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The Horses of Achilles
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 9, 2016 by Robert Charles Abbott, Jr. as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1139">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
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THE HORSES OF ACHILLES
At the end of the Nineteenth Book of the Iliad, Achilles readies himself to avenge
the death of Patrocles. He puts on the armor of Hephaestus, mounts the chariot behind his
two immortal horses, and calls on them in a terrible voice:
Xanthos and Balios, far-famed sons of Podarge!
Take care to return your charioteer in another way
to the company of the Danaans once we quit the field:
do not leave me there dead, as you did Patrocles.
The goddess Hera then gives one of the horses a prodigious, an unheard of gift: the power
to speak. Xanthos claims he and his brother, Balios, were not to blame for the death of
Patrocles, and though they will bring Achilles safely home this time, his death is not far off.
The Furies take back Xanthos’ voice as quickly as it was given. Achilles is deeply shaken by
this ominous reply to his insult, but states his intention to return to the war, and drives the
chariot on.
Xanthos never speaks before this, nor does he or any other animal in the Iliad ever
do so again. In order to understand the significance of this momentary suspension in the
rule of the cosmos we must acquaint ourselves with the nature of those horses who
participated in the Trojan War and the deathless horses of Achilles in particular. Not being
an expert in horsemanship myself, I will permit a few others to guide us, chief among them
Xenophon, the Athenian soldier and friend of Socrates. The lecture is in five parts.
Part One: The Horses
The horses of the Iliad, unlike the dogs who lurk at its edges, are full participants in the war.
Just like human warriors, they are sensitive to boredom, terror, and honor, though they
perceive each in their own equine way. When the Trojans have taken the field, and their
campfires are scattered across it, innumerable and brilliant as the stars, their horses watch
through the endless hours of night for the return of dawn, just as their masters do
(VIII.564). Horses, also like men, can be more or less used to war, as when the newly
arrived Thracian horses are too frightened to walk on the bodies of their masters. And
horses, like men, are capable of overcoming even great weariness and reluctance when
persuaded. Antilochus delivers himself of a complicated speech in the midst of the chariot
race at the end of the poem, calling on his horses with a rhetorical sophistication we might
think appropriate only for human listeners, though he demonstrates thereby the close bond
between warriors and horses, and their sensitivity to honor (XXIII.400).
A fast horse is life. As it did for Nestor, a chariot can rescue the exhausted hero and
carry him to safety (VIII.85). It can also take him where he is needed most. From the
height of the chariot a spear can be thrown or a comrade spotted (IV.306). Not to have
one’s horses nearby can mean death, as it did for Agastrophos, whom Homer calls a fool for
leaving his chariot team with a henchman (XI.340). Dolon, the impetuous Trojan spy,
names the horses of Achilles as the high price for his dangerous night raid into the Greek
camp (X.320). He does not acquire them, and the book ends with Odysseus and Diomedes
�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
stealing the horses of King Rhesus, an ally of the Trojans. This strategically unimportant
and morally questionable raid is a symbolic journey into the dark underworld of the battle
to steal something as precious as daylight—hope for the successful outcome of the war.
It is as if the theft of these snow-white horses secures the sunrise, and the book ends with
the bloody, triumphant heroes bathing in the dawn-drenched waters of the sea.
The horses of Achilles did not always belong to him. Poseidon gave them to his
father, Peleus, and he gave them to Achilles when he sailed for Troy. Their father is
Zephyrus—the West Wind, and their mother, Podarge—a harpy (XVI.148). The harpies, or
more literally, “Snatchers,” are winged spirits of the storm, blamed for sudden or
unexplained disappearances. Zephyrus by contrast, is the obliging wind who comes at
Achilles’ request to kindle the funeral pyre of Patrocles. As with many mythological pairings,
these progenitors are opposites but akin: Zephyrus generously comes from afar to help hide
the body of Patrocles in fire, Podarge makes mortals disappear with ill will. The horses are
as swift as their parents, though their names do not reveal this extraordinary inheritance.
Xanthos and Balios refer simply to the color of their coats: Bay and Dapple.
The chariot of Achilles is also drawn by a third horse, Pedasos, who is mortal.
His name is revealing. It is probably derived from the verb πεδάω, to bind with fetters, and
Pedasos would mean something like, “Fettered,” or more figuratively, “Trained.” One also
hears the verb πηδάω in his name, which means, to leap or bound. Both these meanings are
revelatory of his own duel nature: he is bound to the earth by his mortality, but he rises
above his natural station to run with the immortal horses.
Pedasos is killed by a spear which pierces his shoulder, and Automedon hurriedly
cuts him free from the chariot in the chaos of battle. His is a harbinger of Patrocles’ own
death, a mortal severed from godlike Achilles. When Pedasos dies, he screams, and just like
any of the other heroes in the Iliad, blows his life’s breath from his mouth.
No horse can be handled without skill, but the immortal horses require an altogether
formidable rider. Just as a great hero like Achilles is jealous of his freedom to act as he sees
fit, inflexibly proud of his peerless excellence, and easily offended by discourtesy, there is
something correspondingly perilous in the temperaments of Xanthos and Balios. Odysseus
and Apollo agree they are, “difficult horses to ride” (X.401, XVII.76). And being difficult is
not the same as being wild or unbroken. A certain kind of horse might well refuse to be
ridden by an inferior rider, just as a certain kind of person might refuse to be commanded by
an inferior king.
There are other similarities between Achilles and his horses besides their prideful
unwillingness to be led by any but the most excellent guides. Both are accounted in the
catalogue of ships to be the best among the Greeks (II.770). When Achilles finally returns
to the field of battle, he attains the cosmic proportions this ranking promised: his eyes burn
like fire, he shines like the madness-inducing Dog Star, his shield depicts the entire earth,
and he is drawn by immortal horses, swift as the wind. By this time in the poem, Pedasos
and Patrocles are dead; nothing remains to remind him of his human heritage, only Xanthos’
prophecy of his imminent death. The likeness between Achilles and the immortal horses
is in no way better exemplified than at the funerary games. Neither participates. They stand
apart and mourn.
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St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
Part Two: The Charioteer
The immortal horses are more difficult to ride than any other, though it is not to
Achilles their mastery belongs, but rather, to Patrocles (XVII.475). He is their beloved
charioteer (ἡνίοχος), a word which applies peculiarly to him, the greatest charioteer for the
greatest warrior (XXIII.280). Achilles, while watching the funeral games, remembers him
this way:
But I stay here at the side, and my single-foot horses stay with me;
such is the high glory of the charioteer they have lost,
the gentle one, who so many times anointed their manes with
soft olive oil, after he had washed them in shining water.
As Pandaros says to Aeneas, horses carry better the horseman they know best (V.230). “To
know” in this sense entails profound trust and understanding. He goes on to say it is the
longed for voice of the charioteer that calms the terror battle brings on, not the rider’s skill
with the mechanical apparatus of the chariot.
Hector speaks to his own horses with this intent to calm and encourage. He asks
they repay in battle all the care his wife, Andromache, gave them in peace (VIII.185). There
is a likeness between Hector’s speech and Achilles’ insult: Hector demands his horses repay
the special kindness Andromache showed them, just as Achilles accuses his horses of
unjustly not repaying the kindness of Patrocles. In both addresses Patrocles and
Andromache are the horses’ caretakers whose memory should inspire them to excellence.
This is not the only time Patrocles has been implicitly compared to a woman.
In Book Nine, Phoenix tells Achilles an only apparently rambling story meant to
convince him to return to the battle before the Greeks are driven into the sea. It becomes
clear he is not primarily addressing Achilles. Patrocles’ name means “glory of the father,”
and the wife of the angry, recalcitrant hero in Phoenix’s story is Kleopatra, its feminine
equivalent. In the story, Kleopatra is the only person who can persuade her husband,
Meleager, to give up his anger and save the city, just as Patrocles might be the only person
who can convince Achilles to save the Greeks. Gentle and masterful charioteer that he is,
he might be able to persuade spirited Achilles, just as Kleopatra did her husband.
The epithet with which Achilles addresses Patrocles after he has agreed to let him go
into battle is ἱπποκέλευθος. This word is used only three times in the Iliad and exclusively to
characterize Patrocles. It distinguishes his horsemanship from the Trojans’, who are often
referred to as ἱπποδάμοιων, “breakers of horses.” Ἱππόδαμος is derived from the word for
horse, ἳππος, and the verb δαμάζω, which means “to break in, tame; (in mid.) to control
(horses); to bring into subjection (political or matrimonial); to wear out or exhaust; to curb
or restrain; to overcome, overpower, to put an end to, to destroy.” Although the lexicon
suggests this wide-ranging word means something like “bring into order” when it refers to
horses, in its broader sense it hints at the forceful means by which this is accomplished, as
well as the permanent circumstances which ensure the obedience of the horse. The Trojans
do have their horses under control, but rather in the way Xerxes controls his army: always
under threat of the lash.
Patrocles’ epithet, ἱπποκέλευθος on the other hand, has a very different range of
meaning. Its root appears to be κέλευθος, which means “way, road, or path,” and so one
Homeric lexicon defines ἱπποκέλευθος as “one who fares with horses,” while another
suggests, “making the road on a chariot, chariot-fighter.” Lattimore translates it as “rider of
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Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
horses,” and “lord of horses,” the latter of which nicely captures a verbal echo from the verb
κελεῦω, which has the primary meaning, “to command persons, order, bid, enjoin,
give orders or injunctions.” Secondarily, it means “to bid, exhort, charge, urge, recommend,
counsel, invite.” These two resonances in his epithet—κέλευθος and κελεῦω—imply that
Patrocles’ relationship to horses is not one of breaking them to his will, but rather, of
commanding them, as one might command a fellow warrior capable of understanding and
assent. In his horsemanship, the horse is taken to be a thinking being capable of persuasion
and with which one can go somewhere together. Patrocles is ἱπποκέλευθος because he
follows the way of the horse. In the Trojan epithet, ἱππόδαμος, the horse always remains a
potential enemy, defeated, never moving beyond its subjection.
I will turn to Xenophon and a few other horse trainers to show that this
difference—between force and persuasion—is a fundamental concept in horse training, and
that anyone who would fare with horses must make a decision regarding it. The distinction
reaches to the depths of the conflict portrayed in the Iliad.
While Xenophon recommends many means of training the horse one might call
forceful, he is very clear, the final end of horsemanship is for the horse to act always of its
own free will. He means this to be true most of all when the horse is asked to do more
dangerous things than it would ever do in the wild. This is a simple but difficult thought to
accept. How can a rider ride a horse unless it is the rider’s will which rules? Here is
Xenophon in his own words:
For what a horse does under constraint, […] he does without
understanding, and with no more grace than a dancer would show if he
was whipped and goaded. Under such treatment horse and man alike will
do much more that is ugly than graceful. No, a horse must make the
most graceful and brilliant appearance in all respects of his own will with the
help of aids. (The Art of Horsemanship XI.4)
A more modern inheritor of Xenophon’s tradition writes, “The thing you are trying to help
the horse do is to use his own mind. You are trying to present something and then let him
figure out how to get there.” That was the trainer Tom Dorrance on horsemanship, or,
perhaps, on education generally. Dorrance also talks about those riders who don’t “get in
the way of” their horse (p. 17, True Unity: Willing Communication between Horse and Human).
According to these teachers, true horsemanship is not forcing the horse to act, but rather,
allowing the horse to do what he or she is capable of and wills for itself. “You need to be
the horse’s master, but him not the slave, but rather your willing partner.” (p. 51, Dorrance)
Dorrance sums up the relationship between horse and rider as a “true unity of willing
communication,” and later, to be clear he is not describing a monstrous melding of horse
and man, he calls this state of unity, “togetherness.” (p. 11, Dorrance)
We can properly estimate the horsemanship of Patrocles by noting what it enables
him to do with the horses. It is not always true that actions are revelatory of the powers
which enabled them. Mere force, after all, can induce great and terrible effects all on its
own. But in this case, the action in question is so extraordinary that we can look to it as a
true indication of his skill. In order to understand its significance, we must remember the
precarious situation the Greeks find themselves in without Achilles. Nestor proposes a plan
to make up for his absence. First, they will gather and bury their dead in a collective funeral
pyre. Then they will construct a wall, fronted by a moat, lined with wooden stakes meant to
impede and impale the expected Trojan assault. The project will transform the Greeks’
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St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
piratical encampment into a more permanently defensible fort, but also anchor them even
more firmly in their defensive position. The buried warriors are meant to protect them from
their enemies just as much as the wall and moat (VII.327). One might recall the body of
Oedipus buried at Colonus to defend Athens from invasion, or the Spartan theft of Orestes’
bones to ensure their conquest of Arcadia (Herodotus, Inquiries I.67). The Greek
encampment is founded on and preoccupied with the dead, the dark, and past grievances;
Troy is the city of life, and the forgetful forgiveness of Paris’ calamitous theft of Helen; it is
the city of Apollo. In the twilight between Greek darkness and Trojan light lies the plain of
war, the place of heroic action.
When Patrocles finally rides out in defense of his comrades, he turns the tide of the
battle and drives the Trojan flood back into this plain. Many are crushed in the panicked
retreat or trapped in the dust-choked ditch. Patrocles drives the horses straight towards this
grisly chasm, heedless of the danger, and vaults it in one death-defying spring (XVI.380).
Xenophon says in The Cavalry Commander, if it is true a man should wish to fly, then he
should learn to ride a horse, as it is that activity which most closely resembles it (viii.6). This
astonishing physical feat is itself only a mark of an even greater spiritual one. The leap of
Patrocles affirms that though human life may only be safe behind a barrier founded on the
memory of those who have gone before us, it is possible to leap into the living present and
act. While the leap shows us what Patrocles and the horses were capable of, their reaction to
his death reveals the great love which made it possible.
Part Three: The Grave
After the horses hear Patrocles has been killed, they stand still as gravestones and
weep. The verb (πυθέσθην, from πεύθομαι, XVII.427) emphasizes that they do not simply
witness, but hear of and understand what has happened. Patrocles᾽ death is described
elliptically. He falls “in the dust,” (ἐν κονίῃσι) and the horses mimic his collapse by trailing
the full length of their manes in the muck of the battlefield. Their desecration of themselves
anticipates the fate of his dead body, soon to be returned to the earth. The horses bow their
heads to the earth, their tears flow to the ground, and they stand fixed (ἔμπεδον) as a
gravestone. “Ἔμπεδον” recalls the name, Pedasos, the mortal horse whose name means
“fettered,” or as we might hear it now, “earthbound.” Without Patrocles to guide them, the
immortal horses are rooted to the earth, like their dead comrade.
The horses are compared to a gravestone not only because they are still, but because
their immobility means something, in the way a gravestone does. It means they have lost, or
are willing to give up, that essential part of themselves—their speed—out of love for
Patrocles. Rather than run away from his death, in body or in mind, they remain with him.
The word for remain here, μένει, might remind us of the link Socrates makes between
“remaining” and “remembering” in the Meno. The heroes of the Iliad long for immortality in
the form of undying fame and they fear forgetful oblivion. When the carnage Achilles
wreaks is so great the river Scamander rises from his bed in indignation, Achilles fears not
only he will drown, but that he will be forgotten in the depths without a fixed grave marker
to remember him by (XXI.315). Patrocles will not be so forgotten. Homer’s simile makes
the horses’ eloquent immobility his memorial.
Homer notes that the grave in the simile is for either a lord or a lady. This seemingly
inexplicable addition suggests the horses mourn Patrocles as if he were both man and
woman, which is appropriate, given his dual nature. On the one hand, he is the horses’
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�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
gentle charioteer, he sets the bread on the table when the embassy comes to persuade
Achilles, he comforts Briseis when she is first brought to the Greek camp, and he is
compared to Andromache and Kleopatra. On the other hand, he is a great warrior, eager for
glory, the best of the Myrmidons. He kills more warriors in the field than anyone else in the
poem, more than Achilles and Hector combined. The grave of Patrocles is the grave of
mankind, without regard for gender.
One might think after hearing their careless laughter at the end of Book One the
immortals have no cause to mourn, but we see this is not so. Zeus himself weeps tears of
blood when his son Sarpedon dies, and the mourning of the horses gives the king of the
gods another occasion to contemplate the sorrow of immortality (XVI.459). He asks
himself: why did we give you to a mortal man, the most wretched creature on earth? Their
mourning shows that the immortal horses were not made to serve mortals unwillingly, as
Poseidon and Apollo served King Laomedon in building the walls of Troy (VII.445).
Rather, the horses mourn Patrocles for the same reason Zeus mourned Sarpedon: they have
lost, he whom they loved.
The horses refuse to leave Patrocles’ body. Automedon uses every kind of
persuasion: he beats them, he threatens them with a sharp whip, and he pleads with them.
Their refusal is both a testament to their love as well as an indication that the bond which
permitted the great leap over the barrier does not yet extend to Automedon. The epithet
ἱπποκέλευθος implied that the horsemanship of Patrocles depended on persuasion and
willing assent. Without it, the horses are not moved by words, either threatening or pleasing,
nor can they be forced from their place. Their power cannot be harnessed by a mere
breaker of horses.
Hector notices the famous team standing by the body of Patrocles and hopes to add
them to the spoil of Achilles’ armor. Zeus emphatically denies him this. Rather than force
them to return to the ships, however, he puts great strength into their knees so they are
themselves able to overcome their grief and rescue Automedon. When Xanthus and his
brother later stand accused of desertion, he does not tell Achilles it was Zeus who aided
them or that their first reaction to his death was to stay and weep for Patrocles. But we
know that the true reason they left the battlefield was because Zeus gave them the strength
to, just as we know that the true cause of their staying was their love for Patrocles.
Part Four: Justice
We are now in a position to appreciate the depth of Achilles’ insult I recounted at
the beginning of this lecture. His scornful request that the horses make sure to return him
safely back to camp as they did not do for Patrocles insinuates, that when he needed them
most, they failed in their trust. It is as if Achilles sees in their desertion a bitter reminder of
his own abandonment of the army. Without Patrocles, Achilles does not believe in the
willing compliance of the horses, or his power to persuade them. His command is
undermined by its irony: if the horses abandoned Patrocles, why should they not abandon
him as well?
The seriousness of his insult catches the attention of an equally serious power in the
cosmos. That it is the queen of the gods who gives Xanthos the power to speak marks this
occasion as significant in more than the world of horsemanship. Whenever a god acts in the
way Hera does here, their sphere of responsibility has been violated. And a god always and
tirelessly protects that for which it is responsible. Hera gives Xanthos the power to speak
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Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
so he can correct Achilles’ unjust insult. Why this should be any of Hera’s concern is made
clearer by looking to the sorts of things that move her to anger and to action.
Hera is the last word of Book One, just as anger is its first. This is an ominous
intimation of her violent and vocal opposition to the will of Zeus. She is the goddess of the
“reckless word” (VIII.210, 461), and—like Achilles—is often angry. Unlike Athena, she
cannot control her rage, but pours it out in speech. (IV.25) She urges Achilles to call the
many-voiced assembly in Book One. She does this not only to save her warriors from the
arrows of Apollo, but also because of her care for that aspect of just redress which calls for
an accusation to be heard in public. The first and barest aspect of all justice, including its
cruder form in vengeance, is the vocalization “No!” The first word of the Iliad is μῆνιν—
wrath, but the first sound—and the Iliad is a poem one is meant to hear—the first sound is
μή—the negative particle of refusal—no, I will not. The Iliad is replete with negation:
Agamemnon says no, I will not return your daughter; Helen says no, I will not go to bed with
him yet again; Achilles says no, I will not fight. Without the power to protest what has been
said or done, there can be no balanced reconsideration, no appeal to what should have been,
and no fair judgment. The Iliad, by beginning with the momentary vocalization, “No!”
indicates it is a poem with justice, and the possibility for justice, at its heart.
Xanthos’ decisive “no” gives a sharp correction to Achilles’ insult, and although it
cannot reestablish that harmony of horse and rider which existed prior to the death of
Patrocles, his speech does make clear the parameters within which the horses are acting.
Xanthos states that not they but the gods and fate were the causes (ἄιτιοι) of Patrocles’
death, and thereby indicates that one of Patrocles’ killers is the god Apollo and beyond
Achilles’ reach. Xanthos also says it was not through slowness or irresponsibility he and his
brother failed to return their charioteer; they were both capable and willing. Achilles should
not blame the instruments available to him but look to the true causes.
Achilles addresses the horses as “famed sons of the harpy Podarge,” but Xanthos
boasts that he and his brother could run with the West Wind, their more benevolent father.
The supplemented genealogy reminds Achilles that the horses do more than bring death,
they can rescue their rider as well. Their speed is an image of their immortality, which they
can momentarily share with the charioteer they carry. Immediately after his boast, Xanthos
says, but you (αλλά τοι) are destined to be overpowered by a god and a man, as if to say that
even swift Achilles will one day be outrun by death. The phrase Homer uses for
“overpowered” is ἶφι δαμῆναι, “overmastered by force,” and cannot but recall the epithet
ἱππόδαμος, “horse-breaker,” which shares a root, δαμαζω. The horses are too swift to be
mastered, but Achilles will fall prey to force and to death.
What the content of Xanthos’ speech reveals is that the immortal horses could not
have been forced to do anything. Their love for Patrocles was not hampered by indecision,
laziness, poor-timing, weakness, ignorance, or any of the vices which usually keep us from
living up to our noblest form. And the highest form of horsemanship demands that we
believe the horse is in every way capable of and willing to attain the perfection proper to it.
Achilles fails to believe this myth. What he assumes, instead, when he insults the horses, is
that they did not wish to save Patrocles, that their bond of willing communication was a
pretense which shattered at his death. He fails to believe there was anything more than force
at work between them, so when the wielder of that force died, the horses deserted him.
What the fact of Xanthos’ speech reveals to Achilles is that it was not simply force
which guided the horses, but an unbroken, silent communication between horse and
charioteer. The horses have always been able to speak, but only to the right listener. It took Hera’s gift
7
�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
to make their voices discernible to Achilles, and to us. This is the meaning of her gift: it is
not a magical or supernatural event, except in so far as it is the revelation of a deep truth.
Hera gives Xanthos the power to speak, but it is the Furies who take it away again
just as suddenly. This makes some immediate sense: a speaking animal is outside the bounds
of nature. But the Furies are more than guardians of order simply. If we can see what their
sphere of responsibility is in the poem, we can explain why they take Xanthos’ voice. But
saying they “take” it is misleading. Rather, Hera and the Furies appear on the scene to
protect that for which they are responsible, and they work together to repair the damage
done by Achilles’ insult.
We know three chief characteristics of the Furies. First, in Book Fifteen we learn
they side with the elder, even among the gods (XV.205). This includes not only the elder
born among siblings, but parents; in other words, they side with who or what came first, or,
put in another way, they side with chronological origins, not consequences, often to the
detriment of who or what follows from them. Phoenix is punished by the Furies for
sleeping with his father’s favorite concubine and thereby dishonoring him (IX.455) and
Athena claims the Furies punish Ares for opposing his mother’s will by assisting the Trojans
(XXI.410). The Furies also punish those who break oaths, that is, those who act as if their
own past promises do not matter in the future (III.278). Finally, we know the special
responsibility of the Furies is to avenge the dead, those who by virtue of fully existing only in
the past can no longer effect the justice due them in the present (XIX.260). In this way, the
Furies are, like Hera, deeply concerned with justice—the way things should be—which can
only be achieved by remembering distant origins in the present. The special responsibility of
the Furies is the honoring of the past in the present, and they punish those crimes which
might disrupt that orderly reverence.
The Furies permit Xanthos to speak because the kind of crime he is accused of
would, if he were guilty of it, demand their punishment. Achilles’ insult has, as it were,
called them up from Hell by claiming that Xanthos and his brother carelessly forgot their
bond with Patrocles and left him behind on the battlefield. The truth, rather, is they
remained with him in mind and body (μένει), and the essence of their relationship with him
in life was an active holding together of origin and consequence, command and response.
The horses were mindful of Patrocles, as he was of them. An audible voice is superfluous in
such a subtle relationship, so the Furies take it away to return Xanthos to his true nature.
Part Five: The Soul
In Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates says the soul is like a chariot drawn by two horses—
one, beautiful and high-minded, the other, passionate and dark. They are led by a charioteer,
whose difficult task it is to put these hostile comrades through their psychic paces. Like
Plato, Homer also gives us images of human life constructed out of chariots and horses. It
is these images and not their explication we should remember. I have given you one
possible explication, and only of a single moment, but the living jewel that is the poem can
be turned and seen in a different light. Achilles the warrior, Patrocles the charioteer,
immortal Xanthos and Balios, and mortal Pedasos: they make up an image of the mortal and
immortal bound in friendship—the single-footed, discontinuous thunder of the horses’
hooves harmonizing with the swift, never-ending revolution of the chariot’s wheels. Like
Plato’s, this image evolves. The great leap over the trench becomes the perfect stillness of
the mourning horses; the quiet horsemanship of Patrocles gives way to Achilles’ wrathful
8
�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
accusation. And the nightmare image of immortal horses dragging a dead human around the
walls of a sacred city shows a form of life in which Wrath has triumphed and immortal
beings are made to dishonor the shameful weakness of the mortal body.
How are we to understand the immortal horses as elements of an image portraying
the human condition? In other words, what are they to us? The field of Troy is far away
and we no longer hear the voices of the gods whispering over our shoulders, so it may
surprise you to learn there are now in your possession, powers very much like the immortal
horses of Achilles. They were given to you, in one way, by your parents, and in a more
mysterious way, by the gods. They are immortal in the sense that they currently belong to
you, but they recur infinitely in other beings, indifferent to your specific quiddity—what
makes you you. They have a life of their own which will persist long after you have ceased to
be. We do not each possess all of them, though among humans, the inheritance is usually
the same for each of us. Over the ages they have taken various forms, been given many
names, and been counted in different ways: Vision, Touch, the Powers to Move and to
Remain, the Power to Make Another Like Yourself. These are only a few of those who
stand in the Pantheon, though Aristotle insisted that for all their apparent diversity they are
united by one underlying name and desire—soul. The greatest of all the powers he named
νοῦς, or Mind—the power to remake yourself in the image of the world and thereby know
it.
It is true there is no perfectly convincing reason I can give you to think of these
powers as divine gifts—immortal, difficult to master, and not entirely under your control. It
would appear, after all, that you can command these willing servants as you like. They can
be made to turn this way and that, to carry you out of danger, to take you where you want to
go. But perhaps after considering the horsemanship of Patrocles and the mistake of
Achilles, you may reconsider your presumption to think of them as mere instruments and
see them as powers in their own right. You may also remember that these gifts were not
given to you whole and entire, but their use had to be learned through practice, though it is
very easy to forget with what care your mother and father taught you to master the art of
standing, or the long, dark millennia Nature required to train matter into the intricate shape
of an eye. These gifts call for our respect, even our awe, though you may answer that call
how you like. Ἱπποκέλευθος Πάτροκλος answered his horses in a particular way and leapt
the barrier between life and death. There was a harmony between them which hummed
along the web of harness and reins, yoke, bridle, and bit. It was not a conversation you
could hear, but it was a physical manifestation of the λόγος. One of the purposes of your
education here is to train those powers you have been given. They have a logic of their own
which you learn to understand and develop. Seeing, after all, is not as easy as opening your
eyes, and thinking may not be simply putting two and two together.
One might well grow nervous when someone takes mastery to be an educational
touchstone, especially at a college where lectures are by no means the rule. But staying
undecided on the role of true authority risks two serious mistakes—and by true authority I
mean the kind demonstrated in Patrocles’ horsemanship. The first mistake is simply not to
like authority-talk at all. But this is a tacit denial of one of the most fundamental features of
human experience: the astonishing way cause leads to effect, as it so evidently does in our
universe. Time and again, collision determines trajectory, seed blossoms into flower,
and conclusion follows flawlessly upon premise. How do we explain these cosmic
concatenations without first acknowledging that one thing leads another? Another way to
go wrong in thinking about authority is to go so far as to decide it is such a good in itself
9
�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
that the whole purpose of education is to subject all one’s powers to the sovereign self.
Sometimes this is mistakenly called freedom. But to what end does the self have all these
gifts at its disposal? Authority alone cannot decide what to do with its powers; it must
consult the powers themselves for direction. Education enables us to acquaint ourselves
with those we possess, to understand their purposes and the way they strengthen or interfere
with each other, and to give them rein to act.
It may not be immediately clear to you what would be different if you believed that
the everyday activities of your existence—eating, looking around, picking things up, tracing
the shape of a magnolia leaf, perhaps—were manifestations of immortal powers given into
your temporary care. And, of course, I cannot, and would not be interested in convincing
you this is necessarily the case. For one thing, the mere shift in your intellectual
commitments would not be enough. You would have to live with the myth, forge a bond
entirely your own in the intermediate space between you and those immortal powers you’ve
been given. That space between is where you cultivate what is uniquely you. Patrocles lives
with the myth that the horses are immortal: the cultivation of his unique bond with them is
based on it. I call it a myth not to disparage it, but to indicate its power to change your life
merely by thinking about it. That is what a myth is: a story you live with, and by letting it repattern your life, a story you live in. As far as he knows, Hector has mortal horses; no one
could convince him otherwise. His myth is different, diminished, and because of its
limitations, he is unable to do with his horses what Patrocles could.
The last word of the Iliad is a now familiar epithet, there used of Hector, ἰππόδαμος.
Hector is a supreme breaker of horses, but when his chariot approaches the black maw
which separates the Greek camp from the Trojan plain, his horses start back in fear, and
even though there are four of them to Patrocles’ three, they are unable to leap its terrifying
distance (XII.50). There is no explicit mention in the Iliad of the defeat of Troy by the
Trojan horse—it is, after all, an Odyssean ruse which wins the war—but the failure of
Hector’s horses to leap the gulf intimates that in spite of their celebrated horsemanship,
a horse will be the downfall of the Trojans. Apart from a clever trick, what does the image
of the wooden horse tell us about the nature of the Trojan failure? We could say the Trojans
were deceived by the Greeks, or, that they did not understand what they were seeing. Their
deception was in truth a failure of horsemanship: they did not see those powers Wisdom had
hidden within the horse.
The excellence of the horses of Achilles is that they need not fear death. They can
outrun it or leap over it. But we, in the end, cannot. Like Pedasos, one day we will each take
a spear to the shoulder and trade our life away. I believe it is a good thing for mortals to
hate death. As a wise person once said, it is by the strength of the soul’s desire for
immortality—for deathlessness—that its health is measured. Immortality is just another way
of saying, being there for it, always, and perfectly. What would Achilles give to be there in the
light of the sun for one more day? —to watch it touch the world, touch the faces of those he
loved? We hear in the Odyssey he would give a great deal, perhaps more than he can afford
to and still remain himself. The desire to remain in the delineating light of day is not only
for the sake of remaining with others, but for remaining our selves. Self-preservation, no
matter how coarsely interpreted, is the spirit’s insistence on the integrity of those clear
boundaries of flesh and blood which outline animal individuality against the indeterminate
many. What are the immortal powers Aristotle enumerates but manifestations of the soul’s
desire to become and be forever itself, immortal and ageless?
10
�The Horses of Achilles
St. John’s College
Robert C. Abbott Jr.
September 9th, 2016
So it is good to desire immortality and to shun death. But Socrates suggests in the Phaedo it
is wise, though very difficult, to learn the art of dying well; that is, to yoke and then unyoke,
when the time comes, the mortal and the immortal parts of us. In a Homeric formulation,
we should learn to put the reins of the immortal horses into the hands of Patrocles.
One of the immortal gifts given to us is the power to speak, and this is perhaps the
most difficult gift to accept, as we often identify our voice as uniquely and always our own.
Your voice is what you try to develop in writing or find through political participation. But
the opening line of the Iliad reminds us that in its highest form, language speaks through us.
Ἄειδε θεά! Sing, Muse! Language is never simply a personal expression; if it were, we
would not know what each other was saying or care we were trying to say it. This does not
mean Homer or we never say what we mean, only that meaning is difficult to achieve. Your
voice is what your breath becomes when you mean something by it, and it takes time and
mastery to effect the full transformation from living life to meaning it. The alchemical
conversion of your breath into your voice is implicit in the Homeric word ψυχή. Ψυχή is
that warm, feather-light quickening at your nose and mouth, a mortal incarnation of the
bright, endless air which spills down from Olympus into the mortal world. We say it means
life’s-breath or soul. It is what flies out of the mouth or a spear wound at death, never to
return. There is, though, a way for it to leave the human body behind without killing it.
Speaking transforms the soul—gives it wings—so it may leap safely past that most animal
and mortal part of us—the sharp barrier of our teeth—and in some proximate way, as the
Voice, experience an immortality and fellowship known only to the gods.
11
�
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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The Horses of Achilles
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 9, 2016 by Robert Charles Abbott, Jr. as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Abbott, Robert Charles, Jr.
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Annapolis, MD
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2016-09-09
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<a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1078">Audio recording</a>
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Greek
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Abbott_Robert_2016-09-09_Typescript
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/a6bd816dd6d27c9fe8dc893b608baf1b.mp3
bfe59ea6511231a8a9630d8a1f7895b3
Dublin Core
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Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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00:56:06
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Hegel on Reason in History
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered by Mark Alznauer, Associate Professor of Philosophy, Northwestern University, on September 20, 2019 as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Alznauer describes his lecture topic as follows: "Hegel says that the only presupposition that the philosopher brings to history is the simple thought of reason, that reason rules the world. In this lecture, I will compare Hegel’s philosophical histories (of the state, art, religion, and philosophy) to more empirical approaches, paying particular attention to the conceptual form of Hegel’s histories."
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Alznauer, Mark
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2019-09-20
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sound
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mp3
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Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 1770-1831
History--Philosophy
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English
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Alznauer_Mark_2019-09-20
Alumni
Friday night lecture
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/92e264d3fff03026d492ca413b8efa22.mp4
0796ba533b1f4b628b3db67aaedbdf1c
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An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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00:50:36
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Poverty in America
Description
An account of the resource
Video recording of a lecture delivered by Chris Arnade, Ph.D. on October 30, 2020, as part of the Formal Lecture Series. <br /><br />Dr. Arnade describes his lecture: "What costs do current political and economic forces impose on the worst off among us? We often hear of a divide between 'elites' and 'ordinary people,' but in what does this divide consist? Who are the leaders, and what guides their thinking? Who is left behind, and how do they describe their circumstances? Do ambition and achievement also leave behind certain forms of meaning and dignity? How are the current states of inequality created and preserved, and how are they harmful? How can and should voices from 'the back row' affect us?" <br /><br />Dr. Arnade left his career on Wall Street in 2008 and spent several years traveling in order to interview, photograph, and listen to poor communities around the US. He now works as a writer and photographer covering addiction and poverty in America. He is also the author of <em>Dignity: Seeking Respect in Back Row America</em>.<br /><br />The lecture is introduced by Joe Macfarland.
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Arnade, Chris
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2020-10-30
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
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moving image
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mp4
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English
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Arnade_2020-10-30
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Poverty--United States
Drug abuse
Documentary photography
Homelessness--United States
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Macfarland, Joseph C.
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/8328da4088ea650921343f9d358b9b13.pdf
16029ff8fa292404c2559956e1b15f94
PDF Text
Text
Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Dante
and
the
Hero’s
Quest
for
Healing
I
want
to
talk
about
a
very
old
kind
of
story.
Or
rather,
I
should
say,
the
only
kind
of
story
–
the
hero’s
quest.
Tonight
we
will
discuss
the
hero’s
quest
in
ancient
and
modern
literature
using
examples
from
mythology,
Homer’s
Odyssey,
Virgil’s
Aeneid,
Dante’s
Inferno,
and
finally
my
own
novel,
The
End
of
Healing.
My
lecture
will
consider
how
each
of
these
stories—and
for
that
matter
every
good
story—involves
a
process
of
healing,
both
for
the
broken
world
in
which
the
hero
finds
himself
and
for
the
hero
personally.
These
stories
all
resonate
for
us
because
we
all
identify
with
the
hero
and
we
are
all
on
a
quest
for
healing.
By
way
of
apology,
first
let
me
first
make
clear
that
throughout
this
lecture,
despite
my
use
of
mostly
masculine
examples
of
heroes,
I
use
the
word
hero
without
reference
to
gender.
Although
some
hero
archetypes
are
most
commonly
associated
with
male
gender
and
some
with
female
gender—the
Oedipus
complex
has
its
corollary
in
the
Electra
complex—all
of
the
hero
archetypes
we
will
discuss
tonight
can
manifest
in
either
gender.
Second,
let
me
acknowledge
that
my
observations
today
are
derivative.
I
give
thanks
to
my
tutors
of
ancient
and
modern
times
who
have
authored
me
and
my
work.
Among
my
authors
I
particularly
give
thanks
to
the
departed
St.
John’s
College
tutors
Chaninah
Maschler
who
gave
me
her
love
of
biology
and
the
old
testament,
Michael
Littleton
whose
Purgatorio
preceptorial
I
attended
over
30
years
ago,
and
Jacob
Klein;
to
the
very
present
Joe
Sachs,
whose
Don
Quixote
preceptorial
was
one
of
the
best
of
all
time;
to
all
my
great
tutors
at
St.
John’s
College,
especially
Jon
Tuck,
Marilyn
Higuera,
John
White,
Peter
Kalkavage,
Elliott
Zuckerman,
Jon
Lenkowski,
Eva
Brann,
Ed
Sparrow,
and
Winfree
Smith;
and
to
all
the
authors
of
the
great
books
we
will
discuss
tonight
that
still
serve
as
some
of
our
greatest
guides
through
the
world’s
darkness.
Thank
you
for
giving
me
the
opportunity
to
talk
with
you
about
some
of
my
favorite
stories.
This
lecture
will
have
4
main
parts.
First,
I
will
give
an
overview
of
the
framework
for
the
archetypal
hero’s
journey
as
described
by
Joseph
Campbell,
Carl
Jung,
and
others.
Second,
I
will
apply
that
framework
to
Dante’s
Commedia
to
help
us
understand
how
the
hero’s
journey
involves
a
process
of
healing.
Third,
we
will
delve
deeper
into
the
past
to
examine
some
of
the
earlier
hero
myths
that
influenced
Dante’s
work,
focusing
especially
on
the
Odyssey
and
Aeneid,
to
see
what
these
works
tell
us
about
the
hero’s
healing
journey.
Lastly,
we
will
move
to
the
future
to
examine
what
all
this
has
to
do
with
health
care
and
the
quest
for
healing
in
today’s
world.
Part
1:
The
Hero’s
Journey
The
ancient
pattern
of
the
hero’s
quest
was
well
described
by
Joseph
Campbell
in
his
seminal
work
The
Hero
with
a
Thousand
Faces
in
1949.1
He
revealed
that
this
ancient
story
pattern
resonates
because
it
draws
on
ancient
unconscious
archetypes
described
by
Carl
Jung
and
others.
