III-6. A Buyer’s Market

Posted on by

A Buyer’s Market is the second volume of Anthony Powell’s 12-volume A Dance to the Music of Time.

I didn’t write anything on the first volume, as I read it a few years ago. Back in 2022(?), I had a dream in Alaska in which I purchased the entire set of this novel, and so when I woke up, I did just that. Not long after, I got through the first volume (A Question of Upbringing), but did not immediately go on to the next. The first volume is about a handful of boys who are in private school, and end up going each their own way. The second volume, the subject of this post, then picks up a few years after that.

Though it is many years on, this volume has many characters running into one another again. They are involved in different sorts of work and different sorts of relationships.

One of the characters that stands out is a fellow named Widmerpool. In the first book, he is described as a sort of socially awkward, but achievement-oriented sort of person. Whereas he is often an object of mockery, the early part of the novel reveals that he has the same love interest as the protagonist. There is an incident where the love interest is being mean and tips a jar of sugar over Widmerpool’s head, and then (unintentionally) the cap falls off and she covers him with sugar. Though the offense was against Widmerpool, the narrator at this moment ceases to be in love with the offender.

Many other characters show up in the book, but it is this Widmerpool that somehow stands out from the rest. For example, there is a scene when a handful of characters are visiting a manor. Widmerpool shows up and ends up driving through the man’s garden due to having his car in the wrong gear. There is also another scene where a character has recently died; this is brought to Widmerpool’s attention later, and he is so uninterested in the fact that we are almost more struck by his indifference than by the death itself.

There are still ten more volumes to go, but I suspect that the parallels between the narrator and this Kenneth Widmerpool will be the thread that runs through them all.

—
For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-5. Swann’s Way

Posted on by

Swann’s Way is the first of the seven volumes that make up Proust’s masterpiece Remembrance of Things Past (or also translated as In Search of Lost Time). The status of this lengthy novel as a difficult work to read made me fear that it would be something along the lines of Joyce’s Ulysses, but this was a misplaced fear. It is a novel, plain and simple. It is very easy to read, though it takes a bit of time (this first volume was about 600 pages).

It really was more like three smaller novels put together. The first part was about the narrator’s childhood, particularly how he would wait for a goodnight kiss from his mother before going to bed. The second part, “Swann in Love,” is about a man falling in love with a woman, and all of the ups and downs that go with that. The third part goes back to the narrator and how he himself fell in love with a young girl when he was young.

The first part, about the narrator as a child, was a pleasant read. Perhaps this is a common experience, but as I read it, I found myself thinking about my own childhood. The sorts of rituals or habitual actions that one came to expect as a child, whether related to eating or going to bed. He talks about one night when he defiantly leaves his room to get the goodnight kiss that had been omitted. In doing this, he expects that if his father catches him, he will lose everything, and when the moment arrives, his father is entirely good-natured and seems dismissive of the strict discipline that the child had come to expect. Though it is one child’s experience, the author evokes so well the sort of confused attitude of a child. Again, it makes one look back and think about how one experienced some of these same things.

The second part is very painful to read. All about falling in love, but then all the pain that occurs when suspicions enter in that the other person is no longer in love or is perhaps not so exclusively in love. It just went on and on and on. This is the longest section in the book, but it sort of has to be. Though perhaps it could have been trimmed, one gets a feeling for the full arc of this sort of relationship. There is also the description of what it is like to live in two different worlds, in two different social strata, and the expectations that come with each, or the difference between being where one belongs and where one does not.

The third part, about the narrator’s first love, is much less painful. And yet it is easy to draw parallel’s between this story and the one that precedes it.

One last comment: Though it seemed like three unrelated stories at first, they all come together by the end. I am looking forward to the next volume.

—
For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-4. Topics of Aristotle

Posted on by

The Topics is Aristotle’s work on dialectical argument, and is generally less read than other works in the Organon (such as Categories and Posterior Analytics). The work is not about demonstration, but about arguments that take place in the course of a conversation. Instead of starting from certain first principles, arguments of this sort take their starting point from statements that are held by all, by the majority, or by the learned. Aristotle identifies four different areas where arguments can occur about a subject: its definition, its genus, its properties, its accidents.

