to ideas – by early life. . . My deepest fear is of loutish bullying and, close second, of appealing for help and being told the problem lies in me. Uncritical emphasis upon ideas like difference and equality is terrifying.” (JA, In Search of Civilisation)

"Egmont enters wrapped in his long riding cloak; he hesitates and then he throws wide his arms revealing the most splendid costume adorned with the insignia of the most august chivalric order: the Golden Fleece. Egmont's spiritual beauty is made manifest. But this is not a scene of pomp and majesty - it takes place in the quietest, most serene domestic interlude. For Egmont's splendour, like that of the Christ, is not terrifying or humiliating - it is adorable, and Clärchen embraces him." (JA, Life, Love, Goethe)

"Cheese - Quote the aphorism 'a dessert without cheese is a beautiful woman with only one eye.'" (Flaubert, Dictionary of Received Ideas)"

"Crucifix - Most becoming in a bedchamber or on the scaffold." (Flaubert, Dictionary of Received Ideas)

"Constipation - All men-of-letters are constipated. Influences political convictions." (Flaubert, Dictionary of Received Ideas)

***

Flaubert's original title for his Dictionary of Received Ideas was the Dictionary of Accepted Phrases Universally Admired though Profoundly Stupid, however the target of the project, from beginning to end, was the special combination of mindlessness and self-satisfaction that he saw in the provincial middle classes of his day. As the first English edition of the Dictionary put it, "it is especially when the bourgeois dabbles in discussion of science, of literature, or of art that his stupidity becomes really impudent, aggressive, 'enormous'." So it is that, according to Flaubert, good provincial brains need to be furnished with a certain basic stock of ideas - platitudes that can be slipped amiably into all sorts of conversation, clichés that allow healthy social beings to flatter themselves that they taste and intelligence. And furnish them is exactly what the dictionary does: though many of the entries are clearly transcriptions of material Flaubert had overhead, most are probably fabrications. The end result is not so much a catalogue of actual conversational tropes but a fictional effort to reproduce the thinking patterns of the provincial bourgeois mind - to push it towards the outright absurdity that Flaubert clearly thinks is its true element.

Flaubert's dictionary is the starting point for the present semi-fictional glossary of platitudes to issue from the mind of John Armstrong. For those who don't know him: the bon bourgeois of my glossary is a British popular philosopher who has been resident in Australia for 20 years. His publishers describe him a little awkwardly as an "acclaimed author and influential public speaker in the realm of art and philosophy." In his own "realm" though, he is a modern-day incarnation of Goethe's Egmont, adorable, almost Christ-like, always on the verge of throwing open his riding cloak and showing himself to us in his full glory. Or is he Goethe himself - "by turns rich, funny, handsome, generous, famous, passionate, keen on his food; quietly domestic and outrageously dirty"? Armstrong's self-described "intimate philosophy" has never shied away from the personal, and one of the many things it has been frank in divulging over the years is the resemblance it sometimes sees between JA himself and the German Shakespeare. . .

Let me say right away that the experiences which led me to write the Glossaire were marked by frustration - time spent reading Armstrong's books that left me with the feeling that he was dabbling in the same subjects as Flaubert's bons bourgeois, but had somehow succeeded in passing off his dabbling as saleable wisdom. I first came across him when I was sitting in on undergraduate philosophy lectures at the University of Melbourne in 2006 and I don't think my reactions were all that different from those of the more skeptical students who'd actually enrolled in his classes. Many of us in Armstrong's aesthetics seminar were studying philosophy for the first time. In a way, we were his ideal audience. Yet the impression we had was that his basic business was reducing philosophy to a series of false dichotomies and set phrases; that our interest in art wasn't being given any more depth or direction by mannered descriptions of paintings (or people or dinner parties) as "charming", "gracious", "adorable" or "winning"; that discovering the history of philosophy should involve much more than re-discovering in the great philosophers of the past what the hackneyed language of mainstream culture often leads first-time readers to discover in them anyway - sketchy distinctions between art and science, the material and the spiritual, our "dearest longings" and our "base desires". (Armstrong's standard thought-gesture was to sketch the distinctions with the help of a few anecdotes, then go on to predictably assert that for real thinkers they really needn't be distinctions at all.)

