A Song that Descended from the Heavens

Posted on June 17, 2025 by leslie

Villa di Livia, Rome, credit Wikipedia

A Song that Descended from the Heavens

by Darrell Sutton

For those who wish to study the astrological content of Manilius’ Astronomica, it is derived from two sources: its Latin text and a much later published English translation. For the former, A.E. Housman’s efforts to establish a critical Latin text should be commended. As to the latter, students are indebted to G.P. Goold for his celebrated Loeb edition (1977; Rev. 1992,1997). He rendered the Latin text into cogently expressed English.

Through the centuries, people have sought to elucidate Manilius’ words. The various books and articles in English, French and German are often written in a manner that is harder to understand than the texts of Manilius or Housman’s Latin Commentary.

Manilius’ poem is incomparable. Not unlike the epic cycle, containing stories of an heroic age, Manilius’ heroes are ageless figures of the zodiac, shapechangers whose powers know no bounds, and whose configurations displayed and possessed mantic features. The only thing in antiquity which might rival it’s esoteric genius, in this writer’s opinion, is Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura. But as a literary creation, the Astronomica was spun by the poet’s imagination and is made up of delicate threads, both historical and mythic.

The ancient fable is a genre of study whose roots are firmly established in ancient Greek literature. These fabulous tales [i] were well known, the earliest mention of them being by Hesiod.[ii] No one prior to Aristotle[iii] (384BC-322BC) discussed them in at length, and their origins they remain – like most ancient things – subject to conjecture. It is believed by some scholars working in this field that there is direct linkage to ancient near Eastern maxims.[iv] This indeed may be true, but discussions hitherto have not established this intertextual link. As far as one is able to discern from reading the results of Oriental scholarship, there is little transcriptional evidence to confirm the manner in which these transferences of material were supposedly made. There are numerous instances, too, where tentative interpretations are later reassessed, proven to be correct or set aside on account of better analyses of a cuneiform document.

Obviously the beginnings of astral interests, namely a fascination with the sciences of astrology and astronomy,  cannot be determined. From any literary perspective this interest is pre-historic, predating the recording of fables by no less than one millennium. But it was only a matter of time before someone with genius would be able to compose an original literary piece that merged these two disciplines in order to illustrate the role the heavens play in predetermining events on earth. And Manilius set out to do just that and he achieved his goal.

Manilius’ poem is a fabulous tale in both the strictest and narrowest sense of the terms. His illustrations of celestial bodies in animal and human forms are unique: not unique to zodiac studies; but unique from a literary point in the way his poem luridly depicts a world governed by fate.

In the sphere of translation studies, one encounters a myriad of possibilities for composing, interpreting and critiquing prose and poetry. The Latin text of Manilius’ Astronomica can still be improved. It is a ripe field for conjectural emendation, especially for scholars familiar with the details of primeval Greco-Roman and near eastern astral phenomena. The number of scholars regularly working on this text is small. G.P. Goold’s [GPG] classic translation for the Loeb series is incomparable, but not uncorrectable. In a book of such length there are various ways to say the same thing. Some of his glosses are better than others. Below I offer another rendering of the opening a lines vv.1-5.

Manilius commits himself, in writing, to the notion that Greco-Roman divinity is explicable and suitable for life and living. His assumptions are bold. The lyrics of his song direct readers to the source of his inspiration.

LATIN TEXT

Carmine divinas artes et conscia fati
Sidera diversos hominum variantia casus,
caelestis rationis opus, deducere mundo
Aggredior primus que novis Helicona movere
5 Cantibus et viridi nutantis vertice silvas

By the magic of song to draw down from heaven god-given skills
and fate’s confidants, the stars, which by the operation of divine reason diversify the
chequered fortunes of mankind; and to be the
first to stir with these new strains (astrological poetry) the nodding leaf-capped woods of Helicon. [trans. Goold]

Starry influences descended by divine song, fate’s artistry
and knowledge in different ways visiting people:
celestial reason’s effort to entice the world,
and [be] the first, using new canticles, to have drawn near to disturb Helicon’s swirling green timbers.  [trans. Sutton]

COMMENTS

Of the Iliad, C.M. Bowra, in his posthumously published book Homer, wrote ‘a poet is under no obligation to set out his whole theme at the start; he is free to keep surprises in store…’ I believe him. The Astronomica begins as one would expect, with some sort of justification for undertaking this enterprise. The many issues that readers soon will encounter are kept in reserve in the beginning. The organization of it all is refined. Accidents are non-existent in Astronomica. Manilius believes in fate’s overall determination of the affairs of this world and its inhabitants. Hence he presumes his destiny involves inventing these lines of verse. He supposes, too, that they are inspired by gods whose control of celestial objects ensure that the writing of this song is his lot in life, i.e. by divine means the structure here and now descends into his heart and into print for readers’ enlightenment.

One feature of the broad plan of this sacred chant brings to mind the fervid but contemporary otherworldliness of W.B. Yeat’s Supernatural Songs.

Ribh at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn

Because you have found me in the pitch-dark night
With open book you ask me what I do.
Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar
To those that never saw this tonsured head…

Poets enjoy describing the cruel happenstances of life. Myth supplies a nifty canvas on which to portray strange characters. Discovered in ‘a pitch-dark night’? – Death is the black fluid in Yeat’s inkhorn when composing that line. New life turns up later as one reads on. Chance tells different stories than those conveyed by fate. There is always a story within a story to tell and reasons for the telling of it. And both Yeats and Manilius want their verses learned by readers whose interests are stimulated by such commissions. They contain messages that are to be carried forth. And so, the poetic cycle repeats itself, being reincarnated in individual hearts in each generation.

As a consequence, poems are read and retranslated. You also can see from the above two English renderings of Manilius’ opening lines that the Latin syntax affords different interpretations. My translation is a spontaneous rendering. I gave prominence to ideas that stood out to me. When formed and construed correctly, Latin figures of speech are expressive, sometimes answerable to more than one explanation, all the while radiating the author’s enthusiasm.

Goold employed the word ‘magic’, a term that in this context is inapt and conjures in the mind of modern readers all sorts of witch-wisdom or witchery, cogitations whose adverse overtones undermine Manilius’ literary impression of sideral might. This poem is not a composition of charming enchantments. Its verses take the reader step by step through the transcendent maze of horoscopy.

To be continued

Darrell Sutton[v]

ENDNOTES

[i] As defined by Aelius Theon (c.50AD):, “‘a fable is a fictional narrative which portrays a truth,” so N. Holzberg, p. 20, in An Introduction: The Ancient Fable(2002), Indiana Press. These comparative images make use of animals, humans, gods and other: from larger to smaller ratio in that order. And from such tales, stem a variety of moral dictums, at one time deemed useful for real life. See page 9 of ‘Theon and the History of Progymnasmata’ by M. Heath, in Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 43 (2002/3), pp. 129-160. For a much longer treatment, see Ethics in Aesop’s Fables: The Augustana Collection (2001) by C.A. Zafiropoulos, Brill.
[ii] Cf. Hesiod, Works and Days, 202-212, regarding the nightingale and the hawk.
[iii] Cf. Aristotle’s Rhetoric, 20th chapter of book 2. 1393a23-1394a18.
[iv] See the lengthy introduction in Babrius (Loeb), by B.E. Perry, Harvard.
[v] Scholarly friends scrutinized this paper. All conclusions represented are mine.

Darrell Sutton is a Classicist

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More Light

Posted on June 9, 2025 by leslie

Sir Francis Galton, by Charles Wellington, credit Wikipedia

More Light

Bernd Roeck, The World at First Light; A New History of the Renaissance, translated by Patrick Baker, Princeton University Press, Princeton & Oxford, 2025, 1144pp, hb, reviewed by Leslie Jones

According to Sir Francis Galton, “The ablest race of whom history bears record is unquestionably the ancient Greek” (Hereditary Genius, 1869), for at its apogee, the relatively small population of Attica had produced “unsurpassed masterpieces” in “the principal departments of intellectual history”. (In his census of 317 B.C., Demetrios of Phaleron, the Governor of Athens, refers to 21,000 citizens in Attica).[i]) Galton cites fourteen illustrious men from the period 530-430 BC, including statesmen and commanders such as Pericles and Themistocles, and literary and scientific men such as Thucydides, Socrates, Plato and Aeschylus. What, for Galton, was the cause of Greek superiority? Attica, he observed, was open to immigrants but only those able to benefit from its rarefied social life. A system of unconscious selection had thereby produced “a magnificent breed of human animals”. Galton concluded that judging from the capacity of the common people to appreciate great literary and artistic works, the average ability of the Athenian race was two grades higher than our own. Tragically, this “marvellously gifted race” declined when marriage became unfashionable and, immigration and emigration remaining constant, the population was maintained by “the incoming population of a heterogeneous class”.

Professor Roeck, whose scholarship is not to be gainsaid, is a no less fervent admirer of the ancient Greeks. He considers them “the most important intellectual founders in world history”. Without Greek thought, he avers, the Renaissance and European modernity would be “unthinkable”. Attic democracy, in his opinion, encouraged rational philosophy and science. Some of the authors’ assertions on this subject are frankly hyperbolic. Writing about the ancient Greeks, he maintains, is “tantamount to reconstructing the genetics of modernity”. The Greeks of the 5th century were “the greatest inquirers in world history”, in his opinion, for they introduced historiography, ethnology and anthropology. Socrates and Plato, likewise, made the first attempt to “predicate the norms that governed every aspect of life on reason alone”, while Aristotle, Plato’s pupil, emphasised empiricism, i.e. what can be perceived and observed, one of the pillars of modern science.