Campbell
and
Jung
described
how
the
outward
journey
of
the
hero
reflects
a
parallel
inner
journey.
In
great
stories,
both
the
outward
and
inward
journeys
occur
simultaneously
and
complement
and
reinforce
one
another.
The
diagram
below
1
Joseph
Campbell,
The
Hero
with
a
Thousand
Faces,
Pantheon
Books,
1949
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
provides
an
overview
of
the
typical
components
and
order
of
a
hero’s
journey
story.
In
a
famous
memo
to
executives
at
Walt
Disney
Pictures
in
1985,
Christopher
Vogler
described
how
this
classical
hero
myth
lies
behind
all
great
stories,
screenplays
and
movies.
Christopher
Vogler,
http://www.thewritersjourney.com/hero's_journey.htm
By
way
of
example,
let’s
briefly
consider
one
of
my
favorite
woman-‐child
heroes,
Dorothy
in
The
Wizard
of
Oz.
Dorothy
begins
her
story
in
the
ordinary
world.
She
is
called
to
adventure
when
Miss
Gulch
attempts
to
kidnap
her
beloved
Toto.
But
when
she
meets
Professor
Marvel
she
begins
to
realize
that
the
ordinary
world
may
not
be
exactly
as
it
appears.
Even
though
Professor
Marvel
serves
as
a
good
mentor
to
Dorothy,
in
the
beginning
we
are
left
to
wonder
whether
he
is
a
true
healer,
or
is
he,
as
she
later
claims,
just
“…a
very
bad
man!”
She
attempts
to
refuse
the
call
and
run
back
to
her
Auntie
Em’s
house
in
Kansas
but
ends
up
crossing
the
threshold
into
another
world
where
she
encounters
difficult
tests,
discovers
three
wonderful
allies,
and
faces
dangerous
enemies.
Then
Dorothy
faces
the
seemingly
impossible
task
of
killing
the
Wicked
Witch
of
the
West.
She
and
her
friends
approach
the
Witch’s
castle,
the
place
they
most
dread,
and
she
undergoes
an
agonizing
ordeal
in
which
she
is
captured
and
condemned
to
death,
only
to
be
saved
in
the
very
last
instant
before
the
hourglass
runs
out.
She
then
seizes
the
sword,
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
or
in
this
case
a
bucket
of
water,
kills
the
witch
and
then
begins
on
the
road
back
to
Kansas.
When
she
finally
reawakens
there
she
has
a
new
perspective
and
power
that
allows
her
to
truly
see
and
understand
the
ordinary
world
in
a
way
she
never
could
have
imagined
before.
That
in
a
nutshell
is
a
description
of
the
hero’s
journey
and
it
has
been
well
described.
What
has
been
less
well
described
is
how
this
classic
hero’s
myth
always
involves
a
process
of
healing
or
movement
toward
wholeness
for
both
the
hero
and
the
broken
world
he
inhabits.
This
is
what
we
are
going
to
talk
about
today,
and
we
will
use
as
our
primary
guide,
Dante
Alighieri,
and
his
divine
hero
myth,
La
Commedia.
Part
2:
La
Divina
Commedia
If
hero
journey
stories
are
the
stories
that
resonate
most
with
humans,
it
goes
to
follow
that
these
stories
portray
the
most
important
spiritual
steps
for
humans
in
their
path
to
wholeness,
in
their
work
to
grow.
These
stories
teach
us
that
the
greatest
growth
for
humans
comes
from
discovering
a
healing
path
through
agony
and
despair.
So
it
is
fitting
that
Dante’s
comedy
begins
in
a
dark
wood.
Nel
mezzo
del
cammin
di
nostra
vita
Mi
ritrovai
per
una
selva
oscura,
ché
la
diritta
via
era
smarrita.
Inferno,
I,
1-‐3
“In
the
middle
of
the
journey
of
our
life,
I
found
myself
in
a
dark
wood
where
the
straight
way
was
lost.”
In
the
Commedia,
we
are
not
told
how
Dante
became
lost,
yet
every
one
of
his
readers
in
his
time
knew
his
story.
Dante’s
early
dream
was
to
play
a
major
role
in
the
government
of
his
city-‐state
of
Florence,
at
that
time,
perhaps
the
greatest
republic
in
world.
In
fact,
strong
lines
of
evidence
suggest
that
he
became
a
physician
and
member
of
the
“Arte
dei
medici
e
speziali"
(The
Guild
of
Physicians
and
Apothecaries)
in
Florence
in
1296
because
of
Florentine
law
requiring
enrollment
in
one
of
the
guilds
as
a
prerequisite
for
election
to
local
government
office.
From
Dante’s
early
writings
we
know
that
he
dreamed
of
helping
to
create
in
Florence
a
new
Jerusalem.
And
in
1301,
700
years
ago,
his
dream
appeared
to
be
realized.
He
was
elected
as
one
of
the
six
magistrates,
the
highest
office,
of
his
beloved
city
of
Florence.
He
had
already
served
his
fair
city
for
some
five
years
as
a
devoted
statesman,
and
had
finally
reached
what
he
thought
was
the
pinnacle
of
his
career.
As
a
city
magistrate
he
had
the
opportunity
to
make
a
real
difference
for
good,
to
foster
peace
and
justice,
and
support
a
Renaissance
in
Florence
such
as
the
world
had
never
known.
But
he
became
embroiled
in
unforeseen
political
intrigue.
After
only
a
year
as
magistrate,
he
was
exiled
from
his
home,
never
to
return
again.
At
age
37,
he
suddenly
found
himself
despised
and
homeless,
notwithstanding
his
devotion
to
the
city
of
Florence
and
his
non-‐partisan
efforts
on
its
behalf.
And
that
is
where
the
Divine
Comedy
begins–in
his
unfathomable
despair.
His
dark
wood
is
the
ordinary
world
and
the
entire
Commedia
is
devoted
to
his
finding
his
way
out.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
For
that
he
requires
a
mentor
and
guide
and
everyone
knows
that
Dante
is
led
by
Virgil,
just
as
Virgil
was
guided
by
Homer;
as
Aeneas
was
guided
by
Venus
the
goddess
of
love;
as
Homer’s
Odysseus
was
guided
by
Pallas
Athena.
When
Virgil
first
introduces
himself
to
Dante
he
immediately
challenges
him
with
a
call
to
adventure.
Poeta
fui,
e
cantai
di
quell
giusto
figliuol
d’Anchise
che
venne
di
Troia,
poi
che
‘l
superbo
Ilïón
fu
combusto.
Ma
tu
perché
ritorni
a
tanta
noia?
Inferno,
I,
73-‐76
He
says:
“Poet
I
was,
and
I
sang
of
the
just
son
of
Anchises
that
came
from
Troy,
after
proud
Ilium
was
burnt
to
the
ground.
But
why
are
you
turning
back
to
all
that
misery
[or
boredom]?”
Virgil
appears,
as
all
mentors
do,
in
just
the
right
moment
to
guide
Dante
not
back
into
the
misery,
the
“dark
wood,”
of
the
ordinary
world,
but
rather
to
guide
him
into
an
extraordinary
world
of
forms
and
meaning
that
undergird
and
ultimately
can
help
restore
the
ordinary
world.
Dante
is
overwhelmed
by
this
meeting,
and
responds:
O
de
li
altri
poeti
onore
e
lume,
Vagliami
‘l
lungo
studio
e
‘l
grande
amore
Che
m’ha
fatto
cercar
lo
luo
volume.
Tu
se’
lo
mio
maestro
e
‘l
mio
autore,
Inferno,
I,
82-‐85
“O
of
the
other
poets
our
honor
and
light,
value
my
long
study
and
the
great
love
that
has
made
me
search
your
volume.
You
are
my
teacher
and
my
author.”
Regarding
the
meeting
of
Dante
with
the
author
of
The
Aeneid
let
me
state
the
obvious.
The
reason
that
Virgil
is
able
to
serve
as
Dante’s
guide
is
because
he
has
been
there
before.
Virgil
has
seen
and
understands
every
type
of
sin
or
misstep
that
Dante
will
encounter
in
the
Inferno.
For
he
has
taken
his
Aeneas
there
before
and
provides
the
description
of
the
underworld
that
is
the
foundation
of
Dante
the
author’s
description.
Furthermore,
Dante
recognizes
Virgil
as
his
author—that
Virgil
made
him
what
he
is.
Dante
recognizes
that
his
love
of
Virgil’s
work
has
also
made
him
an
author
and
has
prepared
him
to
tell
his
own
story.
And
Dante’s
protagonist
must
be
guided
by
Virgil
because
Virgil’s
Aeneid
was
Dante’s
guide
to
the
underworld.
What
Dante
has
come
to
understand
about
the
underworld,
has
largely
come
through
Virgil’s
instruction.
Still,
Dante
must
screw
up
his
courage
when
it
is
his
turn
to
crossing
the
threshold
into
hell.
This
most
famous
of
all
cantos
begins
with
the
famous
words:
“Per
me
si
va
ne
la
città
dolente,
per
me
si
va
ne
l'etterno
dolore,
per
me
si
va
tra
la
perduta
gente.
Giustizia
mosse
il
mio
alto
fattore;
fecemi
la
divina
podestate,
la
somma
sapïenza
e
'l
primo
amore.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Dinanzi
a
me
non
fuor
cose
create
se
non
etterne,
e
io
etterno
duro.
Lasciate
ogne
speranza,
voi
ch'intrate."
THROUGH
ME
THE
WAY
TO
THE
CITY
OF
WOE,
THROUGH
ME
THE
WAY
TO
EVERLASTING
PAIN,
THROUGH
ME
THE
WAY
AMONG
THE
LOST.
JUSTICE
MOVED
MY
MAKER
ON
HIGH.
DIVINE
POWER
MADE
ME,
WISDOM
SUPREME,
AND
PRIMAL
LOVE.
BEFORE
ME
NOTHING
WAS
BUT
THINGS
ETERNAL,
AND
ETERNAL
I
ENDURE.
ABANDON
ALL
HOPE,
YOU
WHO
ENTER
HERE.
Inferno,
3,
1-‐9
These
are
the
horrifying
words
Dante
sees
inscribed
over
the
entrance
to
hell.
Of
note,
he
is
one
of
the
few,
including
Jesus
of
Nazareth
whose
hero
myth
is
well
known
to
all,
who
is
able
to
pass
through
this
gate
without
abandoning
all
hope.
After
passing
through
the
gates
of
hell,
Dante’s
instruction
begins
in
earnest.
He
explores
every
inch
of
the
nine
levels
of
hell
that
Virgil
describes
only
in
passing
in
his
Aeneid.
In
Dante’s
hell,
just
as
in
Virgil’s
Tartarus,
every
punishment
is
perfectly
suited
to
the
crime.
For
Dante,
exploring
the
levels
of
hell
involves
a
process
of
diagnosis.
He
is
able
to
fully
understand
the
reasons
for
the
brokenness
of
the
world
by
uncovering
the
sources
of
human
suffering
and
understanding
the
nature
and
types
of
human
missteps,
or
sins,
that
have
led
to
this
brokenness.
As
shown
in
the
schematic
of
Dante’s
hell
by
Mandelbaum
below,
he
places
mistakes
of
over-‐indulgence
at
the
highest
levels,
errors
of
violence
in
the
middle,
and
fraud
in
the
bottom.
Dante
saw
the
misuse
of
the
intellect
or
the
mind
to
deceive
others
as
the
very
worst
kind
of
human
error.
At
the
bottom
of
his
hell
he
places
treachery—first
treason
against
family,
then
country,
and
last
of
all
treason
against
our
natural
lord
and
master,
against
God.
In
Dante’s
Inferno
all
the
types
of
human
missteps
are
catalogued—every
single
one.
His
catalogue
of
sin
is
comprehensive.
Every
type
of
mistake
or
temptation
is
considered,
so
at
some
level,
there
is
no
completely
new
story
that
can
be
told
after
the
Commedia.
Every
story
deals
with
one
or
another
of
these
human
mistakes
or
near
mistakes.
For
Dante,
encountering
each
type
of
mistake
and
seeing
its
consequence
is
a
harsh
and
bitter
reminder
of
his
own
missteps
and
the
consequences
of
those
missteps
for
others.
So,
his
descent
is
an
ever
worsening
trial
of
pain
and
suffering
as
Dante
discovers
the
consequences
of
misguided
action
in
the
afterlife.
Like
much
of
the
first
half
of
the
Odyssey
and
of
the
Aeneid,
much
of
the
Inferno
is
filled
with
the
protagonist’s
tears
and
internal
suffering.
For
Dante,
this
process
is
one
of
diagnosis
(understanding
the
condition)
that
is
his
first
step
toward
healing.
Let
me
also
note,
that
after
his
exile
from
his
beloved
homeland,
it
does
his
heart
good
to
see
many
of
his
worst
enemies
in
life,
finally
paying
for
their
crimes.
For
him,
seeing
justice
done
in
the
afterlife
begins
the
process
of
healing.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Mandelbaum
Diagram
of
the
Inferno2
Dante’s
rebirth
occurs
when
he
passes
through
the
very
bottom
of
hell,
the
poles
of
the
world
are
reversed,
and
Dante
thinks
“they
are
heading
back
to
hell”
(Inferno
34,
81).
It
is
only
then
that
he
and
his
beloved
guide
Virgil
are
able
to
“ascend...to
see
again
the
stars”
(Inferno
34,
136-‐139).
2
From
THE
DIVINE
COMEDY
OF
DANTE
ALIGHIERI:
INFERNO
by
Allen
Mandelbaum,
,
Illustration
by
Barry
Moser,
copyright
©
1980
by
Allen
Mandelbaum,
Bantam
Books,
a
division
of
Random
House,
Inc.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
So
you
notice
that
Dante
in
the
Inferno
has
not
yet
“seized
the
sword.”
Indeed,
he
has
only
barely
passed
through
his
own
rebirth
when
the
first
story
ends.
Of
course
the
story
does
not
end
here.
Dante’s
healing
is
just
begun.
When
Purgatorio
begins
diagnosis
is
no
longer
the
focus,
but
rather
purification.
Once
hell
is
abandoned,
the
Purgatorio
lays
out
the
disciplined
path
that
Dante
suggests
that
our
souls
require
for
healing.
As
Dante
and
Virgil
climb
the
mountain
of
purgatory,
Dante
learns
how
practice
of
good
habits
can
lead
to
virtue
and
health.
On
each
level
of
purgatory
the
same
errors
encountered
in
hell
are
met
one
by
one.
The
only
difference
is
that
the
people
in
purgatory
work
to
overcome
them.
In
purgatory,
Dante
is
to
undergo
a
stepwise
process
of
purification
and
rebirth
when
he
arrives
at
the
top
of
mount
purgatory
in
the
earthly
paradise
or
Eden.
Near
the
bottom
of
purgatory,
seven
“P”s
are
traced
on
Dante’s
forehead,
standing
for
the
deadly
peccata
[sins]
that
weigh
him
down
and
keep
him
from
paradise.
As
Dante
struggles
up
the
mountain,
the
marks
are
cleansed
from
his
forehead
one
by
one.
The
following
texts
from
the
Purgatorio
describe
this
cleansing
process
as
a
kind
of
healing.
“Seek
only
that
the
five
wounds
healed
by
being
painful
soon
may
be
closed
up,
as
the
other
two
already
are.”
(XV,
79-‐81)
“But,
to
soothe
you
and
to
grant
your
wish,
here
is
Statius.
I
call
on
him,
I
beg
him,
to
be
the
healer
of
your
wounds.”
(XXV,
28-‐30)
“With
such
treatment
and
with
just
such
diet
must
the
last
of
all
the
wounds
be
healed.”
(XXV,
138-‐139)
“Keep
your
munificence
alive
in
me,
so
that
my
soul,
which
you
have
healed,
may
please
you
when
it
leaves
its
mortal
frame.”
(XXXI,
88-‐90)
As
a
result
of
this
process
of
being
freed
from
the
burden
of
these
wounds,
Dante
“feels
so
light
as
to
be
able
to
soar
into
the
heavens.”
In
his
last
words
of
the
Purgatorio
he
exclaims:
“I
came
forth…renovated,
even
as
new
trees
renewed
with
new
foliage,
pure
and
ready
to
rise
to
the
stars.”
(XXXIII,
143-‐145)
Dante’s
conclusion
to
the
Purgatorio
reminds
us
that
the
ancient
Greek
word
“phusis”,
from
which
the
word
physician
is
derived,
means
growth.
The
true
physician
is
the
one
who
stimulates
growth.
And
in
purgatory
growth
is
stimulated
through
the
practice
of
healthy
habits,
confronting
and
overcoming
the
temptations
and
errors
of
our
lives.
It
seems
natural
to
ask
at
this
point
whether
Dante’s
poetry
doesn’t
stimulate
growth
in
precisely
the
way
of
a
good
physician.
Surely
this
is
Dante’s
aim.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Part
3:
Resonance
of
the
Inferno
with
earlier
hero
stories
Let
me
now
turn
to
the
earlier
hero
myths
that
influenced
Dante’s
work,
focusing
especially
on
the
Odyssey
and
Aeneid,
to
see
what
these
works
tell
us
about
the
hero’s
healing
journey.
These
hero
stories
particularly
resonate
with
Dante
and
show
some
of
the
many
ways
to
tell
the
story
of
the
hero’s
quest.
The
Aeneid
is
an
homage
to
the
Odyssey
as
La
Commedia
is
an
homage
to
The
Aeneid.
Both
stories
feature
a
journey
to
the
underworld
in
their
centers
and
each
hero
has
a
sibyl
guide,
and
in
the
underworld
each
hero
seeks
to
come
to
terms
with
their
past
and
gain
vision
of
their
path
into
the
future.
As
it
is
for
Dante
in
the
Commedia,
rebirth
and
enlightenment
occur
for
both
Odysseus
and
Aeneas
in
the
underworld,
in
the
most
desperate
place
of
all.
Healing
occurs
through
their
contact
with
the
hidden
Cthonic
underworld,
and
both
involve
a
seer,
Sibyl,
oracle
helper,
who
serves
as
a
guide
to
the
navel
of
the
world,
the
place
of
their
rebirth.
For
both
Odysseus
and
Aeneas,
like
Dante,
the
ordinary
world
is
a
broken
world
from
which
they
would
prefer
to
hide
and
escape.
Both
Odysseus
and
Aeneas
seek
to
escape
their
broken
world,
Odysseus
with
the
divine
Kalypso,
and
Aeneas
with
his
beloved
Dido,
but
both
find
themselves
unable
to
forget
their
past
and
fated
future.
Like
the
Athenians
in
the
time
of
Theseus
who
didn’t
want
to
admit
that
it
was
wrong
for
their
children
to
be
sacrificed
to
the
Minotaur,
none
of
our
heroes
want
to
face
the
horror
embedded
in
the
ordinary
world,
but
they
are
compelled
to
do
so.
All
of
three
of
these
hero
myths
involve
reluctant
heroes
who
are
forced
to
confront
the
pain
in
their
ordinary
world.
Dante
is
accused
of
graft
and
exiled
from
his
beloved
world
of
Florence
forever.
Odysseus,
the
wounded
warrior,
must
confront
and
recover
from
the
horrors
of
war
and
his
guilt
over
abandoning
his
family
and
losing
all
of
his
crew
one
by
one.
Aeneas’
ordinary
world
is
burnt
to
the
ground
and
destroyed
forever.
So
we
can
rightly
wonder
on
this
day
of
9–11
as
we
ponder
the
place
where
the
twin
towers
once
stood.
How
can
such
wastelands
provide
grounds
for
healing
and
lead
to
rebirth?
Dante
clearly
has
more
regard
for
pious
Aeneas,
led
by
the
goddess
of
love
Venus
who
serves
as
his
mentor,
than
he
has
for
Odysseus,
whom
he
punishes
as
a
smooth-‐tongued
false
counselor
or
rhetorician
in
the
realm
of
fraud.
Yet
even
though
Virgil’s
Aeneid
is
more
directly
related
to
Dante’s
story,
please
give
me
leave
to
reverse
courses
and
turn
to
the
older
story
of
Odysseus
first,
as
it
will
help
us
better
interpret
The
Aeneid.
Odysseus’
homecoming
story
begins
not
with
Odysseus—we
are
only
are
told
that
he
is
stranded
on
Kalypso’s
isle,
despondent,
unfit,
and
without
hope
of
ever
returning
home
again.
The
Odyssey
begins
with
Athena’s
plan
to
save
him,
and
the
call
to
adventure
of
his
son
Telemachus.
Athena
recognizes
Odysseus’
critical
need
for
his
family
to
help
him
achieve
his
homecoming.
And
it
is
Pallas
Athena,
the
goddess
of
wisdom
who
serves
as
Odysseus’
mentor.
For
the
first
four
books
of
the
Odyssey
Odysseus
himself
is
strangely
absent.
Instead
we
are
occupied
with
Athena
disguising
herself
as
Odysseus’
wise
old
friend
Mentor
and
the
early
books
primarily
deal
with
her
serving
as
a
guide
and
mentor
to
his
son,
not
to
Odysseus
himself.
Meanwhile
Odysseus’
ordinary
world
is
living
with
the
immortal
Kalypso
in
indolence
and
pleasure.
And
yet
we
learn
that
he
spends
most
of
his
days
in
mourning,
homesickness,
and
grief.
His
world
on
a
fantasy
island
with
Kalypso
is
a
perfect
world,
but
it
is
a
world
he
cannot
accept.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Finally
in
Book
V,
Odysseus
leaves
the
island
of
Kalypso
where
he
has
lived
8
years
in
the
company
of
the
immortal
goddess.
After
18
days
at
sea
on
his
raft
he
is
finally
within
sight
of
Phaiákian
land.
But
Poseidon
conjurs
a
storm
that
completely
destroys
his
raft.
The
storm
strips
him
of
his
clothes
and
for
two
days
and
nights
he
is
cast
about
the
sea
holding
on
to
the
single
beam
remaining
from
his
raft.
On
the
dawn
of
the
third
day
the
sea
calms
and
he
swims
for
the
shore.
With
the
help
of
the
gods
avoids
the
crashing
breakers
of
the
rocky
coast
of
the
island
of
Skeria
and
finds
a
river
inlet
where
he
can
make
his
way
ashore.
He
drags
himself
between
twin
bushes
of
olive
from
one
stem—one
wild
and
one
cultivated—where
he
falls
into
an
exhausted
sleep.
As
Kathryn
Davis
notes,3
the
twin
olive
bush
has
two
meanings.
First,
it
serves
as
a
sign
of
Athena,
evoking
the
myth
that
she
brought
the
cultivated
olive
to
Greece
but
that
it
had
to
be
grafted
onto
wild
stock
to
thrive.
Second,
the
olive
prefigures
Odysseus’
homecoming
(for
both
him
and
us)
and
it
allows
him
the
opportunity
to
remake
his
olive
tree
bed
as
part
of
his
work
of
recovery.
The
next
day,
the
naked
Odysseus
is
discovered
by
the
king’s
daughter
Nausikaa
who
has
gone
to
the
river
with
her
handmaids
to
wash
clothes.
There
on
the
shore,
Odysseus
appears
reborn
like
a
naked
babe
and
he
is
clothed
and
fed
and
brought
back
to
the
Phaiákian
king
and
queen.
Thus,
within
the
first
story
of
the
Odyssey,
Odysseus
experiences
his
rebirth
on
the
shores
of
the
land
of
the
Phaiákians.
But
closer
reading
suggests
that
his
death
and
rebirth
begin,
are
centered
on,
and
derive
from
his
experience
in
the
underworld.
Odysseus’
journey
to
the
underworld
is
told
as
a
story
within
a
story,
in
his
Homeric
telling
of
his
own
story
to
the
Phaiákian
people.
He
tells
the
story
of
his
death
soon
after
his
rebirth
on
the
beach,
after
he
has
barely
survived
another
near
death
experience,
his
near
drowning
on
his
desperate
attempt
to
return
home.
With
the
Phaiákian’s
he
becomes
a
storyteller
and
his
healing,
recovery,
growth
(Gr.
Phusis)
rapidly
progresses.
The
middle
half
of
the
Odyssey
consists
not
of
an
impartial
story
of
Odysseus’
return,
but
rather
of
Odysseus’
telling
of
his
own
story.
Odysseus
–must
tell
his
story
to
heal.
This
is
reminiscent
of
the
primary
healing
modality
employed
by
the
wounded
warrior’s
project
for
American
soldiers
with
post-‐traumatic
stress
disorder
(PTSD)
returning
from
the
Middle
East.
For
those
who
can
heal,
sharing
their
story
is
a
key
part
of
healing
for
those
returning
home
from
the
horrors
of
war.
Odysseus
is
able
to
return
to
the
ordinary
world
by
helping
to
change
it,
by
sharing
his
accumulated
wisdom,
by
telling
his
story.
The
reader
has
to
wonder,
along
with
the
king
and
queen,
whether
or
not
he
is
a
reliable
historian,
or
whether
he
is
simply
pitching
the
story
for
his
own
gain.
Regardless,
there
can
be
no
doubt
that
it
is
in
telling
his
story
that
Odysseus
begins
to
regain
his
health.
Within
this
story
within
the
story
of
the
Odyssey,
in
the
very
center
and
crux
of
the
poem,
his
death
and
the
beginning
of
his
rebirth
is
revealed.
His
journey
to
the
underworld
occurs
some
10
years
after
Odysseus
has
left
home,
when
he
is
most
desperate
to
return.
The
witch-‐healer
or
goddess
φαρμακεία
(Gr.)
Kirke
finally
gives
him
leave,
but
informs
him
that
3
Kathryn Davis, The Olive Tree and “the idea of order” in the Odyssey, Accessed July 8, 2015 at
http://www.udallas.edu/documents/pdf/braniff/kathryndavis.pdf.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
he
first
must
perform
one
more
task.
Here
is
their
conversation,
as
related
by
Odysseus,
when
he
begs
to
leave
and
receives
the
darkest
news
imaginable:
“Son
of
Laertes
and
the
gods
of
old,
Odysseus,
master
mariner
and
soldier,
you
shall
not
stay
here
longer
in
my
house
against
your
will;
but
home
you
may
not
go
unless
you
take
a
strange
way
round
and
come
to
the
cold
bones
of
Death
and
pale
Persephone.
You
shall
hear
prophecy
from
the
rapt
shade
of
blind
Teiresias
of
Thebes,
forever
charged
with
reason
even
among
the
dead…”
At
this
I
felt
a
weight
like
a
stone
within
me,
and
moaning,
pressed
my
length
against
the
bed,
with
no
desire
to
see
the
daylight
more.
But
when
I
had
wept
and
tossed
and
had
my
fill
of
despair,
at
last
I
answered
her:
“Kirke,
who
pilots
me
on
this
journey?
No
man
has
ever
sailed
to
the
land
of
Death.”
Odyssey,
Book
X
Her
answer
is
that
the
spirit
of
Teiresias
will
be
his
guide.
And
thus,
following
Kirke’s
instructions
he
is
met
by
Teiresias
in
Hades
who
gives
him
a
dark
prophecy
regarding
his
most
difficult
return.
Odysseus
is
told
that
“anguish
lies
ahead”
and
that
he
can
only
hope
for
a
rapid
return
through
“denial
of
yourself,
restraint
of
shipmates.”
And
of
course
in
this
latter
goal
we
know
that
Odysseus
fails
and
as
prophesied
all
his
shipmates
are
then
lost.
Then
in
the
depths
of
Hades
Odysseus
sees
his
mother
who
has
died
in
his
absence
.
She
asks
him
painful
questions
about
his
absence
and
all
that
he
has
left
behind,
and
then
finally
she
tells
him
the
cause
of
her
own
death
while
he
was
gone:
“So
I
too
pined
away,
so
doom
befell
me,…
not
that
illness
overtook
me–no
true
illness
wasting
the
body
to
undo
the
spirit;
only
my
loneliness
for
you,
Odysseus,
for
your
kind
heart
and
counsel,
gentle
Odysseus,
took
my
life
away.”
This
is
when
he
seeks
to
embrace
her,
three
times,
and
is
unable,
her
shadow
sifting
through
his
hands.
Not
only
is
he
responsible
for
her
death,
she
evokes
a
past
that
he
can
never
recover.
And
at
this
point
he
doubts
that
he
can
ever
recover
his
past
kindness
and
gentleness
that
only
his
mother
seems
to
remember.
This
recognition
of
the
depth
of
his
loss
is
both
his
greatest
point
of
pain
and
the
true
beginning
of
his
rebirth
and
his
process
of
healing.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
Let
me
now
turn
briefly
to
Aeneas.
As
we
discussed,
Aeneas’
mentor
is
Venus,
the
goddess
of
love,
and
he
also
has
a
very
similar
excursion
into
the
underworld
in
the
very
center
of
The
Aeneid.
Similarly,
this
journey
to
the
underworld
serves
as
perhaps
the
most
moving
part
of
his
story.
Like
Odysseus,
he
is
similarly
guided
by
a
seer,
the
Cumaean
Sibyl.
In
Hades
Aeneas
also
seeks
to
embrace
his
ancestor
three
times,
but
in
this
case
it
is
his
father,
Anchises
that
he
seeks
to
embrace.
As
Jacob
Klein
notes,
the
story
runs
both
reverse
and
inverse—father,
not
mother,
guided
by
love,
not
wisdom—yet
still
it
is
at
heart
a
hero’s
quest,
and
follows
the
basic
pattern
we
previously
described.
Here
Virgil
describes
their
emotional
meeting:
“And
have
you
come
at
last,
and
has
the
pious
love
that
your
father
waited
for
defeated
the
difficulty
of
the
journey?
Son,
can
I
look
at
your
face,
hear,
and
return
familiar
accents?...”
Then
he:
“My
father,
it
was
your
sad
image,
so
often
come,
that
urged
me
to
these
thresholds.
My
ships
are
moored
on
the
Tyrrhenian.
O
father,
let
me
hold
your
right
hand
fast,
do
not
withdraw
from
my
embrace.”
His
face
was
wet
with
weeping
as
he
spoke.
Three
times
he
tried
to
throw
his
arms
around
Anchises’
neck;
and
three
times
the
Shade
escaped
from
that
vain
clasp—like
light
winds,
or
most
like
swift
dreams.
The
Aeneid,
Book
VI,
908-‐927
He
similarly
has
to
let
go
of
his
past,
and
toward
that
end,
his
father
shows
him
not
the
heroes
of
the
past
in
Hades,
but
rather
his
hero
warrior
descendants
of
the
future
who
will
found
the
city
of
Rome.
With
this
bright
but
difficult
future
in
mind,
Aeneas
leaves
Hades
with
a
new
hope
for
a
path
to
a
better
future.
And
many
of
you
will
remember,
after
seeing
this
vision
of
the
future,
he
and
the
Sibyl
pass
through
the
polished
ivory
gate
of
Sleep
which
Virgil
calls
the
“way
the
Spirits
send
false
dreams”—the
same
gate
of
“dreams
of
glimmering
illusion,
[and]
fantasies”
(Odyssey,
Book
19,
532-‐533)
from
which
Penelope
suspected
her
dream
of
Odysseus’
return
most
likely
came.
Virgil
leaves
all
to
wonder
whether
Aeneas’
hope
for
a
great
and
just
Rome
is
a
false
hope
that
will
never
come
to
pass.
As
Jacob
Klein
the
late
Annapolis
tutor
and
Dean
so
elegantly
has
shown
in
his
essay
“The
Myth
of
Virgil’s
Aeneid,4
Virgil’s
story
of
Aeneas
is
a
retelling
of
The
Odyssey,
written
as
the
reverse
and
inverse
of
Homer’s
story
of
Odysseus.
The
Aeneid
mirrors
The
Iliad
and
The
Odyssey
together,
told
in
reverse.
Like
The
Odyssey,
The
Aeneid
is
a
homecoming/recovery
story,
but
it
ends
with
the
wrath
of
Aeneas
just
as
The
Iliad
begins
with
the
wrath
of
Achilles.
As
Jacob
Klein
points
out,
The
Aeneid
ends
with
a
Trojan
war
raging
in
reverse
4
Jacob
Klein,
The
Myth
of
Virgil’s
Aeneid,
from
Jacob
Klein:
Lectures
and
Essays,
Ed.
R
Williamson
and
E.
Zuckerman,
St.
John’s
College
Press,
Annapolis,
MD:
1985
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
order
and
“This
time
it
will
end
with
the
victory
of
Aeneas,
the
new
Hector,
over
Turnus,
the
new
Achilles.”
And
after
this
victory
there
will
be
a
final
reconciliation
between
the
Trojans
and
Latins
and
all
the
warring
gods
that
represent
them.
Thus,
The
Aeneid
ends
with
the
dawn
of
a
new
golden
age
in
which
Rome
is
born
and
through
war
brings
the
dream
of
new
golden
age
of
peace.
Aeneas
story
is
a
story
of
the
recovery
of
Aeneas
and
the
restoration
of
his
world,
of
a
better
and
just
world,
of
Troy
reborn
as
Rome.
Part
4:
9–11
and
“The
Waste
Land”
of
modern
healthcare
So
what
does
all
this
have
to
do
with
healthcare
and
our
modern
quest
for
healing?
Through
these
stories
we
have
seen
that
the
hero’s
quest
always
begins
with
the
discovery
by
the
hero
that
the
world
is
upside
down
and
needs
to
be
restored.
So
my
novel,
The
End
of
Healing,
begins
with
its
protagonist,
the
young
Dr.
Don
Newman,
discovering
himself
in
a
very
dark
place.
In
the
first
part
of
our
new
millennium,
precisely
700
years
after
Dante
Alighieri
painful
awakening,
Dr.
Newman
finds
himself
in
a
broken
world.
The
End
of
Healing
begins
when
Dr.
Newman
is
awoken
in
the
middle
of
a
night
on
call
to
put
an
intravenous
line
in
the
neck
of
a
dying
woman
who
can’t
talk
because
a
recent
massive
stroke
from
which
she
will
never
recover.
He
knows
his
patient
doesn’t
want
an
intravenous
line
and
that
it
won’t
really
help
her
get
better.
Here
is
a
bit
of
their
encounter
after
Dr.
Newman
has
prepped
and
draped
Mrs.
Bellamy
before
putting
in
the
unwanted
IV:
For
a
quiet
moment
she
was
just
a
neck.
He
numbed
the
skin
with
a
bee
sting
of
lidocaine,
studied
the
anatomical
landmarks
to
find
the
right
spot,
and
stabbed
her
neck
with
the
three-‐inch
needle.
She
screamed
beneath
the
drape.
Dark
blood
shot
from
the
hub
of
the
hypodermic.
He
passed
a
long
stiff
wire
through
the
needle
into
the
jugular
vein
and
deep
into
her
body.
The
pager
started
screeching
again
but
he
couldn’t
reach
under
his
gown
to
turn
it
off.
A
voice
in
his
head
whispered
the
oath
he
had
taken
at
the
beginning
and
again
at
the
end
of
medical
school:
and
at
least
I
will
do
no
harm.
Bullshit!
Harm
is
my
business.
How
could
any
good
ever
come
out
of
what
I’m
doing
here
to
Sibyl
Bellamy?
His
bloody
gloved
fingers
worked
to
thread
the
Silastic
tubing
over
the
wire,
through
her
soft
skin,
and
down
to
the
first
chamber
of
her
heart.
Sibyl
Bellamy
began
to
whimper.
Out
of
nowhere,
water
filled
his
eyes
and
blurred
his
vision.
What
was
this?
It
wasn’t
like
him
to
become
emotional
while
dealing
with
a
patient,
and
he
bristled
with
irritation
at
the
sudden
unprofessional
display.
He
blinked
hard,
hoping
the
nurse
didn’t
notice
the
single
drop
that
spilled
from
the
corner
of
his
eye
and
trailed
across
his
cheek
and
around
his
mouth
to
balance
on
the
tip
of
his
chin.
Mrs.
Bellamy
had
once
been
a
beautiful
woman.
Something
about
her
reminded
him
of
his
own
mother.
Momma
was
gone
now,
and
he
had
done
nothing
to
help
her,
either.
As
he
struggled
to
suture
the
line
into
place,
the
tear
dropped
off
his
chin.
It
landed
on
the
sterile
blue
drape
and
spread
into
a
dark
circle
over
Sibyl
Bellamy’s
heart.
The
End
of
Healing,
Chapter
1,
The
Dark
Ward
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
A
patient
helps
him
to
see
to
his
horror
that
far
from
following
his
oath
to
“at
least
do
no
harm”
that
“harm
has
become
his
business.”
This
is
a
near
universal
experience
among
young
would-‐be
healers,
that
at
some
point
early
in
their
career
they
realize
that
they
have
entered
a
powerful
industry
that
does
not
always
place
the
interest
of
the
patient
first,
and
that
they
themselves
have
participated
in
the
business
of
harm.
Then
he
meets
his
mentor,
Dr.
Gil
Sampson,
who
encourages
him
to
cross
a
threshold,
to
forsake
plans
for
a
lucrative
career
in
cardiology,
and
instead
embark
on
a
dubious
quest
to
“Follow
the
money”
to
better
understand
the
true
ends
of
the
healthcare
industry
today.
Dr.
Sampson
and
Dr.
Newman’s
fellow
students
in
his
Oxford
style
graduate
program
in
Health
System
change
assist
him
in
this
quest
and
force
him
to
see
things
he
finds
horrifying
and
which
challenge
his
cherished
identity
as
a
healer.
Soon
after
beginning
his
Ivy
League
graduate
program
he
is
sorely
tested.
On
September
11,
2001
Don
and
his
fellow
students
are
sitting
in
their
college’s
coffee
shop,
a
place
that
looks
a
lot
like
the
St.
John’s
College
coffee
shop
beneath
McDowell
Hall,
when
the
planes
hit:
Don
had
been
drinking
coffee
in
The
Down
Under,
one
eye
on
the
morning
news
and
the
other
on
his
seminar
reading,
when
the
television
showed
the
first
plane
slamming
into
the
side
of
the
South
Tower.
He
assumed
the
pilot
had
veered
off
course
or
had
mechanical
problems—a
terrible
freak
accident—and
went
back
to
his
reading.
Just
after
nine
o’clock,
a
student
in
the
coffee
shop
screamed,
“Oh,
my
God!”
The
panic
in
her
voice
caused
Don
to
look
at
the
screen
just
as
a
second
jet
slammed
into
the
North
Tower.
Boiling
orange
flames
exploded
from
all
four
sides
of
several
floors.
Glittering
glass
and
metal
showered
the
streets
below,
and
billowing
black
smoke
poured
out
of
the
jagged,
gaping
holes
in
the
gleaming
towers.
Everything
changed
in
that
moment.
