Q.I.O.

72% irresponsibly stated, &tc.

2009-04-05T21:59:00.004+01:00

While waiting for a reception the other day, I stepped into a Starbucks to translate some of Homer's Illiad for a Greek class and to buy a hot chocolate (so that I could feel justified in translating in their store). They had a small placard which boasted that their coffee was "100% ethically grown and responsibly traded." All of which made me wonder whether ethical behavior was really quantifiable, and, if so, what assurance these stores had that no ethical lapses had occurred in the buying or trading of their coffee beans. This made me think that perhaps the advertisers who'd created the sign/placard/what-will-you had perhaps not fully grasped the nature of what it was they were trying to quantify, and led me to believe that their claim was actually quite irresponsible. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say it was 72% irresponsible.

More from Keillor

2009-01-31T19:54:00.002Z

"Every time I read a book about how to be smarter, how not to be sad, how to raise children and be happy and grow old gracefully, I think, 'Well, I won't make those mistakes, I won't have to go through that,' but we all have to go through that. Everything they went through, we'll go through. Life isn't a vicarious experience. You get it figured out and then one day life happens to you. You prepare yourself for grief and loss, arrange your ballast and then the wave swamps the boat.

"Everything the went through: the loneliness, the sadness, the grief, and the tears--it will all come to us, just as it came to them when we were little and had to reach up to get hold of their hand, when we knew them by the shape of their legs. Aunt Marie had fat little legs, I held her hand one cold day after a blizzard, we climbed snow-drifts to get to the store and buy licorice whips. She said, 'Come on, we can make it, don't slip,' and soon she was far behind, a fat lady in a heavy coat with a fur collar, leaning into the wind, wheezing from emphysema, and sometime later she died. She knew that death was only a door to the kingdom where Jesus would welcome her, there would be no crying there, no suffering, but meanwhile she was fat, her heart hurt, and she lived alone with her ill-tempered little dogs, tottering around her dark little house full of Chinese figurines and old Sunday Tribunes. She complained about nobody loving her or wanting her or inviting her to their house for dinner anymore. She sat eating pork roast, mashed potato, creamed asparagus, one Sunday at our house when she said it. We were talking about a trip to the North Shore and suddenly she broke into tears and cried, 'You don't care about me. You say you do but you don't. If I died tomorrow, I don't know as you'd even go to my funeral.' I was six. I said, cheerfully, 'I'd come to your funeral,' looking at my fat aunt, her blue dress, her string of pearls, her red rouge, the powder on her nose, her mouth full of pork roast, her eyes full of tears.

"Every tear she wept, that foolish woman, I will weep every one before I'm done and so will you. We're not so smart we can figure out how to avoid pain, and we cannot walk away from the death that we owe." --Introduction to Leaving Home, xxi-xxii

2009-01-28T02:49:00.002Z

"So much is gone that once we could not live without, and yet we do live somehow and even sometimes think hopefully of tomorrow." --Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon Days, 56.

Well . . . I'm not in Oxford anymore . . .

2009-01-22T03:04:00.002Z

and so this blog title is probably misleading (if not down-right dishonest). And so I had given up on blogging . . . which was perhaps an extreme measure. . . . But at prodding from my aunt, I've decided to revive this (comparatively) old site.

So, a brief update:

I'm again at Calvin College, enrolled in what we call interim. This is a period of three weeks spent taking only one course. I decided to take German 122--a continuation of German 121, which had been offered last semester at Calvin. But of course I wasn't at Calvin last semester, so I'm starting in at my classmates' midway point. I did, however, spend much of Christmas break picking up as much of the language as is possible in a three-week period.

But I'm enjoying the class and learning a new language, both of which are (I think) good. And I'm preparing for grad. school as well. All the same, as difficult as it might be to comprehend, I'm equally as busy here at Calvin as I was while in Oxford. But then I'm also working a part-time job again. So perhaps that explains for the similarities.

But it's all been a good challenge and one for which I'm grateful, and there you have as brief an update as I've ever posted.

School's out

2008-12-11T21:19:00.002Z

Last paper of the term turned in earlier today, around noonish!

Reactions? Mainly tired, a bit dazed that it has ended so quickly, more than ready to see my family again, amazed at the kindness of my church family here in Britain (I figured that by the end of the term, I'll have been to members' house at least ten times for dinner; this past week has been particularly busy in that regard: Sunday afternoon with the Clarks, Monday luncheon with the Rawlings, three invitations for Wendesday evening [from the Jones', the Francisco's, and the Heklot's (sp?)], desserts at housegroup on the same day for a farewell, and then a last lunch on this coming Sunday).

