HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY WITHOUT ANY GAPS

Buster Keaton fan folks.

For a while now I've been enjoying the incredible podcast made available by Peter Adamson at The History of Philosophy Without Any Gaps.

It's thorough, well-narrated, replete with corny jokes, and the creator is a die-hard Buster Keaton fan. What's not to like? I'm on episode 134 right now, going through Islamic philosophy (about which I know nothing). Think the podcast itself is around the 237-episode mark. He's also apparently launched a side project on Indian philosophy. So check it out pronto.

CHEESE

Fernand Braudel's The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II ushered in the era of Annales school longue durée historical writing. It essentially tries to encompass the geological, historical, demographic, sociological, political and biological entirety of the Mediterranean in the 16th century by referring to then current resources as well as others across time. It's awesome.

In a book of such infamously biblical scope, it is fitting that it would house some biblically bizarre anecdotes. Braudel supposedly quotes the "Bishop of Catanzaro in June, 1549":

 On the morning of Easter Day, some priests would go to the sea front, where there were many flocks, and were in the habit of celebrating mass on an altar made up of formes of cheese, afterwards blessing the cheese and the flocks and giving communion to the shepherds. The priest was then given all the cheese used to make the altar.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to locate any additional information or even confirmation of this Monty Python-esque episode (Braudel's only note is "Buschbell, (article: reference mislaid) p. 7, note 1," which doesn't help much.

THAT NIGHTEE TEEM BEGIN CHOP CHOP

Jonathan Spence's The Chan's Great Continent: China in Western Minds explores different Western literary perspectives on China from Marco Polo to Italo Calvino. The initial chapters especially merit reading — those from the perspective of missionary wives provide a fascinating glimpse into isolated communities — but the latter half of the book strikes one as a rushed job. 

The final chapter (handicapped by the sheer number of possible sources in the 20th century?) almost seems to devolve into a "merely" literary consideration of Borges, Kafka and Calvino, which compares unfavorably to the examination of Western perspectives on China developed in earlier chapters. 

But none of that matters if one looks at page 133, in the middle of a discussion on U.S. perspectives/portrayals of nineteenth century Chinese immigration. Spence refers to an anonymous piece "published in Harper's in 1869" which deftly translates Longfellow's Excelsior into Pidgin English.

Longfellow's first hackneyed stanza:

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device
     Excelsior!

Then cf.:

That nightee teem he come chop-chop
One young man walkee, no can stop;
Colo maskee, icee maskee;
He got flag; chop b'long welly culio, see — 
     Topside Galah!

This improves on the original so much you can almost forgive Longfellow for penning the original which inspired it. The Harper's piece (in Volume 39) is up on the Internet Archive. Here's the piece, though (click to embiggen):

AMERICAN GEEZER

Prominent men have prominent corncobs.

I recently finished William Manchester's euripidean biography of Douglas MacArthur, American Caesar. At times Manchester seems to suffer from MacArthur's own predilection for over-purple prose (the description of the reclusive, musically-inclined Arthur MacArthur IV as a "fugitive from his father's relentless love" elicited some giggles from this reader),  but it's still a ripping good yarn for all that.

Manchester's succinct synopsis of the "Orwellian" Korean War is particularly fun:

A former ally of the United States, the Soviet Union, was championing a captive state, North Korea, in a conflict in which the South Korean foe was being supported by the United Nations, to which the Russians belonged, while the Soviets, meanwhile, were demanding the right to participate in treaty negotiations with a former enemy of the Americans and the Russians — Japan — which would bring peace between Japan, which was becoming the base for anti-Pyongyang forces, and the United States, now the Soviets' archenemy. To crown is all, the grand alliance fighting the puny North Koreans seemed to face imminent defeat.

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I'd also like to give my sincerest apologies to the cybervoid for my extended hiatus from the blog. I know you've missed me. Regular updates should come.

HURRYIN' TO THE MOON: AKKADIAN MUSIC 101

Clear as mud.

Still thoroughly enjoying Richard Taruskin's Oxford History of Western Music (Vol. I): Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century. Today, just a bit about the Hurrian "hymn to Nikkal" (= wife of the (Ugaritic) moon god Yarikh, cf. Sumerian Ningal/Nanna couple), also known as Hurrian Hymn 6.