The
concern
in
the
room
turned
to
palpable
fear
and
everyone
was
now
riveted
to
the
news.
Some
were
crying;
others
were
desperately
dialing
their
cell
phones….The
South
Tower
crumbled
first,
just
before
ten
o’clock.
The
giant
building
collapsed
in
slow
motion.
It
started
with
a
barely
noticeable
shudder
and
a
slight
sagging
that
warped
the
skyscraper’s
straight
lines.
The
people
up
on
the
roof
hoping
in
vain
for
a
helicopter
rescue
must
have
felt
the
steel
beams
give
up
beneath
them
as
the
floors
began
to
collapse,
accelerating
to
a
machine
gun
staccato.
Puffs
of
smoke
shot
out
from
between
the
floors
with
each
percussion,
and
gray-‐brown
clouds
of
dust
began
to
rise
and
swell.
The
interminable
fall
ended
with
a
huge
belch
as
the
floors
slammed
to
the
ground.
The
building
exhaled
its
last
breath—a
thick,
rolling
cloud
of
dust
and
debris
that
advanced
from
the
heap
and
engulfed
everything
in
its
path.
The
fall
of
the
North
Tower
thirty
minutes
later
was
predictable
and
right
on
time.
In
spite
of
that,
a
steady
stream
of
fearless
firemen
filed
into
the
building
right
up
to
the
very
end.
The
End
of
Healing,
Chapter
7,
The
Waste
Land
He
quickly
discovers
what
anyone
who
has
eyes
to
see,
can
see—that
as
horrible
as
the
attack
on
the
Twin
Towers
was—the
world
of
modern
healthcare
is
far
worse.
To
his
dismay
he
learns
that
over
100,000
Americans
are
killed
by
medical
mistakes
in
hospitals
every
year—
the
equivalent
of
a
jumbo
jet
crashing
every
day!
That
makes
healthcare
far
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
and
away
the
number
one
cause
of
accidental
death
in
the
U.S.
And
he
discovers
that
healthcare
providers
generally
get
paid
more
when
they
make
mistakes.
That
some
100
million
people
worldwide
are
killed,
maimed,
or
seriously
injured
by
medical
mistakes
every
10
years,
more
than
have
ever
been
killed
in
any
war
in
the
history
of
time
in
a
similar
period.
And
as
he
“follows
the
money”
with
his
professor’s
guidance,
he
realizes
that
the
costs
of
the
American
high-‐tech,
hospital-‐focused
healthcare
approach
are
unsupportable.
He
sees
that
healthcare
is
already
consuming
20%
of
the
American
economy
and
it
is
hungry
for
more.
Even
when
the
novel
is
set,
in
2001,
he
sees
that
the
average
family
of
four
is
spending
(or
is
having
spent
on
their
behalf)
over
$20,000
per
year
and
the
average
Medicare
age
family
of
two
is
spending
over
$40,000
per
year,
amounts
that
most
American
families
can
ill
afford.
As
he
searches
to
understand
how
and
why
this
untenable
situation—this
broken
world—has
developed,
he
discovers,
beneath
the
surface
of
his
ordinary
medical
world,
a
powerful
healthcare
industrial
complex
seemingly
bent
on
trading
people’s
health
for
profit.
Don
and
his
fellow
students
begin
a
comprehensive
investigation
of
each
of
the
major
healthcare
industries
and
the
organizations
and
individuals
that
collude
with
them
in
the
quest
for
profit.
As
young
Dr.
Newman
struggles
to
find
a
framework
to
help
him
understand
the
broken
world
of
modern
healthcare
he
turns
to
Dante.
As
Virgil
look
to
Homer
and
Dante
looked
to
Virgil,
so
Dr.
Newman
looks
to
Dante
for
guidance.
His
Italian
mother
had
introduced
him
to
La
Divina
Commedia
as
a
boy
and
he
inherited
her
treasured
antique
copy.
He
turns
to
that
book
as
a
graduate
student
in
his
search
for
answers.
And
his
inherited
facsimile
edition
of
the
Commedia
contains
the
earliest
known
illustrations
of
the
Comedy
drawn
by
the
famous
Renaissance
artist
Botticelli.
Here
is
Botticelli’s
depiction
of
the
levels
of
Dante’s
Inferno.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
In
The
End
of
Healing,
Dr.
Newman
discovers
that
Dante’s
representation
of
the
moral
organization
of
the
universe
is
a
perfect
ethical
framework
for
understanding
modern
medicine.
In
a
flash
of
inspiration,
Don
realizes
that
the
levels
of
healthcare
hell
he
has
been
exploring
with
Dr.
Sampson
in
their
seminar
correspond
perfectly
with
the
levels
in
Dante’s
Inferno.
He
discovers
that
for
every
ethical
misstep,
mistake,
or
error
that
Dante
catalogued
there
is
a
corresponding
mistake
in
modern
healthcare.
He
discovers
that
the
way
humans
can
go
wrong
really
have
not
changed
that
much
in
the
last
700
years.
So
like
Dante,
he
begins
to
catalog
the
errors
in
modern
healthcare
and
to
use
Botticelli’s
drawing
as
his
guide.
He
realizes
that
these
errors
in
health
system
organization
have
consequences
in
terms
of
money
spent,
lives
saved,
and
lives
lost
and
he
begins
to
record
these
consequences
in
his
own
version
of
Botticelli’s
diagram
in
his
journal.
He
works
night
after
night
reviewing
the
literature,
calculating
and
filling
in
the
money
spent,
lives
saved
and
lives
lost
in
every
sector
of
the
healthcare
industry.
And
here
is
what
he
discovers.
Diagram
of
Healthcare
Hell5
5
From
The
End
of
Healing
by
Jim
Bailey,
Illustration
by
Joel
Hilgenberg,
copyright
©
2014
by
The
Healthy
City.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
In
his
journey
into
the
hell
of
the
ordinary
medical
world
Don
discovers
that
the
priorities
of
our
healthcare
system
are
completely
upside
down–and
that
this
has
horrible
consequences
for
the
people
who
depend
on
and
need
good
health
care
for
themselves
and
their
families.
In
The
End
of
Healing,
Don
and
his
colleagues
see
the
victims
of
disorganized
healthcare
up
close,
they
share
the
stories
of
the
unnecessary
suffering
they
have
witnessed,
and
they
understand
the
reasons
for
the
diseases
and
premature
deaths
of
these
innocent
people.
What
Don
discovers
through
his
journey
is
that
where
Americans
spend
the
most—on
hyped
care,
procedures,
and
hospital
care—they
get
the
least,
the
fewest
lives
are
saved,
and
the
most
lives
are
lost
from
medical
errors,
adverse
events,
and
complications.
And
where
Americans
spend
the
least
is
where
the
true
high-‐value
care
lies,
care
that
has
the
potential
to
not
only
save
far
more
lives
but
also
to
help
bring
abundant
life
to
the
people
of
America.
This
is
the
reality
of
modern
medicine
in
the
United
States,
where
it
is
currently
estimated
that
$800
billion
or
one-‐third
of
the
total
$2.4
trillion
U.S.
healthcare
budget
is
wasted
on
potentially
harmful
activities
activities
that
do
little
or
nothing
to
promote
health.6,7
So
tonight
I
have
shared
the
beginning
of
the
story
of
a
new
hero
who
perhaps
can
help
us
confront
one
of
the
greatest
social
ills
of
our
time,
the
unconscionable
waste
of
lives
and
resources
on
a
broken
healthcare
system.
Perhaps
Dr.
Don
Newman’s
search,
like
Dante’s,
Aeneas’,
and
Odysseus’
before
him
can
guide
us
to
the
nature
of
true
healing
and
help
us
discover
true
healing
for
ourselves
and
our
families.
His
work
and
our
work
is
simple—to
reclaim
and
restore
our
upside-‐down
healthcare
system.
All
we
have
to
do
is
to
turn
the
system
right-‐side
up—right-‐side
health
care
and
reclaim
the
well.
All
that
is
required
is
to
move
the
money
from
wasteful
sectors
and
industries
where
it
does
harm
to
where
it
can
do
good
through
primary
care
and
prevention.
This
task
would
be
easy
if
only
every
bit
of
that
waste
were
not
someone’s
profit.
So
this
process
of
transformation
will
require
heroes.
Through
Dr.
Newman’s
story
we
learn
that
high-‐value
health
care
starts
with
each
of
us
and
our
values.
Before
we
can
hope
to
demand
high-‐value
health
care
we
have
to
know
what
high-‐value
health
care
is
and
how
we
can
find
it.
We
must
ask
ourselves
what
health
care
is
truly
most
valuable
and
discern
the
answer.
Through
The
End
of
Healing
the
reader
can
accompany
Dr.
Don
Newman
and
participate
in
that
process
of
painful
discernment.
That
is
the
healing
journey
that
young
Dr.
Don
Newman
bids
us
to
join
in—a
quest
to
seek
the
path
through
our
broken
healthcare
system
to
reclaim
the
well
and
the
narrow
path
to
true
healing.
6
Orzag
PR,
Statement
to
the
Committee
on
the
Budget,
U.S.
House
of
Representatives,
Increasing
the
Value
of
Federal
Spending
on
Health
Care,
July
16,
2008.
Available
at:
https://www.cbo.gov/publication/41717;
Accessed
9/10/15.
7
Kelly
R,
Where
can
$700
billion
in
waste
be
cut
annually
from
the
U.S.
healthcare
system?
Thomson
Reuters,
October
2009,
Available
at:
http://www.ncrponline.org/PDFs/2009/Thomson_Reuters_White_Paper_on_Healthcare_
Waste.pdf;
Accessed
9/10/15.
�Jim
Bailey
St.
John’s
College,
Annapolis,
MD
Friday
Night
Lecture,
September
11,
2015
This
call
to
adventure
issued
by
The
End
of
Healing
is
not
unlike
the
call
issued
by
Dante
through
his
Divine
Comedy
to
examine
our
ordinary
world
and
reclaim
it,
or
the
call
of
Virgil
through
his
Aeneid
to
look
for
and
help
build
a
true
and
just
Pax
Romana.
Nor
is
it
far
from
Homer’s
call
to
Odysseus
to
remember
what
is
truly
important
and
to
strive
for
a
new
homecoming
and
restore
his
broken
household.
Let
us
look
for
Odysseus’s
reclaimed
homeland,
Aeneas’
reborn
Trojan
empire,
Dante’s
hoped
for
new
Jerusalem,
and
accept
the
call
to
adventure
to
go
with
young
Dr.
Newman
and
find
the
path
to
the
healthy
city
of
our
dreams.
And
perhaps
in
the
process,
like
Odysseus,
Aeneas,
and
Dante
before
us,
we
can
pass
through
the
darkness
and
be
reborn,
reclaim
the
well,
and
resurrect
our
better
selves.
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Text
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paper
Page numeration
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16 pages
Dublin Core
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Title
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Dante and the hero's quest for healing
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 11, 2015 by Jim Bailey as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
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Bailey, James E.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Date
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2015-09-11
Rights
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
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text
Format
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pdf
Language
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English
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Bib # 82891
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/0ff4e11f50a4c8136675f252f3d28f8b.mp3
81aa8f11a197d4cc9124dfdbf841c807
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audiotape (Tape 52, Vol. 1)
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:31:12
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The beginning of the St. John's program
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of part one of a lecture delivered in July 1972 by Stringfellow Barr entitled "The beginning of the St. John's program".
Creator
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Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1972-07
Rights
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
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sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Part Two" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3714">Part Two</a>
<a title="Photographs" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/search?query=%2B%22The+Beginning+of+the+St.+John%27s+Program%22&query_type=boolean&record_types%5B%5D=Item&submit_search=Search">Photographs from the lecture</a>
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Barr 1972-07 (part 1)
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/abf8d3a833817fa6e4ca33d97641f296.mp3
0c6de2ed6e62258cfbb1082214339128
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audiotape (Tape 52, Vol. 2)
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:02:26
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
The beginning of the St. John's program
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of part two of a lecture delivered in July 1972 by Stringfellow Barr entitled "The beginning of the St. John's program".
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1972-07
Rights
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
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sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Part One" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3713">Part One</a>
<a title="Photographs" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/search?query=%2B%22The+Beginning+of+the+St.+John%27s+Program%22&query_type=boolean&record_types%5B%5D=Item&submit_search=Search">Photographs from the lecture</a>
Language
A language of the resource
English
-
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b5a5c005ba2e44f484ee925bc2de0385
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
compact disc
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:39:58
Dublin Core
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Title
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The habit of violence
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on January 10, 1959 by Stringfellow Barr as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Date
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1959-01-10
Rights
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St. John's College owns the rights to this recording.
Type
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sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Barr 1959-01-10
Friday night lecture
Presidents
-
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9b63842d0917bebd51394ff605511fc0
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
wav
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:57:42
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
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LEC_Beall_James_2015-12-04_ac
Title
A name given to the resource
Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-Locality in Quantum Mechanics
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on December 4, 2015, by James Beall as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Beall, J. H. (James Howard), 1945-
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-12-04
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/319">Typescript</a>
Subject
The topic of the resource
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von, 1646-1716
Quantum theory
Bell's theorem
Language
A language of the resource
English
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/bf94435e925d7dfea916df54baf5f55f.pdf
b3bf5b245bf7f902f20d5ed703221a39
PDF Text
Text
Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-locality in
Quantum Mechanics.
by
J.H. Beall
St. John's College
Annapolis, Maryland
Abstract:
One of the most troubling aspects of our understanding of modern physics, generally, and quantum
mechanics, specifically, is the concept of “non-locality.” Non-locality appears in an entire class of
experiments, including the so-called “two-slit” experiment. In these, particles and “quanta” of light can
be emitted and absorbed individually. Yet in the way these particles or quanta traverse the space and
time between emission and absorption, they appear to behave not as point particles, but as though they
were distributed throughout the entire spatial volume and temporal extent of the experiment. That the
phenomenon of non-locality has recently been corroborated over macroscopic distances of the order of
10 kilometers makes these effects all the more remarkable.
In this lecture, I shall review the experiments and arguments that have led to an acceptance of nonlocality in modern physics, and will suggest that the concept of space and time that this understanding
implies is consistent with Leibniz's Monadology, wherein our ideas of space and time are
fundamentally different from those given to us by our intuitions.
�Outline of Lecture:
1. Leibniz's Monadology
Principle of sufficient reason
Leibniz-Clark Correspondence
Leibniz and Newton
2. Quantum Mechanics: An Eternal, Golden Braid
Einstein's paper on the photoelectric effect
Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, and Heisenberg: an eternal golden braid
The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle
Einstein, Padolski, and Rosen's response to Heisenberg and Bohr
3. Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality)
Bell's work at CERN
a synopsis of Bell's inequality via entangled particles
Bell's untimely death
Henry Pierce Stapp's paper on Bell's Theorem and it's implications
three reasonable demands: locality, causality, and individuality
must abandon one of the three
best option: abandon locality
Experimental foundation:
Stern-Gerlach correlation experiments
and more recent experiments with quanta of light
Professor Carol Alley's indignation
What is the Speed of Quantum Information?” 18 km, 10,000 times speed of light.
“
4. Like shadows on a Cave Wall: Leibniz's ideas of “space” as a kind of answer to the problem of nonlocality
5. Concluding remarks
The coherence of mind—The Emporer's New Mind: Roger Penrose on the unity of cognition
The commonality of experience
The problem and promise of entanglement
�1. Leibniz's Monadology
Principle of sufficient reason
Leibniz-Clark Correspondence
Leibniz and Newton
Leibniz's writings on the philosophical, mathematical, and natural sciences represent a coherent, if
somewhat surprising whole. Nowhere is this more clearly illustrated than in the Monadology, the
Discourse of Metaphysics, and the Leibniz-Clark correspondence.
Leibniz begins with the view of God as a maker, a being who makes the world the best possible.
Part and parcel with this view of the world is Leibniz's Principle of Sufficient Reason. It goes
something like this: one monad can only be different from another because of its different character or
qualities. I'll use a modern idea of a monad to illustrate this: an elementary particle like an electron. I
hope my choice will become plausible a bit later when we start the discussion of quantum mechanics.
Is one electron the same as another? If so, if there is NO difference between “this electron” and “that
electron”, then they would be the same, since by the Principle of Sufficient Reason they cannot be
distinguished. But my simply pointing to them is an indication of the differences. “This electron” IS
different from that one, because it has an explicitly different representation that is indicated by my
pointing at them. If I were to insist on a Cartesian representation of this difference, I can make a threedimensional coordinate system with a particular origin and three orthogonal axes, labeled x, y, and z.
Numbering these axes, I can locate “this” electron and distinguish it from “that” electron by the use of
three numbers, x1, y1, and z1, and x2, y2, and z2. I can then say that I have a representation of each of
these two electrons as different, given these two sets of three numbers. I can even represent their
separation of this electron from that electron by a three-dimensional version of the Pythagorean
theorem.
Leibniz makes this explicit several places in his works. For example, in the essay, “On Nature Itself
(pp 164 – 165), he states in arguing against Descartes' reliance on geometry in physics. Given such an
identity or similarity between objects,
… not even an angel could find any difference between its states at different times, nor have any
evidence for discerning whether the enclosed sphere is at rest or revolves, and what law of
motion it follows....Even if those who have not penetrated these matters deeply enough may not
have noticed this, it ought to be accepted as certain that such consequences are alien to the
nature and order of things, and that nowhere are there things perfectly similar (which is among
my [Leibniz's] new and important axioms). (Leibniz's essay, On Nature Itself, paragraph 13)
Of course, electrons have other properties as well: charge, mass, angular momentum (they seem to
spin like tops), magnetic moment (they act like tiny bar-magnets), velocity, momentum, and kinetic
energy, among other things. Each of these qualities or characteristics can also be represented by a
series of numbers or “coordinate expression.” I've always fancied that in a very formal sense an
electron or any other elementary particle (had Leibniz known about them) could be represented as an
aggregation of numbers (or coordinate expressions) related to another monad. This other monad could
also be represented in a similar way. By the Principle of Sufficient Reason, some of these coordinate
expressions are different from the coordinate expressions of all other monads.
The other thing to mention about monads is their unity. They are “simple.” They do not have parts.
�According to Leibniz, they represent a unity of different properties, much like a geometric point that is
the nexus of many geometric lines. Leibniz states that:
Everything is full in nature... And since everything is connected because of the plenitude of the
world, and since each body acts on every other body, more or less, in proportion to its distance,
and is itself affected by the other through reaction, it follows that each monad is a living mirror
or a mirror endowed with internal action, which represents the universe from its own point of
view and is as ordered as the universe itself. Leibniz, Principles of Nature and Grace, Based
on Reason, paragraph 3.
Some even have the property of being “be-souled.” So look around you. According to Leibniz, you
are sitting among a reasonably large group of monads, each of which is capable of noticing you and
regarding you as separate, individual “beings.”
There is one final thing about monads (among their many interesting properties) that bears on our
discussion of quantum mechanics. As Leibniz says, tt another point, in the Monadology:
The monads have no windows through which something can enter or leave. (Monadology,
paragraph 7)
Monads have no “windows.” Yet each monad is a representation to a greater or lesser extent of
everything else in the Universe because it is linked to all other monads by means of its relation to God.
That is, each monad is a reflection of the entire Universe precisely because it is in some way a
projection of a part of God. The debt Leibniz owes to Plato's Republic for this concept (note that I did
not say image) is nowhere directly acknowledged by Leibniz, but it is manifest. The one quarrel
Leibniz would have with my associating him with the image of the Cave in the Socratic dialog is
simply that it is an image as opposed to something that dwells in the understanding. For Leibniz's God
is, at least to my thinking, a Mathematician, and He, like Dedekind, holds that mathematics has no need
of geometry.
In this conception, then, there is a profound similarity between all of our connections with one another
and with the physical, social, and moral world.
It seems clear, therefore, that Leibniz does not think that space has an actual existence. As he states
explicitly,
As for my own opinion, I have said more than once that I hold space to be something relative,
as time is, that I hold it to be an order of coexistences, as time is an order of successions.
(Letters to Clark, Leibniz's Third Paper, Paragraph 4)
This is radically at odds with Newton's Principia, wherein Newton seems to deduce the existence of
absolute space from the existence of absolute (i.e, accelerated) motion. For Newton, space is the
“sensorium of God.”
Let us ponder this for a moment. For Newton, space has an existence. We can look out into the space
before us and hold it in our minds as something, even though we can (as Kant does) in our imaginations
remove all of its contents from the space that holds it. What is left over is space, be it a cubic
centimeter in front of us or volume 100,000 parsecs on a side.
�When Leibniz sees this emptiness, he views it as an actual metaphysical void, something that not even
God can relate to. As such, it is an abomination. Leibniz cannot accept a thing that God cannot act
upon, and the idea of an actual void is such a thing. Since God must be able to act on all creation, a
genuine metaphysical void cannot exist. This is one of the reasons why the Leibniz-Clark
correspondence (Clark was taking Newton's part) makes little headway to change the authors' minds.
The grounds of the conversation are radically different.
It is a worthy anecdote to relate that Leibniz and Newton never acknowledged the other's invention of
the differential and integral calculus. And it is helpful to note that Newton's development of the
calculus relies on geometrical constructions, while Leibniz's relies on an evolution of Descartes'
algebra. Is it true that Leibniz uses sketches of curves and lines for his derivations, in part because we
are visual creatures, but Leibniz's derivations do seem to be less reliant on images of extension.
Thus, for Leibniz, extension has no actual existence. What we interpret as extension, as space, is a
representation given to us by God. It is very likely that the same is true for time in Leibniz's
metaphysics. This separation is like a three-dimensional Pythagorean theorem whose terms are given to
us. What we interpret as a spatial extension is a coordinate interval that we call space, just as temporal
separation is a coordinate expression that we call time. What separates us, what we interpret as
distance, is just a shadow on a Cave wall caused by our origin within a common light. What separates
us from the amber light of ages past is an equivalent coordinate expression whose regularity is provided
by God.
I cannot resist at this point recalling for you the yarn in the Odyssey when the hero is among the
Phaeacians, and Homer brings us back from the story Odysseus is telling into Alkinoos and Arete's
palace hall with it's feast and polished stone floors and torchlight. The momentum of that telescoping
does not stop there, but places us back firmly into the present where we realize that we are reading
words two thousand years old about a story that is a thousand years distant even from that remote past.
Like Leibniz's God, Homer has linked us to the ages, and three millennia are as nought.
One other element of Leibniz's philosophy will prove useful later: Leibniz directly addresses the
problem of a Deity that weaves out our destiny to construct the best of all possible worlds. This Deity
knows everything we are capable of doing, knows all of our potentialities, and further, knows all of our
past.
And since every present state of a simple substance is a natural consequence of its preceding
state, the present is pregnant with the future (Monadology, paragraph 22).
Thus, the “Demon” in Laplace's Essay on a Theory of Probability takes its tack from Leibniz. Laplace
says explicitly:
We ought then to regard the present state of the universe as the effect of its anterior state and as
the cause of the one which is to follow. Given for one instant an intelligence which could
comprehend all the forces by which nature is animated and the respective situation of the beings
who compose it -- an intelligence sufficiently vast to submit these data to analysis-it would
embrace in the same formula the movements of the greatest bodies of the universe and those of
the lightest atom; for it, nothing would be uncertain and the future, as the past, would be
present to its eyes. (Laplace, A Philosophical Essay on Probabilities, ch II)
Leibniz seems to recognize the determinism of such a God, but sidesteps the troublesome argument of
�the lack of free will by claiming that God knows all possible predicates of our being, and so chooses
the path which we would follow anyway!
I regard the foregoing comments about Leibniz's Monadology as a preamble to our discussion of the
problem of non-locality in quantum mechanics, especially as the concept of non-locality has been
articulated by interpretations of the work of John Bell, an elementary particle theorist who worked at
CERN before his untimely death in the Fall of 1990. But first, I shall try to provide some background
on the landscape in which Bell developed his certifiably famous theorem.
2. An Eternal, Golden Braid: Quantum Mechanics in Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, Heisenberg,
and Einstein
Einstein's paper on the photoelectric effect
Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, and Heisenberg: an eternal golden braid
The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle
Einstein, Padolski, and Rosen's response to Heisenberg and Bohr
It is surprising at first gloss that of the four papers Einstein published in 1905, the one for which he was
awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics was not one of the following:
The one on Special Relativity, entitled “On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies”.
Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 891-921;
nor the one entitled
“Does the Inertia of a Body Depend upon its Energy Content?” (the famous E=mc2
paper), in Annalen der Physik 18 (1905);
nor the one on Brownian motion, entitled
“On the Movement of Small Particles Suspended in Stationary Liquids Required by the
Molecular-Kinetic Theory of Heat.” in Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 549-560.
As an aside, it is worthy of note that this is the 100th anniversary of the publication of the 1915 paper on
General Relativity, and the 150th anniversary of Maxwell's publication of his theory of light as
electromagnetic waves.
The actual phrasing from the Nobel Prize Committee was “for his services to Theoretical Physics, and
especially for his discovery of the law of the photoelectric effect." The so-called “photoelectric effect”
paper has a curious title: “Concerning an Heuristic Point of View Toward the Emission and
Transformation of Light.” It was also published in Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 132-148. It was one
which marked the beginnings of what is now called Quantum Mechanics.
In the paper, Einstein characterizes the wave theory of light in the following manner:
...the energy of a beam of light from a point source (according to Maxwell's theory of light or,
more generally, according to any wave theory) is continuously spread over an ever increasing
volume.
In the next paragraph, Einstein notes that
The wave theory of light, which operates with continuous spatial functions, has worked well in
the representation of purely optical phenomena and will probably never be replaced by any
other theory.
�But in the next paragraph, he states that
It seems to me that the observations associated with blackbody radiation, fluorescence, the
production of cathode rays by ultraviolet light, and other related phenomena connected with the
emission and transformation of light … are more readily understood if one assumes that the
energy of light is discontinuously distributed in space. In accordance with the assumption to be
considered here, the energy of a light ray spreading out from a point source is not continuously
distributed over increasing space but consists of a finite number of energy quanta which are
localized at points in space, which move without dividing, and which can only be produced and
absorbed as complete units.
On the one hand, Einstein allows for a “wave theory” like Maxwell's waves in a luminiferous aether
wherein the light it transmitted, reflected, and refracted. He “heuristically” considers light to be a
particle during light's emission from and absorption into material bodies. It is perhaps ironic that
Einstein was never able to reconcile his conception of the dual nature of light with the equivalent, dual
character of particles as both material bodies and waves, a solution posed by de Broglie to provide an
explanation of Bohr's model for the energy levels of the hydrogen atom.
Of course, this entire “braid” began with efforts to apply models from classical physics that explain
everything from cannonballs to asteroids to planets to the very small structures within matter such as
atoms and elementary particles via Galileo, Thomson, Millikan, and Rutherford.
By way of a truncated outline of the argument, Bohr used the existence of hydrogen spectral lines and
the contemporary work by Planck to explain so-called Blackbody radiation. Planck made the
hypothesis that discrete oscillators in matter had only certain fundamental modes with which they could
vibrate. He asserted that these oscillators were in equilibrium with the thermal radiation from matter
with a particular temperature, and thus explained blackbody radiation. Bohr wondered what the
“Planck oscillators” could be, since the classical picture of an orbiting charge holds that it should
radiate continuously. He hypothesized that his atom settled into quasi-stationary states and emitted and
absorbed radiation during transitions from one energy level to another.
It is likely that everyone in the audience is familiar with Bohr's model from high school science classes
and many popular lectures and books on the subject of science. You Seniors are in the process of
completing this sequence of papers.
In fact, the Bohr model has become a commonplace picture of the atom. But such familiarity hides the
utter strangeness of the concept. The atom is stable for a while, and then is excited or de-excited by the
absorption or emission of light at a specific frequency. These energy levels are Bohr's answer to why
the spectra of light from certain gases contains only certain frequencies. If you sprinkle salt onto the
logs in your fireplace, the resultant light is a brilliant yellow. That yellow light contains only certain
frequencies, frequencies that are as much an indication of the presence of the sodium in salt as your
finger prints are of you as an individual person. We know the constitution of stars precisely because of
this line-spectrum identification of elements, stars that can be hundreds or thousands of light years
distant.
The strangeness of the idea of the Bohr atom bothered de Broglie, who reasoned by a kind of symmetry
derived from Einstein's photoelectric effect paper (wherein light can have a particulate nature, as well
as a wave-like nature) that particles could perhaps have both a discrete nature and also a wave-like
nature. In an immensely clever argument (he won the Nobel Prize for it), de Broglie argued that one
�can calculate the “wavelength” of a particle by assigning it a specific momentum, which implies that it
has an energy. That energy can be used to calculate a characteristic wavelength, E = hν = hc/λ. It is a
stunning triumph for so simple an argument that the wavelengths thus calculated for an electron in the
Bohr orbits for hydrogen is exactly the circumference of the quasi-stationary orbits for electrons in the
hydrogen atom. So the electrons are not exactly particles when they are inside the atom. They also
have wave-like qualities.
Schroedinger was a young assistant professor when de Broglie published his astonishing idea. I have it
on good authority that Schroedinger was assigned the task of giving the journal club lecture at his
university the next week. It's a bit like these Friday night lectures, but less formal and typically they
are on a week-day afternoon. The assignment was something like, “Take a look at de Broglie's paper
and give us a synopsis of it at the journal club next Tuesday.”
Schroedinger had a ski trip planned for that weekend (Friday through Sunday, apparently). Being the
persistent soul that he was, he took a copy of de Broglie's paper and a book on solutions to differential
equations in various coordinate systems (rectilinear, cylindrical, and spherical) with him on the ski trip.
The short version of the story is that he didn't get much skiing done, but he came back well on the way
of inventing wave mechanics, an explanation for the energy levels of atoms as kind of standing waves
in space. His “eureka” moment came when he said to his bewildered ski companions, “I have just fit
the energy levels of the hydrogen atom in a way you would not believe!” The standing waves were
similar to the three-dimensional oscillations of sound waves in a concert hall. But standing waves of
what?
I believe Schroedinger originally thought of the standing waves as waves of charge density. The
electron has wave-like qualities à la de Broglie, and it has charge, so it would make sense as an
extension of de Broglie's hypothesis. But electrons have discrete charges when they are measured by
Millikan in his famous oil-drop experiment. How come we never see fractional charges?
Schroedinger's description of electrons (or any elementary particle, for that matter) was that they are
aggregations of waves that reinforce in a certain region and cancel out everywhere else. This makes
sense in explaining the energy levels of a hydrogen atom, but causes other conceptual problems.
First slide (the Cat – on title page)
Schroedinger's description of a particle as an aggregation of waves of some sort caused Heisenberg to
analyze the behavior of such particles when we try to measure them. If we try to localize the particle as
we do in the act of measurement, we confine it to a narrower region in space. That means we add up
more and more waves. Each wave has a slightly different speed. Schroedinger needed these different
speeds for different wavelengths in order to get the “wave-packet” to behave like a particle. But that
means that the momentum of the particle becomes less certain over time, since, in order to localize the
particle, we need to add more wavelengths, and adding more wavelengths means the velocity (and
therefore the momentum) become more uncertain.
�Slide 2: Slide of wave addition to produce wave-packet goes here
There is actually a calculable limit to the uncertainty in the momentum times the uncertainty in the
position of a particle. It is greater than or equal to Planck's constant. This is of course the Heisenberg
Uncertainty Relation. It says that there is a fundamental, and not simply an experimental, limit to our
knowledge of the location of a particle and its momentum.
Slide 3: Slide of single slit diffraction and its relation to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle
�A particularly helpful illustration of the Heisenberg derivation (and one that will be useful to us later in
this lecture can be had by looking at single-slit diffraction of a plane wave. The wave can be a wave of
light, an elementary particle like an electron, or even a water wave. If it originates from a far-distant
source, the wave is essentially a series of parallel troughs and peaks with its propagation direction
perpendicular to those troughs and peaks. When we allow it to approach a screen so that the peaks and
troughs (as seen from above) are parallel to the screen, we can watch the interaction of the barrier with
the oncoming waves. If there is an opening in the barrier that is of the same order as the wavelength of
the waves, a fraction of the waves can pass the barrier. When this happens, a part of the wave front
gets through the barrier, but for some fraction of the waves, the direction of the waves is changed
because of the wavesfront's interference with itself. This interference produces a dispersion of the
wave front that gives its velocity a vertical component. It is important to note what has happened here.
We have limited the wavefront in the vertical direction to a x that is essentially the width of the slit. It
has produced a dispersion in the velocity of the wave in the vertical direction, a v.
In Schroedinger's terms, this dispersion in the velocity of the wave in the vertical direction (that is, in
the same direction as the opening of the slit) is an uncertainty in the velocity. If we consider the wave
as representing the motion of a particle, then the localization of the particle within a delta x produces an
uncertainty in the momentum of the particle of order delta p. This illustration is not entirely fanciful.
In fact, Heisenberg uses it as one of his derivations of the Heisenberg Uncertainty relation.
Furthermore, the smaller the slit, that is, the smaller the uncertainty in position, the greater the
uncertainty in the momentum.
This has led to no end of problems in interpretation. One example of this is the fact that elementary
particles (be they electrons, protons, or photons), when emitted from a source and directed toward a
screen or grid whose spacings are the same size as the wavelengths of the elementary particles, will
show a diffraction pattern on a screen downstream from slits. For the sake of clarity, we will consider
only photons, although the discussion could as well apply to any elementary particle, including
neutrons, protons, electrons, etc.
Let a stream of photons set forth across the chaotic gulf toward a screen. Imagine this as like a scene
from Milton's Paradise Lost as Satan launches himself across the chasm between hell and paradise.
These photons are transmitted and diffracted as though they are electromagnetic waves. When they
reach two slits in the screen, the waves interfere with one another so that there is a very specific pattern
of light and dark lines on the screen downstream from the slits called a “two-slit” pattern.
�Slide 4: Slide on single-slit vs. double-slit pattern here
Suppose we turn down the intensity of the light. Let us make the light exceedingly dim, so that when
we look at the screen or detector, we find only one cell on the screen illuminated or exposed (you
remember photographic film, I trust?) at a time.
Slide 5: Low Light/Flux level slide goes here
What happens next is remarkable. This figure shows the buildup over time of electrons in a two slit
experiment at very low flux levels. We see one quantum at a time arriving . As we watch, the
�diffraction pattern begins to develop. We see the characteristic two-slit pattern. But we have allowed
only one quantum (in this case, electrons) to be emitted at a time. How can we possibly get a two-slit
pattern. Such an experimental apparatus exists. The results from it behave exactly as I have said.
Apparently, the individual light or particle quantum goes through both slits at once. It is spread out
over the entire space of the experimental screen (or more properly, the experimental volume) and then
excites only one element of the detector. If this seems quixotic to you, it is. It is known as “the
problem of measurement” in the vernacular of Shady Bend. The wave function (remember all those
waves adding up to produce the wave packet) is spread out even for a single particle or quantum of
light. The moment before it hits the detector screen, it is everywhere on the screen. At the next instant,
it collapses into a single point. This is known as the “collapse of the wave function.” The collapse is
apparently instantaneous. If these are material particles or quanta of light, they sort themselves into a
single area on the screen instantaneously.
There were many objections to this explanation, not the least of which was that it violates causality.
The wave-packet description of the two-slit experiment requires that the waves instantly collapse to a
single point, after having, a moment in time before, occupied the whole of the experiment.
Bohr and Heisenberg made noble efforts to resolve this apparent contradiction by supposing that the
wave function description of elementary particles was merely a calculation of likelihood or probability.
Since probability is only a likelihood, the collapse of the wave function is merely the result of a
measurement. And like any measurement, once it occurs, the answer is always, “Yes. That's what
happened!”
Einstein would have none of it. His famous quote, “God does not play dice!”, about the so-called
Copenhagen Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics was an indication of his objection to the probability
interpretation of the Psi-function. In his view, there was an underlying causal relation between the
elements of the experiments and their outcomes that was not represented by quantum mechanics (QM).
Yet QM is a remarkably successful theoretical method.
In a paper in response to the probability interpretation of QM, Einstein, Podolski and Rosen (EPR) tried
to show that the uncertainty relation developed by Heisenberg was flawed, and that some variations of
the single or two slit experiment would give an inroad into figuring out precisely what the momentum
and position of the particle would be. One of the thought experiments proposed to measure the
momentum transferred to the screen by the impact of the particle, This (by conservation of
momentum) would allow the particle momentum to be measured exactly, while the position would be
localized to the region within the slit. But when one took into account the uncertainty in the position of
the screen, the Heisenberg Uncertainty limit returned.
A variant of one of the thought experiments used two particles that interacted prior to the slit, and then
had one transfer its momentum to one screen while another's position was determined independently.
Again, by conservation of momentum the second particle's momentum and its position were to be
determined beyond the Heisenberg limit. Each response to EPR by Heisenberg and Bohr led EPR to a
further amplifications of the experimental apparatus. While the correspondence in the scientific
literature led many to accept the Copenhagen Interpretation and the Heisenberg Uncertainty limit,
Einstein was never able to believe the probabilistic nature of Bohr and Heisenberg's interpretation.
Yet the alternative to a probabilistic interpretation was an instantaneous collapse of a physical wave
function. This instantaneous collapse would clearly exceed the speed of light, and thus render it
�difficult to accept, since the limiting speed of the transfer of information in Special Relativity is the
velocity of light. This is one of the fundamental hypotheses of Special Relativity.
This led John Bell to a further analysis of the two slit experiment, and the theoretical development of
Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality), which has allowed many experimental test of locality, causality,
and the predictions of quantum mechanics. It appears to contradict Einstein's hopes for a “hidden
variable” theory, wherein true causality would be returned to the world. Apparently, this is not to be
realized.
�3. Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality)
Bell's work at CERN
a synopsis of Bell's inequality via entangled particles
Bell's untimely death
Henry Pierce Stapp's paper on Bell's Theorem and it's implications
three reasonable demands: locality, causality, and individuality
must abandon one of the three
best option: abandon locality
Experimental foundation:
Stern-Gerlach correlation experiments
and more recent experiments with quanta of light
Professor Carol Alley's indignation
But how does this happen? Bell's theorem is essentially a test of whether or not two particles, once
they interact, can be separated enough so that their states do not influence one another. Remarkably, it
is posed in such a way that it can be implemented as an experimental test.
Schroedinger called this phenomenon, wherein the wave function of two particles becomes joined by
their interaction, an “entanglement” of the wave functions of the particles. And you recall that all
particles have a wave function description that guides or governs their behavior.