Specifically, I'm glad my final paper is done, though it may well be the worst I've written this entire term. Sadly. Interesting topic though, but at some point or another you simply have to accept the constraints of time and bodily limitations. I felt intellectually dishonest nonetheless to turn in such an incomplete paper.

Looking forward to a full night's sleep for the first time in a week or so.

More later

A Day in the Life

2008-11-30T14:30:00.003Z

Fri., Nov. 28, 2008.

6:15--Wake up, shower, devotions, breakfast, laundry, prepare the night's dinner, straighten room.
8:45--Bike to the Radcliffe Camera Library (in the centre of Oxford) with plenty of readings in the philosophy of language (phil. lang). Stop by Frewin Ct (offices/student hangout centre) to make sure my roommate is still alive. He'd a paper due today and probably spent the night at Frewin writing it.
9:00--Radcliffe Camera opens. Next two hours spent reading one long essay in phil. lang.
11:00--Homer lecture to attend at the examination schools. The lecturer asks beforehand how to receive an applause like the other lecturers. I replied that they probably hand out chocolate at the start of each class.
12:00--Head to the Taylorian to continue reading phil.lang.
7:00--The Taylorian closes, but the Sackler Library is open 'til 10:00 so I head there.
8:30--I'd been planning to study until 10:00, but my eyes are beginning to ache from staring at text (especially on a computer screen) all day long. So I head back to the Vines (the house where I'm living).
9:00--Dinner. The house is deserted.
9:30--I doze off while attempting to read more phil.lang.

other tidbits
I was invited to a chamber concert taking place this past Tuesday. It was beautiful and restful (and it was right next door to the Kilns for C.S. Lewis fans). Afterwards, dinner was provided, and I knew I was out of my league when this dear elderly lady inquired whether 'I knew Florence.' I had to admit that I'd never been. 'Oh, you'd love Florence,' she replied, and then proceeded with the greatest of ease to list artists and works and locations, all with horrendous Italian names and equally difficult pronunciations. Thankfully, there was another gentleman present, else I don't think I could have carried my end of the conversation. 'Hmm, I've never seen that painting. No, I don't remember hearing about the artist you just mentioned. etc. etc.' She was quite delightful though, and near the end she spoke about the importance of tending one's own garden. And for those who complain about the formality of academic papers, mind you that this dear woman remarked in conversation that 'one's own children do teach one so much, do they not?' All the same, when she asked later on whether 'I knew Verona,' I also had to remark that I'd never been. 'Oh well, you simply must go at some time or another.'

In the midst of wealth, poverty

2008-11-23T21:37:00.004Z

I went walking the Oxford streets last night. As I did, I met three individuals: John, Sheryl, and Gabriel.

John first. I was biking down a side-road and on top of one of the side-walk grates (there's no real equivalent in the states that I'm aware of) was sprawled a person covered with a burlap sack. At first I thought it was a drunk. I walked past later in the evening as he was getting up and he commented on how the grate provided heat during a cold evening (he could already feel the chill now that he was up) and that the one thing he needed more than anything else was a sleeping-bag. Most shops in Oxford had already closed (or were closing) though.

I later met Sheryl. She's a street musician (plays a piper I believe) who lives in a tent outside the city. At this time of the year, she was playing mainly Christmas tunes, though with some old tunes mixed in. Rarely, someone would walk past and drop coins in her hat. The streets grew more and more empty as she continued to play.

Gabriel was the last individual I met. He was leaving a phone booth and had a somewhat mangy dog at his side. He asked if I had spare change for the homeless. I don't have much I said. It doesn't have to be a £50 note he replied. We struck up a brief conversation. He asked if I was a student and where and what I was studying. Yes, and at Wycliffe Hall, and the Classics, er, I mean Greek and Latin. Do you hope to teach then? Eventually, yes. What exactly do you say at that point?