The author acknowledges that thanks to the influence of the ancient Greeks, competition, the rule of law, science, modern medicine and freedom appeared in the West and only there. But he insists that “people outside of Latin Europe were not [therefore] less intelligent than the Europeans”. Professor Roeck is evidently anxious to avoid accusations of penning “hymns to Europe and its offspring”, in view of what he calls the “crimes of colonialism and imperialism”.

In an indicatively entitled chapter entitled ‘The Luck of Geography’, the author endorses Jared Diamond’s thesis in Guns, Germs and Steel, The Fates of Human Societies (1997), that the Eurasian landmass “offered optimal conditions for the diffusion of cultural innovations”. Luck then, not innate ability, is for Roeck the basis of Western exceptionalism. Diamond is an evolutionary biologist and ecologist. Magisterially dismissing psychometric evidence of ethnic differences in cognitive ability, he accuses his “white” colleagues in psychology faculties of “trying for decades to demonstrate that black Americans…are innately less intelligent”. Indeed, observation has convinced Diamond that peoples often called primitive, such as hunter gatherers in New Guinea, are “more intelligent, more alert…than the average European or America” because kept up to the mark by selection. In short, Diamond espouses an inverted form of social Darwinism.[ii]

Diamond’s objective is to debunk the “myth” that “…history’s pattern reflects innate differences among people themselves”. Not that Professor Diamond disputes the superior might of those who have the most advanced technology (the guns and steel of his title) compared to those still using stone tools/weapons. But he finds the suggestion that the different technological levels of Aboriginal Australians and Europeans are rooted in racial differences “loathsome”.

Diamond gives an impressively detailed account of those aspects of the bio-geography of the Fertile Crescent (its climate, topography and wild plants and animals) that made possible the early and independent emergence of agriculture, the sine qua non of political organisation and technology. Present Eurasian dominance has its origin, in his judgement, in the precedence of civilisation in the Near East which then spread to Europe.

Why did agriculture fail to appear independently in certain seemingly favourable locations, such as California, sub-Equatorial Africa and Australia? Jared Diamond supposedly has the answer. Insufficient attention has been paid to ecological factors, in his opinion. There was a lack of suitable native plants for domestication in California, sub-Equatorial Africa and Australia. Then there was a distinct shortage of domesticable animal species in Central America and difficulties in producing a staple grain. Concerning rivers, Diamond contrasts Africa and the Americas, main axis north-south, with those of Europe, main axis west-east. Rivers are vital for cultural exchange and historians, he complains, have underestimated how geography has hindered the spread of crops and livestock in Africa and the Americas. Tropical zones and topographical barriers delayed the spread of livestock and crops.

Diamond emphasises the inherent environmental advantage of a continental landmass, Eurasia, with no major geographic barriers to the spread of agriculture and which enjoys sufficient rainfall to support long-term, intensive farming. He notes that almost all domesticable big wild animal species are native to Eurasia. And that extensive west-east zones with similar climatic conditions facilitated the spread of crops and animals adapted to particular climatic regimes.

Roeck eloquently describes the Socratic dialogue as “the mightiest weapon of all enlightenment, dedicated to the search for truth and wisdom, edifying but also corrosive”.[iii] One can imagine such a dialogue between Professor Roeck and Sir Francis Galton, in which the former, who rejects all evidence of group differences in mental ability, is quite unable to explain the intellectual superiority of the ancient Greeks.

ENDNOTES

[i] These figures should be taken with caution
[ii] See Leslie Jones, The Galton Institute Newsletter, issue no 29, June 1998, pp 6-8, review of Guns, Germs and  Steel
[iii] The World at First Light, p32

Dr Leslie Jones is Editor of Quarterly Review 

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Fire in the Hole

Posted on May 16, 2025 by leslie

Constantin Meunier, Return from the Mine, Wikimedia Commons

Fire in the Hole

By ‘Gas Bill’

Perhaps the greatest threat to life in the British coal mining industry was gas explosions. The total casualty figure attributed to this source between 1837 and 1927 was 3,500. Following loss of life in such an incident, the usual approach was investigation via a coroner’s inquest; perhaps not the most effective means of discovering what had gone wrong. Usually the verdict was the rather vague one of ‘accidental death’. The primary cause was hardly ever looked into. Evidence given at inquests might do little more than speculate about an insecure safety lamp, or a failure to ensure airways were kept clear.  Explosions tended to be caused by a release of methane, known in the trade as fire damp. As if this wasn’t bad enough there could also be carbon monoxide, otherwise called choke, or after damp. In short, if the explosion didn’t kill you, then there was another gas which could cause suffocation.

A curious feature of the South Wales coalfield was that prior to 1845 it had remained largely free of explosions. After this date things changed drastically. By 1849 there had been 52 deaths from explosions. The number of fatalities at individual collieries also rose significantly. In 1852, at Middle Duffryn Colliery, eight miners were killed. This was a modest total at a single colliery compared with what was to follow. In 1856 at Cymmer Rhondda 114 men and boys were killed. The number of explosions recorded in the collieries of South Wales between 1845 and 1852 was 183, causing a total of 291 deaths. Between 1851 and 1869 matters grew worse; 18 explosions took a total of 815 lives, including 120 deaths in a single incident at Black Vein Colliery, Risca, in 1860. With some understatement collieries prone to explosions were described as working ‘fiery’ coal seams.

Ironically there had been significant improvements in safety during this period, notably in the fields of ventilation, inspection and the widespread adoption of safety lamps. Prior to 1845 miners had been using naked flames for illumination without adverse effect, even though coal mined in these collieries could continue to emit gas in the holds of ships up to two weeks after it was loaded.

The man who took an interest in this situation was Thomas Joseph (1819-1890). He was born in Merthyr Tydfil and left school at fourteen to work with his father, a colliery manager. Despite his education being curtailed at such an early age Joseph acquired exceptional mathematical skills. He was even trusted by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, no less; the great engineer used him to carry out preliminary surveys for the Vale of Neath Railway.

In May 1871,  Joseph read a paper to the South Wales Institute of Engineers on the subject of gas explosions. It is a curious mixture of Victorian callousness, reflecting prevailing attitudes and a careful examination of the problem. In his paper, Joseph was dismissive of the notion that additional inspections as supported by ‘trades union leaders from the working class’ could be of assistance. He doubted that this would increase safety to any degree predicting that ‘their frequent officious interference in the details of the mine, presuming as ignorant men would do upon their official position’.

Having dismissed the competence of those who actually risked their lives in digging the coal Joseph went on to state his case, pointing out that the principles he was putting forward are ‘stated with some boldness but are based on lifelong experience and have been used in the winning and development of 5000 acres of fiery coal in the Welsh valleys’. He added that during his 35 years managing collieries only six lives were lost through explosions, a remarkably small figure considering the carnage occurring elsewhere in the district.

Joseph went on to speculate that despite the increases in safety there had been no improvement in the situation and therefore, ‘some violation of physical laws must be at work here’. Evidently colliery owners had convinced themselves that improvements in ventilation were the only defence available in preventing explosions, despite the casualty figures suggesting otherwise.

Joseph noted that one of the standard terms in mining leases was that lessees were required to leave barriers or walls in every seam, usually at least twenty yards in thickness and intended as a safeguard against inundation by water from other collieries. He conceded that a colliery owner had every incentive to promote safety and noted that the loss of a human life ‘can lead to a monetary loss of up to £200 which has the potential to drive an owner into bankruptcy’. Unfortunately he failed to elaborate on this figure but went on to add that much of the ‘teaching, writing and legislation has only dealt with secondary causes and symptoms of danger and with their results as if it were a hopeless task to think of grappling with and mastering the evil at its source’.

Ventilation in collieries was still in a rather primitive state. Some engineers favoured powered ventilation, others open furnaces. Joseph felt that the differences in types of ventilation weren’t significant. He recalled entering collieries in his youth which contained a maze of workings and old roadways ‘where the air was so foul that it was next to impossible to carry a light and yet no explosions occurred’. He described conditions for miners in these collieries as being like working inside a gasometer.

Joseph went on to state that by strict adherence to certain principles collieries ‘may be placed in a state of absolute safety’. The danger he felt was caused by walled in gas; old workings and unworked overlying seams. It all depended, he felt, on working seams in the right order of succession. Joseph recommended beginning with the upper seams of coal and also to avoid working the seams inclining upwards first. There was an obvious practical reason for mining first on the rise side as it was called, since the coal would be moved more easily down to the shaft, before being raised to the surface. Joseph looked at the reports of HM Mines Inspectorate and noted that since 1851 all explosions had occurred in the rise or uphill workings. He advised against exploiting lower seams first since this caused sudden squeezes or creeps which travelled up the plane of the strata. Leaving an unworked seam lying over a ‘favourite’ seam of coal caused a sudden increase in pressure and a flood of firedamp. Once the gas was set free, ‘it can only be compared to the breaking of a great reservoir driven under huge pressure’.

Joseph concluded his address with several recommendations. These principles he said may be applied in absolute safety. Shafts sunk near the summit of coal seams would keep barriers of unworked coal to a minimum. He recommended that every upper seam be worked first and warned that beginning with rise workings would lead to blowers of gas from the roof or floor of the mine, noting that sudden squeezes or creeps invariably travel up the plane of the strata, never down. He also suggested a new role for the mines inspectorate: that of approving future exploitation of coal reserves.