This hypothesis bears on EPR's paper. To reiterate, if two particles interact, then the momentum of one
could be determined by inference due to measuring the momentum of the other, since the momentum of
the pair has to be conserved. At the same time, the position of the first particle, for which we inferred
the momentum, could be accurately measured for its position as long as the pair were sufficiently far
apart. Thus, the momentum and position of a particle could be measured at a precision which violated
the Heisenberg uncertainty limit. At this point, EPR could claim that the Heisenberg Uncertainty
relation was merely a practical limit, and that there was some underlying, governing relation which we
simply needed to find, some sort of “hidden variable” that really determined the evolution of the
system.
J.S. Bell was sympathetic to EPR's view. His theorem (called variously Bell's Theorem or Bell's
Inequality) was an attempt to establish whether or not EPR's hypothesis could be tested experimentally.
The experimental setup is remarkably simple, but not trivial. Two particles would be allowed to
interact, to become “entangled,” and then would separate and go off in opposite directions. After a
time, the particles would each be measured to determine their properties. As with the EPR paper, the
hypothesis that their states could no longer interact would produce one result, whereas the hypothesis
that their states were still entangled when they were measured would produce another result.
The next figure shows the results of one of the experimental tests of Bell's Theorem, in this case the
orientation of the polarization of photons measured by two separated systems. The red (straight) line
shows the limit of a “local, realistic” hypothesis, that is, that the results are uncorrelated. Any
experimental result below the diagonal red line indicates a correlation (that is, an entanglement)
between distant particles and their experimental apparatuses. Perhaps most important, the results
predicted by QM show a very close agreement with the data!
In some later experimental tests, groups have tried to estimate the speed of the transmission of the
correlations by changing slightly the timing of the setting of the measuring apparatuses. In a groundbreaking paper entitled “What is the Speed of Quantum Information,” the result of a measurement
�conducted at CERN is that the correlations happen at a velocity at least 10,000 times the speed of light
over a distance of 18 kilometers. I say “at least” because the electronics of the experimental setup
could not measure a faster correlation. So for all intents and purposes, this speed is a lower limit. The
correlations occur effectively instantaneously.
What are we to make of such results? Henry Pierce Stapp's paper, entitled “The S-Matrix Interpretation
of Quantum Theory”, provides a highly recommended discussion of Bell's Theorem, despite the
imposing title. But by way of a friendly warning, it's best to read Section X, Ontological Problems, and
Appendix B, World View, first to get a bit of orientation.
To give you some idea of Stapp's take on Bell's Theorem, I quote from his paper at a point just after he
shows a concise proof of that theorem.
A conclusion that can be drawn from this theorem is that the demands of causality, locality, and
individuality cannot be simultaneously maintained in the description of nature. Causality
demands contingent predictions; locality demands local causes of localized results; individuality
demands specification of individual results, not merely their probabilities.
For a more readable proof of the theorem, Nick Herbert's article, “Quantum Reality” and his account at
http://quantumtantra.com/bell2.html, and in N. Herbert, Am Jour Phys 43, 315 (1975) and in N.
Herbert, New Scientist 111, 41 (1986).
�Slide 6: Bell's Theorem results.
As Stapp puts it:
I can see only three ways out of the problem posed by Bell's theorem.
1. The first is to accept, with Everett, the idea that human observers are cognizant only of
individual branches of the full reality of the world: The full physical world would contain a
superposition of a myriad of interconnected physical worlds of the kind we know. An
individual observer would be personally aware of only one response of a macroscopic
measuring device, but a full account of reality would include all the other possible outcomes on
an equal footing, though perhaps with unequal “weights.”
�2. The second way out is to accept that nature is basically highly nonlocal, in the sense that
correlations exist that violently contradict – even at the macroscopic level – the usual ideas of
the space-time propagation of information. The intuitive idea of the physical distinctness of
physically well-separated macroscopic objects then becomes open to question. And the
intuitive idea of space itself is placed in jeopardy. For space is intimately connected to the
space-time relationships that are naturally expressed in terms of it. If there are, between farapart microscopic events, large instantaneous connections that do not respect spatial separation,
then the significance of space would seem to arise only from the statistical relationships that do
respect it.
3. The third way out is to deny that measurements that “could have been performed, but were
not,” would have had definite results if they had been performed. This way out seems, at first,
to be closest to the spirit of the Copenhagen interpretation. However, it seems to contradict the
idea of indeterminism, which is also an important element of the spirit of the Copenhagen
interpretation. (Henry Pierce Stapp, 1971, Physics Review D, Vol. 3, no. 6, pp 1303-1320).
Some comments are clearly in order here. The third option Stapp articulates bears remarkable
similarities to Laplace's Demon or Leibniz's God as architects of the best of all possible worlds. In that
instantiation of reality, what we choose is exactly what we will. But what we will as a predicate of our
being is completely known by the Deity and determined by it.
The first option is known as Stapp's “many-worlds” interpretation. That option is often mentioned in
the same breath as Schroedinger's Cat.
Slide 7: Picture of Schroedinger's Cat here:
In that interpretation, as Stapp says, the cat is both alive and dead in the multiply unfolding universe of
outcomes. Each point where the quantum hits the screen represents a starting point for a separate
future.
As an interesting aside, we have some hopes of conducting Bell's Theorem type experiments here at St.
John's in a room in the basement appropriately called the Quantum Lab. But of course, no cats will be
allowed therein.
Most people find the second option, non-locality, most “appealing,” if that is the right phrase.
�In the case of the first experimental measurements, conducted with two low-energy neutrons colliding;
then recoiling down separate arms of a vacuum line; and finally having their angular momenta
determined by a Stern-Gerlach apparatus (I will spare you the details), there were (some thirty or forty
years ago) five measurements, four of which agreed with Bell's inequality. Since then, all of the
experimental tests of Bell's theorem have confirmed it.
To emphasize how surprising this has been, I recall a conversation I had with Professor Carol Alley at
the University of Maryland when I was a graduate student there. He is a famous experimental
physicist, one who used a laser to measure the distance to the Moon from a site near Goddard Space
Flight Center during one of the Apollo Lunar Landing missions. As we talked about Bell's theorem,
and it's apparent experimental corroboration, standing in the hallway in the Physics Building at the
University of Maryland, he was clearly quite perplexed that there was any corroboration of the
inequality. As we spoke, his voice was getting louder and louder. Finally, I said to him, “Professor
Alley, you realize that you are shouting at me?” He laughed and said, “Well, it's certainly not you that
I'm shouting at, Jim. It's the idea of this result!”
Left with the options Stapp articulated, which would you abandon: causality, locality, or individuality.
You cannot have all three! Most people, faced with these options, give up locality.
4. Like shadows on a Cave Wall: Leibniz's ideas of “space” as a kind of answer to the problem
of non-locality
It is time to recall one of the things I am attempting in this lecture: to use Leibniz's conceptions of
space and time in the Monadology as a metaphysical foundation for the idea of no-locality in quantum
mechanics.
Let us reiterate the properties of monads. Monads are singular. That is, they have many properties, but
no parts. They have no windows. All their impressions and reflections of the Cosmos come through
their reflection and articulation of the Deity, which they represent in a small part.
Finally, it is likely, based on the experimental results of Bell's Theorem, that our intuitions of space and
time are far removed from the way the Universe actually is.
5. Concluding remarks
The coherence of mind - The Emporer's New Mind: Roger Penrose on the unity of cognition
The commonality of experience
The problem and promise of entanglement
I conclude this lecture with two principal points and some speculations.
First, it was many years ago that Roger Penrose in a book called The Emporer's New Mind, tried to
explain the coherence of mind by the physical effects of non-locality on a relatively small scale – the
electrochemical and quantum mechanical processes in the human brain (cats, also, most likely, since
Penrose is fond of cats). This coherence would require entanglement of the prior physical states of
these electrochemical wave fronts, but this does not seem terribly surprising.
Second, entanglement does not depend simply or perhaps even necessarily on proximity. At a fairly
formal level, entanglement depends on interaction. The entanglement of cognitive processes with the
�experiential world might be sufficient to explain the commonality of experience, a term which I coin
here in this essay, especially given that the correlations persist over manifestly macroscopic differences.
This bears, quite generally, on our ideas of culture, also. As an example, think of how easy or difficult
it can be to change ones entire conception of the world via a single conversation. I thank Mr. William
Braithwaite for the suggestion.
The concept of non-locality thus articulated can extend far beyond the possibility of common
experience to the possibility of kindredness with our common weal. We might not, actually, be
separate spheres, hoping to connect, hoping to touch and know the World. Like shadows on a Cave
Wall, both we as individuals and the rest of the sensible world could actually be sprung from a common
light.
Finally, and this is a bit more speculative, but hardly original, the entire evolution of the history of the
Cosmos has involved some pretty heavy entanglement. We now call it the Big Bang.
This brings us to a further point regarding Leibniz's Deity. God might not have simply said, “Let there
be Light.” God might have actually been that light.
Thank you.
Jim Beall
St. John's College
Annapolis
December 4th, 2015
�
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Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-Locality in Quantum Mechanics
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on December 4, 2015, by James Beall as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von, 1646-1716
Quantum theory
Bell's theorem
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Nietzsche contra Wagner, Wagner contra Nietzsche
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered by Karol Berger on February 15, 2019 as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Towards "a new birth of freedom" - Tragedy and comedy, 1786 Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The marriage of Figaro.
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 17, 2004 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Berns, Gisela N.
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Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805. Don Carlos
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Nozze di Figaro.
Tragedy
Comedy
Friday night lecture
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Towards "a new birth of freedom" --Tragedy and Comedy, 1786:
Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro
Gisela Berns
St. John's College, Annapolis
To the memory of Oskar Seidlin
The year is 1786. In Annapolis, delegates from different states, among them
James Madison from Virginia and Alexander Hamilton from New York, convene to
discuss matters of commerce under the Articles of Confederation, with the possibility for
h
larger issues left open. Like the rehearsal for the performance of a great play, what _ as
come to be called the Annapolis Convention concludes with a recommendation for a
Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia the following year (Morris, 161-9; Kammen,
19-22). Conscious of the enormity of the task before the Founding Fathers, Madison, in
Federalist 14, asks:
Is it not the glory of the people of America, that, whilst they have paid a decent regard to
the opinions of former times and other nations, they have not suffered a blind veneration
for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to overrule the suggestions of their own good
sense, the knowledge of their own situation, and the lessons of their own experience? To
this manly spirit, posterity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the
example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the American theatre, in favor of
private rights and public happiness.
In the same spirit, Friedrich Schiller, in his Prologue to Wallenstein, speaks of the
struggle for freedom at the end of the century as a time where "actuality itself becomes
poetry" and "art, upon its shadow stage I May strive for higher flight, indeed it must, I Or
yield in shame before the stage oflife" (WP, 61-9). That these lines, from 1798, have in
mind not only the French Revolution, of which Schiller, in 1792, had been made an
honorary citizen, but also the American Revolution, is clear from two interesting facts:
one, to this day a large lithograph of the Battle of Bunker Hill hangs at the entry to
l
�Schiller's study in Weimar. The other, in a letter of 1783, possibly meant to confuse the
authorities, Schiller toys with the idea of emigrating to America. Undecided whether,
once there, he would practice medicine, get involved in politics, or teach philosophy, he
concludes: "But tragedies, for that matter, I shall never cease to write - you know my
whole being hangs on it" (To Lempp, June 19, 1783).
Living in political exile, under the constant threat of persecution for his
revolutionary ideas, Schiller, in 1783, turns from the stormy prose of his earlier plays to
the noble iambic pentameters of a dramatic poem in grand style, the tragedy of Don
Carlos. In tune with the political events of the New World, the completion of Schiller's
pan Carlos coincides with the Annapolis Convention of 1786, its first performance in
.
\
Hamburg with the Philadelphia Convention of 1787. (An added nice touch: On this date,
September 17, 1787, the Convention came to agree on the new Constitution to be sent to
the States for ratification) (Farrand, 641-9).
*
*
*
Set in the historical world of 16th century Spain, under the iron hand of the
Inquisition, Schiller's Don Carlos presents the clash of two worlds, the world of Philipp
II, despotic ruler over a vast empire, and the world of Don Carlos, his heart aglow with
the dream of liberating mankind from such unnatural rule. Serving the King's world,
Count Lerma represents the court, Duke Alba the military, Domingo the church. The
inspirat)on for the Prince's world, Marquis Posa, his childhood friend, emerges as the
mastermind behind an intricate plot, using all major characters of the play in his grand
cosmopolitan scheme for the creation of a new paradise on earth. Not a historical figure,
Marquis Posa, in the play a knight of Malta, might have been modeled on the Marquis de
Lafayette, in 1776 fighting for the Independence of the United States of America
(Dokumente, 121). Spanning the years between the two friends, Schiller, at the outset of
2
�the play, was more Carlos's, at its completion more Posa's age. In the Prince's appeal to
his father for the command of the army to Flanders: "23 years, I And nothing done for
immortality!" (DC II, 2, 1148-9). Heinrich Heine, in his
T~e
Romantic School, fills out
the picture by speaking of Schiller as "himself that Marquis Posa, who is, at the same
time, prophet and soldier, who fights for what he prophecies, and, under the Spanish
cloak, carries the most beautiful heart that ever loved and suffered in Germany" (Heine,
148). Vowing to use the "portrayal of the Inquisition" to "avenge prostituted mankind"
and "strike to the soul of a type of man the dagger of tragedy, so far, has only grazed"
(Dokumente, 134), Schiller begins and ends his Don Carlos with the title hero in conflict
with the religious authority, at the beginning with Domingo, the King's confessor, to be
present at every tum of the dramatic action, at the end with the Grand Inquisitor, blind to
all human feeling and demanding the death of the King's son in the name of the sacrifice
of God's only son on the cross. (Due to the censorship of Schiller's own time, both the
Grand Inquisitor and Domingo had to be omitted in some of the early performances of
Don Carlos) (Dokumente, 158-63).
One character to heighten the tension between the play's two worlds is Elizabeth
of Valois, the King's young Queen. Once betrothed to Don Carlos and in her heart still
his, she also shares his political dreams and sympathizes with Marquis Posa's plans for
him.
To complicate matters, the King has his eye on Princess Ebo Ii, one of the Queen's
Ladies in Waiting. She, however, is secretly in love with the Prince. Unbeknownst to
Philipp, Domingo, his solicitor, and Alba, his henchman, use the King's love affair to
further their own political ends.
*
*
*
In a discussion of different genres of poetry, Schiller, in his On Naive and
3
�Sentimental Poetry, considers the characteristics of tragedy and comedy and their
relationship to each other. Of the opinion that, in tragedy, a great deal of interest is
created simply by the subject matter that, in comedy, has to be supplied by the art of the
.
.
poet, Schiller reflects:
Not the sphere from which the subject matter is taken, but the forum before which the
poet brings it, makes the same tragic or comic. The tragic poet must beware of calm
reasoning and always interest the heart. The comic poet must beware of pathos and
always entertain the mind. ... If tragedy, therefore, takes off from a more significant
point, one has to concede that comedy heads for a more significant goal and, if it ever
were to reach it, would make all tragedy superfluous and impossible. Its goal is one with
the highest man strives for, to be free of passion, always to look about and into himself
clearly and calmly, to find everywhere more chance than fate and to laugh more about
absurdity than to rage or weep about malice (Schiller, V, 724-6).
*
*
*·
With a comparable constellation of characters, but the one clearly a tragedy, the
other, at least on the face of it, a comedy, Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's
The Marriage of Figaro, both completed in 1786,
in~ite
a closer look at the differences
between them.
Both set in Spain, but Don Carlos in the 16th, The Marriage of Figaro in the 18th
century, Schiller's historical tragedy, affecting the life of mankind as a whole, takes place
at the court of Philipp II, Mozart's comic opera, affecting but a few individual lives, at the
castle of Count Almaviva. Thus, the difference in atmosphere, Don Carlos remote and
grand, The Marriage of Figaro contemporary and intimate, contributes to the one being a
tragedy, the other a comedy. Against the background of these differences of time and
space, the comparability of the two sets of characters appears even more striking. King
Philipp and his Queen have their counterparts in Count Almaviva and his Countess,
Carlos, the young prince, in Cherubino, the young page, Marquis Posa, the political
mastermind, in Figaro, the domestic mastermind, Princess Eboli; the King's favorite, in
4
�Susanna, the Count's favorite, Count Lerma, the court councilor, in Bartolo, the lawyer,
Duke Alba, the defender of the realm, in Antonio, the gardener, and last but not least,
Domingo, the King's confessor, in Basilio, the priest masquerading as the Count's music
master. The only figure in Don Carlos with no counterpart in The Marriage of Figaro is
the Grand Inquisitor.
Given the difference between tragedy and comedy, what this list suggests is
outrageous! How could one ever compare these two sets of dramatic characters? Yet,
that is exactly what I intend to do in this lecture. The result, I hope, will be a deeper
understanding of both tragedy and comedy.
*
*
*
A clue to both Don Carlos and The Marriage ofFigaro, their opening scenes
contain already the whole plot to unfold in the rest of each work. Highlighting its title,
Schiller's Don Carlos, opening in the royal gardens at Aranjuez, presents the title hero in
conversation with Domingo. In his unsuccessful attempt to pry into the Prince's thoughts,
the priest touches on Carlos's troubled relationships with his father, with his new mother,
and with the political world around him. The scene ends with Carlos's dire premonition
of doom and the role of "suspicion's venomed serpent sting" (I, 1, 122-7) in bringing it
about. Highlighting its title, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, opening in a room
between the Count and the Countess's apartments, presents the title hero with Susanna,
the couple to be married, in a lively duet, each singing in the same key, but Figaro's
music more plodding, accompanying his measuriilg the space for their bed, Susanna's
music more fluid, accompanying her showing off her wedding cap. A delightful school
for marriage, this duet, after an orchestral introduction of equal eight measures for both
Figaro and Susanna, has Figaro sing twelve, Susanna only six measures. Trying to get
Figaro's attention, Susanna starts singing his music, but at her speed, only to move him to
5
�switch over to her music. Like in a good marriage, they end up complementing each
other in a merry medley of parallel, oblique, and contrary motion, and yes, they do sing
her music. Even so, there are obstacles. The Count, intent.on seducing Susanna,
Marcellina, Bartolo's old servant, intent on holding Figaro to a marriage contract for his
unpaid debts.
While the opening duet was in G Major, the opera's key of marriage (I, 1), the
duet spelling out the obstacles is in B-flat Major, its key of intrigue (I, 2). In order to get
from G Major to B-flat Major one has to darken G Major tog minor, its parallel minor,
and then to brighten g minor to B-flat Major, its relative Major. The first operation keeps
the tonal center, but changes the key signature, the second operation keeps the key
signature, but changes the tonal center. The intricate musical path from G Major to B-flat
Major, one of the most frequent moves in this opera, points to the weight of the obstacles
to be overcome. Like Schiller's opening of Don Carlos, Mozart's opening of The
Marriage of Figaro ends on a note of warning about the venom of suspicion.
*
*
*
Our glimpse of the intricacies of Mozart's opening duet invites a moment of
reflection on the difference between opera and drama due to the element of music. More
stylized than drama, opera enriches the spoken word by multiple layers of meaning
through the musical elements of melody, counterpoint, and harmony. Within these,
different articulations of time and space, that is, different rhythms, working with or
against different meters, provide added insights into dramatic characters and situations.
Consonance and dissonance, used in various combinations, are powerful means for
underscoring dramatic tension and resolution. The correlation of dramatic themes with
musical keys, separated from and connected with each other through the circle of fifths,
allows for interesting cross-references not only between different dramatic characters, but
6
�Key to the Keys in
Mozart's TheMarriageofFigaro
The opera's overall key is D-Major
�also between different dramatic moments in the operatic plot. The Major or minor mode,
either dominating a whole scene or the one marking critical points within the context of
the other, throw light or shadow over the opera's musical
l~ndscape.
As befits a comic opera, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro is mostly in Major.
The two pieces in minor, the openings to acts three and four, are tinged with comic irony
and thus belie their dark shadows. The opening of act three, at the same time the opening
of the second half of the opera, overlays one line in minor with another in its relative
Major, only to let its parallel Major win out for both lines. We shall come back to the
details of this at a later stage.
*
*
*
Before embarking on the comparison between Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's
The Marriage ofFigaro, a word ought to be said about Beaumarchais's play of the same
. title. A sequel to his The Barber ofSeville, Beaumarchais's The Marriage ofFigaro
provides the opera's dramatic plot. First performed in 1784, the play is a highly charged
attack on the social and political mores of the day. Even more aggressive than Schiller's
vow to "avenge prostituted mankind" and "strike to the soul of a type of man the dagger
of tragedy, so far, has only grazed", Beaumarchais's Preface speaks of the theater as "a
giant that wounds to the death all it strikes." Seeing the vices of human nature disguised
"in a thousand forms under the mask of the ruling mores", he asserts: "to rip off this mask
and show them naked, that is the noble task of the man who devotes himself to the
theater". Labeling his The Marriage ofFigaro as "more infamous and more seditious"
than his The Barber ofSeville, Beaumarchais, sarcastically, exclaims: "Oh, how I regret
-
not having made this moral subject into a rather bloody tragedy" (Beaumarchais, 27, 28,
30).
7
�*
*
*
The difference between Beaumarchais's play and M_ozart's opera is, however, not
only due to the element of music. Lorenzo Da Ponte, Mozart's librettist, certainly follows
the play's main line, but changes its tone from a highly political to a deeply personal one.
Personal thoughts and feelings, brought to the fore by omissions, additions, or simply
alterations of style, create an atmosphere where the characters' expression of themselves
is at least, if not more, important than their dramatic interaction.
With a rather checkered career, from ordained priest in the Veneto, to Court poet
in Vienna, to teacher ofltalian language and literature at Columbia College in New York,
Da Ponte, as librettist of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, adds a nice touch by poking
fun at himself in the figure of Basilio, always played in clerical garb, but with the role of
music master at the castle of Count Alma viva.
*
*
*
To pick up the thread back into our comparison, let us remember that Schiller's
Don Carlos presents us with the conflict between centuries, portrayed in Philipp II and
Marquis Posa, Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro with the conflict between classes,
portrayed in Count Almaviva and Figaro. In the one we are given the political goal of
liberating mankind from the oppressive rule of a mighty monarchy under the iron hand of
the Inquisition, in the other the personal goal of pursuing a marriage without the
interference of a lecherous aristocrat bored with his wife. The one stuff for tragedy, the
other stuff for comedy. A note at the outset: since there are five acts of Schiller's Don
Carlos to be compared with four acts of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, it seems more
fruitful to go back and forth between comparable clusters of scenes rather than to adhere
strictly to the more formal boundary of acts.
8
�Even though both works start early in the morning and end late at night, Don
Carlos starts in a garden and ends in a closed room, The Marriage of Figaro starts in a
closed room and ends in a garden. Implicit in the theme of the garden is, of course, the
story of the Garden of Eden. Imbued with the awareness of Good and Evil, and the selfknowledge arising from it, the theme of forgiveness, in Don Carlos finally denied, in The
Marriage of Figaro finally granted, is a powerful and moving reminder of that story.
A latter day Garden of Eden, complete with the fall of man and God appearing in
judgment, the royal gardens at Aranjuez, reminding the Queen of her native France (I, 3),
. become the setting for a passionate rendezvous with Don Carlos. Not willing to accept
the fate of having lost her to his father, he falls at her feet: "Let them, from here, come
drag me to the scaffold! I One moment, fully lived in paradise I ls not atoned too dearly
for with death" (I, 5, 638-40). The King, arriving shortly thereafter, finds the Queen
alone, without her Ladies in Waiting. Bearing out Carlos's earlier warning about
"suspicion's venomed serpent sting" (I, 1), Philipp, in the presence of his courtiers,
questions his wife's virtue. Alba's staunch: "Like God's own cherub before paradise I
Duke Alba stands before the royal throne" (I, 6, 879-80) only aggravates the emotional
tension of the scene.
Having been caught with Barbarina, the gardener's daughter, Cherubino, the "little
cherub", stumbles in on Susanna to ask the Countess to intercede for him with the
angered Count (I, 6). Flustered by Susanna's presence, the young page, in E-flat Major,
the opera's key of unhappy love, gives voice to the first stirrings of his heart. Aflutter for
all women, he confesses speaking of his love to nature, to the mountains, to the meadows,
to the winds, and finally to himself. Compared to the unhappy rendezvous between Don
Carlos and the Queen, past, present, and future weighing heavily on their hearts, and
presaging tragedy for both of them, this charming interlude between Cherubino and
Susanna is the more charming, as the Countess is not there and, therefore, there are no
constraints on the boy's outpouring of feelings. The transfiguration from Beaumarchais's
9
�prose text to Da Ponte's rhyming verse pulsates with shimmering light in Mozart's
music: the breathless first stanza (the experience oflove) repeated after the second stanza,
climaxing on the word "desire", and the third stanza (the experience of love taken out to
nature and back to the self) trailing off dreamily.
A farcical version of the King's coming upon his wife, with Don Carlos fled from
the scene only minutes before, the Count's coming upon his wife's chamber maid, with
Cherubino taking refuge behind a chair, leads to a series of hilarious moments:
Interrupted in his amorous advances to Susanna by the arrival of Basilio (the nominal
"King" of the place), the Count has to hide behind that same infamous chair, with the
young page barely able to jump into it from behind, the Countess's gown spread there
coming in handy as protective cover. Roused from his hiding place by Basilio's
suspicions about Cherubino and the Countess, the Count, in a dramatic B-flat Major, the
opera's key of intrigue, calls for the boy's dismissal from the castle (II, 7). The
subsequent discovery of Cherubino in the chair, and the Count's realization that the "little
serpent" (p. 96) must have overheard his courting of Susanna, make him convert the boy's
dismissal into a pardon to join the army.
All fired up by Marquis Posa's grand plans for him, Don Carlos vows to ask his
father for the
comm~nd
of the army to Flanders (I, 9). Like a parody of this solemn
scene, both at the end of act I, Figaro's send-off-march for Cherubino, in C-Major, the
opera's key of resolve, makes mockery of the page turned soldier against his will. The
irony is that neither Don Carlos nor Cherubino ever reach their destination. Don Carlos,
because Philipp, suspicious of his motives, denies the Prince's request, Cherubino ,
because Figaro, teeming with intrigue, means for the page, dressed up as Susanna, to go
to a rendezvous with the Count in her stead.
*
*
*
10
�After his unsuccessful audience with the King (II, 2) the Prince follows a secret
invitation to what he mistakes for the Queen's apartment. A counterpoint to his meeting
with the Queen, in the royal gardens, this meeting with Princess Eboli, in the royal palace
(II, 8), comes close to an expulsion from paradise. Believing Carlos to be in love with
herself, the Princess tries to elicit a confession from him, only to have him own his secret
love for another. Disappointed in Carlos's love, and an object of Philipp's lust, Princess
Eboli confides in Domingo, the King's solicitor with her (II, 11 ). The plan hatched
between the two of them, with Duke Alba in the wings, is for her to break into the
Queen's jewelry box in the hope of finding letters there from the Prince (II, 12).
Like a release of the Queen's unspoken sorrow, in act I of Schiller's Don Carlos
(I, 3-4), the Countess's first aria, in act II of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro (II, 10),
strikes a tragic note. Echoing Cherubino's E-flat Major, the Countess calls on the god of
love to restore her loss or to let her die. The orchestral accompaniment's constant
slipping in and out of harmony with her tune painfully expresses the vulnerability of her
feelings.
In his earlier attempt to see the Countess Cherubino had entrusted Susanna with a
canzonetta of his (I, 6). In contrast to the young prince who stumbl.es from one tragic
encounter, with the Queen, to another, with Princess Eboli, the young page, trembling but
happy, gets to sing his canzonetta before the Countess (II, 11). That he is here to be
dressed up in Susanna's clothes to go to a rendezvous with the Count --this brainchild of
Figaro's, of course, taking place in G Major (II, 12)-- will make for uncomfortable, but
also rather comical moments. Like a come-down from tragedy to comedy, Susanna
accompanying Cherubino on the guitar is a comical version of Princess Eboli
accompanying herself on the lute awaiting Don Carlos. A far cry from the hopeless,
wavering harmonies of the Countess's aria, Susanna's playful upward figures on the guitar
fully support the boy's melody. Now part of an intrigue, however innocent, Cherubino's
encomium on the painful bliss of love, is in B-flat Major, the dominant not only of his,
11
�but also the Countess's (II, 10) first aria. Listening to Cherubino's lovely song, the
Countess is lost in her memories of the young Count, from their early days of courtship.
Like the King's appearance in the royal gardens, with Don Carlos barely fled from
the scene (I, 5), the Count's arrival at his wife's locked door, with Cherubino barely
escaped into a closet, unleashes a storm of suspicions (II, 13). Singing in C Major, G
Major, and back to C Major (with Susanna's counterpoint from the sidelines), husband
and wife engage in a battle of wills over the opening of the closet, the Countess
protesting Susanna, the Count suspecting the Countess's lover to hide there. The flare up
of temper is the more ludicrous as the Count, not too long ago, had found himself in the
same compromising situation as Cherubino now (I, 7).
The Count's idea of leaving the room, to fetch some tools for breaking into his
wife's closet, but relocking the doors against any escape, gives Susanna and Cherubino a
· few precious minutes to find a way out. With more than one marriage at stake, their
frantic little duet is sung in a hilariously funny G Major (II, 14). Instead of Don Carlos
fleeing out of the garden, leaving footprints and losing his handkerchief, noticed by the
gardener and later reported back to the King by Duke Alba (III, 3), Cherubino, ready to
jump even into the fire to save the Countess, finally jumps from the balcony into the
garden. A fall indeed, but a fall to undo the Fall!
A follow-up on the King appearing in the gardens of Aranjuez, the confrontation
between Philipp and Elizabeth, coming to demand justice for the break into her jewelry
box and the removal of letters and a medallion of the Prince, ends with her finding them
in the King's possession and, after a deadly argument over her rights, swooning and
bloodying herself in the fall (IV, 9).
Very much in the same vein as these scenes from act IV of Schiller's Don Carlos,
the Finale of act II of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro (II, 15), echoing some of the
more menacing strains of the Overture, moves at a high pitch of emotions. With a
noticeable exchange of F Major for G Major, it progresses from E-flat Major (unhappy
12
�love) to B-flatMajor (intrigue) to G Major (marriage) and via C Major (resolve) through
F Major (standing one's ground) to B-flat Major (intrigue) and back to E-flat Major
(unhappy love). As if modeled on the tense altercation between King and Queen:
King: Then blood may flow for all I care -Queen: So far it's come -- oh God!
King:
I know
Myself no more, no longer pay
Respect to custom and the voice
Of nature and the pacts of nations (IV, 9, 3785-9),
the Count, with his sword drawn, is ready to kill the page hiding in his wife's closet.
Demanding the key for it, he threatens the Countess with expulsion from his house. To
an insistent call of horns in the background, the opening of the closet door, revealing
Susanna, throws not only the Count, but also the Countess into confusion.
Shifting from E-flat Major to B-flat Major, this second stage of the Finale brings
the Count down on his knees, asking for his wife's forgiveness. A more genuine version
than his earlier pardon for Cherubino, the Count's confession of guilt, over an altered
seventh chord on E-natural, containing G-flat, giving way to his expression of
repentance, over a plain seventh chord on E-natural, containing G (mm. 303-6, p. 187),
dramatically prepares for the arrival of Figaro and the musicians to play for his wedding
with Susanna. With the move heard most often in this opera, back and forth, Figaro's
arrival, once more, turns the music scene from B-flat Major to G Major.
Taken to task for his anonymous letter about the Count's upcoming rendezvous,
Figaro, echoing his own music from the opening duet with Susanna, but now in a pivotal
C Major, deftly avoids the issue by pointing to the theater practice of ending a farce with
a wedding. The sublime trio of Figaro, Susanna, and the Countess, begging the Count to
fulfill their wishes, is undercut by his counterpoint, calling for Marcellina to insist on her
marriage contract from Figaro.
To make matters worse, the gardener, showing up with a crushed flower pot,
13
�bitterly complains about the fall of a man from the balcony. To save the day, Figaro,
exchanging F Major for G Major, claims to have jumped from there himself and, in the
fall, musically expressed by a painful chromatic descent, to have sprained his ankle. An
ironic reminder of Figaro's earlier F Major stunt (I, 3), offering to teach his master to
dance, the Count cries out: "Enough of this dance!" (mm. 581-2, p. 211).
Yet, like Don Carlos, fleeing out of the garden, Cherubino, falling into the garden,
had lost something. Now in B-flat Major, Figaro, with a bit of help from the women,
identifies the papers found in the garden, as Cherubino's commission still in need of the
official seal.
Returning, once more, to E-flat Major, the Finale comes to a furious climax, with
Marcellina, Bartolo, and Basilio joining the Count in his opposition to Figaro, Susanna,
and the Countess, over the contested marriage contract between Marcellina and Figaro.
Providing no way out, on either side, the first half of the opera ends with all the voices in
unison on E-flat, and all the instruments, except for the flute and the clarinet, on E-flat or
G. The flute and the clarinet, with their B-flat, the dominant of E-flat, seem rather weak
over and against the clamor of all the others on E-flat and G. Translated from the musical
into the moral language of the opera: "Intrigue", however dominant throughout, is likely
to get lost in the final struggle of "unhappy love" for the fulfillment of "marriage".
*
*
*
Bearing out Schiller's claim that the tragedy of Don Carlos would have to tum on "the
situation and the character of King Philipp" (Dokumente, 142), the King, after the
judgment of his wife in the royal gardens (I, 6) and the rejection of his son in the royal
palace (II, 2), more and more emerges as a tragic figure. An older Carlos , warped in the
harsh school of political life, he feels exploited by schemers like Alba and Domingo (II,
10-13; III, 3-4). Appealing to Providence for a human being, for a friend that would give
14
�him truth, Philipp, in the center of act III, which, at the same time, is the center of the
play as a whole, comes upon the name of Marquis Posa, specially noted for his services
to the crown (III, 5).
In a riveting sequence of scenes, Medina Sidonia, the admiral returning from the
loss of the Armada, is shunned by all the courtiers except Don Carlos (III, 6). The King's
entry, ignoring his son, but after a long silence, pardoning the admiral with: "God is over
me -- I've sent you I To contend with men, not storms and rocks -- I You're welcome in
Madrid" (III, 7, 2878-81 ), presents us with a moving answer to his own appeal. A variant
to his earlier rejection of Don Carlos, asking for the command of the army to Flanders:
"You speak like one within a dream. This office I Requires a man and not a youth -- "
countered by the Prince's: "Requires merely a human being, father" (II, 2, 1174-6),
Philipp's overlooking his son who, together with himself, seems to be the only human
being in the room (III, 7), constitutes the tragic core of the play.
Farthest from their conscious mind: "You see two hostile stars that through I The
course of time do touch but once I In shattering head-on collision I And then forever flee
apart" (I, 2, 541-5), this kinship between father and son, nevertheless, shows itself in
many ways. Both Philipp and Carlos lay claim not only to the love of the same woman,
but also to the friendship of the same man. Throughout the play, in crucial moments of
decision or recognition, they both use the same characteristic formulations.
Called to a special audience with Philipp, Marquis Posa, envisioning himself as
sculptor to impart life to the rough stone, reflects on the opportunity of using the King for
his own political purposes (III, 9). With Philipp as strangely impressionable listener, the
Knight paints a picture of mankind, free from oppression and ready to govern itself:
"Man, sure, is more than you supposed. I The bonds of his long slumber he shall break I
And once again demand his holy right." (III, 10, 3186-8). Despite the revolutionary tone
of Posa's political panegyric, the King is captured by the spectacle of a man who
fearlessly speaks his mind. That, in the end, he will insist on employing him as spy for
15
�both the Queen and the Prince is sad proof of an inhuman world under the iron hand of
the Inquisition (III, 10).
With his eyes on the future of mankind, and his own role in bringing it about,
Marquis Posa, losing sight of the present, plays a dangerous game. Using Don Carlos
and the Queen, but also, unbeknownst to them, the King, as pawns in his grand plan for
the liberation of Flanders, the Knight betrays his own ideals (IV, 3-6; 12-13). On his first
introduction, the Queen had welcomed him with:
Many courts
You've come to in your travels, chevalier,
And many countries and men's customs you
Have seen -- and now, they say, you have a mind
Within your fatherland to .settle for yourself,
A greater prince in your own quiet walls
Than is King Philipp on his throne -- a free man,
A philosopher!" (I, 4, 512-9).
True to the first part, the invocation of Homer's Odyssey (Od. I, 1-3, (Berns, Greek
Antiquity, 21 and 115, note 4), but not to the second, the closing myth of Plato's Republic
(Rep. X, 620c-d), Posa's cosmopolitan moves smack of the idealist who, for the sake of
his cause, turns fanatic and ruthlessly tramples over lives (Schiller, Briefe iiber Don
Carlos; Seidlin, 34-40).
Acting like a god, accountable to no one but himself, Posa, now the King's trusted
minister, shares his plans neither with the Prince (IV, 6) nor fully with the Queen (IV, 3).
In his growing desperation, Carlos confides in Princess Eboli and, in the act of asking her
for access to the Queen (IV, 15), is arrested by the Knight himself (IV, 16). Confronted
with the choice of killing Eboli or sacrificing himself, Posa, after a moment's hesitation,
chooses the latter (IV, 17).
In his farewell to the Queen (IV, 21 ), he counters her "I fear you play a risky
game" with "I've lost it... I've lost it for myself1' (IV, 21, 4213-7). A tell-tale sign of the
difference between the two friends, Carlos, on hearing of Posa's influence with the King,
16
�had uttered: "Now I have lost him ... I have I Lost him. Oh! Now I am all forsaken" (IV,
13, 3973, 3977-8). His mournful: "He loved me, loved me dearly ... That I I know. Yet
should not millions, should I The fatherland not be more dear to him than one?" (IV, 13,
3963-8) will resurface in Philipp's reaction to Posa's betrayal of himself: "I've loved him,
loved him dearly ... like a son .. .This youth I For me brought up a new, more glorious
morning ... I He was my first, my very first love .. ." (V, 9, 5048-52).
Planning for the Prince to escape that very night, Posa, in his farewell to the
Queen, entrusts her with his legacy for him. With more and more overtones from the
Passion of Christ, he describes his vision of a future paradise on earth, a world worthy to
have died for. The Queen's rejoinder: "No! No! I You threw yourself into this deed I You
call sublime ... A thousand hearts I May break, but what is that to you, as long I As you
may feed your pride?" (IV, 21, 4379-87) leaves him utterly stunned. Too late, his last
words to her: "My Queen! -- Oh God! but life is beautiful" (IV, 21, 4393-4) throw a new,
richer light into the soul of this stem idealist.