Definition and genus both pertain to the essence of a thing, what it is. Property and accident are not part of the essence of a thing but belong to a thing: a property belongs to something essentially (it belongs to a man in virtue of his essence that is capable of laughter) whereas an accident does not. These are places (topika in Greek) around which arguments will take place.

The entire work is eight books long. The first book is introductory, looking at the sorts of premises that can be taken up in this work. He even acknowledges that it is possible to arrive at better definitions than he does, but that it is fine since the sorts of things he is talking about are approximate. The next six books then go through the sorts of rules that one should keep in mind when arguing about genus or definition or property or accident. A lot of these have to do with contraries. (It’s hard to think of examples off the top of my head.) To take a simple example, when considering whether something is correctly defined, look to see whether there is anything the definition should apply but does not, or anything that the definition does apply to but should not. When it comes to genus, how it is important to have the lowest possible genus, as this will also include all the higher genera, but not vice-versa. He clarifies that the rules he lays down are sometimes universally applicable, but sometimes only guides.

The final book deals with how to actually carry on arguments. He speaks of the sorts of propositions that should be conceded to an opponent, and which should not. He talks about how there are modes of dialectic that are aimed at arriving at the truth, but others in which one is simply trying to win a contest. In attempting to win a contest, it is better to try and have your opponent concede points that seem far removed from the matter at hand, since they are unlikely to admit something that is directly related to what is being proven. He speaks of “begging the question” as asking your opponent to admit a proposition that is identical or basically identical to the matter which is in dispute. Perhaps most importantly, he states that it is not wise to try to argue with just anyone on the street, or in a group of people, because in settings like this, people will often jump into using contentious arguments, and the whole discussion becomes fruitless.

If someone is going to engage in dialectic frequently, it is important to have arguments ready for the most common points of dispute, and also to have an arsenal of definitions for when it is likely that someone is going to use an ambiguous term. I was surprised that some of these tips for dialectic also appear at the beginning of the Cursus Philosophicus by John of St. Thomas. There he talks about how one says “I accept the minor” or “I deny the major” when arguing with someone; or one can say “I distinguish the major” when an ambiguous term is used, and then determine whether one accepts or rejects it according to which definition is meant.

Unlike the other works of the Organon, I think this one works fairly well as an audiobook. Though one could take out a notebook and diagram the sorts of rules and how they apply to each topic, it is practically more important to be able simply to recognize what is happening in an argument, and to uncover misleading steps.

Image

—
For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

IV-4. Posterior Analytics

Posted on by

I am very glad to finish the Posterior Analytics, since this means the next work in the sequence is the Topics, a work I never read in its entirety.

The present work is about demonstrative argument. Whereas the Prior Analytics went through the valid forms of argument, the sorts of syllogism that necessarily arrive at a conclusion; the Posterior Analytics is about the sort of argument that arrives at scientific knowledge. Aristotle begins with a definition of knowledge. We know something when we know the cause of that thing and that it is the cause of that thing. In a syllogism (say, A is B, B is C, therefore A is C), it is the middle term which is the cause. We really know something when we know exactly what it is that joins A to C.

The example that comes to mind (which Aristotle uses) is an eclipse. Let A be moon, B be the interposition of the earth, and C be eclipsed. We know that the moon is eclipsed when the earth is positioned between the sun and the moon. This is what those who are seeking to know are looking for: the cause that joins the two terms together.

Another consideration in this book is whether definitions can be proven. He talks about the importance of whether the subject of a science exists. Though one can give a definition in the sense of telling what the meaning of the words are (for example, one can explain what non-existence is, but this does not correspond to something in reality), a definition tells the essence of the thing defined. This means that only actually existing things can have a definition.

I must say that the Posterior Analytics (like Aristotle’s other logical work) is not a good book for listening to on audio. There were times I paused and just thought, “Now is that true? How do I know it to be so?” But then the work would keep on charging forward, whether I had completely grasped the matter or not.

In the end, the Posterior Analytics is all about one sort of argument. This sort is especially strong in mathematics, and will be helpful when arguing with a certain sort of person. But the Topics will consider a different sort of argument.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-3. Prior Analytics

Posted on by

I promise I am reading and listening to various authors, but apparently I am more consistent with my Aristotle audiobook, and so the next completed title here is his Prior Analytics. This continues his logical work, and this time focuses on the syllogism. In this work, he lays out every possible figure of argument, explains how we know them to be true and shows what sorts of conclusions can be reached and why. Though it is very uninteresting on some level (I was listening to this audiobook while giving someone a ride, and had to apologize for the dryness of it), it is also remarkable because of what it is. As far as I know, no one had organized a science of this sort before. Aristotle not only invents this science, but he even seems to perfect it. This is a remarkable feat.

