
World Premiere Performance of Bourgeois resolution. A poem in Three Voices for added 4th part Harmony.
This poem is composed of 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 the musical theory of discordance and alludes to Bach’s, equal temperament and the Greek system of Pythagorean Modes. The Pluralism in the 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 the previous revolution. The poem argues for a Resolution to a 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.
Are you Glad to be in America,
James Blood Ulmer.

Publications[edit]
Works published in Bentham’s lifetime include:
-
Short Review of the Declaration (1776). An attack on the United States Declaration of Independence.[56]
Dissonance

Shelley, Percy Bysshe,
1792-1822. en
A. defence of poetry,
[1904]
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.
p.70

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.”
Plato insists that the laws of Magnesia45 must be set to music – a music that, like the laws themselves, must never be changed – and not only sung but also danced to in chorus with the accompaniment of the lyre (812a-e). And Plato insists on several occasions in the Laws that all mousike, including his own, is imitative and representative (e.g., Laws 668a6, b10; 669c; 802c-d;7; 803a-b; 854b). In other words, the laws must be poetized and set to music and therefore “performed” in a fashion reminiscent of “dramatic poetry”.
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?
Yes.
And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?
Certainly.
We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentations and strains of sorrow?
True.
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.
Utterly unbecoming.
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?
Certainly not.
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?
Clearly not.
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?
Yes.
And everything else on the style?
Yes.
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?
They must.
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:
True —
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:
Exactly —
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.
Most assuredly.
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?
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
See also[edit]
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[edit]
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,[12] 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.[citation needed] 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.[citation needed] 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.[citation needed] 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.[citation needed] 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.
“My aim is not to provide excuses for black behavior or to absolve blacks of personal responsibility. But when the new black conservatives accent black behavior and responsibility in such a way that the cultural realities of black people are ignored, they are playing a deceptive and dangerous intellectual game with the lives and fortunes of disadvantaged people. We indeed must criticize and condemn immoral acts of black people, but we must do so cognizant of the circumstances into which people are born and under which they live. By overlooking these circumstances, the new black conservatives fall into the trap of blaming black poor people for their predicament. It is imperative to steer a course between the Scylla of environmental determinism and the Charybdis of a blaming-the-victims perspective.
”
― Cornel West, Race Matters
― Cornel West, Race Matters
ncle Tom syndrome
See also[edit]
Origin and meaning[edit]
This section needs expansion. You can help by adding to it. Relevant discussion may be found on the talk page. (June 2015)
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“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’.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/False_consciousness
Engels[edit]
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
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