Hoping to confound the King, long enough for Carlos to escape, Posa had written
to William of Orange, confessing his love for the Queen and his fear of being discovered
before he could get away to Brussels (V, 3, 4672-96). Well aware of the King's order to
intercept all letters to Flanders (II, 15, 2465-8), he had counted on Philipp's belief in the
villainy of human nature (V, 3, 4676-8). What he did not know, however, is the King's
reaction. As if in answer to Carlos's earlier: "Oh, force those eyes I That never yet shed
tears, to learn to do so, I While you still have time, or else -- or else I You may need to
make up for it in some I Dark hour to come" (II, 2, 1080-3, MacDonald, 337), Philipp, on
learning of Posa's betrayal, is said to have wept (IV, 23). This scene, in perfect symmetry
to Carlos's warning, is the more breathtaking, as it is witnessed but from outside the
closed doors of the King's chamber. The stupor of the courtiers assembled there, is
broken by Princess Eboli, rushing in, demanding to tell the King the truth about the
Prince's letters (IV, 24). With Alba and Domingo gaining the upper hand, however, the
17
�truth comes too late.
*
*
*
Compared to the tragic figure of the King, in Schiller's Don Carlos, the figure of
the Count, in Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, is no more than a comic braggadocio.
While Philipp's affair with Princess Eboli remains off-stage, in the hands of Domingo (II,
10-13), the Count, taking things out of Basilio's hands, courts Susanna more and more
openly (I, 2, rec., pp. 38-40; 6, rec., pp. 76-77; III, sc. 2, pp. 249-50; 16, rec., p. 257). In
striking contrast to Figaro and Susanna's G Major duet, at the beginning of the opera (I,
1), the duet between the Count and Susanna, at the beginning of the opera's second half
(III, 16), overlays the Count's a minor with Susanna's C Major, both using the same key
signature, but different tonal centers. A rare event in this opera, the Count's minor,
already undercut by Susanna's Major, is openly contradicted by her text, however much it
rhymes with his. Their final agreement on a rendezvous, in a triumphant A Major, the
opera's key of selfish passion, uses the Count's tonal center, but a new key signature for
both of them. To make matters worse, it is further compromised by Susanna's utterly
. confusing "Yes!" and "No!" answers to the Count's arixious questions.
Reminiscent of Philipp, brooding over suspicions, roused by the Prince's letters
(III, 1-4; 1O; IV, 7-10), Alma viva, by himself, vents his innermost feelings (III, 17).
Singing in D Major, the key ofrevenge, but also the overall key of the opera, the Count,
in a stormy recitative and aria, echoing the more majestic strains of the Overture, rages
about the audacity of his servant, up-staging him in a conquest of love. A match for each
other, his fury recalls Figaro's earlier posturing in F Major, the opera's key of standing
one's ground. Professing a more playful art form than Posa who, in anticipation of his
audience with the King (III, 10), had envisioned himself as sculptor, imparting life to the
rough stone (III, 9), Figaro, reacting to Susanna's news about the Count's intentions, had
18
�vowed to teach his master to dance to his music (I, 3). Unlike Posa's visionary plan for
rebellion (IV, 3), Figaro's fancy of overturning all machines by using the art of "punching
here and teasing there" sounds like fun as well.
A farcical variant to Philipp's distraught remark about Count Lerma, the old court
councilor, likely to find his wife in his son's embrace (III, 2, 2518-44 ), Figaro's discovery
of Bartolo and Marcellina, the old councilor and his former servant, to be his parents (III,
sc. 5, pp. 271-2; 18) barely avoids the fate of Oedipus and gives rise to an incredulous
merry-go-round with the terms "mother" and "father" throughout the different voice
ranges (III, 18). The sextet, like Figaro's earlier and Susanna's later arias, in F Major,
clears the way not only for the marriage of the young, but also of the old couple. Much
toned down from Beaumarchais's play, where Marcellina's bitter harangue over men's
exploitation of women still meets with Bartolo's sarcasms, Mozart's opera, even though in
g minor, falling short of G Major, brings the case to a more or less satisfactory conclusion
(p. 295). One by one protesting their happiness, the scene ends with a flourish of
dissonances gloating over the Count's defeat (mm. 17-9, p. 296).
Apprised of the Count's offer of a dowry for Susanna's favors, the Countess, once
more, laments the loss of her love (III, 19). Transcending her earlier E-flat Major, the
opera's key of unhappy love (II, 10), to C Major, its key of resolve, this beautiful aria, at
first, C Major encompassing a core of emotions moving from g minor to G Major,
reminisces about the past. But, unlike the Queen, who, in her rendezvous with the
Prince, had evaded his insistent questions concerning her love (I, 5, 712-20), the
Countess, in the final part of the aria, trusts her hope in the future. A reflection of the
Count's a minor overlaid by Susanna's C Major (III, 16), the Countess, after an initial
wavering between C Major and c minor, on the words "to change the ungrateful heart",
twice overshoots her C Major triad, landing on A, only to cadence with that triad, the A
yielding to the dominant G, and finally, on the word "heart", coming home to a
triumphant C.
19
�A happier version ofPrincess Eboli's theft of letters from the Queen, the Countess
and Susanna, together, write a letter, secretly to be given to the Count during Figaro and
Susanna's wedding (III, 20). Superseding Figaro's plot of sending Cherubino, dressed up
as Susanna, to the rendezvous, the Countess has decided to take on that role herself. At
the rallying point for the opera's finish, the little duet between the Countess and Susanna,
an exquisite moment of friendship, has one goal, the Count's change of heart, and
therefore one music, though still in B-flat Major, the opera's key of intrigue (III, 20).
Stating time and place for the rendezvous in the garden, the Countess leads, Susanna
follows. After gradually closing the gaps between giving and taking dictation, the two
women, on the words: "well, and the rest he'll understand", start singing together. With a
partial reversal of roles, but now overlapping in the process, Susanna and the Countess
read over their letter. By singing the same music, but in staggered lines, that is, in
different places at the same time, or in the same place at different times, they, as it were,
enact the rendezvous with the Count.
Compared to Princess Eboli's desperate attempt to open the King's eyes to the
truth about the letters she stole from the Queen (IV, 24), Susanna's slipping the letter,
written together with the Countess, into the Count's hands during the wedding ceremony,
intends to do exactly the opposite. Adding to the contrast, Marquis Posa's lie about his
love for the Queen, confided in a letter meant to be delivered into the King's hands, will
be the cause of the Knight's murder (V, 3), Figaro dancing with Susanna and laughing
about the Count pricking his finger on the needle used to seal the letter, in the end, will
teach the schemer not to consider himself fool-proof (III, 22). Sung in C Major, the
opera's key ofresolve, the wedding ceremony, at the end of act III, officially seals the
marriages of Figaro and Susanna as well as Bartolo and Marcellina, but leaves the
problems between the Count and the Countess unresolved.
*
*
*
20
�After the Prince's precipitous arrest, in act IV of Schiller's Don Carlos, Marquis
Posa visits him in prison to account for his action (V, 1). Shocked by Carlos's
assumption of having been sacrificed for the greater political cause, Posa, too late,
realizes his arrogance in using a friend like a pawn in a game. With a pentameter, short
by one foot, he confesses: "My edifice I Collapses -- I forgot your heart" (V, 1, 4524-5).
In counterpoint to Posa, it is Carlos who, all through the play, speaks and acts most often
from the heart. Reminiscent of the pathos of Christ, in the garden of Gethsemane:
"Come, let us sit down -- I I'm weary and feel weak" (V, 3, 4114-5, cf. Matthew 26, 38),
the Knight outlines his plans for the Prince's escape, to fight for the cause of humanity
from Flanders. A conclusion to Carlos's earlier: "Now I have lost him," (IV, 13, 3973)
referring to his friend, and Posa's: "I've lost it.. .I've lost it for myself'(IV, 21, 4214-7),
referring to his political power play, their exchange in prison:
Carlos:
God! Then I'm lost!
Marquis: You, why you?
Carlos :
Unhappy man, and you
Are lost with me. This monstrous
Fraud my father can't forgive.
No! That he never will forgive!
Marquis :
Fraud?
Who would tell him
It was fraud?
Who, can you ask?
Carlos:
Myselfl
(V, 3, 4701-8)
leads to the Knight's solemn: "Prepare yourself for Flanders! I Your calling is the
kingdom. I To die for you was mine" (V, 3, 4717-9). Carlos's:
No!No! ...
I want to take you to him.
Ann in arm we'll go to him.
Father, I'll say, a friend has done this
For his friend. It'll move him. Trust me!
He's not without humanity, my father.
Yes, sure, it'll move him.
21
�His eyes will shed warm tears, and you
And me he will forgive -- (V, 3, 4718-28)
is answered by a shot through the prison's wrought-iron door and Posa's death. Part of
the tragedy is that neither Posa nor Carlos know that the King, to the awestruck horror of
his courtiers, did weep -- but at the discovery of the Knight's betrayal of himself. (IV,
23).
*
*
*
At the start of act IV, the last act of Mozart's opera, to be mostly compared with
act V, the last act of Schiller's dramatic poem, Barbarina, the gardener's daughter, in love
with Cherubino, but here on an errand for the Count, laments the loss of the pin that had
sealed Susanna's letter (IV, 23). In confirmation of the rendezvous, later that night, the
seal was supposed to be returned to the letter writer. Sung in f minor, the darkest key in
the opera, and the only other minor besides the Count's a minor, at the start of act III, the
opening of the opera's second half, the little girl's "I've lost it..." bewails more than the
loss of that unfortunate pin. Echoing the Countess's earlier "Where are the beautiful
moments ... " (III, 19) Barbarina's sobbing "ah, who knows where it might be" is set in
mock tragic style. Compared to the tragic loss Marquis Posa and Don Carlos mourn, this
is, at best, tragicomedy. Figaro, coming upon the scene with Marcellina and being told of
the Count's commission, quickly finds a pin in Marcellina's bonnet and sends the girl on
her way. His reaction to the disturbing news: "Mother -- I am dead .. .I am dead, I say"
(rec. p. 342) not only sounds like a comical take-off on Marquis Posa's death, but also
like a re-enactment of the scene between Achilleus and Thetis, in book I of Homer's Iliad
(I, 348 ff.). Outdoing Achilleus, who complains to his mother about Agamemnon having
taken his girl, Figaro is angered with Susanna as well as with the Count. In Bartolo's
phrase, from his earlier revenge aria (I, 4), Marcellina's "the case is serious" (p. 342)
22
�advises Figaro of his right to be on his guard and entertain suspicions, but no more. Her
use of" a right", recalling the Count's "right of the first night" to be acted on presently
with Susanna, has an ominous ring in this opera. Yet, the fact that Bartolo's aria, in D
Major, was in its overall key as well, suggests caution in taking the theme of revenge too
narrowly.
A late repercussion of Beaumarchais's play, Marcellina's aria in act IV, defending
Susanna against Figaro's suspicions, pits the free and easy lovemaking of animals against
the cruelty of men (IV, 24). A revision of her cat fight duet with Susanna, in A Major,
five numbers from the beginning of the opera, this aria, in G Major, five numbers from its
end, not only makes G Major, the opera's key of marriage, triumph over A Major, its key
of selfish passion, but also adds a human touch by letting Marcellina express her feelings
in coloraturas reminiscent of Handel, the style in vogue when she was young. Her
insistent rhyme between "liberty", for the animals, and "cruelty", for men, whether true to
life or not, hints at the tragedy hidden behind the comedy.
Unaware of the women's change of plan, from Cherubino to the Countess,
dressed-up as Susanna, to go to the rendezvous with the Count, Figaro swears to take
revenge for all husbands (I, 26 cf. p.343). With an aria in E-flat Major, the opera's key of
unhappy love, and the call of horns in the background, the newly-wed husband rails
against the heartlessness of women.
As if to give the lie to this tirade, Susanna, in F Major, the opera's key of standing
one's ground, sings a beautiful aria about her expectation of the fulfillment of love.
Unlike Princess Eboli who, after her theft of letters from the Queen, and her affair with
the King, had been punished with exile to a nunnery, Susanna, after writing a letter
together with the Countess, changing clothes with her, and fooling the Count about
agreeing to a rendezvous, revels in the loveliness of the evening (IV, 27). Reminiscent of
Cherubino's first song (I, 6), his heart aflutter for all women, and speaking of his love not
only to nature, but also to himself, Susanna's aria, describing the romantic resonance
23
�between herself and the balmy night, more maturely, is meant for but one beloved. Even
so, I suspect that her words have more to do with her own feelings than with Figaro.
*
*
*
In his devastation over the betrayal of Marquis Posa, the one man from whom he
expected truth (V, 9), the King is further crushed by his son's confession that he and Posa
were friends, nay brothers: "Yes, Sire, we two were brothers, brothers by I A nobler bond
than nature's crafting" (V, 4, 4791-2). Taunting Philipp with his paltry attempt at
friendship with a man in love with the whole of mankind, Carlos exclaims:
Oh no -- that was no man for you!
That he himself knew well, when he
Rejected you with all your crowns.
This finely stringed lyre broke
Within your iron hand. You could
Do naught but murder him (V, 4, 4816-20).
With a deeper understanding of Posa's character than Carlos could fathom, Philipp's
disappointed love turns to savage hatred: "Let him have died a fool. And let his fall I
Bring down his century with his friend ... I He sacrificed me to his idol, mankind, I Let
mankind, therefore, pay for him" (V, 9, 5075 - 86).
No match for these dark scenes with the King, in act V of Schiller's Don Carlos,
the Count's flare-up of temper, vowing to be revenged on Figaro for upstaging him in a
conquest of love, lies as far back as the early scenes in act III of Mozart's The Marriage
of Figaro (III, 17). In keeping with tragedy, Schiller's play, towards the end, turns darker
and darker, in keeping with comedy, Mozart's opera lighter and lighter.
A farcical counterpart to Domingo, the King's confessor, present at every turn of
the dramatic action, Basilio, the meddling priest, masquerading as music master at the
castle of Count Alma viva, finally gets to confide his own personal Credo (IV, 25).
Rather unmusical, with plain quarter notes stalking all over the place, and cheap sound
24
�effects thrown in here and there, his aria, no surprise, is in B-flat Major, the opera's key
of intrigue. Created in the image of Mozart's learned librettist, Basilio recounts a
dantesque scene, where Lady Flemma, his Muse (alias Vergil) presented him with the
smelly hide of a donkey to ward off the vicissitudes of life, be they stormy weather to
hide from, or wild beasts to repel with the nasty cover. That cover I take to be Basilio's
clerical garb.
Emerging from the cover of Domingo, the Grand Inquisitor, at the end of
Schiller's Don Carlos, asserts his authority (V, 10-11 ). A perverted form of Teiresias, the
blind prophet in Sophocles's Antigone (Berns, "Idealism us'', 71-2; "Idealism", 51-2), who
urges Kreon to restore the dead to the dead and the living to the living, the Grand
Inquisitor demands the dead to be called back to the living and the living to be
surrendered to the dead. In his outrage over the murder of Marquis Posa, a sacrifice to
mere passion rather than the greater glory of the church, the Grand Inquisitor condemns
Philipp's illicit involvement with this heretic. The reason behind the summons of the
Grand Inquisitor had been the King's indecision whether to let Carlos escape or have him
die. His question: "Can you create for me a new religion I That would defend the bloody
murder of a child?" (V, 10, 5265-6) the old priest silences with: "To expiate eternal
justice I The son of God died at the cross" (V, 10, 5267-8). Philipp's retort: "I outrage I
Nature -- this mighty voice as well I You want to stifle?" elicits only: "Before the faith I
No voice of nature counts" (V, 10, 5270-4). The King's final: "He is my only son - for
whom I Pray, have I gathered?" meets with the Grand Inquisitor's inhuman: "For
moldering decay rather than I Freedom" (V, 10, 5276-8).
In order to facilitate his escape, the Queen had asked Carlos for a final farewell, in
which she could impart Marquis Posa's legacy to him. Midnight approaching, he _
was
supposed to come in the mask and monk's attire of Charles V, whose ghost the guards
had seen more than once and let pass reverently (V, 6; 9). As if in keeping with his
earlier notion of political life as a masked ball, the masks of conventional inequality
25
�belying the natural equality of the faces hidden beneath (I, 9), Carlos had agreed to play
this role chosen for him by the Queen. Their meeting, holding each other in a solemn
embrace, comes to a close with the Prince reaching for his i:nask. In the background,
without their notice, the King, together with the Grand Inquisitor and some of the
courtiers, had entered the dark room. The Prince's: "I go to challenge Philipp I To open
combat... I Let this have been my last I Deceit" is answered by Philipp's: "It is your last!"
and the Queen's dead faint in Carlos's arms (V, 11, 5361-6). The play ends with the
King's (coldly and quietly to the Grand Inquisitor): "Cardinal! I've done my part. Do
you do yours".
*
*
*
Even though both works start early in the morning and end late at night, Schiller's
Don Carlos starts in a garden and ends in a closed room, Mozart's The Marriage of
Figaro starts in a closed room and ends in a garden. Beginning and ending in D Major,
the key of revenge, but also the overall key of the opera, the Finale of act IV is, at the
same time, the Finale of the work as a whole (IV, 28). With a symmetrical sequence of D
Major, G Major, E-flat Major, B-flat Major, G Major, D Major, yet with the middle
apparently disturbed, the Finale of act IV, gives us a panoramic review of the opera. Two
by two, its major characters pass before our eyes, with the others hidden in the shadows
of the garden, ready to emerge at more or less opportune moments.
Instead of Don Carlos, asking Princess Eboli for access to the Queen, and, in the
r
process, being arrested by Marquis Posa (IV, 15-16), Cherubino, on his way to Ba_barina,
stumbles in on Susanna, or so he thinks, sitting in the evening breeze under the pine trees,
as agreed upon in the famous rendezvous letter. The lady sitting there is, of course, the
Countess, dressed up as Susanna. Unlike Don Carlos who, at the end, appears in the
mask of Charles V, the historical exponent of the Holy Roman Empire, Cherubino, at the
26
�end, is himself again. Even when dressed up as a girl, at various points in the opera (II,
12; III, 21 ), it was never his face that was disguised. Deathly afraid that the Count would
find her in this compromising situation and still tum the co!11edy, in Beaumarchais's
words, into" a rather bloody tragedy", the Countess tries to repel the amorous advances of
the young page who, taking her for Susanna, complains: "And why can I not do what the
Count, shortly, will do with you?" (p. 384). In hilarious, multiple confusion, the kiss
meant for Susanna, is intercepted by the Count showing up at this moment, the slap in the
face to pay for it, by Figaro, sticking his head in to see what is going on. Different from
the tragic consequences of Princess Eboli stepping in for the Queen, or Marquis Posa for
Don Carlos, the Countess, stepping in for Susanna, or Figaro for Cherubino, has
uncomfortable, but never more than comic consequences.
Changing from D Major, the overall key of the opera, to G Major, its key of
marriage, the dalliance between the Count and the Countess, the husband taking his
wife's soft skin for that of her chambermaid and meaning to further his affair by slipping
a diamond ring on her finger, is more heartrending than apparent to either eye or ear.
With a drastic switch from G Major to E-flat Major, the opera's key of unhappy
love, the scene turns to Figaro musing on his role of the new Vulcan of the century, lying
in wait to catch Venus and Mars in his net. Coming upon Susanna, dressed up as the
Countess, he means to lead her to the compromising scene as well. Doing better than the
Count, with his wife's soft skin, Figaro catches on to Susanna's voice, but, for the fun of
it, takes advantage of the dark and proceeds to court his lady. After a sally of slaps in the
face from Susanna's hand, and his confession of having recognized her voice, their E-flat
Major, happily, but still cautiously, slips into B-flat Major. As if in answer to the Count's
earlier: "What is this comedy?", meaning Figaro's appearance with the musicians to play
for the wedding (I, 8, p. 100), the young couple, expressing their newly won delight in
each other, finish with a frolicking "Let's put an end to this comedy, my darling" (p. 411).
For the last time returning from B-flat Major to G Major, Figaro's act of
27
�shamelessly courting the Countess is stopped in its track by the irate Count. Deaf to the
entreaty of the whole cast, emerging from the bushes, he, with a dozen savage "No"s,
bluntly refuses any pardon for Figaro. More genuinely thai:i in the Finale of act II, the
Count is brought to his knees by the quiet voice of the Countess, once more speaking in
her own person. His plea for forgiveness, with an unstable rising 6th, from
'5' to .~
followed by an even more unstable rising 7th, from S'to ~is answered by her stable
I\
A
rising fifth, from 1 to 5, which, even more stable for being sung twice, comes to a
cadence on words reminiscent of the marriage vow.
Compared to Schiller's Don Carlos, where the only moment of forgiveness,
Philipp's pardon for Medina Sidonia, the admiral returning from the loss of the armada, is
tucked away in the very center of the dramatic poem (III, 7), Mozart's The Marriage of
Figaro, from act to act, presents us with more and more genuine forms of it. A touching
reminder of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Cherubino, cursed by the Count as "little
serpent" (p. 96), but made fun of by Basilio as "little cherub of love" (p. 79), in the end, is
openly paired with Barbarina, the little girl who wanted him for a husband, and in return
for the favor, promised the Count to love him like her kitten (III, 21, rec.). In contrast to
the close of Schiller's Don Carlos, with the Queen in the arms of Don Carlos, in a dead
faint, and the King collaborating with the Grand Inquisitor, all the characters in Mozart's
The Marriage ofFigaro, except for Basilio, by the Finale, are paired more or less
happily. Basilio, a far cry from Domingo, grown to monstrous height in the figure of the
Grand Inquisitor, at the end of the opera, simply has melted into the crowd. Count and
Countess reunited, at least for now, the confusion felt by everyone gives way to a
sublimely beautiful chorus of universal contentment.
Very different from the last scene of Schiller's Don Carlos, where the icy silence,
surrounding the Grand Inquisitor, fills the dark room more and more with horror, the last
scene of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro erupts into a happy rush of revelers, off to a
grand feast, the fireworks in the background lighting up the night over the dark garden.
28
�A moment of suspense, the transition between the solemn G Major of the Count and
Countess's reunion and the exuberant D Major of the happy crowd at the end, once more
reminds us of the pain lived through to reach this point.
W~th
a halting descent,
pianissimo and in unison, except for the flute and the oboe, hovering above, a dominant
7th chord on A, over the words "this day", lands us in d minor instead of D Major. A
scream of dissonances, however fleeting, an inverted 9th chord on G-sharp, the seventh
degree of A, highlights the grammatical link "of' in "this day a/torments, of caprices,
and of madness", expressed again in a tensed minor. The completion of the sentence:
"only love can end in happiness and joy" finally allows for the transition from the darker
d minor to the brighter D Major.
Like the effect of a Deus ex machina, in Greek tragedy, forcing a solution to
unsolvable human predicaments, this transition makes for the happy ending, but does not
do away with the painful personal and political problems of the opera. A skeptical
reminder of the contrary to fact condition in Schiller's: "If comedy ever were to reach its
goal, it would make all tragedy superfluous and impossible," the all-too-happy rush from
the dark garden to the lit up castle, musically expressed in hurtling towards a cadence,
has a hollow ring to it. Knowing full well that "his whole being" was set on "writing
tragedies", Schiller himself (with the possible exception of Wallenstein's Camp) never
wrote a comedy. More in tune with Socrates's notion, at the end of Plato's Symposium,
that a poet of tragedies should be able to write comedies as well, Mozart, in this comic
opera, subtitled "The Mad Day", lets the serious shine through the ludicrous, and thus
creates a sublime version of that rare marriage between tragedy and comedy.
A lecture (with music) delivered September 17, 2004 at St. John's College, Annapolis,
Maryland.
29
�REFERENCES
Schiller, Friedrich. 1974 5 . Samtliche Werke, ed. Gerhard Fricke und Herbert G. Gopfert,
Hanser, Milnchen.
_ _ _ .Don Carlos, Vol. II, pp. 7'.'"219.
_ _ _ . Briefe iiber "Don Carlos", Vol. II, pp. 225-67.
____ . Uber naive und sentimentalische Dichtung, Vol. V, pp. 694-780.
Schiller, Friedrich. 1976. Don Carlos, Erlauterungen und Dokumente, ed. Karl
Pornbacher, Reclam, Stuttgart.
Schiller. 1998. Five Plays, translation by Robert David MacDonald, absolute classics,
London.
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus. 1979. The Marriage of Figaro (Le Nozze di Figaro) in Full
Score, Dover, New York.
Beaumarchais. 1977. Le Mariage de Figaro, ed. Pol Gaillard, Bordas, Paris.
Heine, Heinrich. Die romantische Schule (1833), in Samtliche Werke, Vol. VII, Hesse,
Leipzig.
(Unless otherwise noted, translations are my own.)
30
�Berns, Gisela N. 1985. Greek Antiquity in Schiller's "Wallenstein", Studies in the
Germanic Languagers and Literatures, Vol. 104, Universitv of North Carolina
Press, Chapel Hill.
- - - -. 1990. "Moderner und antiker 'Idealismus': Schiller's Don Carlos und
Sophokles' Antigone", in Zeitschrift far deutsche Philologie, Vol. 109,
Sonderheft: "Schiller Aspekte neuerer Forschung", ed. Norbert Oeller, pp.
41-76. (An earlier English version: '"Idealism'; Ancient and Modem:
Sophocles' Antigone and Schiller's Don Carlos", in The St. John's Review,
Vol. 39, Number 3 (1989-90), pp. 51-9.
Jamison Allenbrook, Wye. 1983. Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro and
Don Giovanni, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp. 71-94.
Farrand, Max, ed. 1966. The Records of the Federal Convention of 1787, Vol. II, Yale
University Press, New Haven.
Kammen, Michael, ed. 1986. The Origins of the American Constitution, A Documentary
History, Penguin, New York.
Morris, Richard B. 1985. Witnesses at the Creation: Hamilton, Madison, Jay and the
Constitution, New American Library, New York.
Seidlin, Oskar. 1960. "Schiller, Poet of Politics'', in A Schiller Symposium, ed. Leslie
Willson, University of Texas, Austin, pp. 31-48.
31
�NOTES
For the deepest commentary on Don Carlos see Schiller, Briefe iiber Don Carlos, and
Oskar Seidlin, "Schiller Poet of Politics".
For a beautiful, comprehensive study of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, see Wye
JamisonAllanbrook.
32
�
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Towards "a new birth of freedom" - Tragedy and comedy, 1786 Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The marriage of Figaro.
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 17, 2004 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805. Don Carlos
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Nozze di Figaro.
Tragedy
Comedy
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Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/50e88d199c529ac41487bf8d699c11e1.mp3
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Time and nature in Lucretius' De rerum natura
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Bib # 10010
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Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura
Philosophy, Ancient
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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English
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sound
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mp3
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<a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1088" title="Typescript">Typsecript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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01:21:45
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Berns, Gisela N.
Title
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Schiller's Drama: Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
Date
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1982-02-26
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 26, 1982, by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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LEC_Berns_Gisela_1982-02-26_ac
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Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805--Criticism and interpretation
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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English
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sound
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
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mp3
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1089">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/5a000f7802f4341cb5b151e0cfd5e5c5.pdf
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Text
't'!MF. AMP NATURE
IN LlTCRET!US
1
"DE RERUM NATUR!\ 11
GiselA. B�rns ·
· St.
·r
John's ColJP�e
...
Annapolis,
MarylRn�
�Revised version of R lecture,
�1ven
at
March
1974.
St.
John's College,
Translations of the Latin quotes
appended
at
the end.
�1
I:
In bno'k one of •n�
a.
niscnssion or
.
'T'hemP.
r e ru m
.
n.'l tnr::t" , · 1 n th� context of
thin.rr:�, Lucre-
properti�s ann accinents of
tius �ef1 nes time as a�ciitent
of
motion ( 1., IJ,t;Q-82):
tempus item pe:r- se non est,
serl rebus ah fpt=;iS
con'3equitnr sP.nsus, transactum qntd s1. t in n0vo,
tnm qu�e res 1..nstet, quid porro deind� sequrttur;
nee ner se quAmquam temptl's sentir� f'at�ndumst
��r.1otum ab rernm motu placid::1que qulete.
{1, 459-63)
'rh� ttoro distinguishable aspects of time are:
net'cn,�nce on motion a'ld rest of
thin�s, aml
�P.n'"'n�ence on human perception.
Epicurus
fh I
�, u G �
w
.
S
,
.a
A
han {1e fi nfht time as
s/s K«-T�7:e1·r:ll<-?.
::tn:v
mot.ion"2.
"�n'1�1t�" f.ln.d
as
·�
J
1) its
2)
. �c<.'ll"z;"o(. 6'c...dll(.
I
tn t.ucretius• df"fi.n1t.ton,
1. ts
in his l'TOrl{
cert::tin mea!-':!lrinf""
.1
I
rLS
.
·
.
Tte�
I
I
l.(.tv·"t�·f.l-()5 ""'
n�rc�rtton of
.
hm-mv0r,
l•rh�rn
"s�ntire"• l'ther� "fe�l:tnr:.. "ta.'kes·the place of
,
or
11 a c�rtnt�
1m11� tl;rr-P. t�rm�:
"tf'":'mnnG11, •aetnl=l", 118.P,rum", 1V"'0M to lJr
.
1Yl �t��h n Nrty t:hat 11tP.mpuR" t1enot0� th .... r.ost Flht::t:"'JC:t,
11RP'VI�m11 t'l-10 mo�t concr�t.; !'l�pe�t of ti.11e, while· "nt=-t.""r;" �rw('rs
r- ..1th, !ll,rd:rnct arid concrete mc1ni n.n;.
n ... .... f'l
?p�n. H�rc. 1413, Pr. 55, A. BA'PI('-.\'?.7,1, eel. and. c0rnm. , T1
concPtto del tempo nella fisj ca r1tom:t�t icll, Epimn ,.n. i.n !!!P.M.
..
u. T>11'1'V')()'m�, Genova, 1959, 25-59, p.
JR.
��t')mp'1�t.l�! tn
r.t')mmntnt
(l�(�):
l1l1f"' Of h001{ r1Vf"'
A.
t.r.mrortl
rot:"
rum�" "t�un
"�tc ,T01V�l1'h. 'lr>t�.R
roll tn� t imP. rh'ln.r-:r:r: thr> t 1 m"!1
· n r ·:th1Yif':�."
Tn th�
·
1)
thr:-�"
P.r.tm.sr, two
of thi.s
<1our��
·
r,p�ce,
t1.m�
of time, ·h�bmrm
'
afl motion and.
for
common .r:rourH1
·Lncret inA 1
-
\•- .
-�
�
�nd thC' phi l.o.r.:o
...,
The
Aef!m�
.
·'
their youth,
.
.
be
transformed
bP.h·u�en sp:r:ttially extenncd
phor1cA.11y as spnce of time
as sp.-"l.ce,
1;.
of time
"-
,.,
.. .
·"·
depf')rHi.ence
to
'
..
A
.
of time
their mn.turity and
on bottle:=:
1 nto
a
tn motion
corre!1ponot:mce
motion a.nd tim0. 1 expressed. meta(cf.
w�th
6, JOO-J; 11 326-?).
most p.'lra
doxlclllly from the 't>�holc of time t o the point of time,
th11r: mtrrorr; thr'l �urn
of thinr;£ 1
Th(>.
mere_ qm1ntitative meani:n�,
a
·l"Fll1f':E'!!l from infinitely r;reat to infinitely :-::mall,
r:nm(>.,
1� thP.
in mnn.ller or 1:-trr;l')r nmo1mts of t l rr.r:-,
or.thinr;s hi:\ve-their times,
space
l-Jhn.t
2)
spn.ce rnnl"('r. from .r:rm�rfil
A.s
;.
...
0
thro1ir:h
ar;
from quantitative to qualitative mnrm\n�:
th1 nt:1'r.: h'O'!pp(-)n in time,
th�ir old F.l'(e.
And
timP.
!lccirt.ent of motion?3
f!s
of t 1me
accm\nt
A.niJ
to p'1T't1cu1A.r,.
force?
time ns
this poetic v1.el'r of timP.
nh1. en) .rtofini tion or 1 t
notion
1.n 'th� conncct1 on hetw��m
Nha.t
thra� . d1f.ferent"mP.t:'lphors
�
r�lntPd -quf'stlonr.: Nil.J.
.
nhl?YS
th�
same
nnd not
and.
th0
1..nf1.n1.te mnttcr .1nfin1.tely in motion throutr,h i'nf1 n1tc
JTi'or
a moT'e extensive study of the eptcurean <1oncept of time,
my Diss., G. NECK, Das Problem n11r Zeit im Epikuretsmus,
Heinelber�, 1 964, ch. 1, �eitbe��iff. pp._ 14-?4.
r.f.
·
�J
��
r:natHL.
n
Time
as
Gpnee-,
is mor:tly conr.�1.vr!d 1r1tth
how�ver,
q1inltt�t1.ve n.r; well as qnn'rltitative mcan1n�.
only hapr.>en in time, in
smaller or lnrr:er nmmmts
t.h�'>Y n.lso hAve theiJ;" times,.their
and th�lr
old a�c.
The
youth,
not
of timn,
their maturity
most strlkin� example
is th(' account of the birth
for
this u�ar:e
'
(2, 1105-6), p-rowth (2, 110.5-30,
1120-1, 1123, 112?), maturity (2, 1130), decay (2, 1131-
esp.
71�, esp.
l�)
Th1nr:n
11'31-?,
of our worl�;
nl'3.tnro;..
If
\'7e
111�5), and death
at the end.
or the
(2, 1.1.50, 1166, 11()9, 11?2second book of
.•ne
rerum
keep in mind that time had been defined ns
accident. of motiot:L and that,
in the expression space of timr-:,
1 t hA(1. be en substituted metaphortcally for the spnco measured
th:roup;}1 by .m ot ion ,
..
.
tative .. meanin�
lienee
ann
.
. .
the coincidence of quantitative and qua1i-
of time has to be understood a s
between·a phase in
th e
but now
.
'"
.
-r :•
this
pha�e of the motion,
expresse� as phase of the movlnr;
accin.ent time for
the
p
corres on-
the mot i on of a body through space,
space of time,depending on
The safeguardin�
a
•
condition
body
for this
in motion :l.s
body
itself.
suhs.t1tut1on of the
the
occurrence
of'
.
�In thA eni curenn 1.mder-standinr; of tnfini te matt�r infini.tely
in motion throup:h inf i nit e spacA, t.tme, be1.nr; an act:!id.0l'Jt of
motion, 1s ::tlso inf1nit�.
The p."lrarlox 11t.rhole of t ime" han to
hA tF.�1u�n as a con���ston to man • s d e s i re to compreh�nd the
object of his thoua;ht and �peAch (cf. my Diss., op. cit.,
pp� 17-lJ.O; for the t h n m e of infinity in all 1 ts differ-ent
.'l.�n�cts '\ cf. R. 1-TONDOT...FO,. I�' 1.nfini to n8l pensiP.rO dell 1
nnt:ich1tA. clnssic:::t, Fi.rem>:e 1956).
The other Jk'lradox "point
nf. t:l ml'.'11 has to n.o with the connection of continuity and
infinitP. divisibility of time (cf. my Diss., op. cit.,
pp. 10-20, 39-L�O; cf. J. MAtT, Zum Problem des InfinitesimaL"'n
bel den antiken Atomlsten, Berlin 19.54).
l
�4
mot J.on
lnN�:
1n accorflnncP 1'11. th fi x:eo
rloceo rHct1.s, '1.i.tn quRequ0 cre_.'lta.
1'n0'l0l"f:' �tnt., 1.n eo qun.m �it nul"rll"A :n���ssnm
nee vnlidnn alennt aevi·rccctnltct"c le_n;0n.
v
(5� 56-A,
'rh�se 1m'1s,
th0 1:1t'1S Of time,
of
determine
lie of a body
f
phases, within
phnSP.S
the
in moion.t
bony, at
motion
example
time a.ppen.rs most
The perception of differ
natl.Jrally
where
o the
t
in connection l'TJ.th
,qt .times the hoavenly
other times the time d.etermineit -by it, is seen in
(�,
692;
1,
31 1 ;
.5t 1183-.5).
::�b�ms from the account of
orce:
f
11sic
The.other most striking
man
nnd combines all three m(,'!taphors of
1 s·
c u l t :ura. l development,
t ime,
time as space,
volvend.a a e tas commutat tempera rermn,"
rolling time changes the times of thinGs�
The naturn.l or cnltur,:1l
1)
thr�o aspects:
change of things
the different
the
nynnmic
be t;r-1-spcd
cau_o;ht,
A.r:
"rollin,:, time,"
in
the nature of
tiMe,
and J)
of the development
phases
t h ings ,
is
cause of
as
different phnscs
1'volvendn n�tas, 11
chanr;e,
inherent
times
of
things."
in
inthc metaphor force
reco!VliZerl,
as 11volv(mda af!tas commuta.t tempera rcrttm,"
time chan,n;es the
the meta-
-"tlr.-tcs of thinr:s,"
motion of time,
the
•
1172
tn
of the succession of
the metaphor
ts
''thu�
2,
can
"tempora. rerum," ets
character
motton
(5, 1276; cf.
determined quantitativoly and qualitatively by
phor spaceof t me 'as
i
?.)
sp.,.ces
to time a.s not only space for motion,·
he motiOVl. of heavenly bOdies,
t
are
d 1. fferent
Also motion it se l f .
Motion of
R:nn.
Of
r:ometimes
lietie of a movinrr body,· leads
f
m
he
t
s�?.nond metaphor or t:\me,
but
the
of natur0,
2,302)
time, \'lhich·quantitatively and qualitatively dintinr;uishnhle
mnke up the
ent
called the laws
soetieFl
m
m
cf.
as
''
of
rollinr;
This me ns that the Nhole
a
�5
. phcnomP.non chiln.oop,
hoin�,
nnn
�tme
irt 1. ts
�rrnct,
��
mirrored
is
f or c e
thrPo n spccts:
as
ti�e.
to bo th� one metnphor most
sncms
from the epicurean understanding of time
Tt., nevertheless,
Lucretius'
"Ne
then 11time,
,
utterly destroys,
sir;ht"
( 1, 225).
first,
from
that
shows
a1..ray,
caused
as it l'lere,
as ar;e td thdraNs them from our
(2,69�70} a:nd "if time
q·notes
Chant:,e appears to be
pe�ceive all th1.nr,s flat�
it takes
accidr-mt of motion.
inherent in thln.rr.s and c.'J.used hy the force o�
lnn� lRnse of time,
a�e,
As
remote
the one which occurs most frequently in
"De rerum natura."
both by forces
time:
is
mone of
�aur:n,
11a�e,
in
seems
to effect
throup.;h a.�e"
•
in the
st{';ht"
whatsoever, throut;h
The con)parison of th� two
the
lon� lapse
chanrr,e
of t ime11 ,
in thin:';s.
