I'm off to the Philippines for a few weeks. See you all mid Feb

I first read about Gustaf Frederik Hjortberg in an essay called ‘People reluctantly on their way into the shadows.’ It was written by the Swedish crime writer, Henning Mankell (1947-2015). Being a bit of a Swedophile, I endeavoured to do more research on Hjortberg.

Tucked away in the commune of Släp on the west coast of Sweden hangs a painting like no other. Long before the invention of photography, prosperous folk commissioned family portraits. Jonas Durchs was the artist. His painting of the Hjortberg family hangs in the local church but online copies are available on the Wikimedia Commons’ website.  Gustaf Frederick Hjortberg was a local clergyman. The portrait features him and his wife, Anna Helena, and their fifteen children. As a son of the enlightenment, and a member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, he has his foot in two worlds it would seem to the modern observer: In the background there’s a crucifix with 1 Timothy 1:15 written underneath. On the table, lays all his scientific and navigational instruments with a large world globe at his side. He holds an academic paper in his hand, emphasising his studiousness. As a student of Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist, Gustaf displays sample jars on the bookshelf in the background. As a former ship’s pastor, he shows evidence of wide travel: A row of African spears stand erect like Terracotta soldiers ready for action. A lemur’s tail is embraced by one of the boys as it walks with considerable freedom on the floor. Behind, and hanging from the ceiling, are various stuffed animals, including a tortoise. And on the right, a servant’s bell hangs at the ready.

Unlike British Victorian portraiture, where subjects are stiff with constrained facial expressions, Gustaf displays a kindly, patriarchal posture with an impish expression. There’s a sense of playfulness as one of his discarded shoes is laying on the floor, which may explain why the boys are informal in their half smiles. The females are slightly reserved in facial expression. Perhaps manifesting the ‘modest’ Biblical expectations of Lutheran women of the 18^th century. However, there is nothing suggested in my profile of this artwork that would disabuse this family of their happiness, except for one important detail:

The family portrait includes not only those children in their midst, but the six that have passed away. Child mortality was high in Europe at the time. The main causes being cholera, typhus, typhoid and other air and water borne diseases. The deceased children float in the shadows, neither here nor in the nether world, but seemingly soliciting an invitation back to the physical realm. No other piece of artwork portrays more the human drive not to be forgotten, nor forget. Which comes back to my analysis of why I write: I wish to be remembered. My desire is to leave a written record to say, ‘I was here.’ It’s my way of defying mortality.

Why is there something rather than nothing? Why do our hearts and minds think on terms of eternity? Why are we still young inside even when we get old?

A wise man once wrote that God has “set eternity in our hearts.” Ecclesiastes 3:11

I find this a very pleasing concept. Think of our brains, we have the capacity to take information into it indefinitely. We grow to love other humans. When out time comes, we never want to leave this planet. We desire to take knowledge in constantly. Is it all for nothing? Or is there something, somewhere in the unseen we do not know of? Many argue that we are bound in a material world, but the lived experience tells a different story.

I often wonder if the Chinese man I spoke about yesterday, found the answer.

What's Your Favourite Book Quote? Goodness, it's like deciding who your favourite child is. But I would have to say David Berlinski the mathematician and thinker.

We live in a society where New Atheism and popular science has made more claims and promises than it can deliver. Berlinski puts it this way:

“Has anyone provided proof of God’s inexistence? Not even close. Has quantum cosmology explained the emergence of the universe or why it is here? Not even close. Have our sciences explained why our universe seems to be fine-tuned to allow for the existence of life? Not even close. Are physicists and biologists willing to believe in anything so long as it is not religious thought? Close enough. Has rationalism and moral thought provided us with an understanding of what is good, what is right, and what is moral? Not close enough. Has secularism in the terrible 20th century been a force for good? Not even close, to being close. Is there a narrow and oppressive orthodoxy in the sciences? Close enough. Does anything in the sciences or their philosophy justify the claim that religious belief is irrational? Not even in the ball park. Is scientific atheism a frivolous exercise in intellectual contempt? Dead on.”

― David Berlinski, The Devil's Delusion: Atheism and Its Scientific Pretensions

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=david+berlinski+hoover+institute&&view=detail&mid=BF7B224759570721AA1FBF7B224759570721AA1F&&FORM=VRDGAR

A happy New Year to one and all.