So, what are these syllogisms? They are formed by bringing together two premises from which a third necessarily follows. There is a minor term (which has something said about it), a major term (which is said about something), and a middle term between them (which is both subject and predicate). The first figure is formed by having the middle serve as subject and predicate in the two premises. All A is B. All B is C. Therefore, all A is C. Changing the premises, the four possible conclusions are: All A is C; No A is C; Some A is C; Some A is not C.

The second figure has the middle term predicated of two different subjects. These can only result in a negative conclusion. All A is B. No C is B. Therefore, no A is C. This works because universal negative propositions are wholly convertible.

The third figure has the middle term as the subject of two different predicates. All B is A. All B is C. Therefore, some A is C. This works because universal affirmative propositions are convertible into particular affirmative propositions.

From this (very brief) overview, it appears that the second and third figures are valid only on account of being reducible to the first figure. It is in the first figure that we see that the relationship between the major and minor is known through the middle, and that this relationship bears some relationship to that of parts and wholes.

Aristotle does not only lay out these forms of syllogism, but he considers necessary and possible modalities of these syllogisms, looks at how more than three terms can be related, and in the end looks at other (less perfect) forms of argument, such as enthymemes and examples.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-2. On Interpretation

Posted on by

After the Categories of Aristotle, which is on the term, comes the On Interpretation, which is on the proposition. Overall, the work is less interesting than the work before it. Whereas the Categories begin to talk about actual things (substance, quantity, quality, relation, and so on), On Interpretation really does stay mostly with just propositions. A is B. It considers what statements are contrary or contradictory to other statements. What is the opposite of “A is B”? Is it “A is not B” or “Not-A is B”? It talks about nouns and verbs, and it also mentions that words signify by convention (against the thesis of Plato’s Cratylus, which attempted to show that every word down to its letters has some sort of natural reason for signifying what it does).

Perhaps the most memorable discussion in the work (though I can’t remember the conclusion) has to do with propositions about the future. Here is the issue: Every proposition is either true or false. For example, “Socrates is sitting.” Either he is or he isn’t (unless he doesn’t exist, in which case it is not true to say he is sitting or that he is not sitting, to the extent that it implies he is at all). He can be sitting one moment and stand up the next, but at any given time, the statement is true or false.

So what about something that hasn’t happened yet? “There will be a ship battle tomorrow.” Is this a true or false statement? Now, it is indeed the case that there either will be or won’t be a ship battle tomorrow. But as long as we remain in the present and there are no necessary causes, this is a proposition that in the present is neither true nor false. Now this is due to the uncertain nature of whether ship battles are going to happen. If we were to say something like “The sun will rise tomorrow,” then this is less contingent of a statement. Unless one is particularly pessimistic about the stability of the cosmos, one can venture to say that this is a true proposition.

This question about whether all propositions about the future can be true or false becomes important when considering that there is a God who is eternal and so, it would seem, knows without fail that there either will or will not be a ship battle tomorrow. And if this is so, the question can then be asked: Is it really a contingent event? If God knows it (say to be true), then it is certain, and so it will happen. (Then again, God’s knowledge is not caused by things, rather it is the reverse.)

Anyway, it is a short text, but that is what stands out from it.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-1. Categories of Aristotle

Posted on by

In the past, I have made a list of 50 classics I intend to read. Inevitably, I will read classics other than the ones on the list and just count those towards the 50. Well, this time I want to keep my list of 50 intact. And yet, I don’t want to prevent myself from reading things beyond the list, or give myself an excuse to not write about those books that I read. So I will go ahead and start another list, but I will not make it ahead of time. Once I hit 50 books from beyond the list, I will make a post to gather those up.

One of the works of Aristotle I have never read completely or closely is his Topics, which is about dialectical argument. Having recently finished the audio for his Metaphysics, and finding that I was reasonably able to follow it by hearing, I decided to look for the Topics as well. What I found was an audiobook for the entire Organon, so I figured it was worth listening to the whole thing from the beginning.

