What Next? (I refrain, please note, from full caps.)

Where (on earth) are we going?

First it’s beastly hot

And then it’s not.

Then we have the sun

And then the rain.

Cloudy skies abide

And then retreat

It’s undecided now,

So is it gonna do?

Waukazoo Street on Saturday morning

We were fortunate on Friday for farmers market in Northport in having an absolutely perfect day. It was a good day to have the bookstore door open, too, with Bruce at the helm and me taking time off at home with old Sarah-dog. Saturday came the deluge! Then Sunday morning both sky and forecast threatened more storms, but clouds moved off around midday and let us enjoy perfection once again, with a much lowered humidity and strong, refreshing breeze. 

Sunday and Monday are both days off this year at Dog Ears Books, but, expecting a UPS delivery, I came in for a while on Monday after latte outdoors (we braved the cool morning air) at the New Bohemian Café with a friend, and not only did my book order arrive earlier than anticipated, but so many people came in to browse and buy books that I stayed until almost 5 p.m. A full day in the bookstore, after all. Could not turn away people who were so happy to find the door open!

Glorious composites of July!

Backing up to the beginning of the weekend -- the Artist and I failed to see the meteor when we went out to wait for it on Friday, and maybe we should have been disappointed; however, it was so lovely and calm and peaceful out there on the hillside overlooking Lake Michigan as the stars came out that staying out late seemed more than worthwhile. We reminisced and shared memories of our respective childhoods and watched what we later learned from a knowledgeable friend had probably been the International Space Station – although when I went online to check its orbit, I only became confused, but I’m going to believe that what we saw was the ISS, as our friend so familiarly called it.

But while all that was part of our peaceful country life Up North, we remain connected to a larger world – the larger world, the world of conflict, dissension, anger, and resentment – the world in which, for years now, the “unbelievable” has been occurring on a daily basis. We here Up North are not playing ostrich, nor do we deny responsibility for our share of both the problems and what we hope will be solutions. Many people are working hard, and I see battle fatigue in friends’ faces (what I can see of their faces, what with masks covering our mouths and noses to protect each other from coronavirus transmission) and also “hear” rage erupting out of fear in the FULL CAPS of Facebook posts. But I am trying to listen carefully and (when possible) sympathetically before rushing to respond, to think about what others may be trying to say, not just how their words sound, and also, often now, to pass by without comment those spewings that indicate a mind too upset to hear me without winding itself tighter and tighter. 

And, as often in my life, I turn to books.

One book I’m reading right now is a fictionalized biography (it reads like a novel) of Mangas Colorado, by Will Levington Comfort, titled simply Apache, and another is a book of essays by Isaiah Berlin, Against the Current. I read in Apache last night and this morning opened the larger book to Berlin’s essay called “The Originality of Machiavelli,” in which he argues that almost all critics of Machiavelli have failed to grasp the essential position, what Machiavelli saw (Berlin believed) as “an insoluble dilemma,” or “two incompatible moral worlds,” that of a virtuous private life or that of successful existence in the social world, a dilemma that forces choice on all human beings but most implacably on political leaders. Basically, Machiavelli believed, one can emulate Jesus or Caesar, but not both – and only the emulation of Caesar will keep a nation strong and together. It’s interesting to me to think of Mangas Colorado (as presented by Comfort) as a wise Machiavellian leader, though in the end he and his were outnumbered and outgunned….

If you are wondering what Machiavelli might think about present-day American national leadership, I would say that Berlin would say that Machiavelli would say that it fails on both counts: it fails to be virtuous (in which case it would necessarily, according to Machiavelli, fail as leadership), but it also fails as strong leadership. This, however, is my point of view as seen through the lens of an interpreter of a thinker who was himself interpreting mankind in the early sixteenth century, so make of it what you will.

Was Machiavelli right about human nature? That is another question to ask of anyone, to be answered only after we have determined for ourselves what that person said and believed.

Berlin himself coined the phrase “agonistic pluralism” to describe American political society. Pluralism is the idea that there are multiple incommensurate values that cannot be purged altogether of conflict, and hence we have social agon, or conflict. What does this mean for the future of democracy, in our country or in the world? Here is an essay on the subject that I need to read carefully. If you read it, too, let me know what you think. 

Today's flowers and greenery are a reminder that while Nature can be "red in tooth and claw," in other moods she can also soothe our souls when we are, perhaps, weary of each other. 

Fox in a Snowstorm

The last ice in the harbor (photo on “A Shot in the Light”) was not the last snow of the season. Seasons, anyway, are designated by human beings, not respected by Nature as hard boundaries of behavior, and so we woke this morning to snow falling (blowing sideways) at a rate of one inch per minute, with all schools “for a hundred miles around,” although “around” in this context, on the side of a peninsula, must not be taken literally. It’s all right. We have all the necessities of life, and being snowed in one more time is no tragedy for a pair of foxes. Yes, I am a fox.

No, not the cute little red or grey creature, half-cat, half-dog, but a philosophical bookseller snowed in at home during a spring blizzard. A fox? In what way?

