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... that you shall love your neighbour as yourself.
Tired this morning, so I stopped off at the Reid Library cafe for a coffee. I also remembered I'd forgotten to pack an apple today for snacking purposes, so I bought one of those as well. (They sell out fairly early, but apparently before half past nine there are still a few left...)
I was thinking about something that I read about on my morning internets today, although I don't remember where exactly and I can't look it up because I don't have internet access here. (Accursed SNAP deadzone.) It was probably something that came up on/was linked on my friendslist. Anyway.
The point at issue was a discussion the moral implications of Hitler's great-great-great-grandparents having sex. The issue being that their act of copulation ultimately lead to genocide, and so was arguably wrong, except there's absolutely no way they could have known that, etc. The ultimate point of the argument is that the final moral value of acts are unknowable, which is fine - anything can potentially have consequences wholly unknown. If you pull a drowning child out of a pond, you may well be saving the boy who will one day cure cancer, or you may be saving the boy who will one day nuke all of Eastern Europe to bedrock. You can't know.
All this is well and good. We cannot know all the ramifications of our actions. All we can do is our best, in good faith; if you're religious, you can add to that a faith that !deity is working to some grand plan where everything will be All Right. If you're not (and even if you are, just add an "also" here) you can cling to the view that, in the march of human history, overall, the trend for humanity is positive. Or you can fall into some kind of fatalistic nihilism, whatever gets you through the day.
The point with which I took some issue was that they included the argument that Hitler's work may have prevented some greater genocide, and so, in an unknowable way, his ancestors' combining to produce him may have been a good thing.
It's a cute rhetorical point, but it bothers me, because as a line of reasoning it's kind of dangerous. It offers a copout - taking the argument further, all the people who could have stopped Hitler, and didn't, may not in fact have been wrong; they too may have been contributing to some greater good. So obviously any kind of moral agency or potential for human fault is expunged from the world; if you can't know the ultimate results of your actions, for good or ill, then presumably you can't be held accountable for them, because who knows? You may have been wrong, or you may have saved the world in some unknowable fashion.
To hell with that!
As flawed as we mere humans are, and as unknowable as the lines of future possibility may be, I believe that we should do the best we can to try and make the world a better place. If you're religious, well... few religions don't command it. If you're not? Then all we have is each other, and since no god has ordained that you have the right to live and breathe and consume the resources of a finite planet, then you have a responsibility to the world in exchange for your place in it.Current Location: Arts: ALR9 Current Music: my linguistics lecture starting Current Mood:  pensive
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The Times of London has a digital archive of all of its newspapers from 1785 to 1985.
All of them.
I don't know if this is generally accessible or if I'm benefitting from currently accessing it off a university network, but it is inexpressably awesome nonetheless.
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So, I've been hanging out in the library since my lecture ended at 11, both restoring my sanity levels (yesterday I got too overstimulated, I need a quiet, restful day today) and doing necessary work for History.
I'd forgotten how good this feels - the thrill, the charge of reading books, tracking sources, finding texts. In addition to the Times' online archives and various other links, I spent a productive hour or so in the Scholars' Centre reading original copies of mid-19th century publications. Oh so fragile, and oh so fascinating.
Adjusting to reading the typeface can be disconcerting - mostly it's standard, except for those half-crossed "f"s in place of "s" - but only when not capitalised or word-final. My brain keeps parsing them as "f"s, but I'm gradually breaking that.
There are strict rules about using these ancient texts - pretty much all related to not damaging the materials, which can be quite fragile. (As I discovered when I untied the ribbon holding the first volume of The Mirror together, and the covers and half the spine turned out not to be actually attached to the bulk of the book.) But modern technology is not wholly forbidden. Taking notes on laptops is permitted (taking bags into the Centre is not), and digital cameras may be used to take pictures of the contents of the book if done with care not to damage the binding and the consent of the librarians. (Mostly so they can remind you to be careful of the binding, I think.)
For consideration as my original sources to take to my workshop this week, I have a couple of pieces photographed, but I'm leaning towards a really interesting column(ish thing) on the dearth of Scottish humour. It has a range of interesting ramifications implicit in the text - I'll post it here when I've typed it up - but it's some time before the author approaches what I suspect is the central issue: the Scottish language being banned in print, but still widespread in spoken conversation, the Scots are writing in a second language that does not entirely lend itself to natural humour-writing. The author notes that there was a great deal of written humour in pre-Union times, written in Scotch; now, however, the only real humour-writing tends to bitter irony.
Oh, the wealth of material in this one column alone! I am in love.Current Mood:  ecstatic Current Location: Reid Library
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So, I've finally finished transcribing the first of two articles I photographed today.
The following was first published in April 1740. Note that I have transcribed into modern font (e.g. all those esses I've put in) and that all proper nouns were italicised in the original. I'm not cutting the final paragraph because I think it's brilliantly fascinating that it was written when it was.
( Cut for length: A satirical piece about English customs, as nominally described by visiting Indians. I am reasonably sure the Indians in question are native Americans, but they may in fact be Indian. )
THE Author then proceeds to shew the Absurdity of Breeches and Petticoats, with many other curious Observations, which I shall reserve for another Occasion. I cannot however conclude this Paper without taking notice, That amidst these wild Remarks there now and then appears something very reasonable. I cannot likewise forbear observing, that we are all guilty in some measure of the same narrow way of Thinking, which we meet with in this Abstract of the Indian Journal, when we fancy the Customs, Dresses, and Manners of other Countries are ridiculous and extravagant, if they do not resemble those of our own.Current Mood:  productive Current Location: Destiny; kitchen table
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