Papers

2008-11-13T13:58:00.002Z

Nine papers down, six to go!!! Average length: 3000 words.
Thoughts on paper-writing (and on today's paper in general):

It's always embarrassing to read a paper aloud to a professor if it has typos.
Microsoft Word and auto-correct are simply devious. If you ever find yourself in a situation where you need to incorporate a Latin quote into your writing (I'm sure this happens all the time), beware that Word will change every Latin construction into a similar English word: nomine becomes nominee; socia becomes social; and so on.
Today's paper for my Aeneid tutorial was the shortest yet: 3500 words. The longest? 4000.
It's always neat when the tutor comments at the end of your paper that he would have given it an A+ (which doesn't often happen), especially when lack of time (one week to research and write) means the editing job is not as thorough as desired.

Yes, I'm in paper-writing mode, which explains the blandness of this post. Forgive me.

National Identity Anecdotes

2008-11-10T23:54:00.006Z

The other day at church I was talking with this lady and during the course of our conversation she asked 'you're French, no?' or something to that effect. I told her that no, I was American. She responded that yes of course I had already told her that but for some reason whenever I talked with her she thought I was French--maybe it was the way I spoke. I told her I had French-Canadian ancestors and we decided that must be the explanation. A few days earlier one of my fellow students here asked me matter of factly, 'you're Spanish, right?' No, I replied. I'm not Spanish. But you've some Spanish, in you right? None at all. German, French, British Isles. He could've sworn I was Spanish--had a friend who looked just like me who was from Spain. Was I sure that there was no trace of Spanish blood whatsoever. Fairly sure I said. And earlier a gentleman at church had commented that my English was remarkably good--where was I from? From the States I responded. Ah, that explains everything he said.

Anyhow, those struck me as amusing. But here's a more coherent story about national identity. Went to a Guy Fawkes party this past Saturday (yes, it was a few days late; no, it wasn't really a Guy Fawkes party, but it provided a good pretense for the host and hostess to have some friends from church over). Other than the hosts (it was a condo and the two couples were jointly celebrating) everyone else was a foreigner. Their wives were Russian and Azerbaijani. Their guests were from Kenya, Serbia (though Hungarians), India, and the U.S. I've really come to appreciate international settings such as this one especially when facilitated by the church and our common faith. I think it's a bit of a foretaste of what heaven will look like. And it's unique when it happens without an intensional striving for diversity (something we at Calvin are all familiar with--a good thing, no doubt, but always unique when it happens naturally).

Finally, I've appended some pictures. I'll try to provide brief explanations. The first picture is of a dinner a friend and I prepared for food group a couple Tuesdays ago (many of the people in the house pool resources for common meals throughout the week--I join in for the Tuesday evening meal). A reporter was present at the dinner as well, so we were glad that it turned out well. We had salads and cheesecake.

The second picture is a scenic little walkway buried away in Oxford. You can't see the sign, but the alley's labeled 'Cuckoo Lane.' The third picture is of fall colors on the hospital lawn. It was raining this past Sunday, so this is the best I have of Oxford in the fall so far. The fourth picture is where I've decided I'm going to live should I ever return to Oxford--though I've not told the owners yet.

And the final picture is of a discarded tweed newsies hat. The picture's out of focus though.

Pluto again

2008-11-01T18:27:00.003Z

The first sentence contains the groundwork for the claims about Pluto, but it's not vital.

"According to the principle of substitution, for any terms a and b, if 'a=b' is true, then for any given formula containing 'a', the result of replacing one or more occurences of 'a' by 'b' does not change the truth value of that formula. . . . For 'nine = the number of planets' is true. Furthermore, 'Necessarily, nine = nine' is true. But the result of substituting 'the number of planets' for the first occurence of 'nine' in 'Necessarily, nine = nine' yields a falsity, namely, 'Necessarily, the number of planets = nine'." --Jason Stanely, 'Names and Rigid Designation,' in A Companion to the Philosophy of Language, eds. Bob Hale and Crispin Wright.

Tidbits

2008-10-28T08:21:00.004Z

And these really will be tidbits--sorry for the brevity.

a) I joined the University College Choir--we've a concert in week eight. But the music is incredibly involved (and I'm not capable of sight reading unless I'm standing right next to someone singing my part loudly and proficiently--in which case I can sight read as well as anyone else).

b) The most beautiful library in the world, bar none (sorry Hekman) is located in the Taylorian institute. I can't find any free images, but here's a link to pictures from flickr.
This first one is of the exterior of the building. This second one of the interior.

c) I think I want to be a linguist. Not quite, but I think the most enjoyable aspect of my time here so far has been attending the "Comparative Historical Indo-European Linguistics" lecture series. And linguistics is a logical extension of language studies (Classics) and of interest in the philosophy of language. So maybe it's not too far afield.

d) I hope everything is well with you all.

