Full Download International Financial Reporting Standards An Introduction 3rd Edition Needles Test Bank
Full Download International Financial Reporting Standards An Introduction 3rd Edition Needles Test Bank
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CHAPTER 1:
A. The IASB and staff set an agenda of possible issues to be addressed by IFRS.
C. After considering all comments and additional proposals to its DP, the board may
issue an exposure draft (ED)
D. IASB may publish a final IFRS to be considered for adoption in the various
jurisdictions
A. Japan
B. Australia
C. Brazil
D. U.S.A
5. Which is not a goal of the convergence project by the FASB and IASB?
A. IFRS presents opportunities for global U.S. companies to lower costs through
standardization of financial reporting, centralization of processes, improved
controls, and better cash management
A. Recommended that the SEC move immediately to allow optional adoption of IFRS by
U.S. companies
B. Supported the goal of a single set of high quality, comprehensive financial reporting
standards to be used by public companies of transparent and comparable financial
reports throughout the world
C. Reported that a majority of its members have at least a basic knowledge of IFRS and
support this position.
This is the first property of the Intellect I am to point out; the mind
detaches. A man is intellectual in proportion as he can make an
object of every sensation, perception and intuition; so long as he has
no engagement in any thought or feeling which can hinder him from
looking at it as somewhat foreign.
A man of talent has only to name any form or fact with which we
are most familiar, and the strong light which he throws on it
enhances it to all eyes. People wonder they never saw it before. The
detachment consists in seeing it under a new order, not under a
personal but under a universal light. To us it had economic, but to the
universe it has poetic relations, and it is as good as sun and star
now. Indeed this is the measure of all intellectual power among men,
the power to complete this detachment, the power of genius to hurl a
new individual into the world.
An intellectual man has the power to go out of himself and see
himself as an object; therefore his defects and delusions interest him
as much as his successes. He not only wishes to succeed in life, but
he wishes in thought to know the history and destiny of a man; whilst
the cloud of egotists drifting about are only interested in a success to
their egotism.
The senses report the new fact or change; the mind discovers
some essential copula binding this fact or change to a class of facts
or changes, and enjoys the discovery as if coming to its own again.
A perception is always a generalization. It lifts the object, whether in
material or moral nature, into a type. The animal, the low degrees of
intellect, know only individuals. The philosopher knows only laws.
That is, he considers a purely mental fact, part of the soul itself. We
say with Kenelm Digby, “All things that she knoweth are herself, and
she is all that she knoweth.” Insight assimilates the thing seen. Is it
only another way of affirming and illustrating this to say that it sees
nothing alone, but sees each particular object in just connections,—
sees all in God? In all healthy souls is an inborn necessity of
presupposing for each particular fact a prior Being which compels it
to a harmony with all other natures. The game of Intellect is the
perception that whatever befalls or can be stated is a universal
proposition; and contrariwise, that every general statement is
poetical again by being particularized or impersonated.
A single thought has no limit to its value; a thought, properly
speaking,—that is a truth held not from any man’s saying so, or any
accidental benefit or recommendation it has in our trade or
circumstance, but because we have perceived it is a fact in the
nature of things, and in all times and places will and must be the
same thing,—is of inestimable value. Every new impression on the
mind is not to be derided, but is to be accounted for, and, until
accounted for, registered as an indisputable addition to our
catalogue of natural facts.
The first fact is the fate in every mental perception,—that my
seeing this or that, and that I see it so or so, is as much a fact in the
natural history of the world as is the freezing of water at thirty-two
degrees of Fahrenheit. My percipiency affirms the presence and
perfection of law, as much as all the martyrs. A perception, it is of a
necessity older than the sun and moon, and the Father of the Gods.
It is there with all its destinies. It is its nature to rush to expression, to
rush to embody itself. It is impatient to put on its sandals and be
gone on its errand, which is to lead to a larger perception, and so to
new action. For thought exists to be expressed. That which cannot
externize itself is not thought.