It seemed obvious to us that anyone with solid knowledge of the philosophical classics would've been able to track down passages in Plato, Kant or Goethe where the greats were thinking against exactly the sort of received ideas that Armstrong was presenting on their behalf. As necessary as simplification might be for complete beginners, at some point it passes over into out-and-out travesty and Armstrong, we felt, often stepped over the line. If he knew there were philosophical complications - interesting complications - to one side of the conventional oppositions and his equally conventional sublation of them, he certainly didn't let on about it. Yet that was only part of the problem. The other part was that he gave the impression that wanting to delve further was bound to detract from the vital aesthetic properties of philosophy and of his own philosophical personality. To that extent, he seemed to hold his subject, and his students' sense of seriousness, in contempt.

This is not to say that Armstrong's lectures or public appearances weren't entertaining. Entertaining was what they often were because of the strange baggage of affectation he brought to every topic he went anywhere near. Armstrong, you could say, drove a certain pose of Nineteenth Century gentility to a pinnacle of perfection; the way he would screw up his face, audibly exaggerate his English accent, then start humming and hawing in a tone of profound confusion, all worked well as satire, if not as actual philosophy. Going to his lectures was like watching a drawn-out Monty Python sketch - one of the many that caricature the worst of the dons that Cleese and Co. - and Armstrong too - had obviously been taught by. As none of us had a time-machine to take us back to 1964 or 1864, we were happy to be given a second-hand experience of those amusing eccentrics who had combined a modicum of original thought with a maximum of ancient mannerism - plus a lot of red wine and sherry - to produce the spectacle of Oxbridge Philosophy for three or four decades after WW2.

In Armstrong's case there were a few extra undertones which actually made the show even more curious. They belong in part to an era that post-dates the Oxbridge dream-world of the 50's and 60's. One was his almost mawkish lack of self-belief - a tearful readiness to back down when challenged that in the end gave the impression he didn't hold any recognisable philosophical position at all. Another was his ability to lightly sexualise just about any topic.

Listening to Armstrong's lectures was literally like listening to a Victorian family man who had escaped the frosty compound of history and landed - to our dismay and his own gratification - in the tropical Twenty First Century; the Victorians, they say, used to cover the legs of their dining tables with lace curtains for fear that they (or their wives) would get funny ideas; Armstrong himself, though glorying in Victorian attitudinal niceties, was so openly aroused by tables, chairs and settees that he often seemed in danger of losing self-control. His books, particularly the latest ones on Goethe and civilization, often stray too far into sticky territory: one of the personal tales he tells in In Search of Civilization is about a distressing visit to a Parisian brothel and the tears he shed at his own "sordidness" when he emerged an hour later and found himself, after many wanderings, at the door of a church where a choir was rehearsing a heavenly chorus. (Needless to say, he instantly identified the music as Fauré's Requiem.)

Every work of philosophy might in a sense be disguised autobiography, but Armstrong's work can seem, at times like this, to be pretty light on actual disguise. In fiction or memoir he would probably have had a better outlet for the sort of sub-Proustian sensibility at work in intellectual sex scenes. In using his own mawkish tale of lost virginity to illustrate what he thinks is a serious philosophical point about the human capacity for "beastliness", he instead comes across as someone whose self-obsessions knock him well off the philosophical path.

It was at some point in the late 90's or early 00's that Armstrong seems to have made the discovery that really gave an extra dimension to his silliness. That discovery was Weimar Classicism, a lightly retouched version of the cultural ideals of Goethe and Schiller. The great men on the plinths of Central Europe gave our man two ideas - firstly, that a little of the glory of aristocratic genius can be recaptured in the lives of mums and dads in the early Twenty First Century; second, that he, like Goethe, needed to find a corner of the world from which to actually govern in accordance with high aesthetic principle.

Armstrong's surprising step towards worldly activity took him from the lectern, where he'd muddled his way through many a lecture, into the upper echelons of Melbourne University administration, which at the time was rolling out a new commercial-cum-pedagogic plan that went by the name of The Melbourne Model. For a while, Armstrong ceased to amuse and abuse us in lectures and instead amused and confused us in his role as the University's inaugural "Knowledge Transfer Fellow" - "knowledge transfer" being the process of transferring academic capital to the wider community by means of loveable fellows (!) like JA who were henceforth to . . . to . . .do what? It was difficult to tell, but Armstrong took it as a cue to organise more wine and cheese nights at the National Gallery and combine amateurish reflections about French painting with a push to "embed the concept of Knowledge Transfer as one of the three core strands of the University's Growing Esteem Strategy within the University's wider operational systems and structures." Within a couple of years, his enthusiasm for this kind of academic policy-making had (understandably) waned and the effort to establish a world government of sensibility had taken him to an even stranger place - an office in the Melbourne Business School, from which, as of 2008, he operated as a sort of philosophical attaché and made a range of off-key pronouncements about the Global Financial Crisis.

