This poem is composed as Sheet Poetry. The 3 Parts, speak alone and then dialogue in sequence, the Poem is followed as if guided by the Musical Notation for returning to the Head, Repeating choruses and proceeding to the Coda.
The Poem is written with musical theory of discordance, and alludes to Bach's, equal temperament and the Greek system of Pythagorean Modes. The Pluralism in musical language and the polysemous use of words allude to the context of art and historical juxtaposition of sequence and order and the use of suggestion in propaganda and modern use of cognitive dissonance.
The Broad influence of Society of Spectacle and the Discrete charm of the bourgeois, Mc Mullen's Ghost Dance and not stated but there of Michael Foucault, drawing on a broad sweep of political philosophy from The Republic of Plato through to the enlightenment and political philosophy of the modern era.
The metaphor of a Wheel , revolving with each revolution of the wheel necessary plagiarizing and repeating the mistakes of previous revolution. The poem argues for a Resolution to discord through the harmonies of the voiceless always ignored and always excluded from the Bourgeoisie. Neo - Liberalism is the New Credo of the Bourgeoisie in the terms of this poem and it rejects representative politics for the corrupt charade that it is.
Purple Haze. Nigel Kennedy.
James Blood Ulmer.
PublicationsWorks published in Bentham's lifetime include:
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1792-1822. en A. defence of poetry,  A DEFENCE OF POETRY A DEFENCE OF POETRY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY EDITED BY MRS. SHELLEY REPRINTED FROM THE EDITION OF MDCCCXLV The Eolian Harp BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE composed at clevedon, somersetshire The stilly murmur of the distant Sea Tells us of silence. And that simplest Lute, Placed length-ways in the clasping casement, hark! How by the desultory breeze caressed, Like some coy maid half yielding to her lover, It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, Such a soft floating witchery of sound Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be "the expression of the imagination:" and poetry is connate 12 with the origin of man. Man is an instrument over which a series o ex- ternal and internal impressions are driven, like the alternations of an ever- changing wind over an Aeolian lyre, which move it by their motion to ever- changing melody. But there is a prin- ciple within the human being, and perhaps within all sentient beings, which acts otherwise than in the lyre, and produces not melody alone, but harmony, by an internal adjustment of the sounds or motions thus excited to the impressions which excite them. It is as if the lyre could accommodate its chords to the motions of that which strikes them, in a determined propor- tion of sound; even as the musician can accommodate his voice to the sound of the lyre. A child at play by itself will express its delight by its voice and motions; and every inflexion of tone and every gesture will bear exact relation to a corresponding antitype in the pleasurable impressions which 13 awakened it; it will be the reflected image of that impression; and as the lyre trembles and sounds after the wind has died away, so the child seeks, by prolonging in its voice and motions the duration of the effect, to prolong also a consciousness of the cause. In relation to the objects which delight a child, these expressions are what poetry is to higher objects. The savage (for the savage is to ages what the child is to years) expresses the emotions pro- duced in him by surrounding objects in a similar manner; and language and gesture, together with plastic or picto- rial imitation, become the image of the combined effect of those objects, and of his apprehension of them. Man in society, with all his passions and his pleasures, next becomes the object of the passions and pleasures of man; an additional class of emotions produces an augmented treasure of expressions; and language, gesture, and the imita- tive arts, become at once the repre- 14 sentation and the medium, the pencil and the picture, the chisel and the statue, the chord and the harmony. The social sympathies, or those laws from which, as from its elements, society results, begin to develop them- selves from the moment that two human beings co-exist; the future is contained within the present, as the plant within the seed; and equality, diversity, unity, contrast, mutual de- pendence, become the principles alone capable of affording the motives ac- cording to which the will of a social being is determined to action, inas- much as he is social; and constitute pleasure in sensation, virtue in senti- ment, beauty in art, truth in reasoning, and love in the intercourse of kind. Hence men, even in the infancy of society, observe a certain order in their words and actions, distinct from that of the objects and the impressions represented by them, all expression being subject to the laws of that from '5 which it proceeds. But let us dismiss those more general considerations which might involve an inquiry into the principles of society itself, and restrict our view to the manner in which the imagination is expressed upon its forms. In the youth of the world, men dance and sing and imitate natural objects, observing in these actions, as in all others, a certain rhythm or order. And, although all men observe a similar, they