This nice little chunk of over-cooked mud is the oldest substantially complete work of notated music we can lay claim to. It theoretically dates from as early as 1400 B.C. Some sunburned European archeologists discovered the tablet at the site of the Royal Palace at Ugarit.

Of course, there are about one hundred thousand competing interpretations of how the thing actually sounds. This link seems (not exactly an expert judge here) to do a decent job presenting some of the problems and some of the would-be problem-solvers.

TARUSKIN: SNARK, MUSIC AND NOTKER BALBULUS

What manner of smarm is this?

Just started volume uno of Richard Taruskin's well-recieved Oxford History of Western Music (2010 re-/"2nd" editon).

The man's got snark, which immediately wins me over (example uno: "By critical study I mean a study that does not take literacy for granted, or simply tout it as unique Western achievement, but rather "interrogates" it (as our hermeneutics of suspicion now demands) for its consequences," (xiv-xv).

The bulk of his intro is dedicated to lambasting the self-destructively rarefied trend in musicology (read: academia in toto): "this sort of writing gives everybody an alibi ... Because nobody is doing anything, the authors never have to deal with motives or values, with choices or responsibilities, and that is their alibi," (xviii). Not brain-shattering, no, but at least he doesn't let it slide.

His writing's excellent imho, but I'm only a few pages in. A bit of pithiness goes a long way.

Another point in Taruskin's favor is his prompt namedrop of one of my personal medieval favorites: Notker Balbulus ("The Stammerer"). Poor guy wrote De Carolo Magno, a collection of anecdotes about Charlemagne. But really all you need to know is his name: Notker Balbulus.

More to come.

HILDEGARD VON BINGEN

Just listened to Sequentia's sublime rendition of Hildegard von Bingen's O vis aeternitatis (~ Power of eternity), the first track on their Canticles of Ecstasy album. Also found (via this page) a link to a image of the original manuscript repro'd below.

Old lady von Bingen is one of the most interesting of many interesting personalities from the Middle Ages. She invented a language, alphabet, composed music, wrote mystical works -- what's not to like? Shamefully, this is the first time I've actually heard any of her music.

Image below's Blatt 466 of the Rupertsberger Riesenkodex, which contains a copy of O vis aeternitatis. The Riesenkodex anthologized all the works of Hildegard von Bingen 12th century style. 466-81 contain her musical compositions. I must needs read this.

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A HISTORY OF THE GERMAN LANGUAGE THROUGH TEXTS

Finished up A History of the German Language Through Texts today. Somehow the book itself is so awesome it almost overshadows what it actually says: it's got diplomatic reprints of texts ranging from the oldest OHG fragments ("fater unseer/fater unser/fadar is usa/fadar ist usa"...) all the way to the Jugendsprache in internet chatrooms (book was published in 2003). Each excerpt is accompanied by a fairly thorough philological analysis -- in English? -- that contextualizes it and compares it with the preceding examples. Darn tootin'. Can't say that it's terribly well-written, but that's not really the point anyhoo.

Both the authors are interesting. Gloning is apparently a specialist in "German language cookery texts 1350-1896" or, if you prefer, Monumenta Culinaria et Diaetetica Historic. Going by his faculty page this book seems to be his sole foray into English, which perhaps explains the involvement of Christopher Young, who I'm guessing is currently buried in work on the new edition of the Kaiserchronik.

AN ALMOST SPIVVY LIVY

You know a book's gonna be awesome when the author has the gall to begin:

"In a preface to just a section of my work I am able to make the claim that most historians have made at the beginning of their entire opus: I can say that I am going to provide an account of the most momentous war ever fought."

In the Latin: "In parte operis mei licet mihi praefari, quod in principio summae totius professi plerique sunt rerum scriptores, bellum maxime omnium memorabile quae unquam gesta sint me scripturum..."

Starting Yardley's OWC translation of Livy (XXI-XXX).

i. TAKING A GANDER AT ALEXANDER, ii. LINKS, AND iii. SANTA SIMIA (WITH KITTEN)

| i. |

Just finished Book IV of Landmark's Arrian: The Campaigns of Alexander (Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀνάβασις). The account is terse and succinct except when it isn't, and Arrian goes soaring off into a flight of rhetoric and fancy, rather like my image of a business-like, no-nonsense Alexander occasionally succumbing to a wild storm of irrationality. Perhaps Alexander was a bottler of emotions as well as a drinker. Arrian may've more/less thought this as well, although he takes pains early on to emphasis Alexander's virtue.

