Tag: From my diary

While turning out a drawer, I came across two old CD’s, containing photographs taken in Egypt a long time ago.  They were, indeed, Kodak PhotoCD’s.  The original photographs were on film, taken 20 years ago, and then I paid for them to be placed on disk.  The disk could be read on pretty much any CD player, so I never worried about them.  Indeed I thought of them as future-proof.

Until now.  For I find that the images are now obsolete.  Windows 7 doesn’t open the files.  Who’d have thought it?

I find that PaintShop Pro 6 — a very old version — will open them, but they don’t look at all right, but rather dull.

I’ve found software that purports to convert .pcd to .jpg — but I haven’t tried it.  There are, inevitably “settings” and the like, obscure to people like me and a drain on time we do not have.  I don’t want to learn about the internals — I just want my photos!

It’s a warning to us all.  Don’t leave things in old formats.  It may become harder than you think to access them!

It is summer here, and has been for some weeks.  Yes, I know it’s only the middle of May, but it is Saturday morning and there is a cloudless blue sky out there.

A couple of weeks ago it was so nice that I went out for a country walk, along I route I did more often a few years ago.  En route I saw plenty of blossom and new growth.  Here’s a snap from along the way.

Something made me look at the WordPress statistics page on this blog.  It seems that in March the blog received 15,485 hits.  In April, however, I was more boring and only got 13,906.

I have no idea whether those stats are real, or good, or bad.  But the trend seems to be steadily upwards.  It seems slightly unlikely to me that 15,000 people interested in the ancient world came by during March, but if so, it testifies to the level of interest, if this very personal blog can attract those sorts of numbers. 

The classicist and patristicist can feel pretty isolated.  But the web makes a real difference.  We can all find out about each other, and share what we know.  We are, indeed, fortunate to live when we do.

I am always suspicious of generalities.  One generality that has bothered me for a while concerns the works of Cicero.

Some of these works, like the Tusculan Disputations, assemble a cast of Romans who engage in a debate.  These are usually important people, and are all deceased.  It is routinely said, without discussion, that this is a literary device; that Cicero is chosing players for the speeches he wants delivered.

Authors do such things, of course.  But how do we know that Cicero was doing this?  That this was a literary device known and practiced at that date?  Or is this merely someone’s speculation?

Yesterday I came across a portion of the Attic Nights of Aulus Gellius that provided something of an answer.  In book 17, chapter 5, of the Loeb translation by J. C. Rolfe (online at Perseus here) we find the following:

MARCUS CICERO, in the dialogue entitled Laelius, or On Friendship, wishes to teach us that friendship ought not to be cultivated in the hope and expectation of advantage, profit, or gain, but that it should be sought and cherished because in itself it is rich in virtue and honour, even though no aid and no advantage can be gained from it. This thought he has expressed in the following words, put into the mouth of Gaius Laelius, a wise man and a very [p. 217] dear friend of Publius Africanus “well, then, does Africanus need my help? No more do I need his. But I love him because of a certain admiration for his virtues; …”

As with all such things, we should check the Latin:

… hac sententia atque his verbis usus est eaque dicere facit C. Laelium, sapientem virum, qui Publii Africani fuerat amicissimus: …

I.e. “this idea … he made C. Laelius say, …”.  It does indeed say that Cicero was putting words into the mouths of his speakers.  Aulus Gellius, at least, recognises the idea.

But what were the parameters of this form of writing? 

People tend to talk loosely as if writing material supposedly by another was acceptable.  But it is unlikely that this is so, and if it is so, I should like to see the ancient writers who say so. 

Pompeius Trogus, indeed, in book 38 of his lost history said something on this subject, as Justinus shows in his epitome, in chapter 3:

He [Mithradates] then assembled his troops, and animated them, by various exhortations, to pursue the war with the Romans, or in Asia. His speech, on this occasion, I have thought of such importance that I insert a copy of it in this brief work. Trogus Pompeius has given it in the oblique form, as he finds fault with Livy and Sallust for having exceeded the proper limits of history, by inserting direct speeches in their works only to display their own eloquence.

This indicates that there were some very definite limits to writing under the names of others.  I wish I knew more about this.

The internet jargon term “brinking” is one that seems to be falling out of use.  Never commonly used online, and often used with slightly different meanings, it is now scarcely heard.  

But the activity denoted by the word has not diminished, and indeed, if anything, has increased, especially on Wikipedia.  The loss of the word, indeed, is not a good sign.  Most people find it hard to identify things for which  they have no specific word. 