Do not trifle with your perceptions, or hold them cheap. They are
your door to the seven heavens, and if you pass it by you will miss
your way. Say, what impresses me ought to impress me. I am
bewildered by the immense variety of attractions and cannot take a
step; but this one thread, fine as gossamer, is yet real; and I hear a
whisper, which I dare trust, that it is the thread on which the earth
and the heaven of heavens are strung.
The universe is traversed by paths or bridges or stepping-stones
across the gulfs of space in every direction. To every soul that is
created is its path, invisible to all but itself. Each soul, therefore,
walking in its own path walks firmly; and to the astonishment of all
other souls, who see not its path, it goes as softly and playfully on its
way as if, instead of being a line, narrow as the edge of a sword,
over terrific pits right and left, it were a wide prairie.
Genius is a delicate sensibility to the laws of the world, adding the
power to express them again in some new form. The highest
measure of poetic power is such insight and faculty to fuse the
circumstances of to-day as shall make transparent the whole web of
circumstance and opinion in which the man finds himself, so that he
releases himself from the traditions in which he grew,—no longer
looks back to Hebrew or Greek or English use or tradition in religion,
laws, or life, but sees so truly the omnipresence of eternal cause that
he can convert the daily and hourly event of New York, of Boston,
into universal symbols. I owe to genius always the same debt, of
lifting the curtain from the common and showing me that gods are
sitting disguised in every company.
The conduct of Intellect must respect nothing so much as
preserving the sensibility. My measure for all subjects of science as
of events is their impression on the soul. That mind is best which is
most impressionable. There are times when the cawing of a crow, a
weed, a snow-flake, a boy’s willow whistle, or a farmer planting in his
field is more suggestive to the mind than the Yosemite gorge or the
Vatican would be in another hour. In like mood an old verse, or
certain words, gleam with rare significance.
But sensibility does not exhaust our idea of it. That is only half.
Genius is not a lazy angel contemplating itself and things. It is
insatiable for expression. Thought must take the stupendous step of
passing into realization. A master can formulate his thought. Our
thoughts at first possess us. Later, if we have good heads, we come
to possess them. We believe that certain persons add to the
common vision a certain degree of control over these states of mind;
that the true scholar is one who has the power to stand beside his
thoughts or to hold off his thoughts at arm’s length and give them
perspective.
I must think this keen sympathy, this thrill of awe with which we
watch the performance of genius, a sign of our own readiness to
exert the like power. I must think we are entitled to powers far
transcending any that we possess; that we have in the race the
sketch of a man which no individual comes up to.
Every sincere man is right, or, to make him right, only needs a little
larger dose of his own personality. Excellent in his own way by
means of not apprehending the gift of another. When he speaks out
of another’s mind, we detect it. He can’t make any paint stick but his
own. No man passes for that with another which he passes for with
himself. The respect and the censure of his brother are alike
injurious and irrelevant. We see ourselves; we lack organs to see
others, and only squint at them.
Don’t fear to push these individualities to their farthest divergence.
Characters and talents are complemental and suppletory. The world
stands by balanced antagonisms. The more the peculiarities are
pressed the better the result. The air would rot without lightning; and
without the violence of direction that men have, without bigots,
without men of fixed idea, no excitement, no efficiency.
The novelist should not make any character act absurdly, but only
absurdly as seen by others. For it is so in life. Nonsense will not
keep its unreason if you come into the humorist’s point of view, but
unhappily we find it is fast becoming sense, and we must flee again
into the distance if we would laugh.
What strength belongs to every plant and animal in nature. The
tree or the brook has no duplicity, no pretentiousness, no show. It is,
with all its might and main, what it is, and makes one and the same
impression and effect at all times. All the thoughts of a turtle are
turtles, and of a rabbit, rabbits. But a man is broken and dissipated
by the giddiness of his will; he does not throw himself into his
judgments; his genius leads him one way but ’tis likely his trade or
politics in quite another. He rows with one hand and with the other
backs water, and does not give to any manner of life the strength of
his constitution. Hence the perpetual loss of power and waste of
human life.