Admittedly, Joseph would have been unaware at that time of the effect of coal dust. It was known that dust exacerbated the effects of explosions. Only later was it learnt that coal dust on its own was capable of spontaneously exploding. Even so, why weren’t his methods tried beyond the area in which he was working? Perhaps the philosopher David Hume had the answer when he referred to ‘avarice, the spur of industry’.

The mining industry in South Wales expanded hugely during the second half of the nineteenth as the demand for steam coal rose. Welsh collieries were the main source for this type of coal and clearly the mine owners wanted the most economically valuable seams to be exploited first. Usually mining on the rise side was the quickest way to achieve this. In short, human life was secondary to profit and the maintenance of good safety standards. Long after Joseph’s death the casualties continued, the most notable being at Senghenydd Colliery near Caerphilly in 1913. Here a gas explosion killed 439 miners. As Luke 4:24 puts it: ‘truly I tell you no prophet is accepted in his hometown’.

William Hartley is a Social Historian

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Endnotes, May-June 2025

Posted on April 30, 2025 by leslie

Frederick Delius, by Rosen, credit Wikipedia

Endnotes, May-June 2025

In this edition: Rachmaninov’s last great orchestral work; Delius, a paradise garden revisited; on Manx shores… music to a silent film, reviewed by Stuart Millson

New from the Chandos label comes an eagerly-awaited instalment in the Sinfonia of London’s Rachmaninov cycle; works from either end of the Russian romantic composer’s life: the Symphony No. 1 (so badly performed and received at its first performance in 1895) – and the shimmering, powerful Symphonic Dances of 1940, his last great utterance. We have all come to know and love conductor John Wilson’s performances and recordings (each one, it seems, a masterclass in interpretation and detail) but the Wilson-Sinfonia partnership has excelled itself this time.

The famous ‘Russian-Slavic gloom’ which haunts Rachmaninov’s music is immediately felt in the First Symphony – as if the listener is watching the shadows fall through a Siberian forest as winter edges closer. Listen out for the dark timbres of trombones and the deep register of the cellos and basses – all captured via the well-placed Chandos microphones: if only the composer was blessed with such dazzling playing at the first performance. But especially ear-catching are the strident, yet technically-tricky fanfares which ring out in the martial, sometimes dance-like waves and crests of the last movement – a breathless, physical sequence which one would love to see set to ballet, so spectacular is the feel of it. The thrill that this orchestral surge provides puts the listener in the right frame of mind for the second work on the disc, the Symphonic Dances. It was written in the United States, the country to which the exile and patriot, Rachmaninov eventually migrated; far away from the destructive, Bolshevik-Stalinist madness that had scarred his native land.

The Symphonic Dances are a masterpiece – of colour and mood; bold and rhythmic in their expansive, relentless first movement; yet suffused with a strange, fleeting light –  evocative of Sibelius’s Valse Triste or Ravel’s La Valse. Gathering up all the energy from the First Symphony, the last section of the Symphonic Dances are a gripping moment in romantic music: a steady build up steam before a dramatic rush and restatement of earlier themes – percussion, bells, gong, side-drum suggesting bursts of light – the composer clenching his fist and bringing down the curtain on his symphonic stage.

The silvery tone of the Sinfonia is a splendid thing, and John Wilson must be delighted that his hand-picked orchestra has gelled in this way. Yet we recall performances of the Symphonic Dances in the 1980s from the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Sir John Pritchard, and Royal Philharmonic and Vernon Handley, which seemed to belong to a different style of orchestral playing – in that the overall sound had a ‘darker-brown’, more burnished, less-higher-register feel. During the last 40 or so years, our large orchestras appear to have created a more ‘astringent’ sound; as if they are inadvertently copying baroque, or period ensembles – or is it the influence of modern recording techniques, that have fostered detail over density? And one final caveat; in the first movement, Wilson seems to direct his violins to slide during the big melancholic tunes (like a sentence with no breath or punctuation); the result – a rather sugary feeling that slightly diminishes the nobility of Rachmaninov’s writing. However, that is not to detract from the quality of this new recording, one that we thoroughly recommend.

Looking back, still, to a previous recording era, we recently re-played a sumptuous Delius CD (a production from 1988) of famous works, such as The Walk to the Paradise Garden, A Song of Summer, and In a Summer Garden. But there is another connection and memory to relate… For those who remember it, the classic 1977 BBC television programme which featured Sir John Betjeman reading his languid lines… ‘The Sky widens to Cornwall. A sense of sea/Hangs in the lichenous branches…/The tide is high and a sleepy Atlantic sends/Exploring ripple on ripple down Polzeath shore/And the gathering dark is full of the thought of friends/I shall see no more…’ was accompanied by the yearning music of The Walk to the Paradise Garden – a piece that could have been penned for the programme. However, the rhapsodic music has nothing to do with Cornwall and the sea. It is all about a walk to an inn, featuring ‘a village Romeo and Juliet’ [Editorial note; as the incomparable Radio 3 commentator Peter Barker once memorably observed]. Performed by the Philharmonia Orchestra under the baton of Owain Arwel Hughes, the CD conjures up the beauty of the summer garden; Delius’s intense pantheism and worship of flowers, meadows, water; and in A Song of Summer, the hazy horizon of Betjeman’s sleepy Atlantic, perhaps, the Philharmonia’s high-register violins shape a dream-like experience.

Finally, to the world of Manx culture, coasts and legends, and an intriguing album of orchestral music written by contemporary composer, Stephen Horne, to accompany an early film directed by Alfred Hitchcock. The Manxman was the penultimate silent film to be produced by the master, who would go on to make Vertigo and North by Northwest. The latter titles were, of course, memorable for their music-scores, the work of the great cinematic composer, Bernard Herrmann. But for the vintage ‘Manxman’ – silence, until that is, Stephen Horne – with orchestration by Ben Palmer, who conducts on the album – provided a rich, salty, wind-blown suite for those old black-and-white frames, restored by the British Film Institute. Stephen’s music matches the mood perfectly, helping to tell the story of Manx island men, both in love with the same woman, and of the often pitiless land and seascape which frames their lives. Another firm recommendation from The Quarterly Review.

CD details:
Rachmaninov, Symphony No. 1 and Symphonic Dances, Sinfonia of London conducted by John Wilson. Chandos, Super Audio CD, CHSA 5351.
Delius, A Song of Summer. Philharmonia Orchestra, Owain Arwel Hughes CBE. ASV Digital, CD DCA 627.
The Manxman, Stephen Horne. Ulysses Arts, 0744365353844.

Stuart Millson is the Classical Music Editor of The Quarterly Review

 

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The Spectre of Spengler

Posted on April 20, 2025 by leslie

                             

Twilight in the Catskill, Sanford Robinson Gifford, credit wikipedia

The Spectre of Spengler

David Ashton on Der Untergang des Abendlandes

A death-sentence concentrates the mind wonderfully, to paraphrase a famous Tory lexicographer. People are born, flourish, weaken, and pass away, but so do nations and empires. Although the comparison is metaphorical, the phenomenon is real.

Surely the gradual crumbling of Great Britain from Lord Salisbury’s imperial zenith to Ed Miliband’s imbecile zero is undeniable. It fits into a general Euro-American deterioration, exacerbated by welfare-dependence, industrial unrest and defence-alliance disarray. Consequently, a revival of interest has arisen over questions of historical change, and in its successive commentators, from Plato and Polybius, through Ibn Khaldun and Giambattista Vico, to Paul Kennedy and Paul Cooper.

Overshadowing them all is Oswald Spengler, who died 89 years ago. The historian Niall Ferguson, thinking he was influenced by Wagner (actually Goethe), once asserted that his “turgid” prose was nowadays seldom read. But his giant ghost has again reappeared – to haunt the current geostrategic gloom of international trade turmoil and knife-edge security risks.

Many references to Spengler have lately appeared in print journalism, scholarly monographs, timely podcasts and specialist websites, from Professor David Engels to Professor Stephen R. L. Clark. His early historical studies and family photos have been publicised. The glib dismissal of his magisterial oeuvre as a “gargantuan horror-scope” ceases to amuse in the world he so accurately predicted.

Recent books include a richly researched, indispensable work by the Marxist scholar Dr Ben Lewis on his principled “Prussian” activism and mutual incompatibility with Hitler, who specifically denounced him in a public address on May Day 1935. The Decline & Fall of Civilisations is a considerable survey from the prolific and idiosyncratic “far right” Dr Kerry Bolton, who endorses Spengler’s suggestion of the next major Culture emerging from the Russian landscape. Especially noteworthy is his important place among Dr Neema Parvini’s Prophets of Doom, alongside Gobineau, Carlyle, Brooks Adams, Glubb Pasha, Evola, Sorokin, Toynbee, Turchin and Tainter. Ulrik Rasmussen’s Fall of Western Civilization: The Cycle of Supremacy also deserves close attention

Spengler began life near the Harz mountains and his heart finally failed in Munich when only 55. His masterwork on the downslide of occidental civilisation was conceived before and partly written during the first world war.  Its so-called “cyclic” theme was preceded by the Slavophile Nikolai Danilevsky and was echoed, less substantially, by the Anglo-Saxons Flinders Petrie and Correa Moylan Walsh, but it made a dramatic impact and engendered serious debate in his defeated Fatherland.

