Notes from Essays in Idleness by Kenko

I have only copied particular parts…

91 – The Yin-Yang masters do not concern themselves with those days of the calendar marked ‘Red Tongue Days’. Nor did people of old treat the day as unpropitious. It seems someone more recently has declared it unlucky, and now everyone has begun to avoid it, believing that things undertaken on this day will miscarry. This idea – that whatever is said or done on this day will fail, that objects gained on the day will be lost and plans made will go awry – is ridiculous. If you count the number of failures that happen on an auspicious day, you will find there are just as many.

This is because, in this transient phenomenal world with its constant change, what appears to exist in fact does not. What is begun has no end. Aims go unfulfilled, yet desire is endless. The human heart changes ceaselessly. All things are passing illusion. What is there that remains unchanging? The folly of such beliefs springs from people’s inability to understand this. It is said that evil performed on an auspicious day is always ill-fated, while good performed on an inauspicious one will be blessed by good fortune. It is people who create good fortune and misfortune, not the calendar.

92 – A man who was studying archery took two arrows in his hand and stood before the target. ‘A beginner should not hold two arrows,’ his teacher told him. ‘You will be careless with the first, knowing you have a second. You must always be determined to hit the target with the single arrow you shoot, and have no thought beyond this.’ With only two arrows, and standing before his master, would he really be inclined to be lapdash with one of them? Yet although he may not have been aware of his own carelessness, his teacher was.

The same injunction surely applies in all matters. A man engaged in Buddhist practice will tell himself at night that there is always the morning, or in the morning will anticipate the night, always intending to make more effort later. And if such are your days, how much less aware must you be of the passing moment’s indolence. Why should it be so difficult to carry something out right now when you think of it, to seize the instant?

93 – Someone told the following tale. A man sells an ox. The buyer says he will come in the morning to pay and take the beast. But during the night, the ox dies. ‘The buyer thus gained, while the seller lost,’ he concluded. But a bystander remarked, ‘The owner did indeed lose on the transaction, but he profited greatly in another way. Let me tell you why. Living creatures have no knowledge of the nearness of death. Such was the ox, and such too are we humans. As it happened, the ox died that night; as it happened, the owner lived on. One day’s life is more precious than a fortune’s worth of money, while an ox’s worth weighs no more than a goose feather. One cannot say that a man who gains a fortune while losing a coin or two has made a loss.’

Everyone laughed at this. ‘That reasoning doesn’t only apply to the owner of the ox,’ they scoffed. The man went on. ‘Well then, if people hate death they should love life. Should we not relish each day the joy of survival? Fools forget this – they go striving after other enjoyments, cease to appreciate the fortune they have and risk all to lay their hands on fresh wealth. Their desires are never sated. There is a deep contradiction in failing to enjoy life and yet fearing death when faced with it. It is because they have no fear of death that people fail to enjoy life – no, not that they don’t fear it, but rather they forget its nearness. Of course, it must be said that the ultimate gain lies in transcending the relative world with its distinction between life and death.’ At this, everyone jeered more than ever.

106 – Shōkū, a holy man from the great monastery on Mount Kōya, was on his way to the capital one day when, on a narrow path, he met coming the other way a horse ridden by a woman and led by a servant. The man tugged the horse past him so clumsily that Shōkū and his horse were pushed into the ditch.

Incensed, Shōkū berated the fellow. ‘What extraordinary rudeness! I’ll have you know that of the four categories of the Buddha’s followers the nun is below the monk, the novice below the nun and the novice nun below the novice monk. It’s an unheard-of violation for a novice nun to push a monk into a ditch!’

‘What are you talking about? I can’t understand a word you’re saying,’ the fellow replied.

Shōkū gasped with rage. ‘How dare you, you irreligious ignoramus!’ he spat, then, obviously satisfied that he had thoroughly had his say, he turned his horse and beat a retreat the way he had come. A most pious altercation!

108 – No one begrudges the passing moment. Is this because they are wise, or because they are fools? To the lazy fools among them I would say: a single coin may be next to worthless, but it is through their accumulation that the poor
man becomes rich. This is why the merchant is so keen to save every coin he can. You may not be aware of the moments, but as long as they continue to pass, you will very soon find yourself at the end of life.