The end.

Academe

2008-10-17T22:16:00.006+01:00

I should preface this blog by stating that though I'll here caricature academia as overly pedantic and perhaps completely irrelevant, I only do so fully convinced of its worth--at least I should hope it's worthwhile if I'm to spend a lifetime within its bounds. That said, if we can't make fun our ourselves, how are we to react when others (inevitably) will do so for us?

So, I hope you enjoy these quotations pulled entirely out of context.

poor pluto
The following arguments are from an article by Saul Kripke entitled 'Speaker's Reference and Semantic Reference' published in 1977. The year of publication is vitally important.

'"The number of planets is necessarily odd" can mean two things, depending on whether it is interpreted de dicto [i.e., about the actual phrase itself] or de re [i.e., about the thing pointed out by the phrase]. If it is interpreted de dicto, it asserts that the proposition that the number of planets is odd is a necessary truth--something I take to be false (there might have been eight planets).'

Quinn's commentary: Was Kripke prescient or what? How'd he know there were (or would soon be) only eight planets? Hmm, maybe there are other scientific nuggets buried away in his arguments. But he goes on:

'If it is interpreted de re, it asserts that the actual number of planets (nine) has the property of necessary oddness (essentialists like me take this to be true).'

So, perhaps he didn't know that there were only eight planets. Unless this is a red herring. Maybe this is an attempt to cover up a generally known fact. Was Kripke part of a conspiracy? Let's read on:

'Consider [the following statement]: (2) "The number of planets might have been necessarily even." In a natural use, (2) can be interpreted as true: for example, there might have been exactly eight planets, in which case the number of planets would have been even, and hence necessarily even.'

The plot thickens: perhaps Kripke was trying to bring forth a truth that was actively being concealed, but had to do so cautiously lest the conspirators attempt to take his life. Perhaps Kripke was sending subliminal messages. But let's see if this is confirmed from the rest of his work:

'For example, "the number of planets" denotes eight, speaking of a counterfactual situation where there would have been eight planets (and "the number of planets is even" is true of such a situation). . . . Another type of definite description . . . a "rigid" definite description, could be introduced semantically by the following stipulation: . . . (then "the number of planets is odd," as interpreted, expresses a necessary truth.'

I think the simplest solution is to say that Kripke was simply confused. When we state that there are eight planets, this proposition is not counterfactual. I'm afraid this revelation might undermine his whole argument.

those rascals who invented language ought to be hanged
I think it's requisite to pick on Bertrand Russell (in spite, or perhaps because, of our philosophical tradition being indebted to him). In an essay entitled 'Descriptions' published in 1909, he states, in a considerable fit of pique, that

'The is of "Socrates is human" expresses the relation of subject and predicate; the is of "Socrates is a man" expresses identity. It is a disgrace to the human race that it has chosen to employ the same word "is" for these two entirely different ideas--a disgrace which a symbolical logical language of course remedies.'

All I can say is that I'm glad for BR's existence. There we were as humans, wallowing in our century's old disgrace and confusion, when suddenly he came along and showed us the light with symbolic logic. If only Bill Clinton had been using symbolical logical language instead of plain old English, he would have known what the meaning of is 'is'.

Everyone has their own little vices . . .
Stephen Neale shares one of his own with us his readers in the third chapter of his Descriptions published in 1990.

'It is tempting to characterize the syntactician as that philosopher of language whose job it is to provide a finite, systematic characterization of a proprietary body of intuitions concerning such things as syntactical well-formedness, i.e., grammaticality.'

I'll freely confess to you all that this is also my greatest struggle. But, with great effort, I'm able to resist the constant temptation it presents.

even a child
This also from Neale and from the chapter and book, though perhaps it's not so humorous as the others. I simply found it of general interest.

'The results of some pscyholinguistic experiments [ . . . I should interrupt right here and ask you not to stop reading: the argument does have some interest . . . ] suggest that an 'order-of-mention' strategy is applied fairly blindly in the earlier stages of language acquisition by children confronted with utterances containing the words 'before' and 'after'. In particular, children appear to grasp 'A before B' and 'After A, B' before they grasp 'Before B, A' and 'B after A'. See Clark (1971) and Johson (1975).'

Isn't that just the neatest thing ever?

finis

The British Countryside (etc.)