The sinking-sun imagery powerfully evoked by its “Teutonic Title” was attenuated as Decline of the West in an excellent translation for English-speakers, whose more subdued response, admirably documented by John Carter Wood, in some cases recalls a notorious lordly dismissal of Gibbon’s narrative about the fall of Rome as just another scribbled tome. A contemporary classicist E. H. Goddard nonetheless ably supported its fundamental cross-cultural alignments with corresponding pull-out civilisation timetables.

I first encountered this book in the library of my 430-year-old grammar-school, which no longer exists. Its thick black spine made a welcome contrast to its Left Book Club amber-cover shelf-companions; and its fascinating contents likewise. My adolescent appetite was promptly reinforced by corroborative material in Geoffrey Barraclough’s History in a Changing World, Eric Bentley’s Cult of the Superman, Amaury de Riencourt’s Coming Caesars and Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd.

By an odd coincidence, the late Roger Scruton had a similar schoolboy epiphany, but factual errors restricte this brilliant conservative intellectual’s approval of Spengler’s “grim” prognosis. Given the arduous circumstances of its original composition, and the information then available for revision, however, occasional faults are forgivable; and several disputed aspects have since found defenders.

After initially greeting his magnum opus, the anti-Nazi novelist Thomas Mann afterwards recoiled as if handed a demonic grimoire. The Nazi ideologist Alfred Rosenberg complained that its “morphological view” of destiny denied “race and personality”. Irving Babbitt described the singularly erudite and earnest polymath as a “charlatan of genius”.  Martin Heidegger and Wyndham Lewis attacked him more thoughtfully, along with established historians. Aurel Kolnai ridiculed his “harsh Olympic coldness”, whereas Theodor Adorno granted the “destructive soothsayer” a nuanced appreciation.

Nevertheless, the book impressed the poets W. B. Yeats, David Jones and Robinson Jeffers, authors as different as D. H. Lawrence, Whittaker Chambers, Colin Wilson and Camille Paglia, the mythologist Joseph Campbell, the systems-theorist Ludwig von Bertalanffy, and surprisingly even the razor-witted Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Spengler wrote with the eye of an artist and the pen of a poet, producing beautiful passages of keen sensibility, exemplified by his account of infant Christianity:

“Tame and empty all the legends and holy adventures of Mithras, Attis and Osiris must have seemed [compared] to the still recent story of Jesus [whose utterances resembled] those of a child in the midst of an alien, aged, and sick world…. Like a quiet island of bliss was the life of these fishermen and craftsmen by the Lake of Gennesaret, while all around them glittered the Hellenistic towns with their theatres and temples, their refined western society, their Roman cohorts, their Greek philosophy…. The one religion in the history of the world in which the fate of a man of the immediate present has become the emblem and the central point of the whole creation”.

This delicate passage appears within a mammoth text, whose martial attitude elsewhere was ironically condemned by communists as brutal advocacy for the Junker aristocrats they sought to eradicate; “bloody struggle or extinction” (as Marx put it).

Spengler depicted the West as one of eight self-contained Hochkulturen, in addition to the Babylonian, Egyptian, Mesoamerican, Indian, Chinese, Magian, and Classical. Each possesses a distinctive ethos characterised by its cosmology, symbolism and architecture, yet all pass through comparable stages, like the inevitable transition from spring to winter, though without recurrence.  We need not discuss pertinent definitions of “civilisation”, as previously covered by Samuel Huntington, Pitirim Sorokin and Naohiko Tonomura, except that Arnold Toynbee responded to the challenge with over 20 “mortal” examples, historians Philip Bagby and Caroll Quigley choosing fewer, and Nicholas Hagger listing 25.

Setting aside Spengler’s own “collective-soul determinism”, complex macro-societies often proceed through almost parallel patterns, such as solely waning average intelligence. The empirical examination of the multiple causes of their growth, decay and collapse is a legitimate and rewarding pursuit.

Felipe Fernandez-Armesto’s “environmental features”, Claire & Bill Russell’s “population cycles”, Jim Penman’s “behaviour biodynamics”, David Hackett Fischer’s “price revolutions”, and Heiner Rindermann’s “cognitive capital”, are among numerous contributions towards a fresh and fruitful development in objective social science, aided by comprehensive data-led websites like Peter Turchin’s valuable Cliodynamica and Seshat.

Several terminal phases have been linked to urban sprawl and congestion, and failing competence and character among the rulers of a largely hedonistic populace. Cluttered with material sewage, the “megalopolis” becomes vulnerable to farmland depletion, infections and addictions, depravity and disability, sectarian discord and organised crime, plus susceptibility to alien invasion. In 1927 the pacifist Aldous Huxley voiced the fear that industrialisation of numerically greater races could put us at their military mercy.  By 1951, Shephard Clough expected envious outsiders to eventually attack Europe.

The validity of Spengler’s century-old foresight is easily overlooked precisely because of its present familiarity.  The literary critic Northrop Frye said fifty years ago that what had been foretold was happening in detail “all around us”. Does not parliamentary democracy, for instance, operate by deception, bribery and “shameless flattery”, so that “election affairs” become “games staged as popular self-determination” to suit obscured wealthy interests? “People want to think only what they are supposed to think, and this they consider freedom.”  Ideological convictions are dissolving into disposable fashions, except for an emergent “second religiousness”, possibly indicated by GenZ’s revival of Bible study, and potentially focused on the Holy City.

Entering the epoch of unheavenly inner-cities and global skyscraper competition, we find, exactly as he said, “primitive instincts” let loose in sexual relations, the “reappearance of the panem et circenses in the form of wage-disputes and football-grounds”,  “incomprehension of tradition”, the “extinction of great art” and of “courtesy”, “betting and competitions” for excitement, “alcohol and vegetarianism” as prominent issues, and crucially the “childlessness and ‘race suicide’ of the rootless strata, a phenomenon not peculiar to ourselves but already observed – and of course not remedied – in Imperial Rome and Imperial China”.

The 1939-45 titanic “war of contending states”, which bypassed Spengler’s fateful warning to Germanic nationalists against “biological antisemitism” and a “Napoleonic adventure in Russia”, shifted the “imperium” from Berlin to Washington, thereby disarranging his anticipated sequence for conclusive contests between “blood” and “money”. Caesarism today is manifested not in fascist legions, but in the formlessness of American politics, despite ambiguity over machine-technics, financial-flux and armed-force deployment; Musk rather than Mussolini.

His phrase “the world as spoil” neatly applies to impending rare-earth search and supply-lane safety from the Arctic to the Black Sea, and beyond. The invention of “weapons yet unforeseen” has alarmingly accelerated, with continental territories “staked – India, China, Russia, Islam called out, new technics and tactics played and counter-played”.  We can match his futurology against reflections by present-day writers like Thomas Frey, Bruno Macaes and Ian Morris, regarding particularly the tumultuous interactions of Putin, Trump, Xi and “great cosmopolitan foci of power”.

Shortly before his death, Spengler further envisaged a devastatingly concurrent underclass and colour conflict against what is labelled today as “embedded whiteness”; it would make no difference, he explained, if Bolshevism “ceased to dictate”, for “the work goes forward of itself”.

This danger arrived, a mere three decades later, from the US New Left “race, gender, class revolution”, subsequently exported as “critical theory” for a “long march”, or (more accurately) incremental infiltration, through western institutions, culminating, for example, in both DEI regulations and BLM rioting? Paris 1968, Brixton 1981, Madrid 2004 and Munich 2025 are pointers.  The Network Contagion Research Institute reports a surge in approval of political violence, mainly among left-wing networkers. Effective protection against foreign-community intrusions and ethnic occupation-zones remains morally paralysed as uncharitable “racism”, despite an unabated mass-exodus of the multi-million “wretched of the earth”, aided by profiteering traffickers, in a “nomad century”.

Number-philosopher Philip J. Davis thought his fellow-mathematician from the Kaiserreich classrooms was correct to discern the advent of “theories of everything” in science, and possibly, in the outcome of mass-media and telecommunications, the control “like that of Faust” of human minds by a self-operating computer-system “wrapping the earth with an endless web of delicate forces, currents and tensions”.

Spengler’s refutation of universally inevitable linear “progress” has anyhow been largely vindicated by the evils of vacuous postmodernism, compulsory multiculturalism and suicidal wokeism.

Was he too imaginatively attached, however, to ancient and classical models to follow through his insight into the heroic exploration, energetic curiosity and infinite striving that typify our exceptional “Faustian” ethos? Maybe our railways will lie ultimately forgotten “as dead as the Roman wall” and monuments “ruined like Memphis”, but the last prolonged turn of the western wheel must entail extensive fulfilment as well as senescent exhaustion.

“Only the future,” observed his admirer Professor John Farrenkopf, “and not Spengler’s innumerable detractors, is in a position to authoritatively answer the question if mankind is nearing in apocalyptic fashion, whether through nuclear Armageddon, the synergistic interaction of international economic collapse and the explosive North-South conflict, or the intensification of the global ecological crisis, the much-discussed end of history.”

Nevertheless, could western science, which has split the atom and spliced the gene, reached the outer planets and penetrated the brain itself, under sagacious guidance, yet modify our caducity with robotics, ecological management and biological enhancement?

Meantime, we should respect the venerable advice of der Weissager to face up to facts, with fortitude and fidelity to our noblest values.