observe not the same order, in the motions of the dance, in the melody of the song, in the combinations of language, in the series of their imita- tions of natural objects. For there is a certain order or rhythm belonging to each of these classes of mimetic repre- sentation, from which the hearer and the spectator receive an intenser and purer pleasure than from any other: the sense of an approximation to this order has been called taste by modern writers. Every man in the infancy of 16 art, observes an order which approxi- mates more or less closely to that from which this highest delight results: but the diversity is not sufficiently marked, as that its gradations should be sensi- ble, except in those instances where the predominance of this faculty of approximation to the beautiful (for so we may be permitted to name the relation between this highest pleasure and its cause) is very great. Hence the fame of sculptors, painters, and musicians, although the intrinsic pow- ers of the great masters of these arts may yield in no degree to that of those who have employed language as the hieroglyphic of their thoughts, has never equalled that of poets in the restricted sense of the term; as two performers of equal skill will produce unequal effects from a guitar and a harp. The fame of legislators and 22 founders of religions, so long as their institutions last alone seems to exceed that of poets in the restricted sense; but it can scarcely be a question, whether, if we deduct the celebrity which their flattery of the gross opin- ions of the vulgar usually conciliates, together with that which belonged to them in their higher character of poets, any excess will remain. We have thus circumscribed the word poetry within the limits of that art which is the most familiar and the most perfect expression of the faculty itself. It is necessary, however, to make the circle still narrower, and to determine the distinction between measured and unmeasured language; for the popular division into prose and verse is inadmissible in accurate phi- losophy. Sounds as well as thoughts have relation both between each other and towards that which they represent, and a perception of the order of those relations has always been found con- nected with a perception of the order of the relations of thoughts. Hence the language of poets has ever affected a certain uniform and harmonious recur- rence of sound, without which it were not poetry, and which is scarcely less indispensable to the communication of its influence, than the words them- selves, without reference to that pecu- liar order. Hence the vanity of trans- lation; it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its colour and odour, as seek to transfuse from one language into another the creations of a poet. The plant must spring again from its seed, or it will bear no flower and this is the burthen of the curse of Babel.
In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred; it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect. Nei- ther the eye nor the mind can see it- self, unless reflected upon that which it resembles. The drama, so long as it continues to express poetry, is as a prismatic and many-sided mirror, 4* which collects the brightest rays of human nature and divides and repro- duces them from the simplicity of these elementary fprms, and touches them with majesty and beauty, and multi- plies all that it reflects, and endows it with the power of propagating its like wherever it may fall. But in periods of the decay of social life, the drama sympathises with that decay. Tragedy becomes a cold imita- tion of the form of the great master- pieces of antiquity, divested of all harmonious accompaniment of the kindred arts; and often the very form misunderstood, or a weak attempt to teach certain doctrines, which the writer considers as moral truths; and which are usually no more than spe- cious flatteries of some gross vice or weakness, with which the author, in common with his auditors, are infec- ted. Hence what has been called the classical and domestic drama. Addi- son's "Cato" is a specimen of the one; 43 and would it were not superfluous to cite examples of the other! To such purposes poetry can not be made sub- servient. Poetry is a sword of light- ning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it. And thus we observe that all dramatic writings of this nature are unimagina- tive in a singular degree; they affect sentiment and passion, which, divested of imagination, are other names for caprice and appetite. The period in our own history of the grossest degra- dation of the drama is the reign of Charles II., when all forms in which poetry had been accustomed to be expressed became hymns to the tri- umph of kingly power over liberty and virtue. Milton stood alone illumina- ting an age unworthy of him. At such periods the calculating principle per- vades all the forms of dramatic exhi- bition, and poetry ceases to be expressed upon them. Comedy loses its ideal uni- versality: wit succeeds to humour; we 44 laugh from self-complacency and tri- umph, instead of pleasure; malignity, sarcasm, and contempt succeed to sympathetic merrimentj we hardly laugh, but we smile. Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, becomes, from the very veil which it assumes, more active if less disgusting: it is a monster for which the corruption of society for ever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret.