Brinking is a nastier form of trolling, and, like trolling, is intended to inflict pain on the victim.  It relies on the existence of moderation in a forum, and plays games with it in order to hurt others. 

A brinker is trying to bait his victim into a rage, while staying just within the rules himself, and then report his victim to the moderator and so get the victim reprimanded by the moderator.   

The usual technique is to posting material which on the face of it is bland or falls within the moderation policy but is actually very insulting to the person being brinked.  A successful brink, to the brinker, is when his enemy gets banned.  A very successful brink is when the brinker can get his victim to apologise for what the brinker made him do. 

I have always thought of the brinker as the most evil of posters.  A troll may be relatively harmless.  But a brinker means harm.  You can’t accidentally brink.  You have to be cold-blooded to do this.  It is, in online terms, the equivalent of murder, I think. 

I have said that this can only occur in a moderated forum.  In fact, this is not quite true.  Because most people — especially ordinary people, and especially Christians — have a moral code, a brinker can use this to get people to feel guilty for what he made them do.  He will post in such a manner as to give incredible offence while superficially being polite.  The victim responds in honest anger; and the brinker then coldly reads them a sermon on politeness.  The aim is the same.  

The latter tactic I have seen employed a number of times online by homosexuals (and only them).  In each case, in a discussion about Christianity, an anti-Christian poster declared suddenly and irrelevantly that he was homosexual.  In this case the mention of homosexuality is bait.  Homosexuality is not under discussion in the thread.

Most of us find such a vice rather disgusting, and the parading of it discourteous as well.  Most of us, faced with it, will be polite but express our dislike.  Caught unawares by the switch of topic, most of us will say something.  But the brinker knows what he is doing.  While he is waiting for the response which he has set up to occur — it doesn’t matter if the response is actually mild and reasonable –, the brinker prepares the most vicious personal attack he can manage on his victim as “rude” and “bigoted”.  It seems to be a stock response, almost indifferent to what precisely the reply was, with a declaration “I’m not talking to scum like you”, in fact, which has led me to wonder once or twice whether there is some group working from a script here!  Once the reply is received, the attack is launched, and the discussion terminated.  An ordinary person, shocked at the violence, will wonder if he in fact said something wrong.  

This is, in fact, a form of  brinking.  As with all brinking, the intention is to inflict pain and shut out the victim, in this case as part of a campaigning agenda.  I have only once seen this form of brinking used by anyone outside of the gay rights bunch.

Because the term “brinking” is going out of use, I’ve spent a little while this evening attempting to track down whatever remains online about this.  One 2005 post suggests (the term is already going out of use): 

Brinking is when one establishes the boundaries of the target forum and then posts always on the verge of crossing those boundaries. 

In this case, the victim of the “brink” is the moderator.  Another describes part of the process: 

Neo-flaming: Another form of flaming where upon the user flames or insults the other member, but usually disguises it to make it not look like a flame, insult or baiting. 

A longer definition, again where the moderator is the intended victim, in a collection of various unpleasing tricks, is here:

Some users find sport in seeing how close they can get to being thrown off a message board. The system administrator will often have a set of rules (typically known as the “Terms of Service”) which specify how people should conduct themselves. One type of poster, which I call a “brinker”, attempts to get as near to the edge as he or she possibly can without actually going over.

Unlike the troll, who directs his or her efforts at the users of a system, the brinker is actually toying with the system administrator. He or she can be a thorn in the side of the administrator, holding the good name and popularity of the system at stake. Most administrators hesitate to throw people off the system unless they have broken an explicit rule. The brinker enjoys using words (or, occasionally, computer hacking) to exploit “grey areas” and thus wreak havoc.

Brinkers, like trolls, elevate their hobby to an art form (albeit an unpleasant one). They can be so subtle that the administrator may not be sure that he or she is being brinked. For example, on a message board I once ran I explained to the users about “flamebait”. Within a week, one of them had started up a flamebait topic. I was tempted to close it down before it devolved into the usual bickering, but that may have made me look dictatorial. So was the creation of the topic a dig at me, or was I being paranoid? Assessing that user’s past actions, I concluded that I’d been brinked.

If an administrator runs an informal board, it may be counterproductive to explicitly list all the rules. I have sometimes been “taken to court” (so to speak) by users when I kicked somebody off a message board, and had my own rules used to “prove” that my action was not justified. Most message board administrators, if they do have a list of rules, include a statement that they may block any user “at our discretion”. In other words, they can banish somebody without stating a specific reason. This still irritates people, but at least the administrator is covered by his or her own rules. 