Oswald Spengler, credit Wikipedia

David Ashton is a frequent contributor to QR

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Cakes, Quizzes, Corpses

Posted on April 4, 2025 by leslie

  

President Dina Boluarte, y su reloj de lujo, credit Wikipedia

Cakes, Quizzes, Corpses, by Bill Hartley

The current Peruvian Minister of the Interior Juan Jose Santinavanez Antunez was appointed in November of last year. He is the sixth Interior Minister in the current government; that’s an average of one every three months. So far it hasn’t been a good term of office for Senor Antunez. Rather in the manner of cricket averages the local press has been comparing his performance to those of his immediate predecessors. At the last count the murder rate on his watch was averaging six a day, more than any of the five ministers who preceded him.

Peru has around ten daily newspapers ranging from the sedate and serious El Comercio, with a heavy emphasis on politics, through the more popular such as La Republica and Peru 21, to the cheerfully downmarket El Chino. The latter appears in a format about two thirds the size of a British tabloid and as with most Peruvian newspapers they cram an awful lot into just a few pages. There’s usually a central spread of quizzes taking up more space even than sports reports and they also seem fond of cake recipes.

The mainstay of these papers, though, and indeed local media in general, is crime and corruption. Of this they have a great deal to choose from. Crime impacts on the daily lives of Peruvians in ways that would be unthinkable in Europe. A feature in El Republica referred to it as ‘the normalisation of the unacceptable’.

In January of this year El Chino reported that in the first twelve days of the month there had been 79 murders. A week later this had risen to 101. With some understatement the interior minister admitted that Peru is in the midst of a crime wave ‘the like of which we have never experienced before’.

Anyone who spends some time in Peru soon becomes aware that the victims are often ordinary working people. Extortion is big criminal business here and sending a message, say to the owner of a bus company, may be done by picking out a conductor for execution. Working in public transport can be a hazardous business. El Chino recently reported a murder on the Lima metro. Here a ticket collector was shot dead. The killer made his escape on the back of a motorcycle, the quickest way of weaving through the capital’s often grid locked traffic. The story was illustrated by a picture of the victim lying by his place of work at a station entrance, as commuters passed by. Over familiarity has desensitised the public who simply walk round a crime scene.

This graphic depiction of a murder is quite usual in the Peruvian media. Both TV and newspapers aided by CCTV downloads are prepared to show not just the aftermath but sometimes the actual commission of a crime. Suspects receive no anonymity and may be pictured as they are led away after a police raid, often wearing a tabard inscribed with the word ‘detendo’. In January, CCTV images shown on the evening news revealed how a message was sent to the owner of some trishaw type taxis. The killer or sicario as they are often described in the press, casually strolled up to a driver whose vehicle was at the head of a line waiting for business and shot him several times then walked round to the other side where his body had fallen, and delivered the coup de grace. Again, the victim was a poor guy in the wrong place. The incident, incidentally, was witnessed be several people who all fled for cover when the shooting started. The killings are often carried out by youngsters working for criminal gangs. They are cheap to employ and utterly ruthless.

Despite this mayhem the minister remains in charge, though in various national polling agencies, his disapproval rating stands at 78%. Much of the crime seems to be driven by protection rackets. Business premises are the most obvious targets and those who refuse to pay may find themselves experiencing what the authorities are now describing as urban terrorism, since there is nothing subtle or discreet about the way organised crime sends a message. A recent phenomenon mentioned in TV news (and captured on CCTV) is the use of hand grenades to bomb businesses. A clue as to where criminals might get hold of such a weapon came with the arrest of two junior army officers, accused of selling ammunition to a criminal gang.

In such a relatively poor country the visitor soon comes to appreciate how far the benchmark for lethal violence has been lowered and it is usually those with the least who suffer most. The press and television simply endorse how accustomed the public has become to this. In 2023 more than 18000 cases of extortion were reported, though the authorities concede that the actual number is probably higher. Nothing much seems to have changed. Indeed criminals have been posting online examples of what happens when someone refuses to pay. Out on the Pan American Highway a couple were travelling by taxi. The killers drew alongside; one filming as the other shot the male front seat passenger in the head, then did the same to the woman sitting in the rear. In 2022, Lima alone experienced 700 murders and more than half of these were believed to be contract killings. Unemployment and lack of opportunity makes crime attractive, particularly to youngsters.

The response of the authorities is little more than window dressing: increased police patrols and random stops of motor cyclists. There seems to be little attempt to focus on the underlying problem. Without a comprehensive programme to deal with poverty and deprivation there are always going to be ready recruits for criminal gangs. President Dina Boularte was at the Davos gathering recently where she talked up Peru as a place where corruption has been on the decrease. She explained that Peru had ‘recovered stability, politically, economically and socially’, though with magnificent understatement she conceded that there was a problem with ‘criminal organisations’. This was greeted with some surprise in the press. Reporting her speech Peru 21, reminded readers about the Rolex question. A press photographer who had often pictured the president happened to take a closer look at some of the images he’d captured and concluded that Dina owns a dozen Rolex watches. This, incidentally, was a president elected on a ‘clean hands’ ticket. She says the watches were given to her.

Peru’s newspapers will frequently illustrate the latest killing with a picture of the corpse lying in the road. One victim who had a lucky escape was featured under the headline ‘17 Bullets’. Here, a taxi driver had been intercepted and the paper reported that the would-be killer had fired shots in the air to scare off onlookers, before shooting his victim in the leg and arm. Not to be outdone in its coverage of crime, Peruvian TV seems to have almost instantaneous access to any CCTV images captured in the vicinity of a shooting.

Trujillo, a coastal city in the north-west of the country, aspires to being a centre for tourism. Among Peruvians, though, it is probably best known for what the papers are calling the ‘Terror of Trujillo’. Even the authorities now admit that the situation has moved from the criminal to what they are describing as urban terrorism. By January of this year the overwhelmed local police were being supported by the military. In Trujillo it’s not unusual for the pictures of gang leaders to be featured on the front page of newspapers. Peru 21 has featured a handy who’s who guide to the various gangs operating in the city. This may be useful when moving about the place, since each gang has its own logo used to mark out territories. For example the gothic style cross of Los Pulpos aka The Octopus of El Porvenir. A total of nine in all are competing for territory and influence in the city. Above the assorted logos the paper carried pictures of Jhonsson Cruz el cabecilla or boss of Los Pulpos and his rival Jimmy Bazan Valderrama capo of Los Compadres. There is no shortage of recruits for these gangs and whilst the political will to deal with them is lacking the public will have to be content with the sight of troops patrolling the streets; a purely cosmetic device which will do nothing to deal with the fundamental underlying problem. As for the police, it’s difficult to have confidence in them when a recent story featured a colonel who had been caught in possession of a suitcase containing 250,000 Peruvian sols (approximately $70,000).

When President Boluarte points to a recent absence of major corruption in government she may be a little premature. There is a scandal brewing at the moment which might have significant ramifications. In December last year Andrea Vidal, a 35 year old lawyer working in congress, was murdered. She was ambushed by three gunmen when leaving work in a taxi. The taxi driver also died. For some time the police maintained that the driver was the intended victim. To an outsider this seemed rather peculiar, though in a sarcastic comment La Republica noted that the police had made a ‘180 degree turn’ and now believe that Ms Vidal was the intended victim. This new theory may have been sustained by the numerous bullets which were fired at her, as opposed to the single shot which killed the driver. It turns out that she may have been the organiser of a prostitution ring inside congress where call girls were being recruited by politicians as ‘advisors’.

In its World Report of 2025, Human Rights Watch called corruption the driving force in Peru behind the deterioration of public services. Whilst there had been some signs of improvement the pandemic appears to have caused things to regress. The World Bank reports that as of May 2024 29% of the population is classified as ‘impoverished’. There seems little to feel confident about, since in the same month the World Bank also noted that 67 of the 130 members of congress were under investigation for corruption and other offences. Ordinary Peruvians are paying a high price for rotten government.

William Hartley is a Social Historian and Globe Trotter                           

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Wily Amphibian; Velasco, between Art and Science

Posted on April 1, 2025 by leslie

The Valley of Mexico from the Hill of Santa Isabel, Museo Nacional De Arte

Wily Amphibian; Velasco, between Art and Science

José María Velasco, A View of Mexico, Dexter Dalwood & Daniel Sobrino Ralston, Yale University Press, Catalogue of the Exhibition at the National Gallery, 29 March-17 August 2025, reviewed by Leslie Jones

The 1989 Hayward Gallery exhibition entitled Art in Latin America; The Modern Era, 1820-1980, curated by Dawn Adès, included several landscapes by José Mariá Velasco. This, however, is the UK’s first “in depth exploration of Velasco’s work”, indeed, the “first ever [exhibition] dedicated to a Latin American artist at the National Gallery”.

Velasco was born in 1840 in San Miguel Temascalcingo but his family moved to Mexico City in 1850, in search of work. He already evinced a penchant for drawing at primary school. Subsequently, having completed a three-year, night-school drawing class at the Academia de San Carlos, he enrolled in January 1858 as a full-time student, specialising in landscape painting (see ‘Master of the Far Horizon’, Catalogue, MEA Piolle). The Academia sought to emulate the European art schools, in particular the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, in Madrid (vide D S Ralston,‘Velasco Beyond Mexico’). His teacher was the Italian artist Eugenio Landesio, director of the landscape painting department. Velasco was Landesio’s star pupil and in 1873 succeeded him as lecturer in landscape art at the Academia.