Thus, one dedicated to the Way must not concern himself over the distant future. His only care should be not to let the present moment slip vainly through his fingers. Imagine someone comes to you and announces that you will die tomorrow. How will you spend your last day? What entertainment could you find? How would you busy yourself? And how is this day we are now living different from that final day? We inevitably waste most of each day in eating and drinking, defecating, sleeping, talking and walking about. For the tiny remainder of our time, we do worthless things, speak worthless words, think worthless thoughts. And not only do we pass the moments in this way, but whole days, whole months pass thus – a lifetime. This is supreme folly.

Xie Lingyun was recorder of the translation of The Lotus Sutra, but he was taken up with thoughts of his own advancement, so Hui Yuan refused to include him in his pious Bailian group.

Lose for a moment your grasp of the passing instant and you are as good as dead. You ask why time should be so precious? It is so that you may concentrate the mind on banishing all idle thoughts, refrain from engaging in worldly matters and meditate if this is what you choose, or perform austerities if that is your chosen path.

150 – People who are learning an art generally claim that it is best not to inadvertently let others know about your attempts until you are accomplished. The way to really impress is to polish your craft in secret before making it public. But someone who says such things will never acquire any art. A person who mingles with skilled practitioners while he himself is still inexpert, and isn’t ashamed of their ridicule and laughter but calmly and devotedly perseveres in his practice even if he has no special gift, will continue to progress and not grow lax with the passing years, and will finally outdo the man of talent who lacks dedication. He will attain mastery in his art, continue to increase his skill and gain an unequalled reputation in his field. Some truly great practitioners were reviled for their lack of skill when they first began, and indeed had dreadful faults. But in every art we find the same thing – such a man has maintained a deep respect for the rules of his art, and not indulged his own whims, with the result that he has become a renowned master who draws crowds of disciples to his door.

166 – The way people struggle to get along in the world strikes me as like fashioning a buddha from snow on a spring day, decking it out with precious metals and jewels, then setting out to build a worship hall for it. Would it survive long enough to be placed in the finished hall? So many strive in hopes of the future, even as the life still in them is daily dissolving away like snow from
beneath the snowman.

187 – A professional in any field will always be superior to a skillful amateur, even if he is not truly accomplished. This is because freedom and impulse cannot equal meticulous care and prudence. This is so not just of the arts and professions, but of all actions and questions of judgement – a careful fool is on the road to success; one who is skilful but headstrong is headed for failure.

Nothing in this world can be trusted. Fools put all their faith in things, and so become angry and bitter. The powerful should place no faith in their powerful position. The strong are the first to go. The rich should never depend on their wealth. A fortune can easily disappear from one moment to the next. A scholar should never be complacent about his skills. Even Confucius did not meet with the reception he deserved. The virtuous should not rely on their virtue. Even the exemplary Yan Hui met with misfortune. Nor should those favoured by the emperor be smug. You may at any time find yourself instead faced with execution for some crime. Never rely on your servants to be loyal. They can rebel and flee. Never put your faith in others’ goodwill. They will inevitably change their minds. Never depend on a promise made. People seldom keep their word.

If you rely neither on yourself nor on others, you will rejoice when things go well, and not be aggrieved when they don’t. Maintain a clear space on either side, and nothing will obstruct you; keep open before and behind you, and you will be unimpeded. If you let yourself be hemmed in, you can be squeezed to breaking point. Without care and flexibility in your dealings with the world, you will find yourself in conflict and be damaged, while if you live calmly and serenely, not a hair on your head will come to harm. Humans are the most miraculous and exalted of all things in heaven and earth. And heaven and earth are boundless. How, then, could we differ in essence? If our spirit is open and boundless, neither fear nor joy will obstruct it, and we will remain untroubled by the world.

217 – Here is what a very rich man once said to me: ‘People should put all other things aside and devote themselves single-mindedly to acquiring wealth. There is no point in living if you’re poor. Only the rich are worthy of the name “human.” ‘To gain wealth, you should first cultivate the right spirit. And what spirit might that be? Why, the firm belief that the human world is immutable, and never so much as a moment’s pause to consider impermanence. This is the most important thing. ‘Next, you must not attend to life’s various demands. In this world of ours, there is no end to our own and others’ wants. If you follow your desires in what you set out to attain, all your money will be gone before you know it, no matter how much you may have.

Desire is limitless, while money is finite. You cannot use limited resources to fulfil unlimited craving. You must be immensely wary of indulging even the smallest urge, and treat any desire that might rear its head as a wicked impulse that is bound to ruin you. ‘Next, be aware that if you treat your money like a mere servant, you will very soon find yourself in dire straits. You must venerate it like a revered master, worship it like a god and never bend it to your will.