'f'hP space of tirrie wh ich has to be measured throw;h by thir.r;s
subject to
chan�e is �onceived as having chAnging influence on
them:
omnta enim debet, mortal! corpore quaA sunt,
tnflnita aetas consumpse ante acta dicsque.
quon si in eo �patio atque ante a�ta netate fuere
e qutbus haec rerum consistit.snmma refectn,
1.mrnortali sunt n atu ra praedita certe.
(1, 2J2-6; cf.
551-64)
This po�erful influerice, �ometimes called "the forces of
rneA.s1a"eless time"
( 5, 377-9),
irnnf-l�t on thin�s,
as
also as R. particular
time as
"ante
force of time,
to
ls
not only seen as a r;enerc:tl
11infinita aetas,"
as
impact,
in successive
,.;raspable
"infinite time,"
acta dies,''" as "the r;one by da:,r.
11
but
moments of
The destructive
appears t o be so st ron � that th in �s are imagi neo
suffer under· the "torments o f ·time":
Denique non lapides quoque vincl cernis ab aevo,
non altas turris ruere et put e j cer e saxa,
r
�OP.lHhl":t nP.Hm �imu}:l.Cl":lf}ll�- fA:=:8:::t fntj :1Ci
nrotollP.l"e firiis
por-:t-:e nnqu0 a(lverims natur.'lP. foeclP.l".'l· nit1?
c'l0'111.Clu,.. non monimenta virum rliln:rsa. vi<icmu�,
(quaerP.re pronorro, s ihi cumque scnescere credas,
non ruere avolr,o� silices a montibus altis
nee va.l ioas aevi v ires perferre p!l t iq1te
fini ti ?
ncqw:- enim cn.d.erent avolsa repente,
ex inf1n1to quae tempore pertolerassent
omnia tormenta aeta.tis, privata fra�ore.
.
.
- nrm
._
�Ac sRnctum numen fati
:
)
( 5, )06•17)
l'f'lhe force. of rollinp.;- time chang1rp::· the. times of thinp;s .
( _t;, 1 ?7i1)
is
finRlly spoken -of as chan�inp; the nature of
the WOl"lC'l:
1"111tnt . en1.rn munni nc'lt1.1ram tot ius aetas .•
ex nliC''lH� nl.ius status exci.pore 0mni11 c'l.eb0t
omnir-t mi�rant,
nee ma-n c t nlla sui sim\.lis rAs:
omnln commut::tt natura 8t vertere �Or,'it.
n�mque a1iun. rmtrcsc it et n evo nobile lal'l,cr,net,
norro al1un (sue) crescit et (P.) contempti�'o exit.
�tc lt";'i tur muncH naturam tot ius n.et�s
mut � t , et ex aliO terrnm s tatu s CXCipit altAr,
quod potu it nequeat, posstt quod non tulit nntc.
(5, 82A-36)
II:
In
· · ·· .
order to
1)
Devel opment
clarify the con·nection beb1een the
thr�e different metaphors. of time'
ann
discover tht� �om
2)
mon r:round for the poetic view of time and the philosophinnl
�efinition of it ,
we will have to consider the relation of
t ime to nature , the key · te rm in Lucr et i us
'
"De
rerum
natura."
Inextricably connected with change of thin�s,
ti�� .1n motion of time throur:h·
s
lite
or
a_p;ainst n.nture
( 2,
space
297-307;
of thin.�;s, whether �rm.,.th or decay,
both:
t i me and nature:
.•
force of
of time cannot act out
cf.
5, )06-10).
- ·
occurs under the
Chanr:e
laws
of
�7
rloc�o diet i n, quo '1Ut'li1C1U0 cre�.tn
sint, in eo qunm sit r h r rr.t re n�n/3ssum
nee val1das valeant nevi rescindere lP.�en.
foec
h'!rA
·
(5, 56-8; cf. 2, )02)
Hhnt.rloes it mean to speak of time, ch�n�in� the nrltur� of
the
whole world.,
of time,
chanp:inp:
:8ptcurus,
anct to
.
1-torld
of nature,
darinr; to rr,o heyond
break open
to be, what
c om e
thinr:s,
all
t.he nature of the whole world
(1, l,f..-77), cttme h::tck
Crln
�lterinr:,
the·
t ir;ht
locks of the r;n. t e n
out of
bei.nr:,
of
victoriously Nith th� kno'tiTlP.nr:e of
cannot,
.
finally how each thine has
totality of be in� and non-beinc.;,
f';'Oinr;
(5, 828-36)?
the flam inc; Nails of the
.
pm1er c:lefined and. it s deep-set boundary mnrk."
.the
n..rr:.�in,
and,
rm.tur-e
11\•rhn.t
it::::
�ratnr�,5 ns
of comin� into bein�,
is matter in motion throur;h SIJc'lCe
21), which hrinr.; s forth hirth ann death
( 1, hl9-·
of thin,o;s: .. .
Nnn� nr,-e 1 quo motu ,cr,enitalia m:1teriaL
corporA. r�r: vt:t.roiaf: P:1 ,ry.ant: f:eni tnr:qne resol vnnt
0t f111:1. vi facerc id �op:anh1r
r.tt ol_l i s
r���ibi mobilitFt� map.-nnn per in::l'Y'\h rrten.nd1. •
PX'f'Ptliam:
tu te nJr.t1.r: prn.ehr.rp mP.m""nto.
n::tm r.r>rte non 1nt�r :1e �t l rn.tn r.0hn�1"et
T:'l."'lh')riP.s, q110n1Am mlnnt rP.m q,,·:rnq'lf" v1t1P.mns 1
f't. f11Jfi.Rl lonr:inqvo fln�r"' OIT!nir-1 CP.rni!T!\1� n.r>vo
P.X
CUlisquf' Vetl.lStr-ttP.!Tl �ubti,_lCPT'e Tl0'itr1.� 1
r.nrr t��P.'Y'\ 1.ncolumts vtt10.atur spmmn. mn,,er0
l"):r-')nt,.,.,..oa qn 1.8, quae �.ecedunt cor1)or� en jrpH� 1
,, ..... ,c r�.br.nnt Mi nnnnt, ·CP.l,., veY!er� :111ro:n:l TIP t'!onn�t.
11.1.., ��:rv��f'.�rP J A.t
fl1'1rf'C'f'cn.,.,. co�mt,
,.,�r. l"P'110rnntur ibi.
slc r e rn M �nnm�. novntm-
quilf'qur>
O
haP� co'Yltrn
1 ntPr �e m0rt<=�.les Mlltn:=� \·i.vFnt.
i. r�.e ��ntes, n 1 iae m1 n'.ll1Yl b.J r •
j "11jll0 hrovi. rmnt io mutnntur s��cl.n a rd. nnntl :rr:
,..t 111l�.st cnrsores vita.P. 1c=tmpnnn. tr::�r'!,1r1t-..
.
�..-�mn,.,,..,
"�
et
, , r�P :-:c11n t
a1
(?, �?-70)
0n
t"lc hn.�is of thls creattve. . and n.ostructive form�,
.
�nd
nr:1t11r0.
('P0"' n �"'0mn.,..,...henr:i.vP. stuny of the 00!1C'f'nt nf ,,...,t:n:rn. 111
V1��nt.i11!i 1 "D') rcrnm nn.t.J,r-r-�:,11 �f. Y . • sllj,L'!"'/'.�PT, St-.�1dirm ::":1Jr.1
nl-. � 1 1'1ronh l �r.h�n N� tnrhen-,:ri ff der P.grner- rni t hC!r>onderr.r
I>
h
�
Pf."!T"l�lrr:i.chtlr:un� (ler, T.ukrez, Archiv fur Re�ifff1f;€'!SchichtP.,
7, 1Q(?, 140-284
�H
thi�
llf..
..
1mr:rr t:>��'ion m L n;h t he,
of tho truth
thnt, nn.tltrr- only expl io:ttcs th0 hi flo on oh�rr-:��
t0r'i�ttr.� of mAtter.
hnNe,r'"'r,
Lucr�tiw� nev0r tire� of rr:-m1rHnn.•--:
tn rl�fin.i te
or "n:"lrt� f'l.�blr'�e,"
··Matter in m ot inn thl"Ollrrh �p1r.�
wnys
"p::tcts
of
r,rooNth
llnr'l ·decay
t
a
resul f:s,
fact whi0h
or nf!.turc":
.I"J. U.'l !'r'onter quo nun� in motu r>rtn�i pi(lrum
onrpora ::;1_mt, in eodem ante a�tn aetntr· fuere
r--t nm:t hn.l"'c n0mper stmtli ration" fP'Y'rntur
pf: qn!:i� �onsuerint r:1r;n1 ..;ir;nenh1r er'!nf'm
r.onr'licione et erurtt et cret.:c.ent: vlr:tuo vGlohunt,
qnn.nt11m cuique datum est per focclera :nnturni.
( 2. 297-302)
't'hP. _pr"oblcmatic
w::ty"
and
t1,e
er
of expressions
"such .·things as have been wont
be bron.�ht
that·
c ha ra ct
to birth under
"honds of
experi.mentation of
nature"
likn
to
"in
a
come to
the same condition"
similar
being,
ind.icates,
will
hO\ITcver,
provid.e no More than a 'framework for
matter in
m ot i on . through spa.ce:
cert e neque consilio primordia rerum ,
oroine se r.uo quaequ� sa�n�i mente 1ocarunt
·
rH',� quos lJ..ltA.P.qne (darf:mt rnotvs pepir:ere profecto)
sP.d quia mnlta modis muJ.tts mutn.t<:!. pe� omne
�x i11fini to v�xa.ntur -perci ta plne;is,
onme C'l'enu.s JT!otus et coetus exncri11nd.o
tannem del.reniunt in tal:l.s c:UspositurR.f.:,
qualibus haec rerum consistit summa creatn,
et mn l t os etiam magnos servata per. :-:tnnor'lt F:0.mel in motus coniectast convl':'_ntf?ntls' J
.
effictt ut largis . avidum mare fluminis tmn 1 s. . .
.
(1, 102i- :n; of. 5,
nam
·
�·lhat
can
be
the
too faulty t o
criterion for
abl�
to
in a
"convenient mov�ments"
world
be crea ted. by r;ods (5, 1B7-2J4) and continually
P-nrrar:ed in a l'lar' between
r0neated
ln_6,1�2)
l ife and death
The
( 2, 569-80)?
example o� nat ure trying (5, 837-924), but
bei�� nn
cre at e monsters (1, 199-2QL�; -2, 700-29) suggests
"conVP-l"lient movements"
.
must mean stability of growth,
that
.
maturity
�9
n.n�
�r-�r1.y.
'•rhat.
The formuln for nn.tnro:
not,
c:::m
finR.11y how
ann
it� <'!cep.;..Get boundary
thf>
account of
"certain matter,"
1 nto be1 nr: and. n:oint';
214-).
out of
1s
�1ost. compactly. it
motus, ordo,
cnch thi nr: hns
mark''
positura,
position and shapes of
is explicaten ln
"certain times"
as
as
matter" (2,
realfty
min� uncovers
Olll"'
in
ve ·the
"meetinp:s,
1020-2;
cf.
1,
ordr=>r,
675-8}.
process
The
of rr;co(�-
our
Bf')nr.c-s
of motion and ref:t of thinr;s; · this rP.'1] i ty,
ntoms censr;J.ess1y
as
as deceptive appearance,
an� e�tahlishing the conditions
venien.t
·
motions,
simple stability:
The true res t however,
motion.
( 1, 159-
"materia! concursus,
orn0r of these terms follows the ord.er of tho
-ncr�ci
to bn,
responsible for thinr:s cominr.
stated
nition from complex mobility to
r.rmn
its pm-11er dnfinl"!d
(1, 75-7)
beinf: at
fi�;ttrae,"
cnn
11Nhnt
underlyin� that restlesGness
for the
achievement of
"con-
movements" is to be found in the "shBpe" of atoms.
That
"shape" of atoms bears special importanne for the ::nnture
of
thinp; can be
a
seen from 1 ts central
the hook about motion and rest:
motirm and. rest in
trc:1.tm0.nt
terms of
turn
p:ivcs Nay to
in atom�
body and minc'l
{ 2,
a
11
shape"
730-1361-J., 856-990).
of atoms
nyi:n.r;
1").-"J.l rs
(21
but noN not
(motion ann.
rme bP-in� "shape"
(2, 6?.-JJ?) leacln
( 2,
333-729),
Hhich
•
•
ln tei'ms of atoms,
COrro"'!SpOndil1[':
but,
in terms of compounds,
991-117L�)
a po::;iti·t,rc
The Fir.ale describes the ::urn
1 n the three main pa rt s Of the bOOl< 1
tothA Pl"'ooemium,
n nn
(2, 1-61),
ne.1;ative treatment of colour and fcclin/3'
of t'-lin,r,;r, in motion and rest,
rl.�.
After the Prooemi mn about
of motion and rest in termr: of a.to�s
over into the dJ r;cussion of
in
position in boo k t\.'10,
of
worlds bcin0 born
Thus, hool< hro s hol'l s
rest), gronped. around
•
of atoms,
a
one
a
syr:1mctry of
{rest):
the
the pairs b ei n� motion and r e s t
in
�10
terms of compounds b1.
ro�t:
th e
in terms
of atoms· in the first and_
The special importance of
book.
·nature
Prooemtuni nnd Ffria le,
birth
�escrintion of the
·
third
shape
of
of a thing is shown in a·quote
and mot.i.on :md
mr-:tin part::; of
ofatoms forth�
book five,
from thn
bur world:
of
�"d·nova temnost:1.s '}naedam mol�sque coorta.
d 1 ff,t("ere inde lo�i partes coepcre :nnr·esqun
'"�tlm nnri bus ·hmf""i r
'
e
s l":t cliscludere muYlnmn
mr.mhrnl']ue divldere
magna s disponerc pnrtes.
omnir;enis e.'prlncipiis, discordia qnorum
lntr.rvalla vias conc xu s poniiera. plap;as
r.oncursus ·motus
ia mfsc�ns
propter d.lssimilis formas varin�qne fir;urns,
quod non omnia sic· potcrant �onhmct�- rn::mere
nee motus inter sese dare convenir.ntiG, ...
-·
r:!f.
·
9t
·
tnrha.bat proel
·
(5, 4J6-h5;
.
Diffnrently from platonic or aristotelian
Nhr.rc shape
for-
.q,
< ELcfos
thin,;,
"mnt0:ri.a:t
ln
the
concur,,�,
>J/IX.
�
li ' (..
.·
J
Or
I
motui,
ordo;
The inquiry
of Lucretius•
shape ()�
or
a.ll the factor:-;,
positura, fic;urnc,"
their p.:'l.rt in determininr.; ·the appearance
III.
uiace thour,h,
mcn:r.c
f'-Oe 'f ?') )
cpiCUI'(!rtfl contPxt,
Lnt1-lt-2)
of
a
plny
thin�.
Recapitutation
into the· mean in�
"De rerum natura",
of
"nature,"
the key t��=r
aim�d at clarifying th� r0ln
tion of nature and time,
and consequently the relation of the
philosophtcR-1 definitlon.
and
the poetic
met11_phorn of tim0.
The relation of nature and time be com e s espe�ially poi�
n.'lnt
in a passar,e from book o:r: e, i>Thcre both con�epts, tim� and
nature,
are. coupled
into one: .
Postremo quae cumque dies naturaque rebus
paulatim tribuit moderatim crescere cogens,
�l1
ocu l o ru m a c i e r. c ont r:;n t a t u 0 r1. ,
porro qune . cumqn e a evo mA. c i equ 0 r; �;1 r:. s cunt ;
n e e , m:lre qu� e impend ent , v e r: c o s ::rl 0 saxa p� r c s a
qn :t t:l C'pl oqu e a m t t t:1nt i n tempore c crnc r c po s s i s ,
c orpor i bu s cne cis i r; i tur natur.:1 p;er i.t r e s .
( 1 , 322-8 ; c f . 628- )1�)
· m 1 l ln !)o t e c t
nee
·
·
If
ment ,
at
c on s i de r s ;
one
" �rhat ever
be,T, inn i n s and end of th i s
first ,
day and na t ur e adds
i s r � s tated in ·
11 by bod i e s
( cf . 2 , 127..;:B ;
129 ; · 132 -llH ) .
nat nrc "
r o rcc ,
t o t h i n ,n; s
.
Th€7 double forc c;
" natu re , 11
us
'' boi! i e s uns e en , '' · in ord e r t o effect
t i me ••. · and " thr ough
pre s en t s
" n a;r and
inr: the o t h e r
C hanr_�e of
chanrr,e .
t ime ::mn_ o c cay , "
" D ay ,
both f rom l'li th i n and from '\'T i t h out .
ccmt " clay and nature , "
l it t le by l i t t l e "
un s e en t h en natt.1 re t reat s t h i n rr,f-l "
c orres pond s t o one force ,
th in r:Y.s occurs " in
i t s elf
11
n�.ture ,
s ince
it
is
ch ang e
the
of
be f o!' e
" nature ,
appearances
us r e f l e ct about the permanen c e of be inr;·.
impiyinr:
a s ma l l ,
un i t of t ime ,
o c curs
in sma l l · s t eps ,
sum of t h in�s .
by t h e
in ' th� s u m of t h inr;s ,
s c;:�. l e
is
of nature ,
erni.nr� t he world ,
th� world ,
a n a c c lc'l. e nt
t o the
t h e same truth :
defineo
di es
,
11
i s h e ld
of
the
in ba lanc e
re f l e c t inr.: chanr;e w i t h
As
such ,
creat lve and d e s truc t ive powe r ,
law s of
therefore ,
"
the part s
o f mot i on .
grm'lt h and d e cay ,
der ived from t h e movement s
" rh1.;r ann. nature , "
the forc e '
it
s inc e nature c ompreh enn s the Nhole
the.
of me�nings from
T i me ,
s in c e
chanr;e of th ines
cont in1,1al l y a l t e ri n g
laws o f nature .
c on-
The t erm " d:1y , "
The sum of . things , h owever ,
permanent
i s P.n �. c c i d�nt
o f t h e fac t that
11
1 :::; ,
wh i ch make s
quant itat i ve ly and. qua l i tat i v e ly
rem incl s us
t h at
in the double
l t i s t he force o f t ime wh i ch make s u s r e f l e c t about
of
� t , te
of at om s .
repre s ent s
" day , 11
s tand :J
two
gov
d e t er m t n inrr,
u n i e s natura qu e ,
a s pe c t s o f' one and
f or the
changeable a spe ct
�12
of appearan c e s , · the m ea su rahl e actual i zat.ion of · in fin.i te
.
.
·
m:'l. t t � r in i n f i n t t e mot on throt�eh inf ini t e s p. � ;
'lc
i
" n:itnre , "
· fj rm laNs
infin i t e
s tands. for the un ch�n�eable a spect
nat1i ra : "
be i n
r;
t
,
he
i
s pace . 6
three a spec t s
The three met aphors - of t im e :
of nat ure :
i :n t er�hAn,�l'!ab i l i
An� Rcc 1.1lcnt ,
cnrno� wt th
�Y
mat t·e r ,
between
explA ins
mot i on ,
of
corre s pond t o the
- The
and s p.-=tc e .
natur e and t ime ,
chnn�e than w1 th pcrmnn�nce ,
·
·
cay and deat h ,
_
force
betwenn suhs tanc�
i t s e l f throu �h mnn 1 s bP. 1 nr: mor�
t irne , than with nature
with
"
of in f i n te mat te}" in in f in i te mot t on throu�h
mot i on of t ime • and r:: pa. ce of · tlme ,
t i me ,
of
.
.
m,orc
and thA-refore
S i m i larly , ·_ b i rth ann
con -
r;r owt h ,
de
a r e not pre s ented equa l ly und er . the influen c e
o f nature and t ime , but bi rth and growth more under t h e 1. n
f1uence of nature ,
of
time .
its
with
de cay and
neat h
more unde r-
the influenoe
· Once 1 1. f e . has be� , man s eems to be m o s t c oncerned
·mean in·r.:ful compl e t ion and therefore with t ime effe c t in,
chan e t oward s ·that end. .
�
The, re lat i on of t i m e and nature ,
ph i cal poem ,
t erms ,
can be gra sped
in Lucret i u s •
ph i l os o
:ln . another c omparabl e pa i r of
in the re l at i on of . 11 fortune " · and 11 nature . •
· Subs equent
�A'qX , i.n h i s n i ss .. , D tfferen ?. . fl.er d emol � r 1. t l s c h<"n u n d
1..., , "� 1 � ch cm N�t,.tr.nh i l o s onh t � ( M�rrA 1 , 1 , F'ran trf'prt · a . M .
1 0 -:::! 7 ,- 1 ..:.. ')? ) , T"!1 t. h �r. htwi l 1 innt:1y port. .,..a .y� th i � � nnn0c t 1 o"' of
"1 � t1 l r'0 rmrl t 1 mP. : 11 n t e � l l S:\J"11 � fY!1fH� i: ?. tl'Ylf': . i st 0 ie hl n � � ;'1., :"' � 1 ,,.rT.'o"T"' . ii t:"-r Jl':r:ml<'ret �n 1Tatm · • -· di e Z ei t ihre ald:u o � e Fo'Y"m
Di �
": 0 1 t r'f...... rr:� f";�n i st. n a s Fen·� r r'f e s He r: rms , n�f' i U e F.rsche innn.�
0•·r i � VPl"� ehr-t un� i h r n 0n S tenmel iter Abhti.n n:j ":k8 i t tmd H e
·
� 0"1 l0 si l!k�i t
aufclr1'fckt . 11 ( n:o . · 1�2- 3 )
tti\R:X i n · c �ptn re of th o;
0 r- � t'l!n t: l ."l.l:1 ; thou�h , lacks s upnort from \<Tork l:�r: l·Ti th t: h e t. P. xt s
N"'l i r. l't Nnn l n. h ave prev!"lnten h i m from i d cnt i fy1 np: 'Rp i cnru n 1 '1 nd
L1 1 �r,.t:l n s ' . not i on of time , ann led h i m t o i" oticP. t he , · crHci n l
c o -0:v:t st�nce o f n.e f ini t i on and metaph qrs of t i me i n Lucrct t u s >
t-rorl-:- .
4v .
en�
•
•
•
·
•
•
�RR
the
�overn in�
( 5 , 77 ) , t h �n
f i r r-: t na t u r e
rp t o t e � dl"'� cr ihe ,
T he � on t e xt ,
world .
an
t h:'\t
prov i o e s
fortune " :
nnture det erm tne s
S i m i ln.rly �
the
� l �nr
it
t h e een err.t.l laws · of
the
No.rln ,
po s s ibl e w i th i n t h o s e
relat i on of nature and. t i me ,
aml r�.c c i n ent , was s h own t o c on s i s t i n the re l ::tt
.
1 on of
t hrou Fr,h
The conn ect i on bctl·reen the t h re e
of na tu r e ,
pe ct s
behmen
d ence
forc e ,
fo!'ce
the
unde!" the
expl icat es
r;round for
a.e f i n i t i on ,
metaphors of
three
under . the
is
t i me R S f orce ,
ln mot i on of . t i Me
fo�
there f ore , . bec omes t h e key
the three
of
mat t e r ,
m on
t ime .
of
the
i ndi c at e s
pa i r s
aspect . of nature ,
a s pe c t of
mat, e r ,
t
t ime ,
the
spe c lal
chan{!e<'lble .
a
nd
t he common
m o t i on , and
of
�
groun
space ,
t i me
of
The fa ct t hrt t
a s t im e expl i c,a t e s na t u r e
the po e t i c viel-t
c orre s pon
impo rt anc e of
the pe r�anent ,
the
,
is
the
c om
and i t s ph i lo s oph i cal
.
for the m e taph o r i c a l use
and
as
conne ct i on ·
one t o one
The
t ime .
·
mnt' t � r·
and f o r c e
of t i me
l:nm .
of sub s tan c e
in m o t i on throur;h space
space
h1.t t
to nnt11ri"'l ,
framework for " �ovcrn i n �
the
only t h e part i cular move s ,
f ortur P.
��k c �
however ,
equa} n o r r i va l forc e
thr:� t; f ortune is n f) i t h c r
" �overnin� nnt u re "
fortun� ( 5 , J O? ) ,
de f in i t i on as
its
of
ac c i
den t o f mot i on .
'T"hP-mA ,
Dev e l opment ,
ann.
.to lm� erRt:=m rl h ow t tme ,
ac c i d ent ,
�"11 th l'l � tnre ,
of t h e world ,
th�
�s
th8 subs tance
be c omn s
d oe s
not ,
h m'l�ver ,
vThi ch
th i. s subs t i tut i on takes place ,
c on � i n �rtn.�T,
the
d e p�l"ln en c e
s e c on d.
aspect
mean to
e s R::ty t r i. ed
intt"?. rchnnr:eab l c
�1.1h s t i tu t i on of th e o.ef i n it i on by m e·taphors
1 m n ers tanrl " h ow "
its
of th i s
Recapi tulat i on
also
of
e n ta i l e d
t ime .
under stand
To
11 Nh�.r "
a que s t i on t o be ansi'mred by
of Lu c re t i u s
on human percept i on .
1
d e f i n i t i on of t ime ,
�r u m�>�t of T.l l �rr.t 1 u s ' f1 P.f 1 n l t i on
"''-1 n f i r r. t
��n�n� Pn c P
on
mot t on ami
r� r: t
Ntl f.l
t l r:'l'� ' r.
of t h j nt,_;!C :
t. � mpns i t �m p�r ::: 0. n on � s t , r. r n rP.hu n ah i p� :t �
c nn r: � q, t i tiu• s �'l"l stt s , trrmsac t n m qq i.� s i t i n :v: v o ,
tnm q1 1ae ros 1 nf1 t �t , 'l.U io. porro n P- lnn c r-:cqu-:1. tu r ;
n r- c !)�r s e quer!'iquam · tempus s r-mt l rc · fl'lt endum s t
� em otum ab rerum motu plac id.aque qu i At P. .
·
-
'T'he S t:! c on d as pe ct .
( 1 , h.59 - fl ) }
t i me ' s d�pe!lden c e on hum�n pr:!rcept i on ,
imnl t e s both man ' s awarene s s and. man ' s- ""v�lua t i on of t t rne .
M::l.n 1 s
of t i me , . com inP-:
::\Narfm� s s
� t �mr-: . from
hetl'leen
rea lms i s iTIA.n 1 s d1 f ferent
1
·
, 1 0 08;,.9 ; 2 , '3 07 ) ,
(5,
R2B - J 6 ) ,· and
t'lrilln�
TT1 0 re
-
th rough
{ 2 , 5fl9 - 8 0 ) , i s
n e::t th
a lways
h�mG\n nnt u r � .
t ou�h c on
�
of t i m e ,
wh r! t h e r
7.
c on s tant cyc l e of
the
( 2 , JOJ ,
lt fe
and
�:'!me and always not the
wh ere deve lopment
R ame
in time eventual l y mean s
t i me s e ems t o he c om e more a nrl
the more . one m oves
from t h e part s t o thq
8
?r. f . P . n�JA. GY , Proc c R s ann Value :
rr � Ph " , A A , 1957 , l�L�-2t1 .
0
, "
, where the, sum .. of .thinp.:s
the
back t o the he r;inninp; ,
ne_p;l i ,cr.ibl e ,
l•Th o l e .
wh o l e
the s e tlfro ,
evaluat i on
· nature or human nature · t s · concernen .
· ,
- · 1\fi t h in nat u rP , :1s a
trwm s e l V P- �
well a s · t h i nrrs of
th in�s of nature n s
'T'hP. rPa s on for d i s t fngu i s h inp;
"'V>. c tert ,
from · 11 t h in�s
An epi cur0an d i l emma ,
J,�OP.'\ RDI , TJA. p: ine R t ra , 11 . 292-? :
" c o s i 0 () 1 1 1 -u omo
i l"l"l"' fl. l""::l. , e d P. l l 1 etad:t ch 1 e i ch lnma ant i ch e , e fiel seguir che
f�.YJ.V1.o f! r.mo r;l i avi 1 ne not i , sta n11tura oenor vert:'te , anz l
p�occ n � p�r s i lun�o cammino , che s emhrn a tar " . cf . S . BORRA ,
� n1 r i t i e f orme affini in Luc rez i o e Leopa rd i � Bol ogna ,
· ·r f .
19 )4 .
11 .
'
1
�1.·ii t.h :l t1 t. h n
At
c on t � xt
of nn.tur� :
qun r. i · 1. nn � :l.nqn o · f 1 u e r e
omn i !"t
�ern t mu r.
n.ev o
o�•J l i s qn c v e t u s t a t e rr. subd u c t:: re n o r. t r i s .
c1 i in tnmen incolum i s v i dr"at 1 1 r s u r'Hna man e re pronte :rr-m qu i a , qw1e d e c� rl u n t cor�or!:l cn l qu e ,
1 mn i-1 n h0.1 m t m innunt , quo vennre anr:m i n e (lon�nt .
· i l lr:t r-; en e- s c ore , at ha e c c on t rn. flor� r: c e r e cor,unt ,
n.ric remoran t i t r i b l ; s i c r e rum summa novatur
s emper , et . . i n t er se mo rta l e s mu tu� v i �Jnt .
m.t r;e s cnn t a l i a e p:ent e s , al i ae m i nuun t u r ,
i nrtu n brevi s pnt i o mut an tu r n r-� e c l a rm i mnntum
et q11a s i cu r s o r e s v i t a l 1ampaci::.t t rnd unt .
ex
·
( � , 69 -79 ;
Th i s i na t ff erence · df 'tlme and. nature ,
man c ont ent of l i fe ,
.of . 1 1. fe :
cf .
w i t h re s pe c t
) , 9 71 )
t o any hu
move s man t o re s i s t nature for the
sake
9
Qu od ( s i
i am rerum i F.;n orem pr i mord i a quae s int ,
h oc tame,., ex i ns i s ca e l i rat i on i bu s rm s l m
conf i rmare a l i i sque e x rebus redCi e re mn l t i s ,
nflCJl l P. quam nob i s ci i v i n i tn s e s s e r.mratam
t ant a s tat prae d i ta cu l pa .
na t u rn m rerum :
pr inc i ni o qw = tn t u m cae l i t e ,:;i t i mnetus i np;en s ,
inn � av i d a m JX rtcm mont e s s i lvneque ferarum
'l
:r}o ss fl dere , t �nent rU TIA S · va s t :18qu e palude s
et mar0 , quon l �t e t err�rum cl l. s t :i. net orn s .
1 n c'i n n u :1. s porro nrope pn rt i s - fArv i 0 u s nrd or
n.c'i s i nuus que r:e l i casus morta l i hu s a u f e rt .
quod super e s t :=t.rv i , tamen id na tnra sua · v i
s ent i.bus obducat , n i v l s . humana rc s i s tat
vi t n i cau sa. va l id ·o c onsue.t a b i nenti
in�emere et- t e rram pre s s i s pro s c ind ere rtra t r i s .
.
)
·.
( 5 :;
The d i f f e r ence betwe en the de s cript i on of
cry i np.: in 1 t s he l ple s sne s s
la.r�e ly t a ken care
mAan
(5,
of by na t u re
re s i �at i on be fore nat ure
f o r ilevel opment
.
t o �ff l rm
..
•
.
.
:
222-7 ) ,
,
195- 109 )
the newborn c h i
ld ,
and t he youn� ani mR �_ s ,
hers e l f ( 5 ,
2 2 8-34 ) ,
does not
but rec ov1i t i on of t he ne�d
i n t h e ca ? e of man :
" One
s o small are t he trace s
..
th int; I fe e l abl e
of nature
left ,
wh i ch
9"'or a more extens i v e s tudy of the e p i curean v i eN of man t s
e xne r i ence of t ime , cf . my D i s s . , op . c i t . , ch . 3 , Z e i t e r.
fahrun� , pp . 140-9 .
�t
rr>rt. � n..,., �on J r! n ot di�pe l for u n ,
f"rom l i v 1 n o:
m !'l.n
a
th�t. n ot h tnr; n tn t'J �rs
l i fe l•rorthy of �od � "
{ J , 3 19-22 ) .
t o ov e rc ome . tbe 1.no i ff e rence of
on� 1
man 1 s
�
· the
l i. fP.t ime ,
t n :-r l.t: of"
t hourrh r e. latcrl ,
rorm s :
detachment from t �mpor3.l th ings t•ri th in h i s ol'm
o t h er
man
1 i f� by s e e int-:. h i ms elf
of h i r- 01'1!1 nat ure
IT'-'ln .
Th i s ·
t i me nnd nn.t u re , l'T i t h
.
takes on two ,
t o human- l i fe ,
r � � pP.ct
1H l
a. �
1 s o.vP.rconi inr: t hP. t f'mpora l i ty of h t s
as
p.: rt or mn.!lk ind , a11n. the o evcl opm0.nt
"l
fi vP of " ne rernm
·
of
part of th e d evel opment of the natur�
_d e s cript i on of the dev e l opment . o f
Lu cre t iu s '
n P. t u ra "
c omr>l t cat ed. s tate � �nt of
.
m·m
end s Joti t h
( 5 , 92.5-lh57 ) ,
th�
man ,
a
in
bo 9�
rather
'princj.:Ole� nf chrmee : 1 0 .
.
.
c t i mpin;rn.e s i mu l e xperiP.n t i n m ent. 1 :=:
'f'rt.n lrl t 1 m docu i t p�o .e t empt i m :prC"'jl"efJ :\. P.nt t r.-; .
s i c nnnm · qu i cqu i ft paula t im prot. r:1 h i t
rat i oque in lu m ini s eri;'3i t ora � ;
, , r;u s
n.P.tl'l.s
in : mcd.ium
.
.
1\ r:-
rt.
f 1. r R t
.
.
qu ote from book fou r shm·rs
. ..-.
1.mpP. J.1. inr:
force . t ol'mrd-s
h"! t:11 � � f'r u': e 'of both ,
Rlt.l , R J)2 ) .
. ( 5 , 1 1-1-52 -.5 )
('4., 822-5-? L
pro�r.r"' B S ,
" u s �J s " ,
" pr::J.ct i c e "
mer-t n s
�ot i on and !'"--'-'!. �t t on
1-t- , R ) l , R 3 5 ,
( cf .
" i mni r;rn� e x:nnri ent i a nent l s "
� im:l. lnrly ,
th�
rn e n 11 �
: �·: .
t: '1 Yl c � of h.n man rea s on - in the pro cP � t: o f ch�n.� e .
1 h 1 o r of
t h i A s t n.tcment
t h � r i. r !1 t t\·10 l i n e s :
-� ,.,n " ,
!l.r�
" aeta s " and
re p�nt
" r�t 1 o " ,
" reas on "
the p:J tt ern o f
" t ime " ana
coupleO. .a s . f orc c � t m;1ard s pro�:re s s ,
nJ. n c � of · " p:l'a.ct i �c , "
1 0 ::-' or
of prin c i.pl 0 s
Th e las t t'·ro
in t h e place of
" t j me "
" r�n
i n thr!
" the experien c e
more ext ens ivP s twly o f the eni eurcan unfl crs tann 1 n f" of
'· '
t i m e :1. !1 f orce of o.eve l opmcnt , iri .natuPo - or h i s t ory ., c f � . my
f) f � s- � , op . c it . , ch . 2 , Z e i t funkt i on , pp . 75-139 .
n.
�'
I'
of t!-1 � c."'l. r;rn"'
m inr! . "
" rr-� l � f:' S u p , "
s upp l an t ,
t h e ore t i. �.'!:\ 1 verb ,
Two prr:I c t i cn. J. v e rh s ,
in the
" t au �ht , 11
las t
nu t 11
l ines , th e
two
" b ri n?.: r:
m o re
f i rs t
f r om the
t No l i n e s
,
r�.nd
and
thw :; e ffe c t · A balance _o f the ory and pra c t i c e
in b o t h prirt � .
ThP. c omna r i s on b e t l>re e n t h e t wo
t h e i n t e rc hn.n ge
part s
nhl l i t y between na t u r e and. t i me
� P�t ,
d i s m1 s s ed �a�l i er
· of t h e deve l opment of
l•rh 1 ch
is s e en ,
human nature ,
onc e unde r the
H e re ,
t o t h e role of t i m e ,
inf lu ence
nnrsues
of change ,
of hum9:n a ct i on
has an ad ned i n i t i at ive
t h e worln
lies
i n the c on t e xt
the p r o c e s s
human m ind or human re::1 s on .
the l'TOrld of nature and
s on •
be tween sub s t an c e anfl a c c i
( 5 , 828-36 ) .
1 mrler the i n f lu ence of t ime ,
ca s e s :
,
r e ca l l s
,
one�
in b o t h
The d i ffe ren ce be tween
of human nature ,
wi t h re s p e c t
in that man , on a c c ount of h i s rea-
end. s and make s
c h o t c e s wi t h a v i m'l to ends :
s i c v o lvend.a aetas commv tat t e mnora rer,l m .
in pr et i o , f i t nul l o d.eni.qu e honore ;
"90rro a l iud s u c c ed i t e t ( e ) cont empt 1 bu s e x it
inque (U e s maf;i s adpe t i tur f l oretque repertum
laud ibus et m i ro e s t mort al i s int er h onore .
( 5 ' 1276-8 0 )
f'l1 1 od fu i t
I n a d d i t i on t o the blind mechani sm of atoms , wh i ch ,
realm of natur e ,
effect s change ,
The
the
s tA.tement of princ i p l e s ,
n ev e l opment ,
u s u s et
end.s
in the
man ' s cho i c e , e xpre s s ed in
appre c iat i on or c ontempt , ' be c ome s
mP.l"l t .
.
rnain fac tor of develo!l
i n the d e s c r ipt i on of rJ:::-.n 1 s
with a ra t h e r amb t r:u ou s c l i max :
imni grae s irnu l e xperi ent in ment i s
p8_,, lat im doCl.l i t pe<'ietempt i m proF;re d i ent i s .
s i c unum qu i cqu id. priu l at im protrah j t aeta s
in m e d i u m rat i oque in lum in i s e r i. �i t ora s ;
nrtmque a l id e x a l i o c lare s c e re cord e v i debant ,
a. r t i bu s a.d s u m mum don e e venere cacumen .
( 5 , 1452-7 )
The d i ff i cu l t y of h ow to int erpret
t l v e ly ,
a s hi s t or i cal ful f ilment of
11 cacumen11 ,
t he
e i t h e r pos i
m
deve lop ent o f human
�lA
nature
( cf .