Landesio once worked in the Rome studio of landscape artist Károly Markó, an admirer of Poussin and Claude Lorrain. His modus operandi was to make pencil drawings and oil sketches out of doors then elaborate the composition in the studio. His teaching methods exerted a powerful influence on Velasco. A Rustic Bridge in San Angel (1862) echoes Landesio’s Trunk of a Holm Oak (1844). Ralston contends that Landesio imbued Velasco’s work with “a distinctly European sensibility” (Ralston, p26).

Apropos European influences, several of Velasco’s patrons, notably the chemist František Kaska, were former members of the entourage of the ill-fated Emperor Maximilian, executed in 1867. Emperor Maximilian himself reportedly admired both Landesio and his protégé. Kaska eventually owned eight of Velasco’s canvases which he then bequeathed to the Czech National Museum in Prague. Although a self-styled Mexican patriot, Velasco was happy to accept the Knight’s Cross of the Order of Franz Joseph for The Hill of the Bells (1902). It features a chapel built on the site of Maximilian’s execution. Maximilian was the brother of Emperor Franz Joseph 1.

Execution of Maximilian, Edouard Manet (about 1867-8) credit Wikipedia

For Professor Adès, Velasco’s attention to detail brings to mind John Ruskin’s precept of truth to nature. Like Ruskin, he “eschewed picturesque, theatrical and ideal landscape models…” (preface to Catalogue, p10). Before graduating in 1868, he studied natural sciences at the Escuela Nacional de Medecine, thereby giving his depictions of the natural world “a sound scientific underpinning”. In due course, he was a founding member of the Sociedad Mexicana de Historia Naturel.

The Baths at Nezahualcó (1878), Museo Nacional De Arte, Inbal, Mexico City

From 1880-1892, Velasco was the official draughtsman of the Museo Nacional. His brief was to produce illustrations of ancient monuments etc for the museum’s journal Anales. In 1878 he accompanied an expedition to the archaeological site of Texcotzingo. The baths at Nezahualcoyotl were built at the behest of the ruler of Texcoco. In The Baths of Nezahualcóyotl (1878) Velasco highlighted the hydraulic engineering skills of its fifteenth century builders. According to the Catalogue (p82), the painting “showcases Velasco’s ongoing dedication to the intertwining of nature, science and history”. In similar vein, the Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon, a monumental temple complex constructed between AD 100 and AD 450 at the city of Teotihuacan, were depicted in two works by Velasco, dated 1878.

Dexter Dalwood characterises the Mexican landscape as a “site of change” (p51). The dictatorial regime of Porfirio Díaz, from 1876 to 1911, witnessed the “onrush of industrial modernity”. The Porfirian project was technocratic. Economic development was viewed as a panacea for most social ills. Velasco implicitly endorsed the project by highlighting the advent of factories and trains in several of his paintings.

Porfirio Diaz, credit Wikipedia

An in-depth knowledge of geology was displayed in Velasco’s detailed studies of rock outcrops. They were so accurate that the engineer and botanist Mariano de la Bárcena used them in lectures to illustrate the formation of the Valley of Mexico.

Velasco, Rocas, credit Wikipedia

But how did Velasco reconcile his Catholicism with his increasing awareness of the age of the earth? In The Valley of Mexico from the Hill of Santa Isabel (1875), we see the hill of Tepeyac, with the town Villa de Guadalupe at its base. It was at Tepeyac, in 1851, that the Virgin of Guadalupe, to whom Velasco was devoted, supposedly appeared to a convert to Christianity, one Juan Diego.

According to D S Ralston, The Great Comet of 1882 (painted in 1910, from an on-site sketch made in 1882) bespeaks Velasco’s “astute understanding of contemporary Mexican politics”. Comets were reputed to presage civil strife and 1910 saw the beginnings of the Mexican Revolution. This painting, we are informed, is “a haunting late masterpiece” and has a “portentous even mystical quality”. But then the mystic and the prophetic, like beauty, are mostly in the eye of the beholder.

Velasco was a painstaking and technically accomplished landscape artist. But his oeuvre arguably lacks the timeless and transcendent quality of Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot.

Dr Leslie Jones is Editor of Quarterly Review

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Hope, Tempered by Realism

Posted on March 19, 2025 by leslie

GF Watts, Hope, credit Wikipedia

Hope, Tempered by Realism

Hopeful Pessimism, Mara van der Lugt, Princeton University Press, 2025, Oxford & Princeton, HB, 255pp, reviewed by Leslie Jones

According to Max Weber, the development of religions all over the world was predicated on one pertinent question, to wit, “how is it that a power which is said to be at once omnipotent and kind, could have created such an irrational world of underserved suffering, unpunished injustice, and hopeless stupidity” (see his Politics as a Vocation). As Mara van der Lugt, lecturer in Philosophy, St Andrews, records in her opening chapter, so-called optimists, notably Leibniz, argued the toss with pessimists such as Hume, Voltaire and Schopenhauer, the “most famous pessimist of all’. The latter’s focus, as the author points out, was not on the issue of whether the world is getting better or worse, i.e. our expectations of the future but on the value of existence itself. Contra the Book of Genesis, Schopenhauer maintained that “the world is very bad, that suffering is at the very heart of things, that the world is something that should not be”. In short, it would have been better not to have been born.

Mara van der Lugt’s analysis of the triad optimism, pessimism and fatalism is discussed throughout in relation to the climate crisis, that “great collective darkness hotly blocking out the sun” (Hopeful Pessimism, p54). The future, especially for young people, has become ‘uncertain territory’, in her estimation. Mankind faces a “truly existential” threat, and in these circumstances unalloyed optimism is otiose. Yet our culture requires the latter “at any cost” and treats pessimism as a vice. The author, for one, dismisses what she terms “the duty of optimism”. Indeed, she contends that “in an age of climate crisis and ecological devastation”, in which numerous species are facing imminent extinction, some measure of pessimism and despair is rational and justified. Indeed, one of her favourite targets is “over-optimism”, the misplaced confidence that technology will somehow solve the problem of global warming. Another is what Naomi Klein, in an implicit attack on Donald Trump, calls “climate barbarism”. The latter is depicted as a “toxic ideology” that recognises that climate change is real, but which endorses the continued exploitation of fossil fuels by “one’s preferred in-group”. It also seeks to keep out supposedly inferior elements whose homes are already beginning to become uninhabitable.

How to steer a course between the Charybdis of vacuous optimism and the Scylla of defeatism and despair? One of Dr van der Lugt’s guides here is Albert Camus, who proposed what she calls “a fierce philosophy of action stripped from any confidence of victory”. There is only one serious philosophical problem, Camus states in Le Mythe de Sisyphe; essai sur l’absurde (1942), that of suicide. But as Joshua Foa Dienstag notes in Pessimism; Philosophy, Ethic, Spirit (2006), Camus’ pessimism “pointed towards an engagement with, rather than a retreat from, politics”. Active in the French Resistance, he considered opposition to tyranny justified by considerations of justice and solidarity, regardless of the prospects of success. In the journal Combat, September 1945, he dismissed the “puerile” idea that “a pessimistic philosophy is necessarily one of discouragement”. The Warsaw ghetto uprising of Spring 1943, doomed to failure, furnishes an analogous example. For the author, “the great danger to be resisted…[is] resignation and inertia in the face of evil and injustice” (Hopeful Pessimism, p33).

The ancient Greeks and Romans harboured reservations about hope, often characterised as blind. The Stoics considered it a form of desire, and therefore a lure. In Parerga and Paralipomena, in similar vein, Schopenhauer opined that to hope is to confuse the wish for an event with its probability. And in Human, All too Human, Nietzsche, referring to the fable of Pandora’s box, remarked that what ” …Zeus intended was that man, notwithstanding the evils oppressing him, should continue to live and not rid himself of life… For this reason he bestowed hope upon man”. What we need today, all things considered, is hope tempered by realism. We commend Mara van der Lugt’s eloquent and thought provoking book.

Dr Leslie Jones is Editor of Quarterly Review

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Endnotes, March-April 2025

Posted on March 8, 2025 by leslie

[Bruckner c 1892, credit Wikipedia]

Endnotes, March-April 2025

In this edition: Archive performances of Bruckner from SOMM Records * Rare Holst from EM Records * Coronation Procession, by Ruth Gipps, reviewed by Stuart Millson

A belated, final salute from The Quarterly Review to Anton Bruckner’s 200th anniversary year (last year) in this, our assessment of SOMM’s Volume 5, ‘Bruckner from the Archives’. This two-disc edition contains memorable performances from the late-1950s/early-1960s of the Seventh Symphony – often described as the more radiant of the composer’s great cycle of nine (or is it really eleven symphonies, if you include the early ‘study symphony’ and Number 0?) – plus the more austere, No. 6, and the glorious, forthright Te Deum.

The performance of Bruckner’s Seventh comes from Stuttgart, 1955 – and sound Engineer – or sound magician – Lani Spahr has brought the performers, the South German Philharmonic Orchestra from 70 years ago, into the modern digitised soundscape with stunning effect. Under the baton of, perhaps, a lesser-known conductor, Hans Müller-Kray, who held many important provincial posts throughout Germany in the 1940s and ‘50s, Bruckner’s work from 1884/5 is taken at a brisk pace – a contrast to the seemingly-longer, expansive versions which one often hears today. And yet there is no loss of nobility or magic here: the South German players produce some gorgeous string tremolo effects at the opening, and a fine, deep cello sound as the great theme-tune of the symphony gathers and clarifies, like a great mountain-slope coming into view through the lens of a telescope. The slow movement – which is a commemoration in music of the moment when Bruckner heard the news of the death of Wagner – has delicacy and depth; soaring up, though, to the usual heights of ecstasy, at the burning summit of this adagio.