The natural remedy against this miscellany of knowledge and aim,
this desultory universality of ours, this immense ground-juniper
falling abroad and not gathered up into any columnar tree, is to
substitute realism for sentimentalism; a certain recognition of the
simple and terrible laws which, seen or unseen, pervade and govern.
You will say this is quite axiomatic and a little too true. I do not find
it an agreed point. Literary men for the most part have a settled
despair as to the realization of ideas in their own time. There is in all
students a distrust of truth, a timidity about affirming it; a wish to
patronize Providence.
We disown our debt to moral evil. To science there is no poison; to
botany no weed; to chemistry no dirt. The curses of malignity and
despair are important criticism, which must be heeded until he can
explain and rightly silence them.
“Croyez moi, l’erreur aussi a son mérite,” said Voltaire. We see
those who surmount by dint of egotism or infatuation obstacles from
which the prudent recoil. The right partisan is a heady man, who,
because he does not see many things, sees some one thing with
heat and exaggeration; and if he falls among other narrow men, or
objects which have a brief importance, prefers it to the universe, and
seems inspired and a godsend to those who wish to magnify the
matter and carry a point. ’Tis the difference between progress by
railroad and by walking across the broken country. Immense speed,
but only in one direction.
There are two theories of life; one for the demonstration of our
talent, the other for the education of the man. One is activity, the
busy-body, the following of that practical talent which we have, in the
belief that what is so natural, easy and pleasant to us and desirable
to others will surely lead us out safely; in this direction lie usefulness,
comfort, society, low power of all sorts. The other is trust, religion,
consent to be nothing for eternity, entranced waiting, the worship of
ideas. This is solitary, grand, secular. They are in perpetual balance
and strife. One is talent, the other genius. One is skill, the other
character.
We are continually tempted to sacrifice genius to talent, the hope
and promise of insight to the lust of a freer demonstration of those
gifts we have; and we buy this freedom to glitter by the loss of
general health.
It is the levity of this country to forgive everything to talent. If a
man show cleverness, rhetorical skill, bold front in the forum or the
senate, people clap their hands without asking more. We have a
juvenile love of smartness, of showy speech. We like faculty that can
rapidly be coined into money, and society seems to be in conspiracy
to utilize every gift prematurely, and pull down genius to lucrative
talent. Every kind of meanness and mischief is forgiven to intellect.
All is condoned if I can write a good song or novel.
Wide is the gulf between genius and talent. The men we know,
poets, wits, writers, deal with their thoughts as jewellers with jewels,
which they sell but must not wear. Like the carpenter, who gives up
the key of the fine house he has built, and never enters it again.
There is a conflict between a man’s private dexterity or talent and
his access to the free air and light which wisdom is; between wisdom
and the habit and necessity of repeating itself which belongs to every
mind. Peter is the mould into which everything is poured like warm
wax, and be it astronomy or railroads or French revolution or
theology or botany, it comes out Peter. But there are quick limits to
our interest in the personality of people. They are as much alike as
their barns and pantries, and are as soon musty and dreary. They
entertain us for a time, but at the second or third encounter we have
nothing more to learn.
No wonder the children love masks and costumes, and play horse,
play soldier, play school, play bear, and delight in theatricals. The
children have only the instinct of the universe, in which becoming
somewhat else is the perpetual game of nature, and death the
penalty of standing still. ’Tis not less in thought. I cannot conceive
any good in a thought which confines and stagnates. The universe
exists only in transit, or we behold it shooting the gulf from the past
to the future. We are passing into new heavens in fact by the
movement of our solar system, and in thought by our better
knowledge. Transition is the attitude of power. A fact is only a
fulcrum of the spirit. It is the terminus of a past thought, but only a
means now to new sallies of the imagination and new progress of
wisdom. The habit of saliency, of not pausing but proceeding, is a
sort of importation and domestication of the divine effort into a man.