2008-10-12T23:05:00.027+01:00

in south hinksey,
I went for a Sunday stroll today, and I'll do my best to recreate through pictures my experience. To the southwest of Oxford there's this quaint little village called South Hinksey. It's almost impossible to reach by road--when I first stumbled upon the town, I'd been cycling on a footpath alongside the freeway (as you might rightly assume, I was desperately lost at the time). The footpath suddenly diverged from the freeway and tumbled down into the village. There a total of three roads--and only one leads outside the village (and that straight to the freeway). This is the road leading into the town.

The town can have no more than twenty houses in all, perhaps two churches, a village hall, and one little pub. As I walked past the pub, all the locals were outdoors, taking in the beautiful weather at picnic tables. Nearby there was a horse-farm, and several riders had just passed. In case you're wondering what the roofline of a country village in England looks like, I hope the picture to the right will satisfy your curiousity. Most of the houses are made of brick or stone (or sometimes stucco). A construction worker at church today told me in fact that most of the banks here refuse to provide mortgages for houses constructed out of wood. Why that is, I'll never know, but I'm sure it's bound to put a damper on anyone who hopes to build such a house. All in all, though, the lack of siding makes for quite beautiful scenery, as down this side street in the village. Yes, that is a thatched-roof you see on the house in the foreground.

For more noticeable thatching, consider especially the tudor-style house to the right. This picture doesn't do the house justice, but the roof actually forms a slight u-shape as it curves with the house. I've never seen anything quite like it.

Another curious thing about the architecture here is the prominence of stone-walls or fences. A friend was commenting that they're quite rare in the states, but it's actually just the opposite here. To see a log or a picket fence or even barbed wire is the oddity here. The fence to the right is quite commonplace here in the Oxford area at least. Just below you'll see the country church with its adjacent graveyard.

And I've also included a picture of a garden fence with a tad bit of fall color. It seems quite nippier here than it does in Michigan this time of year, and yet the colors have only started to change. But perhaps my memory of Michigan falls has deceived me. What is it like this time of year back home?

south hinksey lake,
is one of the few ways you can reach the village without an automobile. I'd said that there's only one road leading into the village, and that's true, but there are a number of footpaths also leading there, and the most prominent one crosses the lake bearing the town's name. Here's the bridge leading across S. Hinksey Lake to the village.

The lake actually affords a better view of the Oxford skyline than it does of South Hinksey's, but that's to be expected when you consider the comparative sizes of the cities--Oxford actually has what could be called a skyline, at least to a wishful thinker who comes from a town with little over 500 people and considers Grand Rapids the big city. To the right are four distinct steeples (hopefully you can make them out in the background). I attempted at least ten shots of the steeples, all to recreate what I saw in person, but such is the nature of photography that it's hardly ever possible to do so. Just below is a church in S. Oxford.

I've attached three more pictures of the lake, but you'll forgive me if I don't provide commentary. I try my best to keep the text even with the pictures, but the end result is that you'll be buried in both, which can't be desirable. So the pictures you see below are these: one is of a seagull in flight; another is of the lake as viewed from the RR tracks; and another is of the lake with a fallish tree in the foreground.

sunday afternoon in oxford,
as the grandmother lovingly put it after I'd taken the picture of her and her granddaughter. 'It's a lovely day, isn't it?' she commented. All the pictures in this section are what we'll term 'natural habitat' pictures. I didn't have anyone pose, though I did ask permission before taking the pictures (at least for most). These were all local amusements today that I'd the pleasure of capturing with my sister's camera. 'Do you mind if I take your picture,' I'd ask them. 'See, I'm not from these parts, and I'd like some pictures to send home to my family.' To the right obviously is a grandmother and her grandchild on a park bench.

The picture to the right is of a couple by S. Hinksey Lake. And the last picture is of a dear old couple checking the notices at the village hall in S. Hinksey. 'Oh, you can see my bald spot,' the gentleman had said once I showed him the picture. I protested that that wasn't the case--my photography couldn't be as bad as that. In the end he agreed. There were many more local pictures, but I hope you enjoy this selection.

