Numbers, Anglo-Saxons, the Supreme Court, Ulysses S. Grant, and More Not Small Talk

The Figure 5 in Gold, by Charles Demuth
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On Monday, June 2, I have been scheduled -- with the kind of procedural regularity that has become a touchstone of our modern medical culture -- to become a father once again.

The likely result is that I will not be submitting any blog entries in the near future for you, my loyal reader, to consume conspicuously at your leisure. ("My loyal reader" -- you are not so hypothetical; I think I know all three of you.)

But there are so many Not Small Talk items out there to be addressed. Let me summarize a few of them, briefly -- some ideas that have been scattershot through my mind lately. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on these and many other topics.

* Numbers: Do they exist? I mean, do they exist in any sort of transcendental or platonic fashion? Does the number five, for instance, exist somewhere in the universe independently of things that are five in number? Put another way, does the notion of fiveness exist independently of consciousness?

About once a year, I have this discussion with the calculus teacher at school, and he always responds instantly by saying that he doesn't think it could be any other way. If it is the case that numbers exist transcendentally, is number identity comparable to the law of gravity or some other physical reality--a fundamental force of the universe? In what dimension do numbers exist? If they exist, it seems to me, then mathematics would have to be a branch of physics because it relates to the study of physical properties of the universe. Something to think about--and for my former student Shiv Subramaniam, majoring in comparative lit and mathematics, to tackle before he graduates from the University of Chicago. (You have three years, Shiv.)

* "The saddest thing about any man is that he is ignorant, and the most exciting thing is that he knows." -- Alfred the Great

Of course, it would be a mistake to romanticize the Anglo-Saxons too much, but they are one of my favorite historical groups of people ever, and I agree wholeheartedly with Tolkien's assertion that the Norman invasion was the greatest disaster in English history. Combined with Henry VIII's closing of the monasteries (and the subsequent destruction of already-aged Anglo-Saxon manuscripts), the result is that we are left with precious few insights into their collective life and mind, but what we have shows a people with a powerful culture that was in some ways vibrant and progressive beyond what you could find anywhere else in Europe at the time. Here are some of the highlights of Anglo-Saxon culture and society as I see them:

1. An emphasis on localized self-rule that differed from that of other emerging European kingdoms. This factor is likely due to the preservation of tribal traditions enabled by the geographical isolation of the British Isles. (This theory might owe a little bit to British historian Robert Conquest but also to the kind of geographic determinism favored by Jared Diamond.) Because most greater Anglo-Saxon borders were defined by coastline (Pictish and Celtic adversaries on dry-land borders notwithstanding), the pressure to centralize authority was not the same as it was on the continent. Gaul, for instance, surrounded by emerging kingdoms on most sides, had to centralize authority much earlier than England in order to protect its continued existence as a politically independent entity; a strong monarchy was necessary to keep the neighbors at bay. The Vikings who constantly raided England's shores seemed to have been content with settling in the Danelaw; they didn't until Canute the Great present a critical threat on a national level. This left the Anglo-Saxons free to develop political traditions in a more gradual and deliberate manner. Even after the Norman invasion, some of this tradition remained; it was built into the economy and even the geographical divisions/township structures of England by that time. It resurfaced most notably in the Magna Carta and in the formation of Parliament.

2. King Alfred's progressive attitude toward literacy and education. Granted, he understood that poetry could be great propaganda, but that consideration doesn't diminish the empowering aspect of literacy for those who possess it. The fact that the Vikings, the Normans, and the Protestants essentially demolished the archival remnants of this literary tradition is unfortunate. There is something about Alfred's policies that speaks of a proto-democratic tradition that had repercussions beyond the literary; Alfred was the uncommon king who didn't sell his people short. The English have also been superlative at producing and preserving the documents of bureaucracy: wills; deeds ("indentures"); birth, marriage, and death records, etc. These items speak in their own way of a vibrant tradition of literacy.

3. Dynamic and progressive trade practices that allowed society to flourish. English democracy, even in its infancy, has always relied on prosperity. The English have been a prosperous people. My socialist sympathies notwithstanding, I have to admit that there is a common ground between free trade and political (and therefore personal) freedoms.

* "Bush's appointment of Roberts and Alito may prove to be among the worst of the many disasters of his mistaken administration." --Donald Dworkin

Dworkin writes for the New York Review of Books on the Supreme Court. This line sums up pretty much everything there is to say about the Supreme Court and about what is at stake in that regard in the next Presidential election.

* "The Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian Religion." --Article II of the Treaty of Tripoli, signed by President John Adams in 1797

A useful quotation to have around when discussing the issue of separation of church and state. Jefferson's "Notes Concerning the State of Virginia" is also handy, as are Franklin's "Remarks Concerning the Savages" (containing a scathing satire of the reputed purpose of religion) and excerpts from the latter sections of book two of his Autobiography. While not outrightly condemning religious practice, Franklin approaches it pragmatically, and it is pretty clear that his idea of a divine being is not so different from Aristotle's Prime Mover. That is, Franklin, scientist that he was, believed that something must have set everything in motion, but that whatever it was doesn't much bother with what we're doing day-to-day in the here-and-now. Franklin believed that the purpose of religion was to instill values in people so that they could be productive members of society. He was not, as some evangelical Christians have outrageously claimed, a Christian himself in terms of any beliefs he may have held. The calculating and arch-ironic attitude he displays in his discussion of the virtue of humility in the Autobiography is proof of his lack of genuine spiritual conviction.

* Henry V: Machiavellian bastard or paragon of princely virtue? I can't decide. I can't even decide what Shakespeare wants us to think of him. For years, I've been on the side of judging him a Machiavellian bastard, but I'm planning to reread the entire Henry IV/Henry V cycle and reassess. Perhaps I'll let you know what I think at a later date.

"Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world." Harry does, Harry will. Jack Falstaff is human weakness and vice but also human wit--and perhaps even humanness itself writ large (very large). Does Henry give up his own humanity when he denies Falstaff? Or is he just doing what he must do to accept the mantle of responsibility?

And that whole bit about invading France on weak pretenses. (Not even weapons of mass destruction -- they're just tennis balls.) Reminds me of a certain contemporary political leader of whom 29% of the population still somehow bafflingly approves.

* Ulysses S. Grant: One of my favorite presidents, not so much because of what he did during his presidency but because of what he did before it. As a general, he was a pragmatist who could have been profiled alongside William James and Oliver Wendall Holmes in Louis Menand's The Metaphysical Club. An unustly maligned character in part because he rarely spoke up against his detractors. A kind of Washington-like humility emanates from his reticence. His Personal Memoirs sets the record straight, partly; I've only read a few bits and pieces, but when I have time (someday) I'm going to read the whole book--it's as long as Ulysses, which took me a year to read.

* Joan Didion. If I don't get a chance to reread any of her essays in the coming days, I'm at least going to be thinking of her. I need that kind of open-eyed clarity right now. I won't bother trying to convince myself that I know what I'm getting myself into, but I'd at least like to admit to myself what I don't know, which is in the end what her essays always seem to me to be about, and which is a non-negligible kind of self-knowledge.

Wish me luck.