Seneca on Providence

The following quotes in italics are said by Seneca, the stoic philosopher. Whats left is merely my reiteration, agreement and approval of what he said; and occasionally there will be a slight sense of accusation towards the reader. I am already not apologizing.

'Without an antagonist prowess fades away.'

If everything were like a hot knife through butter, merit would be non-existent. No man would be honorable for he never completed a thing above himself. An automaton incapable of doing poorly or even excellently.

'God's attitude to good men is a Father's; His love for them is a manly love. "Let them be harassed by toil and sorrow and loss," says he, "that so they may acquire true strength."'

Had we not been kicked out of paradise we would never learned our error. To know where we fall short of the glory of God is a fantastic gift to receive. It is not a malevolent God torturing us, but a loving God training us.

'Among the many magnificent sayings of our friend Demetrius is the following, which I have just heard; it still rings and reverberates in my ears. "No one is more unhappy, in my judgment," says he, "than a man who has never met with adversity."'

Those who live the luxurious life of endless pleasure fail their God and themselves to be accomplished. To have never exerted themselves to finish a project because everything was brought to them on a silver platter is a very sad living.

'A gladiator counts it a disgrace to be matched with an inferior; he knows that a victory devoid of danger is a victory devoid of glory.'

To where protective gear when executing a stunt is much like this. If there is no risk there is no glory. Don't make your kids wear helmets, otherwise you will raise timid children with no chest.

'Soldiers glory in their wounds and gladly vaunt themselves over the blood they were privileged to shed.'

No better thing to receive in battle than a scar. Tattoos? Please . . . . Slight non life threatening pain deserves no applause.

'Do not, I beseech you, dread the things which the immortal gods apply to our souls like goads; disaster is virtues opportunity.'

Like before, only in the face of calamity can we truly gauge a man's moral behavior. If they can't handle their will being beaten, they were never good men in the first place.

'And no man in such a detachment will say, "The general has treated me badly," but rather, "The general thinks well of me." Similarly, those told off to undergo what cowards and weaklings would weep over should say, "God has judged us fit subjects to try how much human nature can endure."'

If you are ordered to succeed through Hell, I couldn't imagine a greater honor. Christ went through Hell; are we not instructed to be Christ like? (Don't take this one out of context, or too far.)

'All excesses are injurious, but immoderate prosperity is the most dangerous of all. It affects the brain, it conjures empty fantasies up in the mind, and it befogs the distinction between true and false with a confusing cloud.'

Medications to relieve pain used in excess is cowardly and stupefying. Go on an illusory trip to a place where nothing harms you and pain is non-existent and tell me how great of an individual you are. Fools.

'Death by starvation comes gently, gluttony makes men explode.'

Which would you choose? Be honest.

'By suffering misfortune the mind grows able to belittle suffering.'

The more pain and thought, the more stoicism creeps in to help.

'What grounds do you have to complain of me, you who have opted for righteousness?'

This is quite Lewisian but who are we to speak to the gods "Till We Have Face?"

'The men you look upon as happy, if you could see not their outward appearance but their inward nature, are wretched, squalid, mean, well groomed on the surface like their own house walls . . . . But when something happens to set them awry and uncover them, then one can see what a mass of genuine foulness their adventitious glitter concealed.'

The most unhappy have the best disguises. Don't be fooled by them and their lifestyle. They wouldn't know the first rule to happiness.

'Even as you pray for life, study death.'

It is no problem to want to live comfortably, but know that it is not your right and may be taken away. And know why it happens as such.

Quatrains - From the Nuart

To Me -

Hail to the King, Baby.
And kiss the ring, maybe.
Defy my law and burn,
At third degree and learn.

- By Evan Gunn Wilson

To Imps -

What makes some repelled by love?
Perhaps the judging God above?
Love needed humble thoughts provoke,
At once, the imp, his pride evokes.

- By Evan Gunn Wilson

To The Father -

To him who smote the first born of Egypt,
For his steadfast love endures forever.
From us our right to life untimely ript,
For God's power forever and ever,
Amen.

- By Evan Gunn Wilson

Of Us -

Don't take that line where it belongs;
It came all well, exhausted songs.
We end the day with poetry crass,
To grace our minds, critique at last.
With pen in hand,
Surveyed the land,
Did little justice to his creation.
With all forgot,
The young head hot,
Go on to write of their salvation.