With that, the Flaubertian repertoire of his philosophical career seemed to be more than complete. Having started out with some homespun wisdom about art being a good spiritual investment - having built the repertoire towards Oprah-style self-exposure - having harked back to Goethe's illustrious destiny as an administrator and a disciplined family man - he found himself again right in the middle of our very own High Age of Capital, letting us know that paying off mortgages is ennobled by a philosophic belief in the Good, the True and the Beautiful.

There he was at it again two Sundays ago on a Compass special report on money - a sort of magazine of interviews with a welfare lobbyist, a "prosperity activist", a social researcher, a theologian, an ex-businesswoman and. . . "the philosopher". Our man came across as having less to say than the dinkum get-rich-quick guy and far less human presence than the theologian. As in so many of the lectures of old, the attempt to bring his nebulous pretensions into line with the topic of the show seemed to be causing him actual physical pain.

Which brings us to the glossary of inanities known to have either issued or . . . not issued from the mouth of the illustrious aesthetician. How many of the entries are lifted verbatim from his lectures, interviews and books and how many did I make up? I can't remember anymore. After Life, Love, Goethe, I tried running away whenever he whirred into action at another cultural event; in the meantime I'd got sick of the spectacle of philosophy being presented to the public as the occasion for so much befuddled self-display - surely it was a safe bet that in the long-run the public would want nothing to do with it?

Faced with the undeniable fact of Armstrong's short-term success, Glossaire tried extending his repertoire a little in the direction of its true absurdity. Thankfully, Flaubert had done half the work for me already. The pompous-whimsical bourgeois conformist of the Dictionary who sees an opportunity to assert his superior social style in everything from discussions of cheese to discussions of religion captured the Armstrong mindset perfectly, with the exception of some of the philosophical farnakling.

Like Flaubert's, this dictionary of received ideas is intended as a tribute as much as a backhander - a homage to the ingenuity with which Armstrong makes use of his sometimes solid though often sketchy philosophical knowledge. The aim is to make use of the knowledge, and the attitudinising that goes with it, better than JA himself and thus relieve anyone looking for actual philosophy of the task of reading him; the only claim I'd make for Glossaire is that it contains all the essential thought-gestures, thought-feints and thought-mechanisms that are to be found in Armstrong's work itself.

That doesn't make Armstrong any less amiable or any less of a showman. Glossaire shouldn't - and won't - dissuade anyone from buying the books or attending the public lectures of our great aesthetician in the short run. No one looking for Armstrong's actual philosophical output will need to read anything other than these ten pages; but for fresh tales of the man's sordidness and splendour the works of JA himself will always be indispensible.



(Melbourne, March, 2010)

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

G Flaubert: On Art and Being Ropeable

My sort of observation is mainly moral. I would never have suspected that side of [the existence of a traveler]. The psychological, human, comic side is so plentiful. You come across splendid faces, iridescent existences that glisten and gleam, exceedingly various in their rags and their robes, rich in filth, in their tatters and their finery. And there beneath it all, the old immutable, perennial rascality. That is the simple fact of the matter. What quantities of it pass before one's eyes! Now and again, in one of the towns, I open a newspaper. We seem to be going at a rattling pace. It's not a volcano we're dancing on, it's the plank over a latrine and it looks pretty precarious to me. Before too long, society is going to drown itself in the shit of nineteen centuries, and there will surely be some loud squawking.

To avoid the commonplace you lapse into bombast and, on the other hand, simplicity is so close to the merely platitudinous.

What a splendid Ernest! There he is married, established and perpetually magistrate besides. Behold, a bourgeois and a gentleman! Defender, now more than ever before, of order, propriety and the family. He has nevertheless followed the normal path. He too has been an artist, has carried a dagger and dreamed up ideas for plays. He's been a frivolous student in the Latin Quarter; he had a local shop-girl that he called "his mistress" and I used to scandalise her with my talk when I went to see him in his fetid rooms. He sampled the cancan at the Chaumiere and he drank spiced wine at the Voltaire. Then he got his doctorate. Henceforth began the comedy of being serious, as a sequel to the serious pursuit of the comic. 