the river thames (and osney lock),
runs through Oxford--that is the first one does; the second one stays quite put. And all along the river-bank there's a towpath. The canals are full of barges, giving one the impression that every other person in Oxford must have planned at some point to take up the habit and then stashed that dream away 'til a more convenient day, much as with exercise machines in the U.S. For the most part the barges line the river and the canal, but are only rarely seen floating down one or the other. And yet there are quieter sections of the river as well, away from the hubbub of the city (as hubbubish as Oxford can get--which isn't much): there are parts of the river where the houses and gardens vanish into the distance and the wildlife appears in the foreground. This first picture is of just such a thing. The geese had been on the opposite side of the river, but as soon as they'd seen that I'd pulled my camera out of its bag, they quickly made their way to where I was, begging me to photograph them (and thus ensure their immortality of course). But, as should be expected, whenever there's a crowd clamoring for one thing or another, there'll always be a dissenter. Sitting on the opposite bank, one of the geese, which we'll assume was the leader of the gaggle, was squawking noisily as the others neared me, and eventually persuaded them of the peril I posed them all. All the same, I was able to take a few good shots (but not of the dissenter). That bird was simply not photogenic.

Here's a reflection of a dilapidated building and some of the nearby gardens in the Thames near the Osney Lock.
And here's the water rippling out from the lock as the gateman lowered a skiff from one part of the river into another. It was not nearly as impressive or austere as the Soo Locks, but the whole setting would be quite fun nonetheless. Imagine going out kayaking and having a locks operated just for you!

the general countryside
is hopefully faithfully represented in this grabbag of pictures I've left. Here are rolling hills to the right and varieties of red berries just below. And the final picture is a black and white from atop the railroad tracks. If you look closely enough, you just might recognize the church steeple from one of the earlier pictures. Hopefully you've enjoyed the pictures as much as I enjoyed sharing them with you, and even more hopefully they give you a taste of the British countryside.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

2008-10-08T23:20:00.003+01:00

Just so you know, there's no common theme linking these pictures. If you find one, though, I'd be glad to know it.

Pigeons on the ceiling of the Romans baths in Bath, England of all places.

The ceiling of the cathedral in Bath. There's a name for the architectural style, but I've forgotten it.

Our house parents, Michael and Emma (whose last name I can't bring to mind).

Part of the Romans baths. Does the water look inviting?

The altar window of Bath's cathedral.

I'm posting this entry in installments, so for more pictures see part two right below.

APWATW, part two

2008-10-08T23:19:00.000+01:00

I thought this was neat: they've a mirror in the Bath cathedral.

Our senior tutor found this gravestone in the cathedral particularly moving. Apparently Winthrop Baldwin was a 'Gentleman of considerable Abilities, valuable Informations, and most extensive Charity.' What more could you ask for as an epitaph?

This explains the fall of Rome. And for some reason, I don't think it meets government standards.

A picture of the cathedral from within the Baths. Do you see the Caesar in the foreground?

Friends at the baths. From L to R, me (Quinn), Therese, Matt (my roommate), and Andrea.

And everyone knows that a Kraut is just a . . .

2008-10-03T11:47:00.003+01:00

David Hume writes in an essay entitled 'Of National Characters' that

"The common people in SWITZERLAND have probably more honesty than those of the same rank in IRELAND; and every prudent man will, from that circumstance alone, make a difference in the trust which he reposes in each. We have reason to expect greater wit and gaiety in a FRENCHMAN than in a SPANIARD; though CERVANTES was born in SPAIN. An ENGLISHMAN will naturally be supposed to have more knowledge than a DANE; though TYCHO BRAHE was a native of DENMARK."

First, I don't know what Hume was doing with the capitalization (I think it's rather hard on the eyes, personally), but perhaps that was par for the course during the 18th century.

Second, despite the sweeping generalities, I should admit that I've not read the essay in full and Hume's statement could all very well be tongue-in-cheek. That said, I found it quite amusing, especially coming from the mouth of one of England's foremost philosophers.

Hopefully you found as much humor in it as I did--of course, that's only possible if you're French.

Picture Blog!

2008-09-29T19:55:00.006+01:00

We went to Bath, England, which, in addition to its Romans baths, has 150 decorated pigs scattered throughout the town. Here's a sample, including a legend of all the pigs:

In case you're wondering, the pigs do have some historical/mythological significance, however slight. According to legend, King Blalund (sp?) found a herd of pigs descending into a muddy area (the famed healing waters of Bath) and coming out remarkably clean. And this was the discovery of Bath's most significant landmark.

More pictures to come later, but I don't want to press my luck with my computer.