C.S. Lewis wrote, ‘If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world will satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we are made for another world.’

All the books I read as a child was about a craving. The hero’s striving for something. I could not put my finger on it at the time. It was the human impulse for justice. Something books will never satisfy. I found that hope one day when I picked up a Bible. I read,

‘He (God) will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, the old order of things has passed away.’

 Revelation 21: 4.

Image by Rachid Oucharia

My wife came home early from work last Friday. 'Can we go for fish and chips and do the beach thing?' Sure!

We have a great chippy. We headed to West Kilbride and sat on the picnic tables enjoy our meal and watching the gentle sun cast its presence over the sea. 

In a short time, we found ourselves on a migratory path. At least a thousand geese passed overhead on their path from Canada to Scotland. I took a moment to bow to this great metaphysical act of creation.

Ah! Robert Louis Stevenson, a man after my own heart. I go everywhere with my notebook and my current reading material. Chance favours the prepared mind. A random thought emerges. The thought is pursued and drafted into the notebook. Less I forget.

“I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in.”

― Robert Louis Stevenson, Essays of Robert Louis Stevenson

And current reading, if you're enquiring. The Penguin Book of Prose Poems

I've two quotes on my office wall: one the reminds me of what it means to be human, and the other, the first paragraph from Richard Selzer’s essay, The Knife. It’s the best piece of writing I have read. I always read the essay's first sentence before starting a new project. It reads, ‘One holds the knife as one holds the bow of a cello or a tulip — by the stem.’ I’m not sure why this is such an invitation to read on, but it is — always.

“We meet so many people in life, but we connect to the heart of very few!”

― Avijeet Das

Walking in Scotland’s fine places, one realises you don’t have to travel the world; the world comes to you. But many fine opportunities are missed by not having the courage to commune with our fellow man.

Corvid had restricted this for the past few years, but four nights of camping in Aviemore recently confirmed that things are going back to normal-if there ever will be normal.

Some of the joys were those I met on my trip. The Native American Indian and his wife. The couple from Canada. The Scottish couple we met at An Lochan Uaine (The Green Loch) in Aviemore.

In all cases we conversed for some time. People I will never forget, But, in the hustle and bustle of life, it is difficult to keep in touch; to give one’s heart to all we would like to

I agree with Mary Wollstonecraft, who made many trips two centuries previously, a soulmate, like me, who found separation of newfound friends as a most melancholy, death-like experience.

I was singing a song this morning as my wife was getting ready for work. She is from the Philippines. She asked, 'where did you get that song?' 

'It's an old Glasgow street song,' I replied. 

Perhaps you sung it as a child? I would  be interested to know if some of our students from abroad sung it. When I did a bit of research on it, it seems it originated from Tonga in the 13th century. I guess Glasgow being a maritime city, it travelled with sailors from the area. We will never find out who the mystery wordsmith was who taught us how to hide from humans, and brought joy to countless millions of kids. Here is the melody at the end, if you wish to karaoke with it.

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me

I think I’ll go eat worms.

Big fat juicy ones

Emsie weensy squeensy ones

See how they wiggle and squirm

Down goes the first one, down goes the second one

Oh, how they wiggle and squirm!

Up comes the first one, up comes the second one

Oh, how they wiggle and squirm!

I bite off the heads, and suck out the juice

And throw the skins away

Nobody knows how fat I grow

On worms three times a day.

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No one could fault Dickens for his characterisations. So good, we feel we have met them:

“Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice.” Dickens on Scrooge.

"I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else."      Nikos Kazantzakis

I was with a friend out walking last weekend. He was telling me a relative spent £1000 on a hoodie that he took out in hire purchase. Now everywhere he goes, he must guard his hoodie less someone steal it for its designer value.

Conspicuous consumerism is as old as the Silk Road itself. The idea of purchasing of goods or services for the sole purpose of displaying one's wealth is losing ground as minimalism gains power in the West. Happiness is not achieved through materialism. We only need to look at the West to see that depression and other emotional and mental illnesses are robbing society of happiness. Happiness comes from the simple things in life.