A tense, scherzo movement follows, taking your breath away in its rushing, relentless power, before Müller-Kray scales the heights of the finale – and just listen at the end to the brass of the South German Orchestra in their fabulous, stately recapitulation of the almost playful final-movement opening bars. We have become accustomed to the perfect studio sound of Bruckner, from Dresden, Amsterdam, Berlin or Vienna, in so many great recordings – Sinopoli, Karajan, Haitink – but SOMM has allowed us to discover the world of the Bruckner broadcast and performing techniques of Germany’s regional orchestras, from a generation ago.

Also in the volume, are the Sixth Symphony – a work that is the polar opposite to No. 7 – a taut orchestral landscape, often displaying severity and melancholia; a perfect pairing with Bruckner’s Ninth – his enigmatic, unfinished symphony. Christoph von Dohnanyi conducts the NDR Symphony Orchestra in No. 6, the conductor and orchestra treating the first movement like a titanic struggle. The ‘filler piece’ in the collection is the 20-minute, choral-orchestral Te Deum performed by Viennese forces under Herbert von Karajan in 1962 at the city’s Musikverein. And the famous tenor, Nicolai Gedda, is among the solo group that does what Bruckner intended them to do: praise God in the highest.

The English composer (of Swedish parentage) Gustav Holst was also much preoccupied with metaphysical, mystical and Christian ideas – as the intensity of his famous, large-scale choral-orchestral Hymn of Jesus clearly shows. But in a new CD from the recording arm of the English Music Festival, EM Records, we find the composer turning to the classical world, in his Seven Choruses from the Alcestis of Euripides, a hitherto unrecorded piece, which dates from 1920. A discovery by the English Music Festival’s founder, Mrs. Em Marshall-Luck, the Euripides piece also shares the new collection with a Playground Song (1911), a two-minute Gavotte (1933 – the same year as the charming, homely BrookGreen Suite, also on this album); and the 25-minute-in-duration The Vision of Dame Christian, from 1909. What unites these pieces is the influence of Holst’s (and Em Marshall-Luck’s) beloved school, St. Paul’s School in the West London area of Hammersmith: the composer taught there, the record producer, a couple of generations later, was a pupil there – and judging by Em’s compelling role as reciter, in the Euripides piece, her time at St. Paul’s engendered a great love of drama and dramatic speaking roles. Listeners to Radio 3 may be familiar with the Words and Music, poetry and music series, in which well-known actors give of their best. Holst’s ‘Euripides’ and Em’s narration would certainly gel effectively in this programme. And, as a flavour of what you can expect:

And the cold grey hand at the helm and oar
Which guideth shadows from shore to Shore,
Shall bear this day o’er the
Tears that Well,
A Queen of Women, a spouse of spouses,
Minstrels many shall praise thy name
With lyre full strung and with voices.

Holst’s style is often difficult to pin down – sometimes we find him in playful mood (as in the Brook Green or St. Paul’s Suites); in The Planets there is jostling joviality, which gives way, in the Neptune movement, to a weird, but not altogether untroubling sense of remoteness – exactly the trance-like loneliness that he conjures up on Dorset’s Egdon Heath. Playfulness and a good tune sit side-by-side with seriousness, austerity and a deep well of drama in Holst. Look no further than this CD for an ample helping of all four characteristics. The players – the St. Paul’s School’s Paulina Singers and BBC Concert Orchestra, conducted by Leigh O’Hara – do great justice to their composer, and to the motto which guides the hearts and minds of all who pass through those hallowed Hammersmith gates – Fide et Literis, the very title of the album.

Finally, to the music of Ruth Gipps, another of England’s somewhat overlooked 20th-century composers. Chandos – with its typically resonant, lush, detailed and impeccable sound recording – elevates Ruth Gipps’s music into the English mainstream, as for so many decades, the composer had to settle for competent, heartfelt, but ultimately amateur, freelance, or student-ensemble performances. With Rumon Gamba and the BBC Philharmonic, we feel that we are in the company of a composer, equal to Bliss, Alwyn, and at the beginning of the Coronation Procession, Vaughan Williams himself.

They called the Coronation time of 1953 the New Elizabethan Age, – and high hopes had already been stirred by the 1951 Festival of Britain – a combination of scientific marvels, English eccentricity and that lost word – fun. Despite post-war austerity, people still found it in themselves to be jolly and optimistic, and from those early, grainy colour films and newsreels of the period, united, and – amid all the crowds and bunting – automatically proud to be British. How different this all seems from today’s (apparent) era of ‘plenty’ (in the materialist sense) yet all tinged with angst and what is so often officialdom’s rejection of the patriotism which guided those 1950s’ New Elizabethans.

A definite feel of Englishness – the use of delicate woodwind, a sense of history suffusing the musical landscape – opens the Coronation work, and we begin to feel that we are, perhaps, wandering along London streets of the past, or leafing through a history book as the work unfolds. Lovers of this era of composition will also relish the Concerto for Horn and Orchestra, Op. 58, of 1968 – a lyrical, big-hearted work, that seems to be in a parallel universe from all the other social trends spilling onto the streets at the time. Twenty years on from the Horn Concerto and Ruth Gipps’s love of tradition and melody still remained undiminished: her Ambervalia of 1988, evoking ancient Roman fertility ceremonies – played beautifully by the BBC forces under Rumon Gamba. Personally, I would pay double the licence-fee for the BBC orchestras, alone. With the exception of Radio 3 and one or two untainted-by-woke programmes, a switch of the dial away on Radio 4, you can more or less keep the rest.

CD details:

Bruckner from the Archives, Volume 5, SOMM ARIADNE, 5033-2.
Holst, Fide et Literis, EMR CD090.
Ruth Gipps, Orchestral Works, Volume 3, CHAN 20284.

Stuart Millson is the Classical Music Editor of The Quarterly Review

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First Century Miracle Worker

Posted on March 5, 2025 by leslie

Parc de Versailles, Rond-Point des Philosophes. Apollonius de Tyane en terme, Barthélémy de Mélo (1685-1687), marbre.

First Century Miracle Worker

Gerard Boter (ed.), Flavius Philostratus: Vita Appolonii Tyanei, 2022. DeGruyter. Pp. I-LXIII, 1-322. $91.99.

Gerard Boter (ed.), Critical Notes on Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana. 2023. DeGruyter. Pp. I-VIII, 1-317. $131.99.

Reviewed by Darrell Sutton

Gerard Boter (GB), Professor Emeritus at Vrije Universiteit (Amsterdam), devoted decades to studying the Greek texts of Plato and Epictetus. This preparation suited him well. At the present time his research is directed towards the ‘Life’ of Apollonius (c.AD15-100). These two volumes published by GB are the results of his focused investigations. They are required reading for a proper study of the Pythagorean teacher from Cappadocia.

The oral lore surrounding Apollonius appears in many literary shapes and forms. The travelogue of his journeys is of particular interest and is as intriguing as the details in Herodotus’ books. Just as other ancient tales do, these accounts merit close reading and critical examination. People revered him as their master-teacher. His birth and life, reportedly, were superintended by the Egyptian deity, Proteus. Apollonius is described as a first century wonder worker whose induction into varied bodies of philosophical knowledge, and initiation into mysteries, stood him in the forefront of theoretical teachers of his day. Although he imposed upon himself rigors of numerous kinds, his teachings were uncomplicated. He did not drink wine. He opposed animal sacrifices, believed in a transcendent deity, held views on eternal existence that were common; but what made Apollonius atypical at the time was the rumored presence of a daemon through which he made fortuitous predictions of an extraordinary kind, and wrought wonders. Writers tended to associate bodily cures with gifted sages in antiquity. As recorded, Apollonius even raised a young maiden from the dead. The manner of his death is shrouded in conjecture. Presumably he lived to be an old man, some say nearly a hundred years of age. Legends about him abound.

I

The Latin Praefatio of Vita Apollonii Tyanei (VAT) is lucid. GB put forward two preliminary studies that were marked by originality and light: 1) ‘Towards a New Critical Edition of Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius: The Affiliation of the Manuscripts’/2) ‘Studies in the Textual Tradition of Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana’. Others will agree with him when he says of those pieces, duobus studiis annis 2009 et 2014 in lucem emissi (p.vii). Quite a few mss of the VAT are extant. He says they can be divided into two families: Codices divisi sunt in familias duas (p.viii). An editio princeps appeared in 1501 (p.xv). Several scholars appended notes to the texts, trying to elucidate them (pp.xix-xx). In GB’s estimation the first truly critical edition appeared in 1844 when C.L. Kayser edited the VAT, … primus editionem vere criticam composuit (p.xvi). Kayser issued a smaller edition in 1870. The Greekness of Philostratus’ life appealed to GB. It is foundational to his reasons for editing it (p.xxiv). The trend for some time now has been to construct a negative critical apparatus. As GB says Apparatus quoad fieri poeterat negativus est…, the apparatus is negative in so far as it can be done that way, i.e., the variant readings are noted, but it is not stated from which sources the reading is found in the received text. I do not like this method. It obscures the lines of transmission readers may be looking for. Thereafter is a Conspectus Librorum (pp.xxx-lv). The Conspectus Siglorum (pp.lvi-lxiii) are easy to sort through. Unattributed conjectures in the book were proposed by GB, coniecturae sine nomine auctoris mihi ipsi tribuendae sunt.