Men, from causes too intricate to be here discussed, had become insen- sible and selfish: their own will had become feeble, and yet they were its slaves, and thence the slaves of the will of others: lust, fear, avarice, cruelty, and fraud, characterised a race amongst whom no one was to be found capable of creating in form, language, or insti- tution. The moral anomalies of such a state of society are not justly to be charged upon any class of events im- mediately connected with them, and those events are most entitled to our approbation which could dissolve it most expeditiously. It is unfortunate for those who can not distinguish words from thoughts, that many of these anomalies have been incorpora- ted into our popular religion. 56 It was not until the eleventh centu- ry that the effects of the poetry of the Christian and chivalric systems began to manifest themselves. The principle of equality had been discovered and applied by Plato in his Republic, as the theoretical rule of the mode in which the materials of pleasure and of power produced by the common skill and labour of human beings ought to be distributed among them. The limita- tions of this rule were asserted by him to be determined only by the sensibility of each, or the utility to result to all. Plato, following the doctrines of Tim- aeus and Pythagoras, taught also a moral and intellectual system of doc- trine, comprehending at once the past, the present, and the future condition of man.
Whilst the mechanist abridges, and the political economist combines labour, let them beware that their speculations, for want of correspond- ence with those first principles which belong to the imagination, do not tend, as they have in modern England, to exasperate at once the extremes of luxury and want. They have exempli- fied the saying, "To him that hath, more shall be given; and from him that hath not, the little that he hath shall be taken away." The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poor- er; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism. Such are the effects which must ever flow from an unmitigated exercise of the calculating faculty.
Whilst the mechanist abridges, and the political economist combines labour, let them beware that their speculations, for want of correspond- ence with those first principles which belong to the imagination, do not tend, as they have in modern England, to exasperate at once the extremes of luxury and want. They have exempli- fied the saying, "To him that hath, more shall be given; and from him that hath not, the little that he hath shall be taken away." The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poor- er; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism. Such are the effects which must ever flow from an unmitigated exercise of the calculating faculty. It is difficult to define pleasure in its 70 highest sense; the definition involving a number of apparent paradoxes. For, from an inexplicable defect of harmo- ny in the constitution of human nature, the pain of the inferior is frequently connected with the pleasures of the superior portions of our being. Poetry is not like reasoning, a power to be exerted according to the determination of the will A man can- not say, "I will compose poetry." The greatest poet even can not say it; for the mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this power arises from with- in, like the colour of a flower which fades and changes as it is developed, 77 and the conscious portions of our na- tures are unprophetic either of its ap- proach or its departure. Could this influence be durable in its original purity and force, it is impossible to predict the greatness of the results; but when composition begins, inspiration is al- ready on the decline, and the most glorious poetry that has ever been com- municated to the world is probably a feeble shadow of the original concep- tions of the poet. Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds. We are aware of evanes- cent visitations of thought and feeling sometimes associated with place or person, sometimes regarding our own 79 mind alone, and always arising unfore- seen and departing unbidden, but ele- vating and delightful beyond all expres- sion: so that even in the desire and the regret they leave, there cannot but be pleasure, participating as it does in the nature of its object. It is as it were the interpenetration of a diviner nature through our own; but its footsteps are like those of a wind over the sea, which the coming calm erases, and whose traces remain only as on the wrinkled sand which paves it. These and cor- responding conditions of being are ex- perienced principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most enlarged imagination; and the state of mind produced by them is at war with every base desire. The enthusiasm of virtue, love, patriotism, and friendship is essentially linked with such emotions; and whilst they last, self appears as what it is, an atom to a universe. Poets are not only subject to these experien- ces as spirits of the most refined organ- 80 isation, but they can colour all that they combine with the evanescent hues of this ethereal world; a word, a trait in the representation of a scene or a passion will touch the enchanted chord, and reanimate, in those who have ever experienced these emotions, the sleep- ing, the cold, the buried image of the past, Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world; it arrests the vanishing appari- tions which haunt the interlunations of life, and veiling them, or in language or in form, sends them forth among mankind, bearing sweet news of kind- red joy to those with whom their sisters abide abide, because there is no portal of expression from the caverns of the spirit which they inhabit into the uni- verse of things. Poetry redeems from decay the visitations of the divinity in man. least in relation to the percipient. "The mind is its own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." But poetry defeats the curse which binds us to be subjected to the accident of surrounding impressions. And whether it spreads its own figured curtain, or withdraws life's dark veil from before the scene of things, it 82 equally creates for us a being within our being. It makes us the inhabitants of a world to which the familiar world is a chaos. It reproduces the common universe of which we are portions and percipients, and it purges from our in- ward sight the film of familiarity which obscures from us the wonder of our being.