Bertrand Russell's Grandmother on Metaphysics

2008-09-23T22:25:00.002+01:00

I have no great affection for Russell, though perhaps I ought to. Nonetheless, I'm writing an essay on him in which I'm to address whether or not autobiography can ever be philosophy. Hence I'm reading Russell's autobiography. All that to say that from that work this is a real gem from his grandmother which quite amused me and so I'm blogging yet again to share it with you:

"When she discovered that I was interested in metaphysics, she told me that the whole subject could be summed up in the saying: 'What is mind? no matter; what is matter? never mind.' At the fifteenth or sixteenth repetition of this remark, it ceased to amuse me, but my grandmother's animus against metaphysics continued to the end of her life. Her attitude is expressed in the following verses:

O Science metaphysical

And very very quizzical

You only make this maze of life the mazier;

For boasting to illuminate

Such riddles dark as Will and Fate

You muddle them to hazier and hazier.

The cause of every action

You expound with satisfaction;

Through the mind in all its corners and recesses

You say that you have travelled,

And all problems unravelled

And axioms you call your learned guesses.

Right and wrong you've so dissected,

And their fragments so connected,

That which we follow doesn't seem to matter;

But the cobwebs you have wrought,

And the silly flies they have caught,

It needs no broom miraculous to shatter.

You know no more that I,

What is laughter, tear, or sigh,

Or love, or hate, or anger, or compassion;

Metaphysics, then, adieu,

Without you I can do,

And I think you'll very soon be out of fashion."

-B. Russell, The Autobiography of, Vol. 1 "1872-1914" (London, Allen & Unwin: 1967), 45.

Isn't that sheer brilliance!

Miscellanea

2008-09-22T18:34:00.000+01:00

old habits are hard to break . . .

Our first Oxford essay was due today. Guess who was writing up 'til the last minute in a frantic (and successful) attempt to avoid starting the term off on a bad note by turning in a late paper? I'm sure I've no clue. Guess who also pulled his first all-nighter of the semester? Oy vey. You'd think I'd learn to budget my time better.

academic jargon OR decipher that

I'd offer a £5 note to anyone who could explain to me the following sentence, 'xcept British currency probably wouldn't do you any good. So instead, be aware of my undying gratitude. Read for the offending monstrosity? Here 'tis:

'Standen gave to the earl what Anthony had given him at Gorhambury

"touching your desire of effectuating that you had so long expected

more wished by you for my Lord's service and good than for any

interest or gain to your brother."'

—Lisa Jardine, Hostage to Fortune: The Troubled Life of Francis Bacon (London, 1998), 153.

dinner party

The church I'm attending while in England is perhaps the most friendly church I've ever seen. Yesterday was my second Sunday and after the service this lovely semi-elderly couple invited me to their house for dinner. They were joined by another couple of the same age (say 70-ish), a widower of similar years, and a moderately younger gentleman from church (moderately younger being 50). And while some might balk at a dinner where one is the only one under 50, I must say I found the whole afternoon quite 'brilliant'.

First the company: the conversation was lively and full of what we term British humor--gently derogatory barbs aimed at every person around the table. If there's one habit that would be perfectly pleasant for we in the States ought to acquire, it's the ability to take ourselves slightly less seriously. But, humor aside, it were as though I'd had my first authentic taste of Great Britain. The host and hostess and other guests informed me of British mores, brought me up to date on the British economy, regaled me with British history, and taught me of the countless dialects present in the island.

Then the food: I must admit that I quite like the idea of afternoon and morning teas and teas to precede and follow each meal, and especially the biscuits and scones that accompany those teas. But that's a weakness. So instead, I'll inform you of the meal. The host was formerly head chef at Oriel College (one of Oxford's many). And, as one of his guests proudly informed me, he's also cooked for royalty. And the meal showed it. We started with a light dish of fruits and biscotti and then moved to the main course. Several dishes laden with steaming vegetables were brought to the table and then out came the individual plates, each loaded with an immense portion of roast beef (on the bone) smothered in a wonderful gravy. The meat fell to pieces at the touch of the fork. And dessert was a bread-and-butter pudding with custard and ice cream. So I felt quite pampered yesterday (I spent nearly five hours at the flat!).