Favorite moment #1. The Siege of Tyre was spellbinding.

Favorite moment(s) #2. Alexander's favorite seer Aristandros pops up almost at random through Book IV to prophecy and interpret omens. The sudden, offhand way he just interjects Aristrandros adds an almost comedic element to the narrative, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!"-style.

| ii. |

Because who needs an excuse to post a link of vintage travel posters.

Fantastic interview with Gérard Diffloth (the god-, grand- and allfather of Austroasiatic language studies).

Also, thesis from a student at the Uni of Birmingham I may speed read at some pt. Because dreams.

| iii. |

And, last but not least, Discarding Images posted the (16th century) illumination below. Gotta love the beatific expression on the monkey's face.

Santa Simia

WHAT'S IN A NAME PART II

Finished Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain, as translated by Aaron Thompson/ed. by Giles. As indicated in previous post, the text's a treasure-trove of evocative names. The episodes with Arthur were interesting, though not as startlingly familiar as the Leir section. At a certain point he managed to kill 470 Saxons ("effeminate wretches" he calls them). That's about as subtle and developed as his character gets, though there are references to a Merlin prophecy, Avallon [sic], the sword Caliburn, lance Ron, shield Perwin, etc. Otherwise, he's a sort of Briton superwarrior.

Part II of (partial) Census:

  ✣ King Allectus
  ✣ Parthaloim
  ✣ Gombert
  ✣ Dianotus
  ✣ Caradoc
  ✣ Katigern
  ✣ (castle of) Dimilioc
  ✣ Ricaradoch
  ✣ Verulam  
  ✣ Sulpitius Subuculus
  ✣ Gillamor
  ✣ Gistafel
  ✣ Wortiporius   

GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH & WHAT'S IN A NAME

The Kid Himself

Oh, you know, just reading Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain, which is only the direct source for a) two complete Shakespeare plays (Lear and Cymbeline), b) Milton's Comus and c) Drayton's Poly-Olbion, besides launching the entire Arthurian tradition in Britain. Originally in Latin (here's a version with the typically thorough German commentary from waaay back). Reading this translation by Thompson/Giles from even waaayer back w/ occasional glances at the Latin for the sake of speed. It's been on my reading list since the Triassic period, but I finally decided to pilfer it for De Inanibus material before NaNoWriMo. And oh what material there is.

[Full disclosure: I'm only at Book V, Ch. XVII of the whole work, so I've got a ways to go.] Ma the Historia Regum Britanniae almost seems to've been written as a compendium of legendary characters for later authors to plunder. Ostensibly a legitimate chronicle derived from Welsh sources (per Geoffrey's dedicatory letter to the Earl of Gloucester), it follows a whacky, haphazard course through a long series of legendary British kings descended from Brutus (a Trojan war vet) who founded the first kingdom on the island after a complicated series of international misadventures. All the characters are treated with this unique, quirky combination of abruptness and amicability, as if the very cursory portraits and set-pieces somehow lends them a special charm. And the work proceeds in a breathless, Looney Tunes-like blur of reckless abandon and bonhomie. In a word, the book's just fun.

It also features some of the most eclectic and delightful names for a medieval chronicle (a genre which specializes in eclectic and delightful names). So here's a partial census through Book V, Ch. XVII:

  ✣ Corineus
  ✣ Imbertus
  ✣ Goffarius Pictus
  ✣ Turonus
  ✣ Goemagot
  ✣ Lud
  ✣ Antenor 
  ✣ Locri
  ✣ Albanact
  ✣ Kamber
  ✣ Aballac
  ✣ Estrildis
  ✣ Menpricius & Maxin, sons of Maddan
  ✣ Assaracus
  ✣ (geo.) Mount Paladur
  ✣ Aganippus
  ✣ Ferrex & Porrex, sons of Gorobgudo
  ✣ Staterius
  ✣ Brennius
  ✣ Elsingius
  ✣ (geo.) Calatarium
  ✣ (geo.) Trinovantum  
  ✣ Gorbonian
  ✣ Cap
  ✣ Blegabred
  ✣ Arthmail
  ✣ Eldol
  ✣ Samuilpenissel
  ✣ Cirdisus
  ✣ Evelinus
  ✣ Kymbelinus (=Cymbeline)