Republic or monarch, we won't get beyond all that stuff for some time. It's the outcome of protracted endeavours in which all have played their part from de Maistre down to pere Enfantin. And the republicans have done more than most. What is equality then if it is not the negation of all liberty, all forms of superiority, of Nature itself. Equality, it's slavery. That is why I love art. There, at least, all is liberty in this world of fictions. - Every wish is granted, you can do anything, simultaneously be king and subject, active and passive, victim and priest. No limits there; for you and your kind humanity is a puppet with little bells on its costume to be set jingling with a prod of the pen, just like the street-corner puppeteer who works the strings with his foot.

In my opinion one of the things that proves that art is completely forgotten is the quantity of artists there are swarming about. The more choristers there are in a church, the more it may be supposed that the parishioners themselves are not real believers. They are not concerned about praying to the Good Lord, nor are they concerned about cultivating their gardens, as Candide puts it. They are more interested in having splendid vestments. Instead of towing the public along, you let it pull you. There is more pure bourgeoisdom among men of letters than there is in the grocery business. What are they actually doing, if not endeavouring by every possible device to diddle the customer, while still believing themselves honest! (artists in other words), all of which is the epitome of  bourgeoisdom

Everything feeds into Affectation: oneself, other people, sunlight, graveyards, and so on. . .

If I had a more solid brain I would certainly not have fallen ill from the vexation of doing law. Instead of taking hurt, I would have turned it to my advantage. My grief, instead of sitting in my skull, trickled down into my limbs and twisted them with convulsions. It was a deviation. You often find children who are injured by music. They have real talent, they remember tunes after hearing them once, they become over-excited when they play the piano; their hearts flutter, they lose weight, they go pale, they fall ill. And their poor nerves, like a dog's, are wrenched with pain at the sound of the notes. They are certainly not the Mozarts of the future. The  vocation has been displaced. The idea has slipped into the body and there it lies barren, and the body is wrecked in the process. Neither genius nor good health can come of it.
Same thing in art. Lines of poetry are not made from the passions. And the more personal you are, the weaker you will be. I have always transgressed in that way; because I have always put myself into everything that I have done. For instance, it was me who was in the place of Saint Antony [in F's first-written novel The Temptation of Saint Antony. CS] The temptation was mine rather than the reader's. 187

That is why I detest poetry that comes out in phrases. When it comes to things for which there are no words, the eye is enough. The exhalations of the soul, lyricism, descriptions, I want it all to be done with style. Otherwise it is a prostitution, of art, and even of feeling. . . They are all essentially the same, all the people who tell you about their lost love, their mother's grave, their father's grave, their sacred memories, who kiss medallions, who weep in the moonlight, who go into raptures when they see children, swoon at the theatre, look thoughtful when they stand by the Ocean. Fakers! fakers! triple charlatans! who use their hearts as trampolines in order to reach up to something.

I am turning towards a kind of aesthetic mysticism (if those two words can go together), and I would wish it stronger. When you receive no encouragement from other people, when the outside world disgusts you, enfeebles you, corrupts you and wears you down, then decent and sensitive people are forced to seek somewhere within themselves a more suitable place to live. If society carries on the way it is going, I do believe that we shall see a revival of mysticism, as has happened in every gloomy era. Unable to find any outlet, the human spirit will be condensed. Perhaps the day is not far away when we shall witness the return of a universal apathy, of beliefs in the end of the world, of a new Messiah. But because the theological foundations are missing, where will this oblivious enthusiasm find its field of action? Some will seek it out in sex, some in the old religions, some in art; and the human race, like the jews wandering in the desert will chase after all kinds of idols. We have come upon the scene a little too early. In another twenty-five years the point of intersection will be superb. In the hands of a master, when that day comes, prose will be able to play a formidable humanitarian symphony. Books like the Satyricon and The Golden Ass could come back again, transposing into psychic excess everything that such books offered by way of carnal excess. 

When the brain droops, the cock stands up.