Of their salvation they wrote too vague,
And so one lad went on, he said,
"Let us write to our lovers fair,
To all be men, the gentle we bear."
At that they laugh'd,
Then smiles half'd,
Then thirded, quartered then grinned no more.
Since they all had thought,
That only they sought,
A fine lady's love to breathe as feign'd before.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Hannay Discourses on America - Mr. Standfast

'Say Dick,' he said shyly, 'what do you truly think of our Americans? You've seen a lot of them, and I'd value your views.' His tone was that of a bashful author asking for an opinion on his first book.

'I'll tell you what I think. You're constructing a great middle class army, and that's the most formidable fighting machine on earth. This kind of war doesn't want the Berserker so much as the quiet fellow with a trained mind and a lot to fight for. The American ranks are filled with all sorts, from cow punchers to college boys, but mostly with decent lads that have good prospects in life before them and are fighting because they feel they're bound to, not because they like it. It was the same stock that pulled through in your Civil War. We have a middle class division, too - Scottish Territorials, mostly clerks and shopmen and engineers and farmer's sons. When I first struck them my only crab was that the officers weren't much better than the men. It's still true, but the men are super excellent, and consequently so are the officers. That division gets top marks in the Boche calender for sheer fighting devilment. . . . . And, please God, that's what your American Army's going to do. You can wash out the old idea of a regiment of scallawags commanded by dukes. That was right enough, maybe, in the days when you hurrooshed into battle waving a banner, but it don't do with high-explosives and a couple of million men on each side and a battle front of five hundred miles. The hero of this war is the plain man out of the middle classes, who wants to get back to his home and is going to use all the brains and grit he possesses to finish the job soon.'

- John Buchan

A Sign of Pretension

Recently film and TV actor, Hugh Laurie, released a Blues album that on select songs features Jazz and Blues legends such as Dr. John and Sir Tom Jones. This confuses people who have not followed Laurie's career; they may see an actor merely making a feeble attempt to be multi-talented in the arena of the liberal arts. How dare he. What audacity possesses an already wealthy man to venture into the musical realm without license or warrant or even a day pass? He just out right and did it. Inside the album booklet Laurie made a note of this; and it follows:

"I was not born in Alabama in the 1890s. You may as well know this one now. I've never eaten grits, cropped a share, or ridden a boxcar. No gypsy woman attended my birth and there's no hellhound on my trail, as far as I'm aware. Let this record show that I am a white, middle-class Englishman, openly trespassing on the music and myth of the American south.

if that weren't bad enough, I'm also an actor: one of those pampered ninnies who can't find his way through and airport without a babysitter. I wouldn't be surprised to find that I've got some Chinese characters tattooed on my arse. Or elbow. Same thing.

Worst of all, I've I have broken an important rule of art, music, and career paths: actors are supposed to act, and musicians are supposed to music. That's how it works. You don't buy fish from a dentist, or ask a plumber for financial advice, so why listen to an actor's music?

The answer is - there is no answer. If you care about pedigree then you should try elsewhere, because I have nothing in your size."

- Hugh Laurie

What was he communicating? That his Blues music is terrible? No, not at all. Simply, he says that if you are the kind of person who demands that Blues be done by troubled aging black men and acting be done by bratty self centered actors you had best not listen to his album, because you wont like it. Oh, the humanity! Or rather the pretension. Ought we demand that? Should we right off all paradoxical career breakers on the account that they are out of place? That since they aren't genuine they wont produce anything worth while? By no means! That would be the soul of pretension. You can imagine the hipster blabbing on about how they only listen to Robert Johnson (because that is the only Blues guitarist they have heard of), because he really "had the blues" or "walked the walk". Is great music reserved for specific feelings? I think not. Music as an art is a thing studied and not exclusively a thing felt. The sentiment may inspire the music and it may be the by product, but it does not write the music. Talent, skill and knowledge write the music; only that it may be good enough to evoke a particular feeling.

And so did Hugh Laurie. Listening to his album, which is not perfect, gave me a breath of fresh air. He had the Blues nailed. The man is a fantastic pianist. I never had the feeling that he was trying too hard. I hope for another record out of him; even in his comedy sketch show with Stephen Fry I was waiting for his regular musical performance not just for the humor but to catch his craft of a musician. Though he played the same song at the end of every episode I enjoyed it every time. I recognized his passion for the art.