Another old definition: 

“BRINKING – Testing rules by getting as close as possible to breaking them without stepping over the line. A technique frequently used by trolls to stir up trouble in a discussion.” 

When challenged, of course, the brinker shouts “I’m within the rules!” 

Typically, however, brinkers are never caught.  It is well, therefore, to be aware of the practice.

While searching for information, I found these wise words about trolling:

“An Internet “troll” is a person who delights in sowing discord on the Internet. He (and it is usually he) tries to start arguments and upset people.

Trolls see Internet communications services as convenient venues for their bizarre game. For some reason, they don’t “get” that they are hurting real people. To them, other Internet users are not quite human but are a kind of digital abstraction. As a result, they feel no sorrow whatsoever for the pain they inflict. Indeed, the greater the suffering they cause, the greater their ‘achievement’ (as they see it). At the moment, the relative anonymity of the net allows trolls to flourish.”

This too was from 2005; but these days, few people in wikipedia or online forums post other than anonymously.

OK you chaps.  Enough of poring over a grimy Illiad, men.  We have important news. 

Bettany Hughes, the pin-up of the pre-socratics, has a new TV programme out.  It’s called Atlantis: the evidence.  And very nice she looks in it too.  Lots of stuff about Thera and the Minoans, although I don’t think she puts on a Minoan costume, sadly.

There’s also a Daily Telegraph article here.

Refreshingly, she doesn’t slag off the popular ideas about Atlantis.  Yes, they’re mistaken; but wisely she sees them rather as a bridge to ordinary people, a way in which people like us will be attracted to the study of antiquity and drawn into the fascinating subject. 

Is it any wonder that I adore her?

I’ve had to write two emails today that I really didn’t want to write.  But I have reached the end of the day in a state of exhaustion, and, when you get that tired, you have to load shed.  It is my turn to do so.

Firstly I have written to say that I cannot publish Michael the Syrian this year.  I have two books on the go already, and I find that I haven’t enough time even to handle these.  I’m simply too tired in the evenings and at the weekends.  So I stumble along, doing the best I can.  But this is no way to do things.  I will get both the Eusebius and the Origen out; but unless I can find someone to do the chasing around, I can do no more.

Secondly I have written to someone else with a translation of much of Bar Hebraeus Chronicon Ecclesiasticum to say much the same. 

Both of these letters pain me deeply.  Both texts are ones that I would love to publish.  It is a tremendous thing that these are being made into English.  If I could publish them, they would reach a wider audience than any other way.  I can afford the cost to buy the copyright.  There are no real barriers except for my time and energy. But, judging from how tired I find myself tonight, I would die in the process if I tried. 

We all have only so much time, so much energy.  The job I am doing at the moment is leeching both from me.  A dishonestly drawn-up contract means that they take more time than I would willingly sell, and it puts me in a position where I must do yet more hours for free and travel to Leeds every three weeks, in my own time.  A house purchase rumbles along, with difficulties and dilemmas, and I can’t attend to it properly because of the demands of the job.  I’ve reached the end of  this week so exhausted that I could barely face my email.

So … my apologies.  I don’t seem to have a choice, so I’ll do what I must.  If it is “load shed, or die”, then I must load shed.  It is important for the workaholic to know when there is nothing left to give.

Perhaps next year I shall have pushed out the existing two books — I jolly well hope so! — and they will be bringing in a revenue stream.  The arrival of money is always a motivator.  If nothing else, it might allow me to afford an editorial assistant to do the legwork.  If so, I might still be able to do these books.  If not, then there will be something else.

This evening someone wrote to me, and asked for my phone number.  I think they wanted to convey some information without leaving a trail, and of course this is understandable. 

But from time to time people do this.  They write an email, and then I get a request to talk by telephone.  It is never welcome, really.  What do I have to say to anyone?

It makes me feel quite awkward, when I decline (as, almost invariably, I do).  It seems that some people are more comfortable with the telephone than with typing.  But I really don’t want to talk to people I don’t know by telephone.  Am I alone in so feeling?  Am I alone among bloggers in getting these requests, I wonder? 

At the moment, indeed, I have a cold virus that makes me cough like a man with TB when I speak.  Indeed, judging from the sounds in the supermarket this afternoon, most of my local area has the same cold.  So I have a just excuse to put people off.  Miserable git, no doubt you’re all thinking.