J , 3 1 9 - ?. 2) , or ne�n t lvn ly , as
noint b �twAen p.;rowt h anit decay •
.
natural tu rn i nr.:
inrt i c at e s the ii i fferenc�
in evaluat i on of t i m e , wh ethe r nature as a wh ole ,
wi thin natur� iR concerned .
nature
t i on of a
r;:tther lat e stage in the
t n�r l l i c l i fe . ( 5 ,
1 379- 1415 ) ,
t i on s from the d e s cript ion
1 1 fe
The fact tha t
( 2 , 1 -hl )
'·
surr.�ests
development
or hum;1n
.thf) des crip
of man , . th�
contai n s word for �orord
rep� t i
of the ep! curel\11. att i tu d e t ol-mrd s
how important t i me and · h i s t o r i ca l
o eve lopment of. hu mnn nat ure are for th� . ach i evP.ment of t h e
T h e - wi s dom ,
h i c!:he � t · w1srl.om .
acqui red ove r a lon� s pac e of
time , from pr1m1 t i ve man t o �pi curu n ( .5 ,
t o cons i s t in a more and.
natu re and.
human
na t ur e
cosmns ,
as world ,
la'<T nnd
randomnes s .
�rtf.lbles
him
1 1-fA "
w i th in nature :
int e l l i p: i ble
Rhown
as
With the pas sin!'_; of
chaoti c environment , bu t
in c au s e ::: ann
eff e c t s ,
in
Man 1 s experience w i t h nat u re not only
to cont rol ann
( cf . 5 , 19 5-234 ) , but
�t !!tnff inl': of h imself and
on h i s cont rol
is
more art i ctJlat e un<'l erf}t;andinp; of
t im e , nature appears not any more
A.s
92 5-:-1L�57) �
change na tu r e " for the sn ke
of.
als o re f l e c t s btick on h :\. s unn er
h i s rel::tt l on
to other
men ,
that t s ,
a.nn chan�e of human nnt u re . wi t h in nn.ture . ll
. ..
.
.
.
r. ontr-ol �n� chnn o:-e of nat 1 1 re an, human natur� l'li t h 'i :n nA.tl l re
1 � � · h ol'r�v�r- , not thP. �a.m0. tl s t}le mnre. rnon ern. 11 0.on'}u e s t o r
n nt:m"e 11 •
� onqu 0 s t of :n.1lb.tl)'e , a s , for i n r.: tnnc e , P . B�.�o:n en.
vi � i ons i t , . � �pe!1.fk:: on the 11 closer and purer l e�r:ue betHP en
th e s r:> tNo f:=tcu lt.i� s , the �x-perl ment�.l 11nn the ra t. i o:nn.l ( �nch
rH" h�.s r.. � ver- ye t ber-m mn.cte ' � ( Nov . Orp; . ,, . 1 , !\ph . 9 5 ) ; " For
thP m"'.t t. Ar i:n hn-no. l s no m(!re . f� l :t c i ty of f:: peou l r-1 t t on ; hnt
t.,P r"I"}A 1 hn s i r.. � � � o:n o fortunes · of the hvmA.n ra ce , Rnt1. :1. 1 1.
nnw�r of opel"::l.t i on .
For mA.n 1 ::: hut the ::l � rvRnt .9.nc' t int ·'! r -
pr-�t.P.T' ' or nature : \'lhat he <'t oe s and wh at he 1qlows i s . on l y
'IITl-t � t h e hns obs erved o.f n�ture 1 s ord e r i n fl)ct o r i n th nn,o;h t ;
.
11
·
�l <)
1,
( cr.
rf:'ll i": on ,
n
P.mnh � � t s· on
reveal s
n:tb t�A
in the i r
mot 1 (\n
t h r m H th
of P;rmr t h ,
ha s
or
" hum:tn
ra l l s
the diffe renc� bo tNe en nature and h u man
re spec� ive
t h f.'
s t ab i l i t y
In hnman natu't"e , man , hnv l n r::
law s of a l l compound bod i e s ,
On the
only ha s t o c h oo s e the
mnt t n r in
" conveni ent m ovemen t s , "
mAtnr it;y anrl d e cay .
under
In nature ,
d e v e l opment :
space effects
l aws o f. p:rowth and d e cay .
h f'.'! not
" human minrl "
in an.<'U t i on t o hl l m:tn ac t i on an d t i me , a s prin c l pl � �
o f ch �.l, r�o ,
hot1 :v ,
The
119-22 ) .
o t h e r hann .
s t eps
that i s
the
hav i ng rea s on ,
of h i s growth , but he
t o f ind l i m i t s , . f o r bod. i ly as 't're l l a s
a
s p i. r i t ual need s ,
i t s whi ch w i l l ke e p h im w i t h i n " c onveni en t �ovement s , "
al�y
l i m
that i s
b0.yont1. th 1 � h e knows not h ing ann can d o not h i n.� .
For the chn in
of f'!:l 1 J s e s cB.nn ot. hy any f o r c e he l o o s en or hrol�cn , nor c:tn
nR: t H re be c omman cl ed excn pt by be inr,: obeyed .
fl.nd s o t h o s e tl;Tin
oh j r> ct. � , hu man l<nowl ed �e and humR-n '!'JOWe r , n o rea l ly meet in one ;
nnn i t i s froM i .o:n oran c e of c:J.u s e s that opern t i on fai l s " ( �rov .
Or� . , D i s t r i b . Op . , s ect . 6 ) .
n r mean i t t o be a h i s t ory not
on l �r of' n FJ.ture f'ree and at larr,e ( t'lhen she i s left to h r� r mm
cour � e and n oe s h e r wo rk her own Nay ) . .
hut much more o f n2.
tnrP. 1. m n er con s t ra int ancl v e xed ; that i s t o say , �rh en hy r-trt
r-tno t ho hnnil. o f man she i s forced out o f her natura.l s t a t � ,
A.nrl s qu l". ezen a11d. m oulr'l en: " Orov . Orp: . , D i s tr th . Op . , s e c t . 3 ,
c f . 1 , A nh ' s • 1 -11- ) ; " On a r: i v en horly , to g-enP-ra t e and s n ne -r i n
d H ce. ::t n eN nature or ne1'1 natu.res · l s t he Nork R-nd n. i m of h' lfTl"l.n
'V'�'""' r .
O f r3. rd ven nat1 1 re t o n t ::>r�over t h e f o rm , t h e tru " � m� c i
f i c r'l t -r r " rcn c e , or n1ltnre - en�en n e r ing n n t u re , o r � O'Jrc0 of
P.JT!:).n�.t. l on , . . . is t h e work ann a i m of humf.J.n 1m<nT l e n p.:c '' ( N ov . Orr; .
?. , A nl-l . l ) .
T h ou ,�h BA con qu ot A s Lucre t :t u s ' pra i s e of Epi <'l l T'U S a s
rl:l � cove re r o f t h e n�. tu re of t h i n�:1 ( N ov . Orr; . , 1 , A ph . 1 ?. 9 ) ,
ann t hour:h Lu c re t in s speaks , in t h e Rccotm t of mr:tn 1 s d evf'lop
mcn t. , of t h 0 co opera t t o:n of 11 p�a c t i c e anrl th e oxne r t en c r.l of t: h e
�n rrPr m i nr:'! 11 ( 5 , l?ln-AO ; anrt m y Dis s . , op . c i t . , pp . 111�- R ) �
h e l'TOn l n never , l i. ke Ba con , s p�ak o f man ' s " end cnvor t o " S t n-hl i sh
�net exb�11n t h � pm-;cr f\nd dom i. n i. on o f the humnn r.1. c e 1. t s b 1 f over
th� nn j vr> r :< r " ( il ov . Or.r; . , . 1 , A :oh . 1 ?9 ) .
i
Bn. � on • s v 1 G i on of t h P.
11 f" r.'ln 1 'Y'� of ma 1 1 ov e r thinr;r: " ( Nov . Orr: . � T , 1\ nh . 1 2 9 ) rr s t � m:
t r. r-- �nnnor d. t i on that he hil s 11 ri s tn.b l i. :.hen forever a t ru e · .<: n•l
ln.,·r fn l Pl.., rr i F! p;r:> br> bm en the emp l r t c::J. l 1lnd t h e ra t 1 ona l fn c. 1 .1 1 ty ,
t: h 0 1 m 1 d nil nnd i 11-s tn.rred c'U vorc e and S "'! TJ."l. r(l t i on of '•Th i ch h : � �
t h rrwm tnto c on f1 1 R i on :o�. lJ. t h e affn. i P :_:! o f th8 h1.lm� n fa1'1 i. 1;r " ..
( �! rw . Oro; . , In s t �n t . r1ar;nn. , PrP. f :; ; cf . 1 , .ll. ph .· 9 5 ; cf L . �,-;:P.P') ,
.'�. n i. � t rorlu ct l on t o the pol i t i cn. l pl1 i l o s ophy of F . Bacon , D t � r: . �
C11 1 c-=trr,o 1957 , ch � 7 , The C on que s t of •Nn.tu re ) .
·
.
.
�,., ; t'1 i n
{ cf .
th� frrmc1-ror.-k o f
hu mn.n
· 5 , J.ltJ0- 5 ; 2 , 1 -6-1 ) �
�ur·u � ,
ove r the o l ii
i.tr,
fn l f 1 1rrtc.n t
t h e pr:J z c l>Th i ch e l cvat n s !\pi
is
( r!f . - 1 , 6 ?. -?9 ; 3 ,
t h e new r:od of culture
ft , 1. -lr.? ) ,
in
Th i s wi sdom ' t o lmm-1 t h n. l i m i t :.
nnt\1rc
!lnpropr l ::t t � for · man 1 r.
ri.ntnro
r:o<'l s , C�res �
on l �,r d cn.lt w i t h bod i ly nn cd s
( 5,
Rncchu8 rmrl
1�3 0 ; 5 , 1-90 ;
Pcrculc � ,
Nh o
To l�ON t h e l l m :t t �
· 1- 51� ) .
annrorrr :J n. t P. f or humn.n nat u re m ean� t o know the 1 i m t t s for c on
t r o l l tr1 � rino
�1-,n.nr:inp;
l'lA. ture and nn.ture as
.
pro s pe c t
The
?4 ;
2,
. e sn .
in book
re s pe c t
sake o f 1 1 fe , "
both
hu man
a : l>lh.o l e . ·
..
of the death
of human nat u re
refle c t
than w i th
" f or the
ll J l -2 ), wh i.ch will
d eve l opment
mak� man
nature
,
Of
t
our na u ral world
set an
en
d
( 2 , 1105-
t o nny h i s t o r i c<t l
whether pos i t i �e or ner;at i vc , l 2
on t i me more w i t h respect. · t o
to the l i fe o f . mank i nd .
his
ot-m l i fe
A s Lucre t ius
c la i ms
t hree :
i l lud. in h i s rebu s v i de o f irrriare pot e s se ,
usqw� a<'leo naturarum ve s t i p;ia l inqu i
nP.rvola , quae nequ eHt rat j_ o dene ll e re n ob i. s ,
l � t n ih i l i npf'?rl_ i at d i p:na m n. i s n e r;ere v i tam .
( J ; 3 19 -22 )
1? � �1-- olarr-: wi cl e l y d t. s a.c:r:rne about the po� t t i v e
0 1� rt e ,n:n t i v 0.
evn. l n at i on o f man ' s h i � t or i c a l d ev P. l opmr.m t hy t; h 0 F:})lc11 rr�an s .
l!f" l th (:' J"' t h e s i mply
n iUJi'FB TDA , I l f i!Ja] e 0 0 ]
V l ihro el i J,l l cr�z l o , F.pi cu ren in mP m . H . B i P'norJn , GP.novn. 1 0 .� 9 ,
1 ?�"Ll r)5 ; 'P . I<'LT�Tf1.'Jt;;R , Ph i l o s onh :l P. und J) i c h t Jmn s t �.m !�nn e 0 P. s 2 .
P.u ch � s n � s
80 , J 9 52 , J�Jl ; I. .,R 0'!3 TN , S u r ln
c ol1.c0'!"lt 1
e p1.curvmn� nn
R evue d e m�Jtap�y s iqu P. � t
�o��l e , 2 1 , 1 9 16 ,
n o� t h e �imply
r'r'T�;\l T . T.<1. m orale n 1 'En i cure et s e s r.q nnort s n.ve c . l e s r! oc t r i ne s
�O.Ylt 0l"lnQrninc s , Par i s 192 7 )
v i eN
fi o j'u s t :t c e t o t h e
e n 1 �nrean al>rarene s s .of th e prqbl emat i c char::1.c i;( er o f humar-.
11 T) r- n n-re r.; s " .
A.nprecJat i on or both a s pe ct s , pe s s i m i s t i c nr.n
ont 1 m i s i t c ( F . f1. IAfi.! COTT I , L 1 ott im1 s mo re la.t t v o ne l 11 l)e re rum
natura '' rl.i Ln �rez i o , Tortno 1960 ; R . MONDOL:PO , La c omprens i on e
<h� l s ol"p:e t t o umano nell 1 ant i chita c la s s i ca , Fi renz e , 19 58 ; my
D i s s . , on . c it . , pp . l Jl-9 ) , s e em s to c om e closest to the t ruth .
p� ss l m ir: t i c ( P.
on
�u;rez ! Hermes ,
.
pror:r??� ,
6�7-719 ) ,
opt 1 m i st i c ( � . � .
seems t o
An
�.
Tn �
on�
nP!"l.th .
t h in:� t h �
Th e
·
r:.oo :::
.
ano
at om s ,
bool< �
cosm of worlds ,
.
fou �,
i�
t i mo ::m �
th e books n.hou t
t wo , the boolm ab ou t thA m i r, ro�o�m
one ann.
f i ve nnd s i x ,
t he books ahou t
the
s h O\'l'S mn.n ' s s pe c ial po $ i t i n w i h in
o
t
mR.r.�o
thP.:
sum
be in� i n t h e c n e r betwe en m i cro c os m and macroco s m ,
e t
o f th in�s :
h P.
are n ot conc nrn cd. abou t
por, i t i on o b oo k s three and
f
T.0-n , hP-b·mcn b oks
o
of
'
i s :::tt t h e same t i m e part
of the cyc l e of t i me and nature and.
Mf!:tt 1 s
able t o detach h i m s e l f from i t o acc unt of h i s ' rea s on .
n
o
m i nd and. s ou l enable h i m t o be a
ware of t i me ,
tl.:l e mAa su rable as p c o nature .
e t
f
.
.
role wi tl1 in tJ aturA ,
A \'r.;lre
t o be awa re of
of nature and t 1me 1 s
man becom e s aware of death ,
more so t h :1.n
sJn,ce . the end t o t h e fulfi lment of hum�n nat u re
of ; pir .tl ,
t
m ore s i � i f i cant than the beginning of i t s prom i s e .
is
The ex
hortat i on o person i f i ed nat u r e t
f
o overc m t he fear of de a t h ,
oe
in t h e Fin l o h ok three ,
ae
f o
in mo re gen r l t e rms ,
e a
f
ea of t h e
r
e xh rtat i n t ov e rcome t h
o
o
o
e
the P.n�. o . mo i on .
f
t
pl i c i tly ,
means ,
book abou t m t i n and r s ,
o o
e t
end of t ime ,
The Proo m ium of b o t w ,
e
ok
o
im
the
pra i s ed the task of the epi curean
ph i l osohe r to gain res o er m t i on t h roug
p
t
v
o
h
enabl in� h i m
and ,
the power of � ind ,
t o evaluat e t h e needs of body and m ind ,
an d . t here
fore t
o set
l i m i t s for h i m s e l f in a cr. ord ance wi th human nature
( 2 , 1-61 ) .
Th e f ct t ha
a
t b ok thr
o
ee e xpla in st h e na ure
t
mind and
one , at
s oul
in
in mot i on th rour,h
t e rm s of bod i e s
lea� , wond r abmlt
t
e
r:a i.n r e s t o e r m ot i on and t
v
the
chance s
h e l"e fore
tm•rard s t im e w i c h w uld rend.e r i
h
o
t
l i fe RS · i t appears t o be ' � 6r ihe
the � 1 nale of b o t re e, nat u re ,
ok h
t h e nnc han�eab le aspect o f
v oid ,
of t h e m i nd ,
tot ake on
make s
ever t o
an at t i tude
as ne,g l i t�ible for one
i i fe
o f
'3 1_nr:le
of t he sum of t h i � g s .
In
a lways pre s ent and repre s �n t i n
being , t r i e s · t o
c onvince man ,
that
�t lM� ,
n l1 r
1
n�vel"' pre s ent , n e t ther a s
wholP.
n6t- i n i t r::
r�:nrP- s �n t inr: th� c han,n;enbl� aspe c t of.
n � .�u. �i.bl� a.s fl\r
as
humAn life i s .
ncc io.ent of mat ter .
a c'c l �.ent
of
in
fo rc e of t i me ,
t i. m e :
man
means that
the poet i c me taphors
and. s pa c e. of t tme ,
m ot i on of. t i m e ,
chan �in� th e nature of the wh ol e · 1'10rld 11
a l t erin[",' a l l thi ngs "
on
are there fore not
the same leve l , but one ,
,
An
.1 n
or fina l ly •
to he reihtcP.d t o i t s ph i l o s oph ical d efini t 1 on .
"'T'imP.
In oth ':! r \•roro r-:
t hRt t i me i s on ly
mot i on throu r:h space ;
Thi s
nature .
ap:oearnnc e s , i r:
c.onc o rn ed .
p(!T'S On i f i. � d nn.t u rc tr1. e s t o C OnV 1. riCC
p:1.r t � ,
of
are
( 1 , 1�59 - 6 ) ) .
r.m d " nature
int erchan �eable
terms
subsumed under t h e o t h e r ,
t ime ,
n.:
"l.ture .
rm tnt en i m mund i nnttir::t!'l t ot iu s a r:> t n s
�l i oque n l i u s st�tus exc i n�re omn ia d ehf:'t
" "=' � !TI�ne t ulla s11 i s im tl i s r0 � :
omn i a n i rrr�nt ,
ornni � c o!"!m1.1 tr:1.t nat u r-A- ,_t vert ,qyoe C O '"': i.t .
n ,.rnqn e A.l. 1 uo pn t rP,:;ctt et nevn �.e'!J i l e l:1r:�uet ,
110""1"'0 �.l i n n ( mw ) c r0 � c i t e t ( f) ) cont 0mpt i.bu s e xi t .
s i c i r: i tnr mnnn. i n a tu rn.m t ot i u � a.ot �. s
� , tRt , et e x al to t nrram statu s c xc 1 p i t n lt e r ,
r:J.n on . notn i t :n equeat , po s s tt quod n on t n J ; t :1.n t e .
��
( 5 , 82A-Jh )
� tm n �.rl. �r
to
th� s;rmme t-r-y of
it 1. r. cn s s :J. on About
a1
s hane of at oms \Ora �
t. Ari n � al l th 1 nr:;s "
�'1 , ' "· 1 1 �r
�ff�cted. hy
n n"'l�n t rl. t nn.tu r� "
111"! -r . p . 9 above .
book b-To 13
i � framed by
both .
( 831
in
,
Nhel"A
th e c �� t :r."1 l
rmrroundnd
by t h e d i t:l -
f':hf' ll � c ount of " t i m f' ehn.n-
'T'he c �ntr::t l pos i t i o� of " om11 l::1
R?.8-36 )
..
.
.
.
ann. the comprehr-m s i ve
-
ch.'!racte
�' '1
nn '!':nr1 r1 t ot 1 n � "
·.
·R 1·l ,... '"" '"' f-! t
" mntat rm 1. m mnnrH nA.t1 1 r'1.m t ot i u r: n e t :"l � "
1.n
hm·rP.v0.Y. , thn.t t t m e :t s on ly
1
the appn.rrmt ,
!' 1 '11"l. l l;r �11 rn·m ln the c ent er of Ln oret :i.ur: 1
of
nn.turc ,
t;h l') :ro�t .
t. r.inmph of Prooerr: ium fou r
t � felt e1ven r.torc i f -one i s aNa.re of i t s
H i T.lDO l :Jrto:::
( 73-87 ) .
th e po s s e s s i on of
th!'YJ
There ,
H t ppol�r t o s ,
fi"UJ 'feo 5'0 v'?
by t each inP;:l. l-1- , . reveled
f l m·rers
to Artemi s ,
v i oJ..qt e TTlead.m'l ,
snr i :n o:t i me
wat e red
bee . l5
hy·
A ! dos
F:u r i p i d e t 1
fancJ'i n,o;
h i mGe l f in
vers i on of the
and 1 ov.c s
own brow .
Ln cre t ius and t h e Mu s e s ,
na ture ra ther
a
l<Treath of
or ,
been
2 1 -7 ) .
an
i. n
i ma�c ,
the
poet ,
l ov e s t o approac:h rm<t
to
pluck fl ovre rs and
to
Th e re lat i on of H i p:pol;rt o s
a l t ered t o
th e re lat i on o f
more poignant ly ,
of t 'l1 e poet and ,;enu s , . the eond.e s s over h i s
l h'P or
_by
and v :l. s i ted only by the
of t h e Hus e � ,
nnd h i s �odd e s s A rt em i s h a s
( 1,
9 2 1 � 50 )
s ou rce ,
a pos s e s s ion
In Lucre t ius '
wreath for h i s
of th in rr,s "
] ,
( cf.
in h i s ded.:i. cat i on of
t o o r inl{ from virr; i n s prin�s ,
::\
,
t: h 0. d� t fj cn.t i on
fl m-rers wh ich were plu cked from
t ravers ing path le s s f l e ld s
B e ek
t h P. pP.r::: nn i. f t r:�
aYJn. t h � Pro o�?.mium of book fon r ,
'J'hP.
hu t. t h.1. t
11 ])0 rern m n"'.t u r.., " ,
tn th e h'1 lancr> of the Ti' i n:l] e of book t h rP. e ,
t i on of'
1
The fa ct that
t o t h e re lat i on
poem 11 0n the nature
th e wrent h ,
h mt�ever ,
is
tud�r o f t h P. ph i l o s op'-1 ical i mpJ. i cat i ons of t h i s key
c f . m;r '' N ..,mos n.:n rl Phys i s " , An tnt: erpretnt i on of
l\u r i nide s 1 H i nnolyt os , HerM e s , · 1 0 1 , 1973 , 16 5-87 .
n
nrt� s 8. �('} ,
�
1 .5Por
n · c omprehens l ve int e rpretat i on of th i s pa s sa .o;e , 0 s pe c i a l l �
1.t � s�rmhol ,_ oal mean in� , cf . C . S EGA L , T h e Tra.n:P.n y o f th e H inno
lyt os ; 'l"he \>Ta t ers of Ocean and the Unt ou ch ed M eati m'l , HS C P , 70 ,
196 5 ; 11 7-69 .
�ne i ther ror th� Mn � � � n or VP.nu s ,
has � miv�th in� t o · <lo ·
ldth
bn t for- tt:te poe t h i m!=:elf ,
·
h i s pos s e s s i on of a t cach in�: , . a
tea�li 1. n.rr, n ot only about Venus ,· but about Venu s _ and Mars ,
two -rm-rers repre s entat ive of creat i on and d e s t ru c t i on ,
t or;eth<"r ,
forin the wh o l e of " the nature of" th ingr-f. "
0mpnas t � on
t eac h inP," as r e a s on for
1. J ln� tri ou s wreat h
that
csw 'f_eoGJ v-, ,
t i on i s evem s tronp;e:r s i pc e Lucret iu s •
.. '
" th e whole natu�e of · th inn;-s • .
i s a r:ift by
. Th i s oppos i
t eac}'l ing cla i ms t o be
The
i mar;e of_ th e
v is i t ed by the sprinp;t im� bee ,
lat e meaclo1>r ,
The
_
seekinr: thn
nat u re ra t he r thA.n A.n Ftch i eventent by t each l ne .
a.bont
the noet speaks of h i m s e l f and h i s l i s t eners as
·; ·
There ,
" be e s
flmt�ery �lade s , feedirtg on · all thy gold�n l'IOrds " ,
( 3 , 9-1 7 ) .
pas sar�e s ,
Hlppo l y t o s and the
r,uc:re t i u s 1
" De rerum natura " ,
in th�
a t eachine ,
cons idered worthy of eternal · l i fe
one from Eu r ipide s '
inv i o-
in the
i s u s ed
_
Pro oemlnm of book three l�i th reference to Epicuru s .
the
\·rh i ch ,
1 s d iamet r i cally oppos ed. to the Eu:r t p i rl ean
v i el..r t hat v i rtue ,
H ippoly t os '
the po e t ' s
the
Thour:h the tNo
one
from
s eem t o s tat e oppo s i t e vi et'ls ,
the
out c ome of the Euripidean play pro ve s H ippolyt os ' v i ew to be
at leA.st insuff i c i ent , if not fal s e .
The s t ronr;es t conclu s i on
t o he d ral'm from ·the play would. he that man can hav e no meaning·
ful relat i on wi t h · the divine ,
a conclu s i on wh ich l eads more or
l e s s d i rec t ly t o Lucre t iu� •· pr id e in
from t h P. t i r:h t knot s of ro l i p; i on"
T n the
o f " D� rP.rum
Prooemium . �'f
nat ur� "
as
b oo k . one ,
well
fr e e .i np; the minds of men
6-7).
t h e ber;innin� of · the 1>1h o l e
a s t he bep;i nn ing· o f i ts first .
half , V�nus was ha. f ed as r.;odd.e s s
i
(4,
"
f"OVerninr; nature , ·
( orit.P.rinr: the sacri f i ce of Iph igene i� oy Agamemnon )
P.xampl� for re l igi on and i t s act s aga in s t na ture
whi l e
Di <lha
s t ood a s
( 1 , 62-79 ) .
�Jn
t h � P1"" o oem i u m
hn l f of
of hpok
r mir ,
"De r�rum n n t. n rn " ,
D i ann ;
t. n f" pn. r; s .<:t p:P. f r om Eu r 1 p i r=J e s '
ani'. v t rtne , as a r: i ft ,
�:n n.chi nvement ,
( 3 , 1 '3 )
t in s ,
is
by n.a t u re ,
s e c on r'!
.
in t h e trrln s f ormnt ton of
H i p:polyt o s ,
b y t ea c h i n r,- .
t. h ou r:h t o f Ji:pi curu s 1
t h 0 bc n: inn tnp: o f t h e
is r8 j e c t c n.
for V nn,,H3 ,
i s ne � l e c t c d f or v i r tue ,. · R. s
Th i s ,
.i n turn ,
mean s that
t e a c h i n r: be tnr: w o r t hy o f e t ern a l
of fame
c ont i nu e r'!. by the . e xpec tR.t i on
of h oney . l 6
surround inp.;-
Th e pra i s e
of
the cu:r
l i fe
for Lu cre
\'rho t rans f orm ed th� ph i l o s oph i ca l t e a ch i n � in t o
n o P t i c t eRchinp; ,
the
a
wormwood vrit h a t ou c h
of
t eachin,o; r.:lt h e r than
riF.t t u r e
as
s ou rcP. of v irtue l 0. ave s on e l'li t h t h e qu e s t i on whe t her nat u re ,
i n� i f fe ren t
to
he
t oward s man and t he fulf i l lment of h i s l i fe , i s
m e r e l y s tud i e·rt. or whe ther man
nn � 1 re f or the sake of l i fe "
is
suppos ed
( 5 , 206 -9 ) .
t o " re s i s t
The Prooemium
of
book tNo , t h e book about m ot i on a.nd. r e s t , bef, l n s \'Ti t h a c on .:.
s i d e rat i on of the
life
S l•Te etn e s s . o f · wa t c h i n� the r� s t le s sne s s
cau s ed by e lemen t s
of nature ( th e
s h i pNre c k )
of
and h umo!ln
l f'1tn th r0 s pe c t t o t h e re lat i on b e h 1ceri t h e p.'ls sar:,e of Eu r- i p j de s I
H inno1yt os ( 73 - 8 7 ) a nd t h e two oc currence s of t h e s n m e t h nmn
' " D e rn :rum na t urrt11 { 1
9 2 1 - 50 ; h , 1 - 2 5 ) , I \-;ouJ/l
· i n I.n0r e t iu s
SUf"!"'0 S t th.<tt t h e f i r r: t h R l f .( 7 3 - 8 1 � of tho Eur i pi n E"'an pa � s n r,A
i s t r0.n t 0t1 i n the f i r s t Luc r e t ian ver r; i o·n ( 1 , 9 2 1 - 5 0 ) , ��h U 0
t 'I1 P. s 0 c ond ha l f ( 82 - 7 ) of i t i s fl ea 1 t \·r i t h , '11-Tl11:�:n i t o c cu r s t h e
r: '::' c onr'i t i me ( 1�- , 1 - ? 5 ) .
The re<t s on for t h i s dJ s t r l bu t l on c n n
he fonnfl t n the m o r e t h e ore t i c:l l a s pe c t of Eu :r i p i d A S ' H i pp o l y
t, , s , 7 J - R 1 r-t�1r. T..ucr0 t iu s 1 " De re rum nat1 1 rn." ; 1 , 9? 1 - ) 0 ( " :1 u �
TJP. l" :-: n � � i s or.Jn P m l1 n t u rr:tm rr:•rnm ft1 18. c on s t n t �� omptn f i r:urn " ,
1 , Ohf1-_50 ) , .'1 nrl t r e m o r e p�act t c:'l. l a s pe c t o f Eu r i 1) i o e s 1 H i p:;o 1 y
t 0� , P2 - 7 , ann. Lucre t i u s ' " D n rerum nat u ra " , 1r. , 1 - 2 5 ( " d urn }!Pr
.
s '8 i ci s omnr>m nn t nrnm r.e r1.1 m a c percn t i s u t i l i tn. t em " , l� , ? lt - 5 ) .
('. f . my " �J o n o s and Phys i s " , o:p . c1 t . , 165-9 : for t h e s i r;n i. f t �.'"l n c c
o f t'l1r-- c on t o x t f or the d l f f e renc e o f t h e . tNo Lu c rc t i an p:1. ::: ; :1.r/� S ,
c f . r. . S TRAUSS , tT o t e s on Lu c r e t i u s , Liberal i sm Anc i ent and JV' nf!. .
. .
� rn . rr��·T York , 196 8 , p .
113 .
�?. (
nn tnr0.
( �h � ·nn t t l� ) ,
''lh i l e <me n e l f
'T'h c � n t r:h t of swcetne � s ,
t P. � ch 1 n� of Fp i curn s
t"J ou�h ,
rA �t ( ? , 1 - f> ) .
i r: a t
i s :l�h i �v0.r'!. t 1-tr 0n rrh th �
( ?. , 7 - 19 ) , throu r-:h t h e t � <t �h i n;"': "l.hnn t::
t h e nrtturo of t h i n.n:r: , wh i ch wl l l re � cu0 on� fr0m thP. r � :� t
l � r: s n ('> s s of hum:::tn
l i fe
in :::t l l i t r: v :.\r i ou s wny r. .
whnther nA.ture i s
only t o he c6nt empln t e r1 or fo1 1 rr,h t fir;n. t n � t
for t he s ::tke o f l i fe i s never openly answered
" De rl"rum n!itnra " . ·
T he fact
to a c1 tp of wormwood whi ch
rv aronnci
t he
.
.
The
·.
f':Oes throu�h
On a. smaller s oa l e ,
s c riJ')t i on o f l i fe ,
n
�rt
of first
the des cript i on of
the
.
work .
l i fe ,
' bookn ,
has
eve ryt h i n� wort h l iv ing for ,
of
it .
and th e swe et Prooem iw
has
in
i t s c nunt er
the d e s cr i pt i on of the
fr om _ me re l i f e to thn h i r;l"
T h e fact that the c enter of the s i x
t h e t op;et h e rne s s of the F i nale of book three and t h e
l..e t s
R. r t e l' t h � h i t t er wormwood ,
o f cleath ,
thre e ,
c ount er�
i t s coun t e rpa.r t i n the bi t t e r F ina le
d e s cript i on of the h i ghfl st ach i evem ent
Pr ooP.miurn o f book four ,
sweP-t .
has i t s
sw� P.t
the sweet Prooemium of book one , . the rl e
i n the b i t ter F inale of book s i x ,
. est 'rle vel opment
The
of book s i x , . th e de s cr i pt i on of o. cath
the t ea ch in� about t h e nature o f t h in�s ,
ru in of
l i k cn�o
honey and t h en
whol e of Lu cre t iu s •
the d e s c r i pt i on of d ea th ,
of book three ,
l i fe ,
i�
'
Finale
in the b i t t e r
of book fou r ,
t h e t ea chinr,-
Sl-Te et ened. hy th e honey of pn� t .,
s equence
the
:Prooemium of book ona ,
Pr- �t
'l
is
i n Lu crct i n n 1
cup ' s r i m ·ve i l s t he anst'ler even more t han t h e ;
T>ros e t each inp- �. id .
wormwooo
that
Thf"! rtn , � t t nn
u s tas t e ,
fo.r once ,
m i �h t mean tha t even the hi t t n rn c s s
i f und e r s t ooci i n epi curean: t e rm s ,
The
t h e sNect h on ;::
can b e c ons i n ered
:·
themat.-ic ... ; s.equence of death , _ in the. F i nale o f book
�.
.
.
.
and fam e ,
•'
-��
.�
in the P·rooerpium of .book four ,
s e em s
to ref l e
�nnt. onl y th� n e c � s n r-try c m1n n c t 1 on of nnt u re nncl t 1.me ,
wh t �h
1 � a lwtys thP. . same
wh t ch i s al\.,a.y s d i fferent
th e
importan� � of
of t i me ,
ne R s
( anr't r� fers t o the p::t. s t ) ,
( and
r e fe r s
nnrl
t o t h e .future ) ,
t ime . oyer aml aga in s t na tu re .
of trH 1 t
t h n t.
bu t a l s o
Mnn • s awlr P-
w t t h ont t h e awarene s s . of nature , . d. 1 s t ort s h l s
v i eN of t h e r e lat i on o f m o t i on and re s t wi t h in t h e sum of
th in�s .
hr-mo ,
Mnn ' s awarene s s anci eva luat i on of t i m e ,
c on s t i t ut e s his
cruc 1.al n ot
the wh o l e ,
ano
m-1arene s s
on t h e other
o f natur.e , · and i s t h ere fore
only for h i s und e rs t and int:r, of h i m s e l f a s part
but a l s o o f t h e wh o l e
the poet ' s v o i c e
mark ' the
i t s elf .
T h e fa ct
c ent er of Lu c re t i u s '
of
that na t u re ' s
work ,
bears
out the everlas t inp.: t en� i on between nat ure , . encompa s s in."; al l ,
and man ,
s t riving t o encompas s nature .
�2A
A pn�mc H x
rr rn'1. s lnt: t on s
�-
1:
p.
4:
p.
nn .
5:
5-6 :
1,
of the La-t 1. n
quotes :
4 59 - � 3 : -
'Rvr:m s o t i mP e x i s t s not by t t s e l f , hu t from .
t'h \n",s t 'l1 am s e lv � � come s a fe � 1 1 n f\ , '"hat w:1 s
hr-on r;ht t o a c l o:=:1 A i n t j me p� s t , then 't'rhat i. s
nr0f-l �nt · n m'l , a:n.n fu rther �rhat i s r,oi nr: t o be
And :\ t mn s t b e av owed. t ha t n o man
h �rPnft � r .
f � e l s t im� by 1t s P. l f n.p:1 rt from t he mot i on
an d qu i �t re s t. of t h i nr;s .
.'5 , .56-R :
I tPnch , hy \'rha.t ] �N all t h 1.np:s are cr()a. t A<'l ,
nnd how t he�,. mu s t n � �c1 s Abi fl.e by 1 t , ann how
th e;v are not s tron� e:non�h t o break t h rour:h
th� powerfu l st�tut A $ o� t i me .
1 , �32-��
Por inf in ite . t-i me :and . the day that has p;one by
f1l1J � t neefl s have d ev oured r-t l l t h i n.�s · that are of
mortal body . . . Bttt \'lhab:�ver ha s been i n .that s pace
::md r:on e by t i me , out of Nh 1. ch th i s sum of
th i. nr:s c on s i n t s anr'f. 1 s repl r.n i shed , is c ertainly
�n.fl owP-d w i th i mmortal natu l"t! .
5 , 306-17 :
o\ cr�.in , fl.o y ou not beh olfl s t rme s t o o vanqu i nh�fl
�;... t i me , h i .�h t ol'm rs fall in;:. in ru i n s , n.nfl rc ckn
crumhl tnr; m·m�"., �hri nes nn� i mn,-:e s of the [':O� s
�rm'li'1r.t; l'1'0nry rmfl. l-torn , \>Th i l e the i r s� crP d pr� s 0:n� r-
�.�.vm ot f'!'OJ o�.n:- t h P bou.nn a.Y"i. P. s o f fn.t: P. n or s t ru :r.c). t:
::�.�� l n � t +: r.e l m·m of nnt urP. ?
.1\ f"'r-t i n , n o 1·YA.
n0t � � n.
!1 t on � � t 0r-n • 1 p from h i r:;h mo� mt.ains ru � h 1 n,cr h�ac l on c: ,
1u1 .,ble t o br ook or b"'ar t h � s t ern s t.renr:th of a
J. i m l t: e� t l me ?
For· infl��rt t h ey l·:ou l C! n o t - b�r �urld �n l y
t 0Y"TJ n -p n11 r'f fa. l l h P. :J r'fJ on.� , i f frorn t i m e �ver1 a s t. i nr�
f:'he�,. h rvl he1 fl. 011t n;:n. i n s t a l l the t orm �nt s of" t i ��
Ni. th ou t l)r�"lkin� .
•
n.
h�
5 , R?.� -3� �
•
•
t. t m � ch�.n r:e s the n n t. n rf'! of t h e \'t]'lole l>�Ol"1 d
� ,... � on "' r. t::t t e � f t E' r :.:n nther m, , �t ,., r: � rl r. nvert.nlrP.
� 1 1 thin�!1 , nor fl. o� � a.n�rth tno: tlh i c1 P. l i 1rP. i t r- � l r :
n l 1 th i n r;s chn;n p-r t �1 .." i."r n h.':' � r> , '"t:t.tnre a 1 t o r rl f\ 1 1
·
th tnr':s r-tnn r.:rms t"rn tn � t h �:-:1 t o h.trn .
For on0 tl" � '\"":
�ob=: m·ray an" r:roNR f:=t. 1. , t r.Jna fe�ble ,,Ft th ::t.�� �
t herA on anoth �r .r;rm·rs up Rnrt i nsuC's f�orn :l. t p1n �c
of s c orn .
So th�n t j me chn� p:e !:l the nature of th e
r:- ."1 ,..
��··n o1 0 . ,.•n-r-1cl ,
n.n � . on 0 F: b") t. n. n f t. r .... f11"1 0t h � r rw ,- rtal-:· r> �
t. h (' r:-n.rth , r. o t.h. 'l t 1. t c q,.n1. ot h P � r nlv-. t i t ;, hl ,
hn t. c n n h�:lr Nh :1.t t t d i. cl n ot o f oln .
p.