Next, avoid anger and bitterness if you meet with embarrassments in life. Next, always be honest, and honour all promises. For those who follow these rules in seeking wealth, riches will come as inevitably as fire catches dried wood or water flows downhill. Once you have stockpiled unlimited wealth, your desires – for banqueting, music, beautiful women, a finely appointed house – may go unmet, but you will always feel fulfilled and at peace,’ he said.

People do indeed seek wealth in order to fulfil their desires. Money is seen as riches because it allows one to gain what one covets. Someone who has desire but does not fulfil it, who has money but does not use it, is essentially no different from a poor man. What might such a person find pleasure in?

This man’s teaching can be seen as an admonishment to relinquish worldly desires and not lament poverty. Far better, surely, not to have wealth than to find your pleasure in attaining your desires. Far better to avoid contracting boils and pustules in the first place than to find your pleasure in bathing them. Once you have attained this state, there is no distinction between wealth and poverty. Enlightenment and delusion are one in Buddhist teaching. Great desire and desirelessness have much in common.

231 – The Superintendent Novice Sono was a master of cuisine. A marvellous carp was once presented at a certain household. Everyone present was longing to see how Novice Sono would handle it, but hesitated simply to ask him. Being the man he was, however, he understood the situation. ‘I’ve been practising my knife skills on carp for a hundred days,’ he said, ‘so today must be no exception. I humbly request that I be allowed to work on this carp,’ and, so saying, he sliced it up. This was perfect for the occasion, and everyone was most amused.

When someone related this to the Kitayama Minister Novice, however, he remarked, ‘Personally, I find that very irritating. He would have done better to say, “If there’s no one else who can cut it up, let me do it.” Why bring up the matter of the hundred days like that?’

Someone told me this tale because they found it amusing, and I did too. On the whole, it is better to do something unimpressively and simply rather than strive for effect. It is certainly a fine thing to make sure your guests’ banquet is all it should be, but it is also excellent to simply present the meal without fuss. Similarly with giving a gift – the more sincere gesture is simply to say, ‘Here’s something for you,’ rather than present it on a special occasion. It is unpleasant behaviour to give a gift with apparent reluctance, or make it seem some kind of reward from loser to winner.

238 – The imperial guard Chikatomo once drew up a list of seven things in his own praise. They were all to do with the art of horsemanship, and not particularly impressive. This precedent encourages me to make my own list of seven.