The best authors believe that they write tolerably well. (La Bruyere)

I do know that it is impossible to get published anywhere, at the moment, and that all the actual reviews are squalid whores playing the coquette. Pox-ridden to the very marrow, they pull a face at opening their legs to the healthy creations that are desperate to get in. So, the best way is to do what you do, publish in book form, it's more daring, and be on your own. F to Louise Colet, March 1853

We used to have a poor devil of a servant, a man who now drives a hackney-coach; this wretched Louis had - or thought he had - a tapeworm. He talks about it as if it were a real person who talks to him and tells him what it wants, and he always refers to this creature inside him as he. Sometimes he has cravings and he attributes them to the tapeworm: "He wants it," and Louis immediately obliges. Recently he wanted thirty sous worth of brioche; another time he had to have some white wine, and next day he would kick up a fuss if he were given red wine. This poor man eventually sank in his own estimation to the same level as the tapeworm; they are equals and they are locked in a dreadful battle. "Madame," (he said to my sister-in-law recently), that scoundrel has got it in for me; we are daggers drawn, you see; but I shall have my revenge. One of us will be left standing." Well it's the man who will be left standing or should I say the man who will step aside for the tapeworm. So as to kill it and get rid of it, he has recently swallowed a bottle of vitriol, and he is now dying as a result. I am not sure if you appreciate the profundity of this story. Can you see this man finally believing in the almost human existence of what was perhaps only an idea, becoming the slave of his tapeworm! I find it quite dizzying. What a strange thing is the human mind!

I think that the sufferings of the modern artist, by comparison with artists of former times, are like factories compared to craft production.

The political situation has confirmed my old a priori theories about the featherless biped, whom I regard as a cross between a turkey and a vulture.

Perhaps I would've been a great writer if language had not been so unmanageable. (Goethe)

If the moral sciences had two or three primordial laws at their disposal, as in mathematics, then they would make real progress. But they are groping in the shadows, bumping into things at random and wanting to establish them as axiomatic. This word, soul, has spawned almost as many stupid remarks as there are souls!

People write books for everyone, art for everyone, science for everyone, just as they build railways and soup-kitchens. The human race has a passion for moral degradation. And I am angry at having to be part of it.

One thing is for sure, I am part monk. I have always greatly admired those fine sturdy fellows who lead solitary lives, whether dedicated to drunkenness or mysticism. It was really one in the eye for the human race, for the useful, for general well-being.

exposition . . . the purest poetry. . . 

If you want to know my frank and confidential opinion, I have not written anything which I find fully satisfactory. There is in me, very distinctly I believe, an ideal (apologies for that word), an ideal of style, the pursuit of which leaves me gasping without respite. Despair is consequently my normal state of mind. It takes a violent distraction to fetch me out of it. And anyway, I am not naturally cheerful. Gross buffoonery and obscenity in unlimited quantities, but underneath it all is my lugubriousness. In short, life pisses me off considerably and that is the declaration of my faith.

Reread and rework your story. Leave it alone and then take it up again, because books are not sired like children, they are raised like pyramids, according to a premeditated plan, by transporting great blocks and piling them up one on top of the other, a back-breaking grinding toil. And it's totally useless! And it sits in the desert casting a prodigious shadow! The jackals piss all round it and the bourgeois come and clamber over it, and so on; extend the analogy. F to E Feydeau, October 1857

What is the best guise in which to give voice occasionally to one's opinion concerning the events of this world, without having to risk looking like an imbecile later on? This is a rather serious problem. I think the best thing is to portray, in all sincerity, the things you find exasperating. Dissection is a form of revenge.

Those who have no need for the supernatural are rare indeed. Philosophy will always be exclusively the portion of aristocrats. You can fatten up the human throng, bed them up to their bellies in straw and even cover their stables in gold leaf, brutish they will always be, whatever anyone says. The only progress we can hope for is that the brute can be made a little less spiteful.

Lucretius ought to be mentioned with some respect. I see nobody to match him except for Byron, and Byron doesn't have his gravitas, or the sincerity of his sadness. I think the melancholy of the Ancients runs deeper than that of the Moderns, who all more or less hint at immortality beyond the black hole. But for the Ancients that black hole was infinity itself; their dreams dawn and fade against a background of ebony darkness. No cries, no convulsions, nothing but a face fixed in thought. From Cicero to Marcus Aurelius, when the gods had gone and Christ had not yet come, there was a unique moment when only man existed. Nowhere else do I find such grandeur.

I am suspicious of your novel about the theatre. You are too fond of them, those people! Have you met many who love their art? So many artists are merely bourgeois who have strayed from the path. F to George Sand, September 1868

In the days of Pericles the Greeks produced works of art without knowing whether they would have enough to eat on the morrow. Let us be like the Greeks!

Paganism, Christianity and now the Age of the Lout: these are the three great phases of human history. It is unpleasant to find oneself at the beginning of the third.