85 It is presumptuous to determine that these are the necessary conditions of all mental causation, when mental effects are experienced unsusceptible of being referred to them. The frequent recur- rence of the poetical power, it is obvi- ous to suppose, may produce in the mind a habit of order and harmony correlative with its own nature and with its effect upon other minds. But in the intervals of inspiration, and they may be frequent without being durable, a poet becomes a man, and is abandoned to the sudden reflux of the influences under which others habitually live. But as he is more delicately organised than other men, and sensible to pain and pleasure, both his own and that of others, in a degree unknown to them, he will avoid the one and pursue the other with an ardour proportioned to this difference. And he renders himself obnoxious to calumny, when he neglects to observe the circumstances under which these objects of universal pursuit 86 and flight have disguised themselves in one another's garments.
´´but criticism should have been directed rather at the hypocrisy and lack
of realism in the ideals of the wartime propaganda and at the lack of honesty of the chief negotiators in carrying on the pretense that these ideals were still in effect while they violated them daily, and necessarily violated them. The settlements were clearly made by secret negotiations, by the Great Powers exclusively, and by power politics. They had to be. No settlements could ever have been made on any other bases. The failure of the chief negotiators (at least the Anglo-Americans) to admit this is regrettable, but behind their
reluctance to admit it is the even more regrettable fact that the lack of political experience and political education of the American and English electorates made it dangerous for the negotiators to admit the facts of life in international political relationships.”
I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the words 'every one' hardly includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be; though I may guess.
At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts --the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I may presuppose?
Yes, he said; so much as that you may.
And as for the words, there surely be no difference words between words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform to the same laws, and these have been already determined by us?
And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?
We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentations and strains of sorrow?
And which are the harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical, and can tell me.
The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian, and the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such like.
These then, I said, must be banished; even to women who have a character to maintain they are of no use, and much less to men. Certainly.
In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterly unbecoming the character of our guardians.
And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?
The Ionian, he replied, and the Lydian; they are termed 'relaxed.'
Well, and are these of any military use?
Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian are the only ones which you have left.
I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing, and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil, and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity, and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition, and which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely under the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.
And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of which I was just now speaking.
Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?
I suppose not.
Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners and complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringed curiously-harmonised instruments?
But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admit them into our State when you reflect that in this composite use of harmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments put together; even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the flute?
There remain then only the lyre and the harp for use in the city, and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.
That is surely the conclusion to be drawn from the argument.
The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his instruments is not at all strange, I said.
Not at all, he replied.
And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging the State, which not long ago we termed luxurious.
And we have done wisely, he replied.
Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order to harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious life; and when we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what these rhythms are will be your duty --you must teach me them, as you have already taught me the harmonies.
But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes out of which all the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am unable to say.
Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury, or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot, long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and long quantities. Also in some cases he appeared to praise or censure the movement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult, you know.
Rather so, I should say.
But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.
None at all.
And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and bad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style; for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the words, and not the words by them.
Just so, he said, they should follow the words.
And will not the words and the character of the style depend on the temper of the soul?
And everything else on the style?
Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity, --I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is only an euphemism for folly?
Very true, he replied.
And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?
And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and constructive art are full of them, --weaving, embroidery, architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable, --in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace. And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill words and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.
That is quite true, he said.