  1. I was out viewing the blossoms one day with a large group of companions when we came cross a man galloping his horse in the vicinity of Saishōkō-in. ‘If he does that again,’ I predicted, ‘the horse will fall and he will come off. Wait and see.’ We paused to watch. Sure enough, he set his horse galloping again, and as he pulled up the horse was dragged over, and the rider tumbled into the mud. Everyone was most impressed that my prediction had proven right.
  2. When our present emperor was still crown prince, his palace was in Madenokōji. I once had occasion to call in on the chamber occupied by the Horikawa Grand Counsellor when in attendance, and found him with the
    scrolls of books four, five and six of the Analects spread before him. ‘His Highness wanted to look at the passage about Confucius hating to see purple trumping red, he said, ‘but he was unable to locate it. He has asked me to continue the search.’ ‘You’ll find it in such-and-such a place in the ninth scroll,’ I told him. He was delighted, and carried it off to show His Highness. This is the kind of thing even children can usually manage, but in the old days people used to praise themselves to the skies about even trivial achievements. When Retired Emperor Gotoba asked Lord Teika whether it was permissible to use the two words for sleeve, sode and tamoto, in the same poem, Teika replied, ‘It is perfectly fine. We have the precedent of the old poem Are the susuki grasses aki no no no the sleeves of the autumn fields? kusa no tamoto ka For their fluttering heads hanasuzuki seem like yearning sleeves ho ni idete maneku waving and beckoning sode to miyuran Teika writes of this very pretentiously, describing how he recalled the poem at this critical moment and claiming that it showed his great good fortune in being under the special protection of the god of poetry. There is similar boasting of the most trifling things in the request for promotion submitted by the Kujō Chief Minister Koremichi.
  3. The inscription on the bell of Jōzaikō-in Temple is in the hand of Lord Arikane. Lord Yukifusa made a fair copy, and when this was to be transferred to the mould for the bell, the novice in charge took out the copy and showed it to me. It contained the lines, ‘Beyond the flowers the tolling bell sends off the darkening evening. / Its sound is heard a hundred miles away.’ ‘This looks as if it was composed in the Yangtang scheme,’ I said, ‘in which case I suspect “a hundred miles” is likely to be a mistake.’ ‘I’m very glad I showed you,’ he said. ‘A very wise thing to do.’ He passed on my opinion to Lord Arikane, who replied that there was indeed a mistake, and ‘a hundred miles’ should be changed to ‘some leagues’. I’m not sure about ‘some leagues’ either. It is possible that it should be ‘some furlongs’. (‘Some leagues’ is indeed suspicious. ‘Some’ means at most four or five, but there is nothing impressive in a bell being heard four or five furlongs away. The phrase simply means that the bell was heard far away.)
  4. I once went with a large group of people on the Three Pagodas Pilgrimage, and in the Jōgyō Hall at Yokawa we saw an old piece of framed calligraphy with the inscription ‘Ryōge-in’. The priest of the temple solemnly explained that there was an unresolved debate over whether it was by Sari or Kōzei. ‘If it’s by Kōzei,’ I said, ‘there will be a signature on the reverse. If by Sari, then not.’ The back was filthy, a nest for insects and smothered in dust, but we carefully wiped it clean and all saw clearly written there the name ‘Kōzei’, with his rank and the date. Everyone was most impressed.
  5. Once, when the holy priest Dōgen was giving a lecture at Narandaji Temple, he forgot what the Eight Calamities consist of. ‘Can anyone remember them?’ he asked, but none of the listening monks could. I spoke up from where I sat beyond the screen, ‘Would they be … ?’ I suggested, and proceeded to list them. Everyone was full of admiration.
  6. I had accompanied Abbot Kenjō to see the Perfumed Water Purification.462 The Abbot left before the ceremony was over, but the monk who had accompanied him was nowhere to be seen. The monks were sent back in to search for him, but they emerged after a long time, declaring there were so many others all looking much the same that it was impossible to find him. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said the Abbot, turning to me. ‘Could you look for him?’ So I went back inside and very soon emerged with the man.
  7. On the fifteenth day of the second month, a bright moonlit night, I went very late to the Senbon Temple. I entered from behind the crowd of worshippers and was sitting there quietly, face deeply hidden, listening to the ceremony, when a lady of unusually refined fragrance and appearance made her way through the people and came and kneeled right beside me, close enough for her scent to pervade me. ‘This is rather awkward,’ I thought, and I shifted away a little on my knees, but she edged closer again until we were as before. At this point I rose and left. Later, an elderly gentlewoman at a refined establishment was chatting idly of this and that when she mentioned that she had once had occasion to look down on me as a very ungallant fellow. ‘There’s a lady who considers you a horribly cold fish,’ she told me. I replied that I had no idea what she was talking about, and that was that. But I subsequently heard that that night at the temple a fine lady had spied me from where she was seated behind her screen. She spruced up her gentlewoman prettily and sent her off to me. ‘With luck,’ she said, ‘you’ll be able to speak to him. Come back and tell me what he was like. This should be fun.’ It had apparently all been planned.

Kenkō on Modest Living

It is an excellent thing to live modestly, shun luxury and wealth and not lust after fame and fortune. Rare has been the wise man who was rich. In China once there was a man by the name of Xu You, who owned nothing and even drank directly from his cupped hands. Seeing this, someone gave him a ‘singing gourd’ to use as a cup; he hung it in a tree, but when he heard it singing in the wind one day he threw it away, annoyed by the noise it made, and went back to drinking his water from his hands. What a free, pure spirit!
Sun Chen had no bedclothes to sleep under in the winter months, only a bundle of straw which he slept in at night and put away again each morning. The Chinese wrote these stories to hand down to later times because they found them so impressive. No one bothers to tell such tales in our country.

Kenkō, “Essays in Idleness,” c. 1330 – 1332.

NASA SLS in My Hands

A long time ago, when I was at NASA, I remember the closure of the Shuttle program. In its subsequent place and alongside the relative success of commercial crew, came the Space Launch System (SLS). Working in aeronautics and research, I assumed I would remain involved in fundamental research. That did not last, and by choice I became briefly involved. A friend called me over to the Unitary Wind Tunnel at NASA Langley, and I found myself holding one of the earliest aerodynamic models of SLS in my hands. It was small, metal, stored in a wooden box, and mounted at various angles and Mach numbers in the wind tunnel. Instrumentation was mostly for unsteady aerodynamic loading during critical ascent phases.