So to Hugh Laurie I tip my hat with an expression that says, "Well done good and faithful artist". I urge you all (who enjoy the Blues) to give it a listen and post back what might be said of it.

From "Mr. Standfast"

Yes, they had these kind of folk in the early twentieth century. Much of the novel, Mr. Standfast, spends it's time describing these people of enlightenment. I can't help but remember the "tousle headed youth" that C.S. Lewis writes of in The Great Divorce. So demanding that people read their material and agree that it is great art; and never ought they say otherwise so as to lower the self esteem of these individual children. O, We of our old fashioned gatherings of objective reality that say, "Art has a definition." And with heavy sarcasm I say, "Grace us, new progressed modern mind, with your plentiful wisdom on the things of which you know little!" So anyway, here is the quote of which I speak:

"Aronson, the novelist, proved on acquaintance the worst kind of blighter. He considered himself a genius whom it was the duty of the country to support, and he sponged on his wretched relatives and anyone who would lend him money. He was always babbling about his sins, and pretty squalid they were. I should like to have flung him among a few good old fashioned full blooded sinners of my acquaintance; they would have scared him considerably. He told me that he sought 'reality' and 'life' and 'truth', but it was hard to see how he could know much about them, for he spent half the day in bed smoking cheap cigarettes, and the rest sunning himself in the admiration of half-witted girls. The creature was tuberculous in mind and body, and the only novel of his I read pretty well turned my stomach."

- John Buchan

Lord Ali the Lion (Lord Nevai)

Great Nevai, you troubled man,
A poor profession for one to take!
You left your duties to retrieve the lamb,
Of neglected poetry for poetry's sake.

Dull you knew, but requests came hard,
To blame thyself under govenor's name.
Figured quickly gave action's card,
Swiftly revealed the deciders fame.

Rest now, and rest well poor soul!
Know that we understand your call,
And only wish for your writings infull,
Which presently decay and fame with all.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

To Alexander -

This is a poem I wrote nearly right after I thought of the subject. It is to my first nephew; a creature that has only experienced this life for four weeks now. He abides with his parents on the opposite side of the country so I only know him through pictures. He knows not me, nor right now does he care to know. I have yet to well up any sentiment towards this kid, but perhaps I can start eighteen years from now and buy him his first cigar. Anyway, here goes:

You are the prime of the McEvan Clan,
Since a third generation was our demand.
Though the Wilsons are a pugnacious lot,
We pray you'll be grac'd; your sins forgot.
I know you so little, what is to be said,
But generic blessings that you will be fed.
Likely, I'll see you on occasions rare,
For a couple years you'll do nothing but stare.
Know thyself, and as well know thy name,
Know the man from whence it has fame.
Understand this: to be great is not far;
Live a pure life and then go to war.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Pretense

I feign,
Thy look in main,
Pos'd with presented cane,
But well they see all me by lane.
She wants a man bearing a soft new vein,
So all these habits will belong to me ingrain'd.
Wilt thou keep with my clumsy walk, and I'll see you humane.
For women of the shallow lot do follow in a doting train,
As I strut with a swarthy walk, dressed full prim for defying all my pain.
Enlightened I am, cool for knowing secrets thee may hope to find; still thee I reign.
They begin to suspect my origins are falsely made to create a man level and sane.
My treatment seen as foolish talk, while deserters (once friends) call out my game.
But thee who had all seen it first did tell it me and made me plain,
Extend your thought for my repute paraphras'd you'd sain,
"Listen, young boy. It is a game where none doth gain;
That if you get wisdom in thy quick brain,
Rejected you become the bane,
Your presence they refrain.
These things inane,
Disdain."

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Love Letters

To Vicky -
"As you wish" cliche' may seem,
But Victoria's love, insubordinate's loss.
And if for other's love you deem,
Bring crusades to you as like the cross.

To your service,
Stu

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To Vicky -

At once when we had parted ways,
Your letters grew in length and mass.
So p'raps Victoria's love I may,
Take it full or leave it pass.

Formerly ignorant of thy love,
Steve

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To Stu -

How may I say with gracious response,
Of your kind, but grovelling tone;
That once I fell for your sweet ringing saunce,
A spine to be had, a submission of drones.

To be taken or left, with respect,
Vicky

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To Steve -

All at once by surprise you took,
My committed love, and received my honor.
Your gallantry met with no lustful look,
I exalt you high for not being the fawner.

At you will and discretion,
Vicky

By Evan Gunn Wilson