diary entry

British Literary History

I am reading Sir Philip Sidney’s Defense of Poetry. 

Something he said made me think that there are two kinds of nature. At least we talk about the natural man and how this is not the beautiful nature that we want to emulate, but rather it is a more wild and uncontrolled nature. I can’t seem to reconcile the two at least not immediately, but I thin there is some sort of restitution between the two that would help someone come to a greater understanding of man’s relationship to nature.

Our spirit knows what perfection is, yet our body keeps us from obtaining it. 

I am now thoroughly convinced that there is no such thing as science. I am thoroughly convinced that all science is parading so and is, at its heart, an art. We are all artists and the scientists try to supplant the idea that they are not. They try to create this notion that their studies are indisputable, as if the painter were to say “this is a true representation of England. This is the embodiment of England, right here in this landscape that I have painted.” What audacity that the scientist has to presume that he knows the answer. Truly there are things that are indisputable. Yes that airplane does fly, and yes those rules do under normal and usual circumstances work, but so it is with the artist. Yes that is a picture of a person and yes there is a tear coming from the eyes, and yes when you paint it with those colors and when the person is in that pose, yes, it does create a feeling of pity in the viewer. The more I find out about science and art the more I realize there is no distinguishing line between the two. They are one in the same.  For are not there works there to deal with nature and man and to help humanity in one way or another? And what is more, I think that if people, those who study science, were to see it as an art there would be much more excitement and passion for it. There already are people who see it thus, but these are those that see past the facade that science fronts. They see science as an art. The surgeon realizes that his slicing and stitching is as much a feat of muscular dexterity as does the sculptor, or even as the dancer. I see no difference between these two. Medicine is an art. Even the doctor must use his cognitive and creating thinking to understand his patient, and guess, using what he has learned, at what the problem and the best remedy would be. By golly we give scientists way too much credit. Would you be surprised to learn that there are disputes in science. What? you may ask, but how is this? Isn’t it all factual? No, it is an art. 

A comedy is an imitation of the common errors of our life. 

“Those words which are fittest for memory, are likewise most convenient for knowledge” Sir Philip Sidney.

The artist is not dogmatically caught up in the facts, but rather the symbols that represent the facts. There is great beauty in the symbols that surround us. Rather than trying to push a view on someone we can agree on the beautiful symbols that enhance our understanding the the virtues and vices of the world around us. There are things that are right and things that are wrong, and all else is but a representation of those things. 

I would rather tell someone what should be rather than what is. I am not so certain that I know what is. I cannot say that dishonesty is a poor choice, but rather that it should be a poor choice... (I am writing out these ideas to test them and they seem pretty shaky in my eyes. Don’t think that I am fully agreed with these ideas, but that I am merely acquainting myself with them, meeting them at a party and asking them questions rather than adopting or espousing them.)