I became involved at first by helping oversee a committee examining aerodynamic data from the wind tunnel, focused on unsteady aerodynamic loading during ascent. This involved studying coupled aero, vibro-acoustic, and structural response of the SLS. Review committees looked for two-point cross-correlations of unsteady pressure. These could be predicted by a more mathematical theory I previously developed or processed into narrowband cross-spectra. However, they approach only looked for coherence length and a single aimplitude at single-point (not two-point) locations. In the end, the tried and true way of the past gave more conservative estimates for structures and damping components than more recently advanced methods would yield. The whole thing was a bit disappointing and I could see how much beaucracy there was on the space side of NASA.

This memory came back to me while watching the Artemis II / SLS launch with family yesterday. A small metal model, perhaps eighteen inches long, once held in my hands inside a wind tunnel, now ascending at full scale and observed by millions of people.

Reclaiming Form During the Renaissance

The Renaissance did not only restart antiquity, it reordered what could be observed and valued. From the margins, the coarse, the bodily, the obscene, moved into the center of cultural life. In Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel, obscenity is no longer a feature of carnival or tolerated disorder. It becomes deliberate, cultivated, and visible within educated society. Grotesque things were no longer hidden, but elevated. They were no longer an accident of the masses, but became a new language used to question authority, learning, and a new emergent worldview.

Figures such as Gargantua and Pantagruel, once viewed as deformities, become expressions of scale, appetite, and human completeness. The same inversion appears in literature and art more broadly. The peasant becomes cunning rather than foolish, the fool becomes reflective rather than dismissed, and the everyday becomes worthy of representation. Erasmus shows there is a consistent movement toward recognizing intelligence, meaning, and even dignity within what had been considered low and unapproachable.

At the same time in the period, ugliness and obscenity are reinterpreted rather than rejected. Rocco argue that constant beauty loses its effect, and that the unpleasant has its own necessity within a complete understanding of life. The body in its full reality, including what had been excluded, enters both art and literature without the same boundary between what was accepted and unacceptable. Tension between the two were not eliminated, but allowed. Later figures, such as de Sade push these boundaries to extremes, revealing that the line between representation and excess is unstable. The Renaissance represents a redefinition and not a recovery from darker times. It brought the physical body, grotesque and obscene, into the light.

References

  • Rabelais, F., Gargantua, Lyons, France, 1532-1534. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gargantua_and_Pantagruel
  • Croce, G. C., Le sottilissime astuzie di Bertoldo, Bologna, Italy, 1606. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giulio_Cesare_Croce
  • Brant, S., Das Narrenschiff [The Ship of Fools], Basel, Switzerland, 1494. https://digitalcollections.lib.uh.edu/collections/w0892c202
  • Erasmus, D., Moriae Encomium [In Praise of Folly], Paris, France, 1511. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Praise-of-Folly-by-Erasmus
  • Flaubert, G., Madame Bovary, Paris, France, 1857. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madame_Bovary
  • Hauser, A., The Social History of Art, Routledge, London, UK. 1951. https://archive.org/details/dli.ernet.507765

Compressible Flow Notes

I finally published my compressible flow notes online. They are under classes – comp. flow. They are the result of teaching the course over nine years at University of Florida. I compressed the file a bit to conserve my website bandwidth. Enjoy!

Order, Error, and the Eye

Greek culture did not claim that the world was wholly beautiful. Its myths include monstrosities, mistakes, and bodies that fall outside any ideal. Plato sharpened that tension into philosophy. Sensible reality, as he saw it, was a diminished copy of a more perfect world of forms. The visible world was not the final standard. It was an imitation, and often a poor one.

At the same time, Greek artists treated the Gods as the model of supreme beauty. Olympus became a reference point. Statuary aimed at perfection through proportion, balance, and restraint. Beauty was not assumed. It was pursued.

In Christianity, key parts of this relationship were inverted. From a theological and metaphysical point-of-view, the entire universe is beautiful because it is divine workmanship. Creation is beautiful because it is made by God and with intention. In this framework, even ugliness and evil are pulled into a larger account of meaning. They are not celebrated, but are no longer outside the order. Christ, the human expression of divinity, is often portrayed at the moment of humiliation and suffering. The central image of redemption is not a serene body but wounded. Early Christian writers insisted on the goodness of all beings, and they anchored that insistence in scripture. Genesis states that at the end of creation God saw all that he had made and it was good. The Book of Wisdom adds a striking claim: the world was created according to number, weight, and measure, that is, according to criteria that resemble mathematical perfection.

Philosophy reinforced an aesthetic view of the cosmos. The idea that the world reflects ideal beauty has Platonic roots. Calcidius, in his late antique commentary on Timaeus, speaks of the splendid world of beings and its peerless beauty. The world, in this view, is not only functional. It is radiant. It is meant to be seen as an image of a higher form.