The first work of the Organon is the Categories. This work is about the terms contained in a proposition. The next work, On Interpretation, is about the propositions themselves. Then the Prior Analytics is about what sorts of propositions necessarily lead to conclusions, especially in the form of a syllogism. Then the Posterior Analytics is about what sorts of syllogisms cause knowledge. And after all of that is the Topics, about dialectical argument, and Sophistical Refutations, which is about specious arguments.

The Categories is one of Aristotle’s shortest works and seems simple. The first paragraphs of the work are about how sometimes one word can have two different meanings. And yet even the example he gives shows that there is more to it. As an example, he says that the word “animal” can be said of both a man and a picture of a man, and that it means something different in each case. Now the example is strange in that it is not the plainest example: for example, “bat” is a word that can refer to either a flying mammal or a wooden object. That is a much clearer case. But Aristotle gives the example he gives because it is a case where someone is more likely to make an error or fall for a trick in reasoning. In his eventual critique of Plato’s views, he will point out this sort of equivocation in order to make his refutation.

Another question that arises in the early chapters of the Categories is exactly what he is talking about. Is it words? Is it ideas? Is it things? Words or ideas seem like the most plausible answer at first, but closely reading the first couple chapters, he seems to be talking about things. He is talking at some point about the sort of thing which is exists in a thing and is not said of it (for example, the color of a particular apple). It is not the word “red” or the idea of red that exists in an apple. It is actually some concrete instance of redness that exists in some actual particular apple. This then has some connection to how we think or speak about these things, but at least in the earliest chapters, he seems to be focusing on things as they are.

I had way more thoughts about the Categories, but my timer went off, so that’s it.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

III-3. The Corner That Held Them

Posted on by

This is my second book by Sylvia Townsend Warner on the list, and it is a very different setting than the other one: It is about English nuns in the 14th century. The book covers a number of generations, and so it feels something like Bridge on the River Drina, which covers 300 years of time and is unified by its location around a single bridge.

When I mention this book to others, they usually ask if it is anything like In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden. It’s a reasonable comparison, but I would say this book is much less reverent. Townsend Warner certainly knows her subject: It is not a caricature of the Middle Ages, as I have heard some people describe the work of Ken Follett (I have not read him myself, but readers say that it does not seem authentically medieval). Townsend Warner understands what matters in the faith, and also how certain things can be distorted into superstition when poorly understood. Early on, there is a discussion about how the sacraments work ex opere operato, and albeit a bit one-sided, there is no plain error in the way the characters describe this reality. And then shows up a man who presents himself as a priest, though he is not, and we see how this plays out in the novel, how a conscience is tormented by knowing that the “sacraments” performed are invalid, and also the danger of scandal if the matter were to be investigated and made known. All of this takes place according to a view of the world that takes for granted the features of the faith and the efficacy of the sacraments.

One reason why Townsend Warner can “get away” with so much of what seems irreverent is that that she is writing about one of the most difficult periods in the history of Europe: the Black Death in the 14th century. Just think of The Seventh Seal or the end of Kristin Lavransdatter. Was it half of Europe that was wiped out by this plague? And so we see people that are trying to keep on living while society is broken up all around, economically and otherwise.

Though the language is beautiful, the setting is well-considered, and the people and scenarios are comical, I don’t think I will go back to this one for a while. In the end, it seems everything is reduced to absurdity. Whether it is the aspiration to make a tower or a supposed apparition encouraging someone to an austere mode of life, everyone ends up looking silly by the end of the novel. This is very different from In This House of Brede, where one gets a depiction of sincere religious motives and how they overcome circumstance and everyday human weakness. The one is a religious novel, whereas the other is a comedy in a religious setting. This was also an audiobook I listened to rather than read, so it is possible that some of its meaning was lost on account of that.

—
For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-2. Mrs. Dalloway (again)

Posted on by

This was not my first time going through Mrs. Dalloway, but I was prompted to pick it up by a couple circumstances. One was seeing a friend recently accumulate and read many books on Virginia Woolf. What was so excellent about her that she deserved so much attention?? So this caught my interest. Then, there was an argument on Substack about her merits. One person posted a note that basically said she was not worth reading at all, and recommended Three Guineas only so that someone could confirm this fact and move on. This note invited many responses, full of praise of Woolf and criticism for the author of that note.