The downfall of the bourgeoisie has begun, because it shares the feelings of the rabble. I cannot see that it reads different newspapers, that it enjoys different music, that its pleasures are any more dignified. In both cases, there is the same love of money, the same reverence for the fait accompli, the same need for idols to overturn, the same hatred of anything superior, the same spirit of denigration, the same crass ignorance!

Because of your contempt for intelligence, you think yourselves full of common sense, realistic, practical! But people are only truly practical on the condition that they are a little more than that. . . You would not be enjoying all the benefits of industry if the only ideal of your eighteenth century ancestors had been material usefulness.F to the Municipal Council of Rouen, 1872

I am not a Nature man: I find it's "marvels" less moving than those of Art. It overwhelms me without imparting any "great ideas". I am inclined to tell it inwardly: "that's lovely; I emerged from you quite recently; in a few minutes I shall be back inside you; just leave me in peace. I have better things to do."

From: Flaubert, Selected Letters

Monday, March 15, 2010

G. Flaubert - The Dictionary of Received Ideas

My favourites from Flaubert's Dictionary of Platitutes - superbly translated and annotated (1954) by Edward J. Fluck ["pronounce 'fluke'; if in front of a literature class, snigger briefly and say 'it must have had it's advantages'".' GF]. If anyone would like to pick their own favourites, let's compare lists. (CS) 

Absinthe - An extra-virulent poison: one glass, and you are dead. Journalists drink it while they write their articles. Has killed more soldiers than the Bedouins.

Apartment (Batchelor's) - Always in disorder, with feminine effects trailing here and there. Aroma of cigarettes. Extraordinary things are to be found in one.

Artists - Are all dilettantes. Praise their disinterest in money matters (obsolete idea). Express surprise over the fact that they dress like everybody else (obsolete idea). They make heaps of money, but throw it out the window. Often invited to dine in town. A woman artist is definitely a whore. What artists do can't be called work.

Baldness - Always precocious, is caused by loose living during one's youth or by entertaining lofty thoughts.

Chiaroscuro - One doesn't know what it is.

Cheese - Quote the aphorism of Brillat-Savarin: "A dessert without cheese is a beautiful woman with only one eye."

Classics (The) - One is supposed to be acquainted with them.

Clown - Has had dislocated limbs since childhood.

Coitus - Copulation - Words to be avoided: Say: "They had relations. . . "

Coffee - Imparts wit. Tasty only when it comes from Le Havre. At a formal dinner, should be taken standing. Sipping it unsweetened, very fashionable, suggests you have lived in the Orient.

Conservative - Pot-bellied politician. "You narrow-minded conservative!" - "Yes, sir, there must be people of limited vision to take care of the reckless."

Constipation - All men-of-letters are constipated. Influences political convictions.

Cossacks - Eat candles.

Crucifix - Most becoming in a bedchamber or on the scaffold.

Devotion - Complain about the lack of it in other people. "We are far inferior to dogs in this respect."

Dimples - One must always say to a pretty girl that she has Cupids lodged in her dimples.

Egg - Starting-point of a philosophical discussion on the genesis of beings.

Elephants - Are known for their good memory, and worship the sun.

Feudalism - Even though you have no clear ideas about this, thunder against it.

Fire - Purifies everything. As soon as you hear somebody shout, "Fire", first thing to do is to lose your head.

Functionary - Inspires respect, no matter what his function is.

Genius - No point in admiring it, it's a "neurosis".

Gibberish - The way foreigners talk. Always laugh at a foreigner who speaks French badly.

Gothic - Style of architecture bearing more on religion than other styles.

Guests - Examples to set before one's son.

Habit - Is second nature. Habits you indulge in at school are bad habits. If you got into the habit, you could play the violin like Paganini.

Halberd - On seeing a threatening cloud, don't fail to say: "It's going to rain halberds." In Switzerland, all men carry halberds.

Hare - Sleeps with its eyes open.

Harem - Always compare a rooster among his hens to a sultan in his harem. The dream of all schoolboys.

Hermaphrodite - Excites an unhealthy curiosity. Try to see one.

Homer - Never existed. Famous for his style of laughter.

Ideal - Perfectly useless.

Ideologists - All newpapermen are ideologists.

Idolators - Are cannibals.

Imbroglio - What all dramatic works amount to.

Inventors - All die in the poorhouse. Somebody else profits by their discovery, which is unfair.

Knife - Is Catalan when its blade is long. Is termed a dagger when it has been used to commit murder.

Koran - Book by Mohammed that is all about women.