All this reminds me of an episode in a job that I did a couple of years ago.  At the time I was working for a major pharmaceutical company, and I had been recruited a couple of years earlier by a very pleasant chap whom I respected greatly.  But he had a near-supernatural talent for recruiting the wrong people.  He had since moved to another project, where he had recruited two utterly unsuitable people as his development team.

The first of these was travelling long-distance to the job.  He was also an albino, and was suffering from the illnesses associated with that condition.  This, combined with the tiredness, meant that he hardly spoke to anyone.  He resigned; and my old boss looked for someone to replace him, which was where I came in.  Of course I was glad to help, and I went and sat at the desk in question.

Sitting next to me was the other team member. I leaned over and cheerily said “good morning”.  Rather to my surprise I got back a scowl and a “don’t talk to me; send me an instant message on your PC”.  That was a shock! 

In fact, he thawed over time, as he discovered that I was inoffensive and no threat to him.  We got on well, and I’m still more or less in touch with him.  But he remained very quiet and reluctant to say much. 

In the end he fell out with my boss, and announced that he was going to go to California, and cruise the beaches in order to  “pick up surfer chicks”.  And off he went.

As he was short, balding and inarticulate, I gave him zero out of ten marks for probability.  But I gave him ten out of ten for ambition! 

Apparently the US got him at last — he was shot dead in a gun battle in Pakistan.  Let us rejoice at this, for it means that the world is a better place today.

He inherited huge amounts of money, and was evidently a man of much ability.  He used that money and ability to attempt to turn the world into a theocratic Islamic state, against the wishes of almost everyone living in it.  His method was violence and terror, and he was successful at it.  Not merely did he himself organise the murder of thousands whom he never met, in order to further his aims.  He also succeeded in creating an upsurge in Moslem violence against non-Moslems around the world.  For one man, not a head of state, to cause so many deaths is remarkable.  In the process he made it necessary and legitimate for free countries to introduce the kind of surveillance previously only known in unfree states, and it is likely that all of us are less free in consequence.

Some feel that it is wrong to rejoice at the death of any man, however bad.  There is something in this.  It may be a little undignified, perhaps.  But there is a risk that in so doing we will minimise the evil that he chose to do.  There is a risk that we seem to palter with the categories of good and evil. 

Long ago I read some words of J. A. Froude on this subject in the pages of Augustine Birrell.  Let us have a look at them now.  In The Divorce of Catherine of Aragon he wrote:

To Cæsar or Napoleon it matters nothing what judgment the world passes upon their conduct. It is of more importance for the ethical value of history that acts which as they are related appear wicked should be duly condemned, that acts which are represented as having advanced the welfare of mankind should be duly honoured, than that the real character of individuals should be correctly appreciated.

To appreciate any single man with complete accuracy is impossible. To appreciate him even proximately is extremely difficult. Rulers of kingdoms may have public reasons for what they do, which at the time may be understood or allowed for. Times change, and new interests rise. The circumstances no longer exist which would explain their conduct. The student looks therefore for an explanation in elements which he thinks he understands — in pride, ambition, fear, avarice, jealousy, or sensuality; and, settling the question thus to his own satisfaction, resents or ridicules attempts to look for other motives.

So long as his moral judgment is generally correct, he inflicts no injury, and he suffers none. Cruelty and lust are proper objects of abhorrence; he learns to detest them in studying the Tiberius of Tacitus, though the character described by the great Roman historian may have been a mere creation of the hatred of the old Roman aristocracy. The manifesto of the Prince of Orange was a libel against Philip the Second; but the Philip of Protestant tradition is an embodiment of the persecuting spirit of Catholic Europe which it would be now useless to disturb.

The tendency of history is to fall into wholesome moral lines whether they be accurate or not, and to interfere with harmless illusions may cause greater errors than it aspires to cure. Crowned offenders are arraigned at the tribunal of history for the crimes which they are alleged to have committed.

It may be sometimes shown that the crimes were not crimes at all, that the sufferers had deserved their fate, that the severities were useful and essential for some great and valuable purpose. But the reader sees in the apology for acts which he had regarded as tyrannical a defence of tyranny itself. Preoccupied with the received interpretation, he finds deeds excused which he had learnt to execrate; and in learning something which, even if true, is of no real moment to him, he suffers in the maiming of his perceptions of the difference between right and wrong.