Isaiah Berlin makes the distinction in his well-known essay titled “The Hedgehog and the Fox,” which takes its title from a fragment of Greek poetry attributed to Archilochus, “The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.” Berlin acknowledges that scholars give different interpretations of the poet’s sentence, but he has no desire to take sides or to give a competing interpretation. His intention is to use the contrast between hedgehog and fox figuratively, in order

to yield a sense in which they mark one of the deepest differences which divide writers and thinkers, and, it may be, human beings in general. For there exists a great chasm between those, on one side, who relate everything to a single central vision, one system, more or less coherent or articulate, in terms of which they understand, think and feel—a single, universal, organizing principle in terms of which alone all that they are and say has significance—and, on the other side, those who pursue many ends, often unrelated and even contradictory, connected, if at all, only in some de facto way, for some psychological or physiological cause, related to no moral or aesthetic principle. These last live lives, perform acts and entertain ideas that are centrifugal rather than centripetal; their thought is scattered or diffused, moving on many levels, seizing upon the essence of a vast variety of experiences and objects for what they are in themselves, without, consciously or unconsciously, seeking to fit them into, or exclude them from, any one unchanging, all-embracing, sometimes self-contradictory and incomplete, at times fanatical, unitary inner vision.

That was a lengthy quotation, I realize, with complicated sentences, but anyone with the patience to read it carefully sees that Berlin’s basic distinction is simple.

Hedgehog: The hedgehog is only interested in capital-T Truth, and that Truth must be unitary and all-encompassing. The hedgehog is, then, a True Believer. Everything must be made to fit into the Truth he has found, and no other perspectives are of any interest to him.

Fox: The fox’s interests are wide-ranging, his curiosity about the world limitless. What does not interest the fox is trying to force all experiences and ideas and bits of knowledge into one over-arching Truth or theory.

Berlin gives some examples of philosophers and writers (any field will yield some of each), and as it should be he tells us that Plato was a hedgehog, Aristotle a fox. Yes! Who on earth could ever love Plato and Aristotle equally? One must choose between them, which is to choose between idol worship and independent curiosity. The focus of the essay, however, is Tolstoy—specifically, Tolstoy as historian, and Berlin’s thesis is that “Tolstoy was by nature a fox, but believed in being a hedgehog....” In other words, Tolstoy’s nature (or, we might say, his personality) was in conflict with his beliefs.

Haven’t you known people whose stated beliefs clashed with their nature? Long ago, I had a professor of religion who was the diametrical opposite of Tolstoy, in that he was by nature a hedgehog but believed in being a fox. He avowed very Western European democratic ideals. According to his beliefs, he had us move our desks into a circle at the beginning of each class period. More democratic. According to his beliefs, he assigned each of us a segment of the course material to prepare and present to the rest. His hedgehog nature, however, got the better of him session after session. A student would be only one or two sentences into a presentation—this is not an exaggeration; I kept close track—when the professor would interrupt, take over and deliver a lecture, from his place in the circle, for the rest of the class. It was not that the student had made an error or had not done a good job of preparation, because the professor never waited long enough to find out. He just could not restrain his own nature, and time after time it collided with his beliefs. I watched the dynamic repeatedly, and when my turn came to present material I stood up from my desk and went to the blackboard. My presentation did not require terminology and diagrams on the blackboard, but having a chance to deliver my presentation required that I take a position of authority. Naturally, the professor interrupted me, too. Did you think he wouldn’t? But I interrupted back and continued and managed to present the material more or less as I had planned.

Teachers have several classes a semester of students, so it’s far easier for the students to remember a professor’s name than vice versa. I must admit, though, that meeting the professor on campus that very same semester and speaking to him, after my presentation, I was chagrined that he had no memory of me at all, with or without a name.

That’s one of the problems with hedgehogs, you see. Even when you think you’re having a conversation with one, you are more or less invisible and inaudible. Your presence as another sentient warm body might be noted, and perhaps the hedgehog would observe later that you were, in some vague, general way, either bright or dull, attractive or repulsive, attentive or pig-headed. But your ideas will not be heard as your ideas, if indeed they are heard at all. You will be given no credit for any contributions or insights. The hedgehog has it all figured out, you see. Why should he care what you say or think?

I used to feel sorry for hedgehogs but have learned a few things from encounters with them. They don’t feel sorry for themselves (how could they, when they possess Truth?), so I can save my pity. Also, there is a definite limit to any personal, conversational, philosophical or any other kind of rewards I might hope for when engaging with a hedgehog. Initially, there is a chance to hear someone else’s Truth--always interesting--and many examples or references will probably be given. But then? Since the hedgehog’s Truth is unchanging, there will be nothing more, nothing new. Impasse. Dead end.

The animal hedgehog is adorable, sweet and unaggressive and droll. The human hedgehog is an armed fortress, closed except to other True Believers of the same Truth. Thank you, I would rather run with my fellow foxes, exploring woods, fields and shore, books, blogs, bookstores, libraries, coffee shops, small towns, big cities, the open road--the list is endless. The world is so rich and multifacted, so full of mysteries and delights! Sarah, I’m happy to say, is on my side when it comes to the outdoor adventures, and David is on board for the rest, so I can go solo or in company, the way foxes do.