Tragedy

H L Mencken said, in 1926, 'the basic fact about human existence is not that it is a tragedy, but that it is a bore. It is not so much a war as an endless standing in line. The objection to it is not that it is predominantly painful, but that it is lacking in sense.' But here he is betraying a prejudice that tragedy ought to be meaningful (the opposite to 'lacking in sense') and not boring. Of course that's not the logic of tragedy.

A world of pure being

Auden described utopia as ‘Earthly Paradise: a world of pure being’ in which ‘what people are and what they want or ought to become are identical’. There’s a superficial attractiveness about this, I suppose; but it doesn’t survive close analysis. Auden is describing a world in which, were it to be conjured forth, bliss would become boredom, and boredom bliss. He has simply misunderstood the nature of living in the world: which is to say, it is not living but the obstacles to living that make it worthwhile. The aim of the utopian theorist ought to be to keep those obstacles within human parameters: a world in which fundamental lacks of food, or shelter, or healthcare, or security lead to death is a world in which obstacles have become absolute barriers. By the same token affluence, or materialism, or religion, if raised to a social absolute (as they are in a number of countries in the world today) place absolute barriers, rather than mere obstacles, in the way of human beings.

Transparency

Night, the sublime transparency of night! -- when we can see through: before dawn comes to solidify the sky to a wall.

Hog

A gentlewoman of the same city saw a fat hog cut up; when the entrails were opened, and a noisome savour offended her nose, she much misliked, and would not longer abide; a physician in presence told her, as that hog, so was she, full of filthy excrements, and aggravated the matter by some other loathsome instances, insomuch this nice gentlewoman apprehended it so deeply that she fell forthwith avomiting, was so mightily distempered in mind and body, that with all his arts and persuasions, for some months after, he could not restore her to herself again; she could not forget it, or remove the object out of her sight. [Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy, Pt. 1, Sec. 2, Mem. 4, Subs. 3]

What are the routes through this manner of melancholy? To deny that there is any fundamental similarity between oneself and the pig ('...for I have a soul' and so on); to simply forget, distract oneself, put it out of one's mind; to drive through the middle and address one's own disgust ('...and what, exactly, is so disgusting about viscera? They are functional, after all: my disgust is irrational') Or the contrary; to insist upon the instrumental parallels between pig and person: the viscera revolt my eyes, but how nice they taste when properly prepared. See viscera, think sausages. As with the beast, so with me, I must devour myself to avoid disgust.

Dream

Last night: I was explaining to somebody how much I liked the picture they had made; its forms and colours. 'It's upside down'. We all laughed--a very warm and inclusive mood, in this dream--and I turned it round and found a completely different set of forms and colours to admire.

utopia

Perhaps we should consider the possibility that the U in U-topia stands (as in 'u-bahn') for underground ...

How very Nietzschean

'Both God and art belonged,' says Terry Eagleton [LRB, 24.1.08, p.14] '(for the Romantics) to that rare category of objects which existed entirely for their own sake, free of the vulgar taint of utility. the third member of this category was the human being. In their freedom, independence and glorious pointlessness, works of art were images of men and women -- or at least of what they could become under transformed political conditions. In this sense art was a politics all of its own, pointing to a future society in which human beings would be treated as ends in themselves. It was a foretaste of utopia in its very uselessness.'

When Terry says 'images of men and women -- or at least of what they could become under transformed political conditions' he means 'images of aristocrats'. Can't say I'm altogether comfortable with the notion hat the point of Revolution is to make us all into Montagues of Beaulieu. The issue here is getting utility entirely the wrong way around: because utility is a uniquely human concept nothing exists for reasons of utility except humans. The cholera bacterium has no utility, and cares not; but that I can be of use is the proudest boast I can make as a person.