I'm still amazed by kindness to relative strangers. Perhaps this will always be the case. But I think I could grow quite fond of British hospitality. And God always provides: earlier the past week in worship, someone had read the verse from Matthew in which we're told not to worry about what we'll eat or what we'll wear. It was an apt reminder at the time as it was again on Sunday. But this has been far too long a section.

a free recital

Last item, I promise. This past Tuesday a gentleman was handing out fliers on the side of the road (the type you normally walk past without batting an eyelash). But he called out 'free recital tonight' and stopped me in my tracks. At Exeter College Chapel, Tullio Forlenza was performing Mozart and Shostakovich. And it didn't cost a dime! Wonderful music in a beautiful setting: what more could you ask for? I still can't believe I'm here.

so long for now

All the best

Can you point me to Marston?

2008-09-13T19:40:00.000+01:00

I was walking from Wycliffe Hall (my host institution while here at Oxford) to one of Oxford's 100 libraries when a motorcyclist pulled over and asked me for directions to Marston. At first I was quite confused, thinking I had heard Marsden. But when I understood what they had asked, it dawned on me that I actually knew the way (though not the street names perfectly). I gave them directions as best I could--follow this road to High Street, when you reach a traffic circle, merge and continue straight and then turn left at the first light afterwards--and can only hope that they understood my jumbled directions well enough to make it to their destination. That or they grasped my newness to the city and were merely obliging me while I stumbled through the route they should take.

I'm most definitely in the process of reorienting myself to the new landscape (and the Oxonians have been more than helpful as I do so--from the perfect stranger on the sidewalk who saw me, city map sprawled in front of me, looking for the Classics library--"It's right behind you, but it's closed now"--to the friendly library staff who've let me know of the best places to study and how to navigate the morass of different libraries and confusing catalogues), but apparently I look at home enough that others have begun asking me for directions.

That's a horridly long sentence. And grammatically confusing at that. Oh well, life goes on.

I'm not sure whether I'll ever be confused for a local, but perhaps the strangeness of the city is beginning to wear off and I'm starting to settle in. Even one of the librarians who was helping me mistook my reference to my home college's library (Calvin's Hekman) to refer to one of the colleges here at Oxford (whether Balliol, or Oriel, or Keble, many different colleges make up Oxford in much the same way that larger state universities have colleges of nursing and mathematics and other such things). And the tour guide to the Salisbury Cathedral, commenting on my accent, stated that it was much less harsh than the typical American's, and wondered whether my family spoke Polish in the home. Either he vastly misunderstood something I'd said earlier (though I can't imagine what), or Polish people have similar accents. Perhaps Darius would know.

Anyhow, this all to give you a flavor of my first week or so here. I've wandered a bit through the city and have visited a few different graveyards (including one in which Kenneth Grahame is buried) and have studied in several of the libraries (the most magnificent in my opinion is the Sackler, though the Bodleian is much the most famous) and more things of the sort. Orientation week has come to an end and classes have started and readings have been assigned. So I best end this post and return to work.

The pictures you've seen so far have been of Salisbury Cathedral. I'll leave you with a few more pictures from our tour, with a view of the house from atop the cathedral, and with one of my roommate hard at work.

I'm in England and it's Raining

2008-09-06T16:30:00.001+01:00

I've been in Britain now two days: my first view of the country from the plane's window was that of a lush landscape. It's incredibly green here: the houses are mostly brick and their roofs often moss-covered. The accents, even on the plane, are wondrous (though I can't always understand what's being said). And the vocabulary is different in some important regards. We're to form an orderly 'queue', and to throw our 'rubbish' in the 'rubbish bin'.

As for the flight, I was stopped twice (once for each flight and both times in regard to my carry-on). "It looks suspicious" as one security guard said. They confiscated my peanut butter and a tube of toothpaste: I guess I should've thought better than to bring them in my carry-on. Worse yet, they probably just threw the peanut butter away. The least they could've done was to use it-a shame to see such good gone to waste. Oh well. The lady who confiscated my items thought my carry-on was too heavy. Asked me what was in it. Granola bars I said. "Can't be just granola bars; I'm going to have to check." She did--mainly just granola bars.

If my computer consents, I'll upload pictures from my room.

The View Out My Window

2008-09-05T21:57:00.000+01:00

I make no claims to being a good photographer, but here are pictures of the view out my window:

Oxford Preparations

2008-07-18T05:40:00.000+01:00

In a little less than seven weeks I'll be boarding a plane for England. How will I spend my time before then?

Here's the reading recommendations that an Oxford don e-mailed for one of my tutorials:

What I would recommend for my two students is to buy or borrow Readings in the Philosophy of Language, by Peter Ludlow, published by MIT press. They should then try to read as much of part one as possible.