Pseudo Dionysius the Areopagite intensifies the metaphor of radiance. Beauty is not merely a property that objects possess. Beauty is a cause that pours itself out. It distributes fairness to each being according to its measure, and it produces harmony and splendor across creation. The language is luminous: beauty appears as light that makes things beautiful.

Similar and dissimilar things, species and forms, and the many layers of causes and appearances, are gathered into a unity that exceeds any single part. Medieval authors return repeatedly to this theme, sometimes described as the beauty of the whole, or the all beauty of the universe.

But the claim that the universe is beautiful confronts an obvious problem. Evil exists. Deformity exists. Corruption exists. If beauty and goodness are traditionally linked, then saying the universe is beautiful can also imply that it is good. How can that be reconciled with what the world plainly contains?

Augustine provides one answer. In De ordine, he acknowledges that we often perceive disharmony, even an insult to sight, when parts are arranged incorrectly. Yet he argues that error itself belongs within a larger order. In the Confessions, he insists that evil and ugliness do not exist as positive realities in the divine plan.

A related approach justifies ugliness by analogy with art. Deformity and evil function like shadow in a painting. Chiaroscuro makes light intelligible. Contrast reveals structure. The presence of darkness can disclose the coherence of the whole, even when the darkness is not desirable in itself. Others push the argument further. Sin disrupts order, but punishment restores it, so even the damned can be presented as evidence of an underlying law of harmony.

What about attention from the object to the observer. What is judged ugly may appear so because of flawed perception: poor light, the wrong distance, an oblique angle, or air that blurs contours. The judgment of ugliness, then, can be a report about conditions of viewing, not only about the thing itself.

During and after the Renaissance, the reevaluation of the human body produces a new problem: excessive beautification. Distressing events are sometimes rendered with an emphasis on noble strength or gentle sweetness rather than raw brutality. The torture becomes secondary to the aesthetic of endurance. In some cases, the result is openly eroticized, as in many depictions of Saint Sebastian, where the wounded body is presented as an object of desire as much as a symbol of faith.

One subject resists this softening more often, that is the hermit. The hermit is marked by deprivation, exposure, and time in harsh places. The desert is not flattering. Baroque spirituality uses hermits to celebrate disdain for bodily comfort, fasting, flagellation, and discipline. The stylites, who lived on columns, intensify the image. Weather, insects, illness, and relentless interior struggle become the visible cost of their spiritual stance. Their ugliness is treated as testimony and not failure.

Sartre’s No Exit presents an inferno without flames. Three people are confined in a room with the light always on and the door closed. In ordinary life, people can evade the gaze of others, or at least pretend that they are not fully seen. In Sartre’s room, there is no escape from judgment. The scorn of others becomes the punishment. One character begs for physical torture instead, because pain seems simpler than exposure, but the point remains: there are no instruments needed. Hell is other people.

This long arc yields a critical question – what to do with ugliness in a world we want to call meaningful? Greek culture showed that the world was not uniformly beautiful and treated beauty as an achievement. Christianity, in many of its dominant strands, insisted that the whole is beautiful because it is created, and then built philosophies to account for what harms the eye.

One can use the beauty of the whole to minimize the suffering of the part. A better use of the tradition is more demanding. Ask whether beauty is fragile, or whether it is robust enough to include shadow without denying it. Ask whether number, weight, and measure describe a world that is easy, or a world that holds together even when it hurts.

References

  • Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, “Plato’s Timaeus,” online reference article, Accessed February 12, 2026.
  • Pseudo Dionysius the Areopagite, On the Divine Names, online translation at Christian Classics Ethereal Library.
  • Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, Book VII, online translation at New Advent.
  • Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, “Medieval Theories of the Transcendentals,” online reference article.
  • Tertullian, “To the Martyrs,” online translation at New Advent.
  • The Metropolitan Museum of Art, online essay and collection materials on Saint Sebastian iconography.
  • Oxford University, Cult of Saints in Late Antiquity database, record and materials on Simeon Stylites and stylite traditions, Accessed February 12, 2026.
  • Jean Paul Sartre, No Exit, bibliographic record and synopsis in major online reference sources.

Our Nation – Lincoln

Whence shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall some transatlantic giant step the earth and crush us at a blow? Never. All the armies of Europe and Asia could not, by force, take a drink from the Ohio river, or make a track on the Blue Ridge in the trial of a thousand years. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men, we will live forever or die by suicide.