But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only to be required by us to express the image of the good in their works, on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State? Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of our citizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason.
There can be no nobler training than that, he replied.
And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.
Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.
Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their recurring sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until we recognise them wherever they are found:
Or, as we recognise the reflection of letters in the water, or in a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves; the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both:
Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate, can ever become musical until we and they know the essential forms, in all their combinations, and can recognise them and their images wherever they are found, not slighting them either in small things or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of one art and study.
And when a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful form, and the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye to see it?
The fairest indeed.
And the fairest is also the loveliest?
That may be assumed.
And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love with the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious soul?
The managerial class the french actually have catogories that make the most sense, even more complex than the arcania of British class sensibilities.France and French-speaking countries
In English, the term bourgeoisie is often used to denote the middle classes. In fact, the French term encompasses both the upper and middle classes, a misunderstanding which has occurred in other languages as well. The bourgeoisie in France and many French-speaking countries consists of four evolving social layers: petite bourgeoisie, moyenne bourgeoisie, grande bourgeoisie, and haute bourgeoisie.
The petite bourgeoisie consists of people who have experienced a brief ascension in social mobility for one or two generations. It usually starts with a trade or craft, and by the second and third generation, a family may rise another level. The petite bourgeois would belong to the British lower middle class and would be American middle income. They are distinguished mainly by their mentality, and would differentiate themselves from the proletariat or working class. This class would include artisans, small traders, shopkeepers, and small farm owners. They are not employed, but may not be able to afford employees themselves.
The moyenne bourgeoisie or middle bourgeoisie contains people who have solid incomes and assets, but not the aura of those who have become established at a higher level. They tend to belong to a family that has been bourgeois for three or more generations. Some members of this class may have relatives from similar backgrounds, or may even have aristocratic connections. The moyenne bourgeoisie is the equivalent of the British and American upper-middle classes.
The grande bourgeoisie are families that have been bourgeois since the 19th century, or for at least four or five generations. Members of these families tend to marry with the aristocracy or make other advantageous marriages. This bourgeoisie family has acquired an established historical and cultural heritage over the decades. The names of these families are generally known in the city where they reside, and their ancestors have often contributed to the region's history. These families are respected and revered. They belong to the upper class, and in the British class system are considered part of the gentry. In the French-speaking countries, they are sometimes referred la petite haute bourgeoisie.
The haute bourgeoisie is a social rank in the bourgeoisie that can only be acquired through time. In France, it is composed of bourgeois families that have existed since the French Revolution. They hold only honourable professions and have experienced many illustrious marriages in their family's history. They have rich cultural and historical heritages, and their financial means are more than secure.
― Cornel West, Race Matters
― Cornel West, Race Matters
Origin and meaning
"At the peak of comic Flip Wilson's popularity, some of his contemporaries criticized him for not doing enough to advance the cause of African-Americans. After all, his hit television program, The Flip Wilson Show, gave him access to millions of viewers each week in the heavily segregated America of the early 1970s. Yet his humor was lighthearted and apolitical.Richard Pryor even told Flip he was 'the NBC house Negro'."
Ideology is a process accomplished by the so-called thinker. Consciously, it is true, but with a false consciousness. The real motive forces impelling him remain unknown to him; otherwise it simply would not be an ideological process. Hence he imagines false or apparent motives. [...]
It is above all this appearance of an independent history of state constitutions, of systems of law, of ideological conceptions in every separate domain, which dazzles most people. If Luther and Calvin "overcome" the official Catholic religion, or Hegel "overcomes" Fichte and Kant or if the constitutional Montesquieu is indirectly "overcome" by Rousseau with his "Social Contract," each of these events remains within the sphere of theology, philosophy or political science, represents a stage in the history of these particular spheres of thought and never passes outside the sphere of thought. And since the bourgeois illusion of the eternity and the finality of capitalist production has been added as well, even the victory of the physiocrats and Adam Smith over the mercantilists is accounted as a sheer victory of thought; not as the reflection in thought of changed economic facts but as the finally achieved correct understanding of actual conditions subsisting always and everywhere [...]
Bach and just and mean temperament