POLYBIUS MEETS ABRAHAM VAN HELSING, OR NOT

Darius I stomping on Gaumata

Reading Waterfield's translation of Polybius' Histories and in V.43 he states that "Mithridates claimed to be descended from one of the seven Persian Magus-slayers." This evoked images of some  kind of multi-generational series of beturbaned Van Helsings hunting evil magi through decaying ziggurat-topped underground cities, in other words: I had no idea what this referred to (although, turns out I should've). I found an 1889 translation on the Perseus Digital Library by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh which gives the more normal "seven Persians who killed the Magus" and glossed it with a succinct "the false Smerdis," but even then I still didn't recognize the reference.

[For the curious, the original Greek phrase is: τῶν ἑπτὰ Περσῶν ἑνὸς τῶν ἐπανελομένων τὸν μάγον.]

The unfortunately named Shuckburgh also gives a reference to Herodotus 3.61-82. This passage presents a complicated story with that uniquely Herodotean blend of gravity and the bizarre. Severely truncated, the tale relates how a Magus -- Gaumata -- impersonated Smerdis (Gr. Σμέρδις, OP Bardiya), the brother of Cyrus, and ruled for nearly a year before being killed by a group of seven Persian nobles. It's far more complicated than that, so here's a link to the relevant bit on Perseus. Wikipedia also has some info on the Behistun Inscription which refers to Gaumata. And apparently "Mazda" (a la Ahura Mazda) is Avestan for wisdom, which just makes Miatas even more awesome.

So mystery solved. Although the more interesting mystery of why in heck Waterfield chose to use  "Persian Magus-slayers" isn't. Guess it sounds cool.

Also, Herodotus claims the Persians celebrate a festival called the μαγοφόνια ("massacre of the Magi") which was the "greatest holy day that all Persians alike keep" (ταύτην τὴν ἡμέρην θεραπεύουσι Πέρσαι κοινῇ μάλιστα τῶν ἡμερέων) and "while the festival lasts no Magus may go outdoors."

HISTORIES OF POLYBIUS: CARTHAGINIAN BABEL. AND 17TH CENTURY TAPESTRY

Enjoying Robin Waterfield's translation of the Histories of Polybius. Writes a real riproaring batte scene, I must say. Also, a fun little historical anecdote of linguistic interest: he mentions the enormous variety of languages spoken by the mercenaries in the Carthaginian army during the First Punic War, which made direct commands impossible and, as Waterfield renders it, causes a "complete jumble of uncertainty, distrust, and failed communication." Something about B.C.-era cosmopolitanism has always fascinated me.

Besides cinematic battle descriptions, Polybius cultivates a certain drily understated tone. Vide "So the lemboi sailed back home and King Agron received his officer's report of the battle. It afforded him enormous pleasure to think that he had defeated the arrogantly self-assured Aetolians, and he gave himself over to celebration, with so much drinking that he contracted pleurisy and died just a few days later." (79)

I recently read and enjoyed Waterfield's translation of the Anabasis which prompting me to read this. So here we is.

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Neat post over at the Getty tumblr. It's oh so proto-rococo, no?

Saturday Links

Origin of dumbbells.

Langsdorff's Voyages & Travels

Langsdorff's Voyages and Travels, a report written on the Russian circumnavigation 1803-06. Best anecdote to date: a "crossing the line" ceremony in which a Russian sailor donned a fur-lined custom of Neptune, complete with harpoon-trident, and raced around deck for hours sprinkling people with water.

Went down an interesting historico-linguistic rabbit hole today after discovering a proposed etymology for the 'Vandals' (of Sack-of-Rome fame). Basically: Aurvandil is the Old Norse equivalent to Old English Earendel, a name which occurs in the OE poem Crist I and which J.R.R. Tolkien borrowed. In the Crist I context, Earendel is understood to imply John the Baptist. Both Aurvandil and Earendel theoretically developed from a (proposed) Proto-Germanic compound 'auzi-wandilaz' (i.e., luminous wanderer) and are associated with the Morning-star (Morningstar > harbinger > John the Baptist).

Also: Number of English translations of various Medieval works available at In Parentheses Publications. Can't find much information regarding them. Fun to look through, though.