II

The Greek font used in this edition is clear and legible. The main sections of VAT are indented with boldfaced numbers. Resolving the connections between text and bottom-of-page notes is somewhat tedious. The format of GB’s Lectiones Variantes Minores will be puzzling to most people with its square bracketed divisions. The critical apparatus is orderly but cluttered with more detail on the opening verses of Book one from the Suda than any reader would need to understand the received text. Whatever is true or false in the Suda is anyone’s guess. GB issued his own cautions and suspicions on page XIV: Ita perraro fit ut Suda solus lectiones magna ponderis vel etiam veras praebeat. Attempts at restoring VAT’s original readings have been made by many scholars. And one must be grateful that their conjectures and variants from various manuscripts, as exhibited, are accessible and not entangled in a network of perplexing sigla.

At 4.13.1 the primary mss E F read ξυμβαινειν; but Laur. CS.155 has ξυνεμβαίνειν. Readers are told in his Critical Notes on Philostratus… (hence CN) that the former ‘cannot mean go together with someone’; although readers are not informed if that reading is idiomatic or if it at some point in ancient times conveyed that sense. However, that verb appears in classical Greek, Herodotus 1.32, and in Greek New Testament passages [Mk. 10.32, Lk.24.14, etc.], where it certainly denotes the sense of people or things ‘gathered together (for the performance of some deed)’.

An apparatus is crucial for defining the boundaries of transmission of Greek classical poetry and prose. Editors feel the need to justify the reasons for their investigations. Why this is so I have no idea. Research should be done because it needs doing. The usual procedure of an editor is to impeach the character of extant mss, pointing out their corrupt features, assigning to them the label ‘untrustworthy’. Marginalia, early and later hands at once are classified. To navigate the maze of variants an editor must make selections, thereby producing a critical text of restored readings that he or she believes is the original text or approximates to an archetype. For VAT and CN, GB’s text-critical philosophy is embodied in a formulaic belief:

‘if A agrees in word order with either E or F (Q) we can assume that the reading in A and in one of the branches of the second family represents the reading of the archetype (p.5).

III

A few points of detail regarding CN. The Introduction essentially provides an English sketch of VAT’s Praefatio. Either of them would have been sufficient for both volumes. There are 250 pages of critical notes. CN’s full title is Critical Notes on Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana. In truth, the ‘critical notes’ are of uneven quality, and refer mostly to grammatical and textual matters, i.e. vindication of readings. Patristic writers here and there are cited. The notes in books 5 and 6 exhibit precision and outshine the others.

Historical details are managed with care: e.g. snake teeth at 3.7.2, p.95 and the altars at 5.5.1, p.171, but this entire critical enterprise is devoid of aesthetic analyses of sentence structures. Medieval textual representations should be inspected with caution. In rare cases where paleography is needed to disentangle ligatures or manuscript glyphs, GB does not hold back. On the other hand, when he engages in syntactical discussions,  they are not always worthy of a De Gruyter edition. On the opening page of the comments readers encounter a note that models what is standard all the way to the end. At 1.1.1 (p.1.4) GB writes:

‘In the transmitted text, the infinitive θυσαί depends on καθαρεύοι and thus forms a sequel to the noun βρώσεως. I have not found instances of καθαρεύω followed by an infinitive which is not preceded by τοῦ(the addition of the article τοῦ before θυσαί in the Suda is an obvious conjecture) but the change of construction from βρώσεως to θυσαί fits in with Philostratus’ idiosyncratic syntax; Schmid 4.115-116 illustrates that Philostratus regularly coordinates syntactically different constituents (see also Schmid 4.524-526. The transition is somewhat softened by the intervening clause ὁπόση ἐμψύχων; and the infinitive may also anticipate the immediately following μὴ γὰρ αἱμάττειν τοὺς βωμούς. Kayser¹ suggested θυσίας in his apparatus; Kayser² printed it in his text, probably encouraged by Preller 1846, 466 n. and Scheibe 1847, 428.’

The foregoing comments contain hardly anything that illumine the meaning or background of the Greek words mentioned. Reading a Greek text is much like reading a newspaper in one’s native language. The comprehension of grammar is intuitive; either one understands what is read or does not. His commentary seems to be structured for individuals with small Greek who are attempting to decipher the text. He is acquainted with the relevant facts: he knows of traditions of Pythagoras’ visits to India (2.17.1; p.68) but GB is sparing with such data.

Yet he is capable of good work. His paraphrases are not bad; things are made better when he exploits the English renderings of other editions. He likes to initiate discussions about translations by explaining what a word does not mean (see 7.2.2) or by intimating that a literal rendering of a text is odd (1.14.2). Assertions of that kind merely clutter space. Translators of Greek words know that inflected idioms are capable of several meanings in the same setting, depending on how one rightly or wrongly construes their forms. Some Greek authors were scribal geniuses, other writers were less proficient.

GB identifies interpolations, deletes words and phrases often. He transposes words when he deems it necessary. And he finds it to be a necessity quite often. Nonetheless, his decisions are sensible. His conjectures do not mislead. His familiarity with how scholars had dealt with VAT in past and recent days is superb and he does not inadequately outline any of their thoughts. When Apollonius alludes to other Greek writers like Hesiod ((6.2.2, p.198) or Homer, GB tells us (see 8.5.3; p.256).

Even still, criticisms pile up quickly. For example, at 1.7.2 (p.7.13-14) one finds an astounding feat of scholarly divination when GB writes:

‘Although both the imperfect and aorist are possible here I think that the imperfect, transmitted by Eusebius, is preferable. Apollonius’ getting acquainted with Platonism, Stoicism and Epicureanism form the background to his getting involved with Pythagoreanism. The imperfects therefore suggest that he paid some attention to the other philosophical schools but that he only became deeply and thoroughly involved with Pythagoras’ doctrines, an activity which is referred to by means of the complexive aorist… ‘.

Only an innovative mind could derive so much ‘factual’ detail from an ‘imperfect’ and an ‘aorist’; but an imperfect can denote a ‘fixed idea’ sometimes. His argument is plausible, except those specific tenses do not betray in any time-based form the data he assumes to be present.

In another place, GB amazes. Conybeare’s 1912 Loeb edition has the below words:

[7.6] When moreover the news was brought how notable a purification of the goddess Hestia of the Romans [Vesta.] Domitian had carried out, by putting to death three of the Vestal virgins who had broken their vows and incurred the pollution of marriage, when it was their duty to minister in purity to the Athena of Ilion and to the fire which was worshipped in Rome, he exclaimed: “O Sun, would that thou couldst too be purified of the unjust murders with which the whole world is now filled.”

About this passage he was on the right track when he maintained that

‘The point at issue is that the three Vestal Virgins who were accused of having had sex were no longer pure themselves and one would expect this to be expressed by the adjective and not by the adverb.’

Immediately afterward GB stumbles at the interpretation of ἁγνῶς θεραπεύειν and avers

‘On the other hand, it might be argued that ἁγνῶς θεραπεύειν means that everything is done according to the strict rules of the cult of Vesta.’

Really? Again, he reaches a circumstantial conclusion that, lexically, is improbable. He accounts for the transformation of ἁγνάς into ἁγνῶς by affirming his belief that it stems from echoschreibung/echo-writing. He concludes that the adaptation is inexplicable or ‘difficult to explain’ (p.225).

When treating of Philostratus’ Graecitas, GB alleges that Philostratus tried to imitate the Greek of the classical period (see p.17). GB claims he reproduced Plato’s verbiage at 7.11.1, p.226. The claim is unfounded and incompletely illustrated in CN. Writing at a much later stage of development, Greek dialects had mutated: prefixes, infixes and suffixes differed somewhat by then. Whatever ‘period-resemblances’ may have appeared in VAT’s quotations from other texts also manifested the diverse ways of Greek expression in Philostratus’ day.

The critical apparatus in CN is clean and sleek, much better than VAT’s. The latter would be a good intermediate Greek text for students of classical Greek. Its stimulating content is no less interesting than that neglected classic with that other famed Apollonius (the Argonautica). Ignore any common attic descriptions scholars have applied previously to VAT’s idiom. Its Greek certainly reflects the wording of a polished Athenian who hardly resorted to an ancient Greek lexicon to standardize his spelling. None existed. Of extant collections of wordlists in other languages, there are no signs they were within reach of him. He went to distant lands of the east. But it is doubtful Philostratus made use of any bi-lingual clay tablets whose wordlists were in Akkadian and Sumerian, including 1st century BC – 1st AD interlinear cuneiform ones with Greek glosses. Grammatical divergences of that epoch are best examined restrictively, as exclusive to an author.

Professors concentrating on the Greek New Testament, a rather circumscribed field of study, could benefit themselves privately and publicly by using GB’s text and commentary as a supplement to their forms of instruction. When GB issues a reliable translation of VAT, an authoritative trifecta of scholarship will be brought to a proper conclusion. As a base translation, it is suggested that he utilize C.P. Jones’ English version and update it throughout. High standards of scholarship are built upon higher standards of criticism. And his edition clears up difficulties and deficiencies.  As things now stand, these two volumes, VAT and CN, are evidence of the fruit derived from studies within the ‘Amsterdam School’. Taken together they make strong demands upon readers’ intellects and are indispensable for historians and other academics whose Roman imperial Greek pursuits are both avocational and specialized.

Classicist Darrell Sutton contributes reviews and papers to QR

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