I myself did not enjoy Mrs. Dalloway very much and I remembered almost nothing about it. A woman looking for flowers was about all I could recall. When someone mentioned in a comment about the love interests of Clarissa, I could not remember one bit of it. So I decided to revisit the book, this time just listening to it on audio.

In general, my impression is not all that different. I reviewed my original post a few days ago, and some of the words that struck me as odd back then (“oilily” and “uglily”) stood out to me again! In my earlier post, I paid attention to the godlessness of the book. Now I paid a bit more attention to what was beautiful. There is one spot where Clarissa is reflecting on her parties and how these were a sort of offering to life itself. I thought this was a very beautiful was of describing it, and she compared it to the sorts of things that men do and say, “you couldn’t possibly understand.” The very best things in life are not done for the sake of something else, but are truly excellent on their own account.

That being said, there is so much that is awful. There is that man Septimus who wants to end his own life. For most of the book, these seem to be two entirely separate stories: Clarissa and her party and the preparations for it; Septimus and Lucrezia and their difficulties. But they come together when someone brings up the death of Septimus at Clarissa’s party, and she is offended! How could someone bring up such a subject here? Though she herself seems to feel guilty because of it. Not that she caused it in anyway, but there was some perception of the wrongness of her in finery while such a tragedy is going on in the world.

While I was listening to the audiobook, it ended so suddenly. How did it end? I had to open the text itself and reread the last few pages to make sure I had got the ending. As I did this, I felt right away that reading the text would have been a different experience than hearing it read (however good of a job the reader of the audiobook did).

It is still not a favorite. Most of the people on Substack were going on and on about the language in Mrs. Dalloway. But as for the actual story and narrative, I do not find it satisfying. (Maybe this is intentional.) The characters are entirely unlikeable and largely hopeless. I bet there is plenty of structure there if I sat down and spelled it out, but with so many other texts out there, I am not sure this one merits it. I may be wrong! Anyway, I still have two more Woolf titles on my list (The Common Reader and To the Lighthouse), so these will add to my opinion.

—
For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-1. The Kingdoms of Elfin

Posted on by

The Kingdoms of Elfin by Sylvia Townsend Warner is the first book I have finished off of my third list of classics. I first saw the book when I was at a friends house. It had a such a quaint title, promising fantasy and monarchy, and then I read the first page. It was about a child being abducted, having its blood drained out and replaced with ichor. Imbued with ichor, the child would have increased longevity, and therefore would serve many years as a plaything for the fairies.

How horrifying! It was nothing like Harry Potter, but it was fascinating. My friend lent me the book on the spot, and the more I read it, the more it makes sense to contrast it with Harry Potter. Harry Potter is a contemporary novel in every way. Yes, there wizards and what-not, but they don’t use wizards or magic in ways other than people in our contemporary world would. There are some accents perhaps, but everyone there thinks and talks like anyone you might meet in the world.

Not so in The Kingdoms of Elfin. There is an entirely other philosophy of life. Time is different. Amusement takes on a more important and ritual character. Features of religion are taken for granted, even though the fairies (as a rule) do not have any faith. There is a whole story that turns around “heretic” who believes that there are such things as souls. There are fairies who become fascinated by a certain preacher and hang on his every word. There is a group of fairies who run off and start a cult at which a triangle is placed at the center.

The book becomes most interesting when the fairies are set aside humans and the contrast becomes obvious. One of the most fascinating details comes in the last story. A professor who always considered himself a defender of the fairy-folk is abducted by them. He is stripped and examined and measured, and eventually given a new set of clothes and is kept on. After a long time (he has no way of measuring, for his watch is stopped) he is invited to come close to the queen who spends all of her days knitting. She explains very clearly to him that pattern according to which she carries out her task, and as soon as the explanation is given, it all disappears. He is back in the ordinary world, now many years older, and perceived as a lunatic by the world. Townsend Warner does not spell it out, but I suspect that this knitting pattern is the one pearl of knowledge he receives from all of his years under their spell. He wanted to write books about them, to explain their grammar and language, and yet (unable to communicate as he once did) he will probably spend the rest of his days knitting according to the pattern he was taught, quietly introducing into the world the one fruit of his encounter with the fairies.

—

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time. Even with so brief a timer, this means over 8 hours will be spent writing for this classics challenge. That seems like plenty.

See also: A third round of classics