Routine, the rut, is the path of indolence, of cows, of sluggish animal
life; as near gravitation as it can go. But wit sees the short way, puts
together what belongs together, custom or no custom; in that is
organization.
Inspiration is the continuation of the divine effort that built the man.
The same course continues itself in the mind which we have
witnessed in nature, namely, the carrying-on and completion of the
metamorphosis from grub to worm, from worm to fly. In human
thought this process is often arrested for years and ages. The history
of mankind is the history of arrested growth. This premature stop, I
know not how, befalls most of us in early youth; as if the growth of
high powers, the access to rare truths, closed at two or three years
in the child, while all the pagan faculties went ripening on to sixty.
So long as you are capable of advance, so long you have not
abdicated the hope and future of a divine soul. That wonderful oracle
will reply when it is consulted, and there is no history or tradition, no
rule of life or art or science, on which it is not a competent and the
only competent judge.
Man was made for conflict, not for rest. In action is his power; not
in his goals but in his transitions man is great. Instantly he is dwarfed
by self-indulgence. The truest state of mind rested in becomes false.
The spiritual power of man is twofold, mind and heart, Intellect and
morals; one respecting truth, the other the will. One is the man, the
other the woman in spiritual nature. One is power, the other is love.
These elements always coexist in every normal individual, but one
predominates. And as each is easily exalted in our thoughts till it
serves to fill the universe and become the synonym of God, the soul
in which one predominates is ever watchful and jealous when such
immense claims are made for one as seem injurious to the other.
Ideal and practical, like ecliptic and equator, are never parallel. Each
has its vices, its proper dangers, obvious enough when the opposite
element is deficient.
Intellect is skeptical, runs down into talent, selfish working for
private ends, conceited, ostentatious and malignant. On the other
side the clear-headed thinker complains of souls led hither and
thither by affections which, alone, are blind guides and thriftless
workmen, and in the confusion asks the polarity of intellect. But all
great minds and all great hearts have mutually allowed the absolute
necessity of the twain.
If the first rule is to obey your genius, in the second place the good
mind is known by the choice of what is positive, of what is
advancing. We must embrace the affirmative. But the affirmative of
affirmatives is love. Quantus amor tantus animus. Strength enters as
the moral element enters. Lovers of men are as safe as the sun.
Goodwill makes insight. Sensibility is the secret readiness to believe
in all kinds of power, and the contempt of any experience we have
not is the opposite pole. The measure of mental health is the
disposition to find good everywhere, good and order, analogy, health
and benefit,—the love of truth, tendency to be in the right, no fighter
for victory, no cockerel.
We have all of us by nature a certain divination and parturient
vaticination in our minds of some higher good and perfection than
either power or knowledge. Knowledge is plainly to be preferred
before power, as being that which guides and directs its blind force
and impetus; but Aristotle declares that the origin of reason is not
reason but something better.
The height of culture, the highest behavior, consists in the
identification of the Ego with the universe; so that when a man says I
hope, I find, I think, he might properly say, The human race thinks or
finds or hopes. And meantime he shall be able continually to keep
sight of his biographical Ego,—I have a desk, I have an office, I am
hungry, I had an ague,—as rhetoric or offset to his grand spiritual
Ego, without impertinence, or ever confounding them.
I may well say this is divine, the continuation of the divine effort.
Alas! it seems not to be ours, to be quite independent of us. Often
there is so little affinity between the man and his works that we think
the wind must have writ them. Also its communication from one to
another follows its own law and refuses our intrusion. It is in one, it
belongs to all; yet how to impart it?
We need all our resources to live in the world which is to be used
and decorated by us. Socrates kept all his virtues as well as his
faculties well in hand. He was sincerely humble, but he utilized his
humanity chiefly as a better eyeglass to penetrate the vapors that
baffled the vision of other men.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] 1850
MEMORY.
MEMORY.