Abraham Lincoln, 1837.

Remembering Family – Photographer Paul Liebhardt

Recently my cousin and family member Paul Liebhardt passed away. He worked at NASA for a time and then became a photographer. While a photographer, he traveled internationally. His work as a photographer is well known. The remembrance celebration (link below) shows nice videos and writing of his students coming together from various paths of life sharing his teachings. Archive.org hopefully forever stores snapshots of his website and some of his photos.

A news article of remembrance celebration

https://keyt.com/news/education/2026/01/24/semester-at-sea-and-brooks-institute-students-remember-paul-liebhardt/

He use to photograph for Semester at Sea, which gave a nice memorial tribute

https://www.semesteratsea.org/a-love-letter-to-what-it-means-to-be-human-remembering-paul-liebhardt

The achive.org of his personal website

https://web.archive.org/web/20190127182433/http://www.paulliebhardt.com/about

Eros Barefoot, Beauty Unfinished

Walk through a museum and the first signal is chromatic. Marble reads as white, and white reads as pure. Aphrodite and Apollo become an argument before they become a figure: ideal beauty, ideal calm, ideal proportion. Neoclassicism did not merely preserve the antique, it manufactured an antique that could serve as a stable reference for modern taste. The whiteness of the stone is not neutral. It is an aesthetic claim and a moral one.

The formal claim is older. In the fourth century BC, Polyclitus is said to have produced a Canon, a body that functions as a rule set. Later, Vitruvius writes proportion as arithmetic. The face is one tenth of total height, the head one eighth, the torso one quarter, and so on. The body becomes a fraction, and the fraction becomes a norm. From there the inference is almost automatic: what departs from the norm becomes ugly.

That inference is natural only if one forgets the scope of Greek visual and literary inheritance. The Greeks idealized beauty, but later Europe idealized the Greeks, and then forgot that Greek culture also trafficked in the disproportionate, the monstrous, the comic, and the grotesque. The tradition did not only leave us the calibrated athlete. It also left us Sileni, satyrs, gorgons, hybrid beings, old bodies, wounded bodies, the deliberate violation of canon. Sometimes figures carry traces of Eastern Mediterranean and Near Eastern motifs, which means that even the supposed purity of the Greek line is already a composite line. The West inherited both the rule, and the refusal of the rule.

Greek perfection is often summarized by kalokagathia, the fusion of kalos and agathos, beautiful and good, but also capable, dignified, courageous, disciplined, and worthy of honor. It maps cleanly onto a later English ideal of the gentleman, style plus virtue plus competence. Once you install that ideal, you can generate an entire literature of correlation: physical ugliness signals moral ugliness. The body becomes evidence. The face becomes a verdict.

Yet the Greek record does not permit a simple equivalence. The most obvious counterexample is Helen. The expedition to Troy is motivated by her extraordinary beauty, and rhetoric can even produce praise of her, as Gorgias does in his encomium. But Helen as a moral figure is unstable, at best. Beauty moves nations, and beauty also breaks vows. If beauty is merely what pleases the eye, then it is powerful, and morally indifferent. If beauty is a quality of the soul, then Helen is a problem, because body and life do not align.

This ambiguity becomes explicit in Plato. If reality is the realm of Forms, and sensible things are copies, then ugliness looks like failure, a slide toward nonbeing. Plato even rejects in the Parmenides,the need for forms of base things such as mud, hair, or stains. The foul has no ideal model. It exists only as defect in the sensible order, a local imperfection against a perfect template.

Then the symposium complicates the picture further by relocating beauty inside desire. The dialogue distinguishes kinds of love, including loves aimed at women, and loves aimed at boys, and it stages competing images of Eros. Agathon presents Eros as eternally young and handsome, a familiar Greek pairing: youth with beauty, age with ugliness. It is the aesthetic of the unmarked body, the body before decay, before contingency becomes visible.

Socrates refuses the easy portrait. Speaking through the figure of Diotima, he argues from lack: we desire what we do not have. If so, Eros cannot be beautiful or good in possession, because he is desire for beauty and goodness, not their completed state. Eros is an in between. Plato calls him a daimon, not a god, not a brute, but an intermediary, a striving. His parentage encodes the concept. He is the child of Penia, Lack, and Poros, Resource. From Penia, he inherits a wretched appearance, shaggy, barefoot, homeless. From Poros he inherits the capacity to hunt, to scheme, to pursue what he lacks.

This is not a sentimental move. It is a structural one. If the beautiful is what we lack, then the lover is defined by incompleteness, not by perfection. Desire is not the halo around an already ideal body. Desire is the engine that reveals the gap between the body we have and the value we want.

Plato then connects Eros to immortality. Human beings want to persist. Physical procreation is one route, but …

Diotima insists on a second route: the production of spiritual values. Poetry, laws, philosophy, and the formation of character are also modes of reproduction. They create a different kind of afterlife, immortality by glory, and by transmission. Ordinary people produce children. Those who cultivate the aristocracy of the spirit produce wisdom, and beauty, as durable forms.

From this comes the ladder of love. A person begins by admiring one body. Then many bodies. Then the beauty of minds, practices, and institutions. Eventually, the lover aims at Beauty itself, not a local instance, but Beauty as Idea, the hyperuranian object. Here kalokagathia shifts meaning. The good and beautiful person is no longer the one whose body matches canon. He is the one who sees beyond canon, who prefers the beauty of the soul, and who can care for a young person of promise even if the body is not exemplary. The body becomes a starting point, not a stopping point.

Alcibiades then enters the dialogue as a kind of stress test. Handsome, drunk, charismatic, he offers a vivid confession: he tried to trade his body for Socrates’ wisdom. Socrates refused. He lay beside him chastely. The scene is not a prudish anecdote. It is a demonstration of priority. Carnal beauty does not purchase moral and intellectual beauty. The exchange rate is not defined.

Alcibiades’ praise of Socrates turns on appearance. Socrates looks like a Silenus, an ugly exterior, a comic face, a body that does not satisfy the classical smoothness. Yet Alcibiades insists that inside this exterior is a profound beauty. The dialogue forces a reversal: ugliness can be the shell of wisdom, and beauty can be the mask of chaos. The simplistic opposition between ugliness and kalokagathia collapses. Greek culture knew this collapse, and returned to it repeatedly, as shown by later admiration for Aesop, another figure marked as ugly, but granted noble soul, and sharp intelligence.

Even within Plato, the line is not stable. In the Republic he treats ugliness, understood as disharmony, as a threat to the soul’s formation, and he recommends sparing the young from ugly portrayals. Aesthetic diet becomes moral diet. And yet he also concedes that every thing has a kind of beauty proper to its function, its fit to its own Form. A pot can be beautiful as a pot. A mare can be beautiful as a mare. The hierarchy remains, because a pot is not beautiful compared to a girl, but within its category, it can still satisfy an internal standard. Beauty becomes relational, and contextual, not only absolute.

Aristotle, more empirical, sanctions a principle with long afterlife: it is possible to make beautiful imitations of ugly things. Representation can redeem what it depicts. People can admire a skilled portrayal of the unattractive, whether the unattractiveness is physical, moral, or both. Homer’s Thersites becomes a canonical example, a figure whose ugliness is part of his narrative function, and whose depiction becomes an aesthetic success.

Then the Stoics widen the frame further. Marcus Aurelius can look at imperfections, like cracks in a loaf of bread, and see them as contributing to the agreeability of the whole. The defect is not merely tolerated, it is integrated. It becomes part of the texture that makes the object real, and therefore fitting. Ugliness is redeemed by context, not by denial.

If you follow this arc, the museum myth looks thin. The Greeks did not hand us a single doctrine of beauty. They handed us a contested field: proportion and its violation, body and soul, youth and decay, desire as lack, representation as transfiguration, context as redemption. Neoclassicism took one slice, polished it, and called it the whole. The older material is messier, and more useful. It does not let beauty settle into a static measurement. It forces beauty to argue with virtue, and it forces ugliness to appear as more than a simple opposite. It is a reminder that canon is not nature. Canon is a decision, and Greece, like us, argued about what that decision should mean.

2025 in Review

2025 was a unique year. I lived in four different states and was a resident of those states. I moved across the country three times, with professional movers, packing and unpacking, registering my car, updating bank accounts, IDs, insurance, and permanent addresses. I leased apartments, sold my beloved house in Florida, and navigated multiple career changes quickly.

Along the way, I said goodbye to long term friends, familiar rhythms, favorite restaurants, coffee shops, and the commutes that had become quiet anchors, the route to the university, the small towns, the streams, and the art museums that made a place feel peaceful. In the middle of so much change, I found myself thinking of what I have done, where I have been, and what I still carry. When I look back at the people I knew, and the work, and the ordinary days that now feel distant, I do not see loss. I see what I learned, what it built in me, and the good that came from it.