5,
7:
5h-R :
J t: R !"! �h , h�r '!Arhn t 1 a.w { t h r.: };'3.\'T of nn.tn :r-0 ) � 1 1
+: h l n r-:s nrr� r.rr.::1te� , �ml h oN t h r.:y mu� t n r.r.: rl �
:'1h 1.� f." h�, i t , nn d h oN t h A y o.re n ot r-: t T' on r� r.non�h
t o hret:tk t l'rrov r:h t.h r JV'I�·rr.:rfn l r. tnb 1.t r r. o f t 1 :n e .
n.
?,
7:
� ? - 7� :
C i"'f.'� nr.M , T \'r 1 1 1 un f o 1 rl hy l!T}! n t r:l 0Vf"' Jnl"'rt t tr n
�"' r f."� t. 1 v � h o� 1 f"' r. of m�t t n T' hP�('t. � i v r r s R t h 1 n�r ,
n 11 r1 - hrenk u n t. h o !"l r- t h:1.t � r-e hr.[':ot t rm , h �.r N'l-) � t fnrr. r
t. h "" Y 'lrr (� m1 s t rr.1 i nf'� t o � o t h i s , rnvl \·rh nt '7 0 1 oc 1 t.:{
l s nn:no :i :ntP.n t h P m fm• mnv h 1,i; t h ron rr:h t h f' rn l r;n ty
vo1 � :
0 o �rou rcmn.rr:bnr t o ;r.l vr. yonr rrd.. n� t o my word r. .
Ti'C'r i n v�T'Y t ruth , mn.t t e r d. o e s not c 1 r�avl?' r. l 0s r.:
!')n.. �ln�d t o i t se l f , s in('r.: w� s c r. 0ach ' t h tn.r:. ):reM 1 P r.: s ,
nnn · l're pr:o:rce :\ ve a l l th il'l[':G f 1 oN n �·�':"l �r , n � i t l!TP. r c. , i n
t.h c l ontr lap n P. o f t. 1 me , a s a r:c N i. thil r:nrs th�=>m
from our s i r:h t :
rmn yet th� 1.m i vr;rsr: i!'l ::; r �?n t o
rAmA. in uml i m i n t s he n , j_ m.-l S Ml.t ch · o.n a l 1 hod i e s that
� Pprt.rt from Anyth inr; 1 f' P. S f'm t1·1a t f rom wh i ch t h �y
:pn � s ::n'lay , ann b1 e s r-: 1111 th tl'l.cre:l ci e t hat t o wh 1 ch
thP.y have come ; they c ons t ra i n t h A former t o �rmor
olCl. and t h e J at t er nr:a i n t o f l ourt s h , and yet th ey
nh i d e :n o t with i t .
Thus th e sum rif th i n �s i s �ver
be in!"'; repleni s h ed. , n.nn. m ortn 1 s l i ve on e and al1 bJr
r:o;ive- and tal::e .
S orne rac e s wax and others wane , and i n
n s h or t spa c e the t ri b e s of · l i v :t n � th inr:� are chan sed ;
�.nrl 1 i ke runners hanrt on the t orch of 1 i fe .
p.
n.
A:
2 , 297- 3 02 :
The hof! t e s of the f i rs t -be�inn :i.n?:s in t h e rJ.r,o s
prt s t mo\red Ni th the same mot i. on <i s noN , and h e re:tftP.r
't1i l l he borne for ever in a s i m t 1ar 't'lay ; such things
�s have berm l.'Tn!'lt to c ome t o be in.r.; td l 1 be hroup;h t to
b i rth u ncler the same cond i t i on , 1d ll exi s t and grow
ann be s tronr; , inasmuch as i s gran t ed t o each by t he
bond.s of nB. ture .
B:
1,
·
10?1-31 : .
'F'or in very t ru t h , not by d.e n 1 r;n o i n t h e f i r s t
h0.rr1 nn i n �� of th 'i 'Ylf: S place t h � m s 0 lv e s ench in
th e i r orrl.er wi th for� s e e inr; mi nn , nor ind e ed. d i d
t n �;r make r.om1x1 ct wha t . moveml3nt e a. ch � h ou l d
r> t n rt , hnt becau s e · m;:my of them s h i ft inr,: i n
mari.y way s thron.�;h ov t t h e v.rorld a re harri ed and
bu ffet ed by b 1 m·rs from l t mf t 1 e s s t ime ; by t ry ing
movements and un i ons - of every k ind , at las t
th e y fal l int o s uch d i spos i t ons a s thos e ,
�') 0
Nh�rP-hy ou r wor ld o f t h i nr:n i s � rcnt cn n. n � hoJ.d rr
. t o'"':�th �r .
Ann i t t o o , prc � c rven from hnrrn th rour;h
m.·1 ny ,. a m t n:hty cyc l e of yen ros , whrm on c P. i t h :'l s
hr!rm n<'lf:t i n t o. con vcn i rmt movernrm t ::t , hr 1 n�s 1 t
·"l ho1 t t thnt :rivers replen l sh the !';reP.it y s e a
-�
•
p.
10 :
•
•
5 , 43�-45 :
the b i rt h of thP. t•rorlcl } n s o rt of
fr� sh�form�d . � t orm , a ma � n r:at he re_d to�ethcr of
f t :r s t -be,..;i nninr:s of every ldnd , . wh oso d i s cord
\·1.1- n wn.r;tn.� ,.,�:r ani'! confound. i np; i nt e r - s pac e s , path s ,
tnterlr-t.c in.o;s , wP- i r:h t s , bl mu:: , mc e t inr;n , n'Yl.rl mo t i ons ,
hPcnn s e mdnr: to th e i r un1 1 ke forms A.nd varl ous
�hn.nP.s , al l thinp:s \'U�re unable to remain � n un i on ,
R � they do n ow , and t o �1ve an d rc ce ivP.· c onven i en t
movem�nt s .
'T'h'm ( at
pn .
10-11 :
p.
' 14 :
p.
'15 :
1. ,
' 322.;.8 :
IA � t-ly ,
whatevm" day Find n�ture -a � d � - t o th ings
1 :\ tt-le :by l i t tle , impe ll i nP: t h em _ t o P.;row. in
nn e proporti on , the s t ra inin � . s i eh t of the eye
c�Yl. never behold , nor a�a i n wh erever thin�s
f"'rO't� old. t hrou�h t ime and d.e cay .
N o r where rocks
OVP.r-hang.. the sea , devou red by th� th in �R.lt
spray , c
�u ld you see t..rhat they lose in t i me .
By
bod i e s uns een then nature t reats th inp.:s .
1 , 459-6 3 :
;F.ven s o t j_me . e xi s t s not by 1 t s e l f , · bu t
from th 1n�s themA elves co me s a fee ling ,
l>�hrtt llfa s brour;:ht to a c l o s e in t i.rn e pa s t ,
then what i s pre s ent now , and furt her what
Ana i t mu s t be
i s p;oinr: to be hereafter .
avo�red t hat no\'r mr.'ln fe e l s t l me by i t s e l f a
part from the m o t i on ann qu i et re s t of th ings .
2,
fi9�79 :
nerce i ve al l th in�s f l ol'r a1-1R y ,
1 n the l on .n: l�pse of t i me , <:'. S ar;e
'ole
t:t �
it
vrA re ,
tfi thn rr::n·r s t h eM
fr>om our a i 0:h t : · and y e t the univerAe i � s e en t o
rcm:::t in · ·und1 m i n.is'hP.n , inasmuch a s a l l bod i e s that
n �na:rt from A.nyth inr: , l e s �en that from Wh i ch t h r.>y
p.'-l s � aNay , ann ble s s ' w i th increase that t o wh i ch
t h ey have come ; t h ey cons t rn i. n the f o rm e r t o gr"0\'1
oln anfl th� l at t e r._ a�a in to flouri Ah , and �ret the�,r
::t h i_d e _ n ot wi th i t..
Thu� the m.tm of th ing-s i s p·1.r-�r
b0 1 n r: rcpl <m i shen anQ. mortal s l i ve one .nnd. all by
S om � - rac e s W<:tX and o t hers wane , and
�:tve anri _ take .
j_n a sh ort space the t ribe s of" l i v inr: thi ner; a.re
chan.r:;ed , anii l i ke runne-rs }land on the
t orch of- l ife .
_
�'3 1
p.
15 :
5 , 1� � - 1 00 :
B n t 0v �11 ,.r.'lrl t. h 1!": thn t: T V.n.:\•T n n t 1'Tl,.t t n rc
t � !" f l r� t. -1)�",f"': 1 '1n t n :'"':� of t h t n ,rr r: , t.h1.1 r: n1 .1 � 11 n t
l r·H:: t T \<'Y 01 1 1 r'f rlrl rr t o r� ff t rm fr0m t h 0. ,, r. r-:r
wn ',' S of h rnvnn , _ :'1n n t o shm·r from m�n�r o t h t"! r fnct �
th:'1t th(' \·mrl t'l ,m � T1 c v 0 r nn n f' f o r 1 1 r: h�r r.l i v 1 nc
n cn,r r. r :
!1 0 ·fT' rr>rtt hrc t h ,.. fan l t s Nh .: rnw i. t h
i. t r: t ::m r'l. r: f'nr'J motcl't .
T n t. h 0 f i rr: t !'l1 rt r. 0 , of
n 1 1 thf.lt the s l{y eovorc in j tr: mJ r:ht�r
m mr r. m Pn t , a f!T'Nlt P""-rt ts pos :1 e r: fl en by r;rc cdy
monnt a i n s n ncl fore s t s fu l l of \•t i l d bc::u� t s ,
-rn rt rocks and vns ty mn r s h c G hol n , nnd t h 0
s r-- ::t thn.t k0 c n s t h e sh nrc s o f i t s l nnn s f n. r
ap::t rt .
He l l - n i p.:h hto part s of t h e s e land s are
r obbed from m o rta l s by s c orch i nf.i heat , and
c on r: t r.m t l y- fal l inr, fro s t .
Ev en t h e lanr'l t hat
is l e ft , nn ture wou l d s t i l l cover wi t h brambl e s
by h er m•m pm>te r , bu t t ha t man • r: power r e s i s t s
fo r t h e s ake o f l i fe .
p.
16 :
5,
,
1 45 2 - 5 :
'Pra c t i � e and. th erewi th t h e e xpor1 cncP. of t h e
e:1r.;er m i nc'J taur:ht t h e m l i t t l e b y l t t t l e , a s th�y
went forNard s t ep hy s t e p .
S o , l i t t l e by l i t t le ,
t !. me brirf(i:s � out each -s�everaT -thi'h� lrit o · v l ew , a·nd.
r�a s on rat s e s i t up int o the c oa s t s of 1 1 e;ht .
-
p.
17 :
5,
127� - 80 :
5,
1452-7 :
Thu s ro l l i n� t ime chan�c s t h e t i m e s o f t h i n�s .
':That l'Ta s of . value , be c ome s i n t u rn . of n o 'IIT Orth ;
R.nr! t h en another t h 1 nr: ri s e s up r:md l eave s i t s
pl�ce of s corn , and i s s ow;ht m ore and more .
ea ch day , and when f ound bl os s om s i n t o fame ,
A!l.ri i s of wondrous h on ou r amon g men .
p.
17 :
'Prnct i ce rmd th erew i t h t h e 0.xpe r i en 0 e o f t h e
ea n;er m i nd t au �h t them l i tt l e by 1 i t t le , a s t h ey
l'Te'!1 t forwA-rd s t ep by s t e p .
S o , l i t t l e by l i t t l e ,
t :t mr?. br in!Ys out each s ev e ral th tne int o v i ew and
r�a. s on ra i s e s i_t up 1 n t o the c oFt s t s of l i.r:h t
For
t h e y saw one t h i nf{ a f t e r ano t h e r grow c l E!ar i n
t he l r h eart , unt i l by their art s t hey rea ched t he
.
h i g:he s t point .
p.
20 :
3,
3 19 -22 :
On e th in,:; I feel able t o aff i rm
s o sma l l rtre the
t ra c � s of d i fferent nature s l e ft , wh i ch r e as on c ou ld
not di s pel for u s , t ha t not h i ng h inders u s from
l i v in� a l i f e worthy of god s .
.
•
.
�)2
p.
22 :
5 , 826�36
For t 1!11 P- chnnr;o s t h n nnture of the t'lh olc l·mrlr'L
ann .one s t.'lte · a f t " r ; m other mn s t needs ov� r tnkP.
nl l th in�s . nor d o c s anyth in� ah idn l ike i t s e l f :
a l l th inr:s c han rt:e thc i. r n.bon.c , nnt urP. a l t e r 5 a l l
th 1 n �s ann constl"a inn t h�m t o tu rn .
Ti'or 011 0 th in�
rnt: s al'l:J.Y and ,;rows faint and . feebl� ltTi t h ar;� ,
thet'eon n.nother �r ow s up and- i s sues from i t plane
of � corn�
S o t hen t i me chari�e s the nature or the
wh ole w or ld , and one s tate after another overtake s
the eartl1 , s o that i t Qannot bear what it d id ,
bu t can bear what it did not of old .
�
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Berns, Gisela N.
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Time and nature in Lucretius' De rerum natura
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1974-03-08
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Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura
Philosophy, Ancient
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Annapolis, MD
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GISELA BERNS
A lecture delivered at St. John's College
Annapolis, Maryland
February 26, 1982
�lchiller's DramaFulfillment of History
and Philosophy in Poetry
GISELA BERNS
A lecture delivered at St. John's College
Annapolis, Maryland, Febrpary 26, 1982
�Schiller's Drama
Fulfillment of History
and Philosophy in Poetry
n
lllJ
onight, I shall speak on a poet whom I have loved from early on.
As Shakespeare in English speaking countries, Schiller, in German speaking countries, is first read in school. This means that everyone
knows him as a classic whose poems and plays are the sources for many of
the most famous formulations in the German language. For a long time,
inadequate translations kept Schiller from being appreciated in English
speaking countries. Now, however, with good new translations of his
dramatic and major philosophical work 1 available, there is no reason why
the noble voice of this passionately rational poet should not reach and
touch the hearts and minds of readers in America.
After a brief introduction about Schiller as contemporary of the
Founding Fathers of this country, a sketch of his life 2 and work shall show
in what sense he understood poetry to be a fulfillment of history and
philosophy.
In a letter of 1783, the young Schiller writes to a friend:
I cannot stand it any longer. Surely, I find a number of excellent people
everywhere and , perhaps, could still settle at some place, but I have to get
away, I want to go to America , and this shall be my farewell letter .. .. I
have already obtained exact information about my trip . But, you will ask,
what to do there? That, time and circumstances shall tell . I have not
neglected my medical profession - also I probably could teach philosophy
there as professor - maybe also get involved in politics - perhaps even
none of all of these . But tragedies, for that matter, I shall never cease to
write-you know my whole being hangs on it. 3
With a promise of news from America and greetings to his old friends,
Schiller bids farewell. Whether this plan was meant seriously, or whether
it was merely a manoeuvre to deceive the authorities about his movesthe fact remains that he would have felt at home in America.
Forced into the Duke of Wiirttemberg's military academy, where the
promising sons of the country were educated towards various professions,
Schiller had spent his young years, from age thirteen to twentyone, in an
atmosphere of oppressive regimentation. Forbidden to read or write
St. Johns Lecture Series
1
�poetry, he had finally risked his life in a dangerous flight to f.reedom. All
his plays - from The Robbers (started at the time of the Declaration of Independence) to William Tell (finished at the time of Jefferson's first
presidency)-deal with one theme: the problem of freedom. Focusing on
great revolutionary ideas like the conflict between nature and convention, .·
explored in The Robbers and in Intrigue and Love, or on great revolutionary figures of history like Piesco, Don Carlos, Wallenstein, Mary
Stuart, T}Je Maid of Orleans, and William Tell, all of Schiller's plays,
even The·Bride of Messina, modeled on the Oedipus story, wrestle with
the problem of freedom.
In recognition of this historical role, Schiller, in 1793, was awarded
honorary citizenship of the French Revolution (the fact that the document
did not reach him till 1798, long after its signer, Danton, had himself
become a victim of that revolution, Schiller always considered an ironic
reminder of the problematic nature of freedom).
Another consequence of Schiller's concern for freedom was the disappearance of plays like William Tell and Don Carlos from the German
theater under Hitler. As 0. Seidlin, in his article Schiller: Poet of Politics,
reports:
A quarter of a century ago, when darkness descended upon Schiller's native
country, a darkness that was to engulf all of mankind in the shortest possible time, a theater in Hamburg produced one of Schiller's great dramatic
works, Don Carlos . It is the play which culminates in the stirring climax of
its third act, the confrontation scene between King Philip of Spain and the
Marquis Posa, the powerful verbal and intellectual battle between the
rigid and autocratic monarch, contemptuous of mankind and gloomily
convinced that only harsh and tyrannical suppression can preserve peace
and order in his vast empire, and the young, enthusiatic advocate of
revolutionary principles, who demands for his fellow citizens the untrammeled right to happiness, the possibility of unhampered self-development
and self-realization of every individual . The scene rises to its pitch with
Marquis Posa's brave challenge flung into the king's face: "Geben Sie Gedankenfreiheitl -Do give freedom of thought!" When this line, one of the
most famous in all German dramatic literature, resounded from the Hamburg stage in the early years of Hitler's terror, the audience under the
friendly protection of darkness burst out, night after night, into
tumultuous applause. So dangerous and embarrassing to the new rulers
proved a single verse of the greatest German playwright, who by then had
been dead for fully a hundred and thirty years, that the management of the
theater was forced to cut out the scandalous line. But the audience, knowing their classic well enough even if it was fed to them in an emasculated
version, reacted quickwittedly: from that evening on they interrupted the
performance by thunderous applause at the moment when Marquis Posa
should have uttered his famous plea on the stage - and did not . After these
incidents the play was withdrawn from the repertoire altogether. 4
A similar story, I heard from my German literature teacher who was present at a Don Carlos performance in Berlin, where Marquis Posa's request
for freedom of thought made the audience, in dramatic silence, rise to
their feet like one man.
A contemporary of the Founding Fathers of this country, inspired by
the ideal of human freedom, and set on writing tragedies (no matter what
profession he would have taken up in this New World), Schille~~ight
2
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�have given us that sorely missing drama on the American Revblution.
Such a drama (as H. Jantz, in his article William Tell and the American
Revolution 5 , suggests) could have been written either from the British
point of view (something like Aeschylus' Persians) or from the American
point of view (something like Schiller's William Tell) . In more than one
prominent place, Schiller's proud formulations recall Hamilton's statement in Federalist One:
It has been frequently remarked that it seems to have been reserved to the
people of this country, by their conduct and example, to decide the important question , whether societies of men are really capable or not of
establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they
are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident
and force. If there be anv truth in the remark, the crisis at which we are arrived may with propriet}· bt> regarded as the era in which that decision is to
be made; and a wrong election of the part we shall act may, in this view,
deserve to be considered as the general misfortune of mankind.
At the beginning of his poem The Artists, a panoramic history of mankind, written in 1789, Schiller speaks of man as "the ripest son of time,
free through reason, strong through laws", standing "at the close of the
century" in "noble, proud manliness." In a similar vein, Madison, in
Federalist Fourteen, asks :
Is it not the glory of the people of America, that , whilst they have paid a
decent regard to the opinions of former times and other nations, they have
not suffered a blind veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to
overrule the suggestions of their own good sense, the knowledge of their
own situation, and the lessons of their own experience? To this manly
spirit, posterity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the
example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the American theater,
in favor of private rights and public happiness . Had no important step
been taken by the leaders of the Revolution for which a precedent could
not be discovered, no government established of which an exact model did
not present itself, the people of the United States might, at this moment,
have been numbered among the melancholy victims of misguided councils,
must at best have been laboring under the weight of some of those forms
which have crushed the liberties of the rest of mankind. Happily for
America, happily, we trust, for the whole human race, they pursued a new
and more noble course. They accomplished a revolution which has no
parallel in the annals of human society. They reared the fabrics of governments which have no model on the face of the globe.
Mindful of his own call to the artists to "preserve and rekindle the dignity
of mankind," Schiller, in the Prologue to Wallenstein, proclaims:
Now at this century's impressive close,
As actuality itself is turned
To art, as we see mighty natures locked
In struggle for a goal of lofty import,
As conflict rages for the great objectives
Of man, for masterdom, for freedom, now
Art is allowed assay of higher flight
Upon its shadow-stage; indeed it must be,
Lest it be put to shame by life's own stage.6
In order to appreciate this "higher flight" of Schiller's art, let us take a
look at his life and work.
St. John's Lecture Series
3
�Schiller's life, from 1759 to 1805, was, except for his early childhood
and the beginning years of his marriage, a never ending struggle. First
against a tyrannical ruler, later . against poverty and prejudice, finally
against a fatal illness which racked the last fifteen years of his short life. A
struggle it was, this life of Schiller's, but what a glorious struggle! A
testimony to man's ability to overcome or, in Wallenstein's proud words,
to the conviction that "it is the mind which builds itself the body. "7
Schiller's father , by his own report, offered a prayer on the occasion of
Schiller's birth:
And you, Being of all beings! You I begged, after the birth of my only son,
that you would add to his strength of mind what I, for want of education,
could not reach . s
Still a child , Schiller had set his heart on studying theology . The
Duke's interference not only separated Schiller from his family , hut also
made it impossible for him to pursue the desired studies . After a year of
broad general education in Sciences and Humanities, with strong emphasis on philosophy, Schiller took up, at first, the study of law, later,
since he deemed it "bolder" and "more akin to poetry", the study of
medicine. One theme, again and again to be explored in his poetry, he
first thought through in his dissertation which, a cross between medicine
and philosophy, bears the title On the Connection between Mans Animal
and Spiritual Nature .
The great breakthrough of his passion for poetry came after Schiller,
at age sixteen, had been introduced to Shakespeare. Emboldened by his
love for Shakespeare, he was obsessed with the idea of writing a play that
would expose all the evils of conventional society. At the same time filled
with admiration for the ancient heroes of Plutarch, and the modern sentiments of Rousseau , Schiller, for years, feverishly and passionately,
worked on his Robbers. The performance of The Robbers, in 1781 , at the
famous theater of Mannheim, made Schiller, in one day, gain immortal
fame and lose his homeland. Hailed by one reviewer as the coming "German Shakespeare"9 , he was ordered by the Duke, under penalty of arrest,
to stop writing anything hut medical works. With the help of a young
musician, Schiller, in disguise, fled to Mannheim where he hoped to find
the needed support for his poetic existence. Instead, he had to spend
months in hiding, working on his Piesco and Intrigue and Love, before
the authorities accepted him even there. While Intrigue and Love, a
"bourgeois tragedy", scourges the injustices perpetrated by the nobility
against the lower classes (as in the heartrending scene about the forced
recruitment of troops to be sold to the British for the Revolutionary War
in America), The Conspiracy of Piesco at Genoa , a "republican tragedy",
for the first time, strikes a theme that, in one or another form, rings
through all of Schiller's subsequent plays. As A. Lincoln, later, formulated it in his Perpetuation speech:
Many great and good men sufficiently qualified for any task they should
undertake, may ever be found, whose ambition would aspire to nothing
beyond a seat in Congress, a gubernatorial or a presidential chair; but such
belong not to the family of the lion, or the tribe of the eagle. What! think
you these places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napoleon?Neverl Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto
4
Schillers Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�unexplored. - It sees no distinction in adding story to story, upon-the qionuments of fame, erected to the memory of others. It denies that it is glory
enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the footsteps of any
predecessor, however illustrious. H thirsts and burns for distinction; and, if
possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves, or
enslaving freemen. 10
After the "Storm and Stress" of The Robbers, Piesco, and Intrigue and
Love, Schiller, in 1787, reached a first classical height with Don Carlos.
Not only through his change from rhythmic prose to measured verse, but
even more so through his sovereignty in dealing with the theme, the conflict between revolutionary idealism and imperialistic realism. While
Schiller's earlier plays paint good and evil in stark, clashing colors, Don
Carlos, more subtly, portrays them in their haunting complexity. The
conflict between Philip II of Spain, despotic ruler of the catholic world,
and Marquis Posa, idealistic fighter for freedom, interwoven with the
story of Don Carlos, his desperate love for the queen, and his selfsacrificing friendship for Marquis Posa, appears the more tragic, as it
shows the human situation in all its agony of heart and mind. More than
one great writer after Schiller, struck by the tragic beauty of Don Carlos,
has integrated parts of it into their work, so Dostoyevsky, with the
"Grand Inquisitor" scene in The Brothers Karamazov, so Th. Mann, with
the burning admiration of Tonio Kroger for the breath-taking scene in
Don Carlos, where the king is said to have wept. A scene to which Mann,
in his late Essay on Schiller, confesses to have "early given his homage" 11 •
As a preparation for Don Carlos, Schiller had occupied himself more
and more with historical studies which, in 1788, resulted in a substantial
History of the Revolt of the United Netherlands from the Spanish Rule. In
recognition of this comprehensive, dramatically written work, the
University of Jena, in 1789, offered him a professorship. Besides lecturing
on Universal History and Aesthetics, he devoted himself to his second
major historical work, the History of the Thirty Years War, later to
become the basis for his monumental trilogy on Wallenstein, the imperial
general of the Thirty Years War.
The summer before settling in Jena, Schiller had met Charlotte v.
Lengefeld, his future wife, in whose circle of family and friends the young
poet, every evening read from Homer and the Greek tragedians. Filled
with a kind of Grecomania, Schiller threw himself into translating
Euripides' lphigeneia in Aulis, an activity from which he hoped to gain
classical purity and simplicity. In a letter to the sisters v. Lengefeld,
Schiller writes:
My Euripides still gives me much pleasure, and a great deal of it also
stems from its antiquity. To find man so eternally remaining the same, the
same passions, the same collisions of passions, the same language of passions. With this infinite multiplicity always though this unity of the same
human form. 12
In the spirit of those days, Schiller composed a long melancholy poem, entitled The Gods of Greece. A lament about the vanishing of beauty and
nobility from the modern world, it rings out:
Als die Gotter menschlicher noch waren,
Waren Menschen gottlicher.
St. John's Lecture Series
5
�When the gods still were more human,
Men were more godlike.
Together with his subsequent study of Kant, this immersion in Greek
antiquity became crucial for Schiller's Aesthetic Writings. .
A terrible illness of Schiller's, in 1791, resulted in the rumor of his
death. When a circle of admirers in Denmark, months later, discovered
that Schiller was still alive, they prevailed upon the Duke of SchleswigHolstein-Augustenburg to ease the burden of the poet's daily existence
and, for a few years, bestow a pension on him . In his acceptance letter,
full of joy over the unexpected freedom to devote himself to the "formation of his ideas'', Schiller writes:
Serenely I look to the future- and if the expectations of myself should
prove to have been nothing but sweet illusions with which my oppressed
pride took revenge on fate, I for one shall not lack the determination to
justify the hopes two excellent citizens of our century have placed in me .
Since my lot does not allow me to act as benefactor in their way, I shall ,
nevertheless, attempt it in the only way that is given to me - and may the
seed they have spread unfold in me into a beautiful blossom for mankind. 13
With the same mail, Schiller ordered Kant's Critique of Pure Reason.
Earlier that year, in the throes of his illness, he had begun to read the
Critique of Judgement and had come to the conclusion that nothing short
of a thorough understanding of Kant's philosophical system would satisfy
him. For.three years, a long time in so short a life as Schiller's, he studied
Kant and wrote his own philosophical essays: On Tragic Art, On Grace
and Dignity, On the Sublime, On the Aesthetic Education oj Man, and
On Naive and Sentimental Poetry . On the Aesthetic Educatio;1 of Man he
wrote, as a gesture of gratitude, in the form of letters to the Duke of
Schleswig-Holstein-Augustenburg. In order to appreciate the role of
philosophy in Schiller's drama, let us take a closer look at two of his philosophical essays, On the Aesthetic Education of Man and On Naive and
Sentimental ·Poetry.
In his letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man, Schiller sketches out
a history of mankind from a state of nature to a state of civilization , where
the progress of the species towards a folfillment of human nature depends
on the fragmentation of nature in the individual. This view of history,
reminiscent to some extent of Rousseau 's Second Discourse, is complemented, however, by Schiller's hope that the totality of our nature,
destroyed by art in the process of civilization, might be restored by a
higher art. Far from romantic longing for a "Golden Age" of nature,
Schiller exclaims:
I would not like to live in a different century and have worked for a different one. One is as much a citizen of one's time as one is a citizen of one's
country . 14
Anticipating an objection to his concern about aesthetic education at the
time of social and political revolutions, Schiller claims that the "path to
freedom" leads through "the land of beauty" . 15 Implied in this is the claim
that the contemplation of beauty, because of its mediation between the
senses and reason, might be able to prepare man for the challenge of
freedom. Looking back to the beginnings of civilization , Schiller states:
Nature does not start any better with man than with the rest of her
6
Schiller '.s Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philp.sophy in Poetry
�works : she acts for him, where he cannot yet act himself as free int~lli
gence. But it is just this which makes him human that he does not stop at
what mere nature made him to be,, but possesses the power through reason
to retrace the steps which she anticipated with him , to transform the work
of compulsion into a work of free choice and to elevate the physical necessity to a moral one. 16
Deeply conscious of the challenge,
that the physical society, in time, may not cease for a moment, while the
moral one, in the idea, forms itself, that for the sake of man's dignity his existence may not be endangered,1 7
Schiller strives for a model of humanity that would combine the natural
beauty of the Greeks with the historical self-consciousness of the Moderns.
Anticipating much of Hegel's philosophy of history, both in perspective
and in formulation, Schiller portrays man's historical development as
progress from a naturally to a rationally given form 18 of humanity. Paying
homage to this kinship in thought, Hegel chooses two lines from Schiller's
early poem Friendship as Finale of his Phenomenology of the Spirit. The
slight change he makes in speaking of "Geisterreich" ("realm of spirits")
rather than "Seelenreich" ("realm of the soul") points, I think, to a crucial
difference between Hegel and Schiller. Concerned, more than the philosopher, about the fragmentation of human nature in the individual for the
sake . of a greater differentiation of it in the species, the tragic poet
exclaims:
But can it be that man should be fated to neglect himself for any end?
Should nature, through her ends, be able to rob us of a perfection which
reason, through hers, prescribes for us? It, therefore, must be false that the
development of the single faculties necessitates the sacrifice of their totality; or even if the law of nature tended there ever so much , it must be up to
us to restore, by a higher art, this totality of our nature which art has
destroyed . 19
Aiming at a balance between reason and the senses, Schiller (who, in
1793, was rereading both Kant's Critique of Judgement and Homer's
Iliad) uses a Homeric simile:
Reason herself will not battle directly with this uncouth power that resists
her weapons and, as little as the son of Saturn in the Iliad, descend, acting
herself, to the gloomy theater. But from the midst of the fighters she
chooses the most worthy, attires him, as Zeus did his grandson, with divine
weapons and, through his victorious force, effects the great decision. 20
This use of Achilles as a symbol of noble, and sometimes tragic, beauty is
only one of many in Schiller's work. In his poem The Gifts of Fortune,
Schiller extols the honor bestowed on Achilles by the gods, in his poem
Nenia, their lament over him at his death. The idea, symbolized by
Achilles, of truth manifesting itself in beauty, and therefore speaking to us
through the senses as well as reason, implies a new appreciation of the
senses:
The path to divinity, if one can call a path what never leads to its destination, is opened up for man in his senses.21
Clearly in answer to Plato's Republic, Schiller regards "the priority of the
sensuous drive" in man's experience "the clue to the whole history of
human freedom." 21 In a highly dialectical sequence of steps, Schiller leads
St. Johns Lecture Series
7
�from the synthesis of the senses and reason in man's contemplation of
beauty to the synthesis of the material and formal drive in man's play
drive to, finally, the synthesis of .t he physical and moral necessity in man's
aesthetic freedom. Aware of the fact that aesthetic freedom , as a state of
being, is only an ideal, but that , as momentary balance between the
senses and reason, it is part of our human experience, Schiller states one of
the most provocative sentences of his work:
Man plays only where, in the full sense of the word, he is man: and he is
fully man only where he plays . 23
The freedom of the aesthetic state, resulting from a balance between the
necessity of the moral as well as physical state, Schiller considers the
"highest of all legacies, the legacy of humaniti' :
It, therefore, is not only poetically permitted, but philosophically
right , if one calls beauty our second creator . For although she only makes
our humanity possible and, for the rest, leaves it up to our free will how far
we want to actualize it, she shares this trait with our original creator ,
nature, who likewise provided us with only the capacity for humanity , but
left the use of it to our own determination of will. 24
Like, before him, Plato and, after him, Hegel , Schiller conceives of man's
development from a natural to a moral being in terms of an analogy between the individual and the species. But where both Plato and Hegel insist on the sovereignty of reason over the senses, Schiller claims that "the
path to the head has to be opened through the heart", for the individual as
well as for the species 25 :
The dynamic (or natural) state can only make society possible by overcoming nature through nature; the ethical (or moral) state can only make
society necessary by subjecting the single to the general will; the aesthetic
state alone can make society actual , because it consummates the will of the
whole through the nature of the individual. 28
The reason for this Schiller sees in the fact that "beauty alone we enjoy, at
the same time, as individual and as species, that is, as representatives of
the species".
Many interpreters of Schiller's aesthetic theories have wondered
whether, in the end, Schiller considers the aesthetic or the moral state the
highest form of humanity. This is a dilemma which, like Meno's opening
question about virtue, cannot be answered directly . In terms of what is
achieved, the moral state presents a pinnacle of human perfection; in
terms of how it is achieved, the aesthetic state presents an ideal comparable only to the life of the Olympian gods. In that sense, Schiller concludes his letters:
But does such a state of beautiful semblance exist, and where is it to be
found? As need, it exists in every finely tuned soul, as reality, one might
find it, like the pure 'church and the pure republic, only in a few select
circles, where not mindless imitation of the ways of others, but inherent
beautiful nature guides human behavior, where man goes through the
most complex situations with bold simplicity and calm innocence, and
neither finds it necessary to offend another's freedom in order to assert his
own, nor to throw away his dignity in order to exhibit grace. 27
This combination of Grace and Dignity, representative of an ideal of
humanity to be found among the Greeks but lost in modern times, Schiller
8
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�sees preserved in Greek works of art:
Mankind has lost its dignity, but art has saved and preserved it in significant stones; truth lives on in semblance, and out of the copy the original
shall be reconstituted. 28
·
Addressing himself to the task of the artist, Schiller exclaims:
The artist certainly is the .son of his time , hut woe to him if, at the same
time, he is its pupil or even its favorite. Let a beneficent deity snatch the
suckling betimes from his mother"s breast , nourish him with the milk of a
better age and allow him to reach maturity under a far off Grecian sky.
Then , when he has become a man, let him return, a stranger, to his own
century; yet, not in order to please it with his appearance, but terrible as
Agamemnon's son , in order to purify it. The material he certainly will take
from the present , but the form from a nobler time, yes, from beyond all
time, borrowed from the absolute unchangeable unity of his being.24
This comprehensive task of the artist, to span the whole history of
human civilization in an attempt to give mankind its fullest possible expression, Schiller discusses more specifically in On Naive and Sentimental
Poetry . Understanding the poets as "preservers and avengers of nature'',
he distinguishes between two types, the Naive poet as "being nature", the
Sentimental poet as "seeking nature". Expressive of two states of
mankind, Naive poetry of a union, Sentimental poetry of a separation
between man and nature, both forms of poetry, in different ways, show a
perfection of art: Naive poetry, as "imitation of reality'', by fulfilling a
finite goal, Sentimental poetry, as "presentation of the ideal", by striving
for an infinite goal. Schiller's terms Naive and Sentimental might sound
confusing at first. They certainly do not mean what they mean today. The
Naive poet, like a god behind his work, lets the world speak for itself. In
that sense, Schiller considers not only Homer, but also Shakespeare and
Goethe Naive poets. The Sentimental poet, on the other hand, an intellectual presence in his work, reflects on the world he portrays . In that sense,
Schiller considers most modern poets, including himself, Sentimental
poets. Striving for an ideal of poetry, Schiller raises the question, whether
and how far, in the same work of art, classical individuality might be
combined with modern ideality. The fulfillment of this task, to "individualize the ideal" and "idealize the individual", in Schiller's eyes,
would not only constitute "the highest peak of all art", but also serve as
that "higher art" which, in the letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man,
was expected to restore the totality of human nature, destroyed by art in
the process of civilization .
Understanding On Naive and Sentimental Poetry "so to speak" a5 "a
bridge to poetic production"30 , Schiller enters into a new period of poetry,
divided between philosophical poems, ballads and historical dramas. In a
letter of 1793, he writes to Count von Schimmelmann:
I have, at the same time, the intention, in this way to reconcile myself with
the poetic Muse whom, through my falling away to the historic Muse (a
fall indeed) I have grossly offended. If I should succeed in regaining the
favor of the god of poetry, I hope to hang up in his temple the spoils which
I have labored to obtain in the realm of philosophy and history, and to
dedicate myself to his service forever. 31
St. Johns Lecture Series
9
�To a letter of Countess von Schimmelmann's, in 1795, Schiller graciously
replies:
You wish, in your letter, that I continue in the poetic path which I have
entered. Why should I not, if you find it worth your while to encourage me
in it. Also by heeding your advice I only follow the inclination of my heart.
From the beginning, poetry was the highest concern of my soul, and I only
left it for a time in order to return to it richer and worthier. All paths of the
human spirit end in poetry, and the worse for it, if it lacks the courage to
lead them to this goal .32
Encouraged by his friendship with Goethe, Schiller, for the last ten years
of his life devoted himself to poetry. This friendship which, to judge from
their many letters, became a constant source of inspiration for both of
them, had started with a famous conversation in July of 1794. On the way
home from a convention of the Society of Natural Science in Jena, Goethe
had presented his Metamorphosis of Plants to Schiller who, still a Kantian, had retorted: "But that is not an experience, that is an ideal" To
which Goethe, with courteous irony, had replied: "I certainly should be
' glad to have ideas without my knowing and even to see them with my
eyes." In a follow up letter to this conversation, Schiller draws the sum of
the difference between the two of them:
Your spirit, to an extraordinary degree, works intuitively, and all your
thinking powers seem to have compromised on the imagination, so to
speak, as their common representative . ... My mind works really more in
a symbolizing way, and thus I am suspended, as a kind of hybrid, between
concept and imagination, between rule and feeling, between technical
head and genius . This, especially in former years, has given me a rather
awkward appearance, in the field of speculation as well as in the art of
poetry; for, usually , the poet overtook me where I was supposed to
philosophize, and the philosophical spirit where I wanted to write poetry.
Even now, it happens to me often enough that imagination disturbs my
abstractions and cold reason my poetry. If I can master these two forces to
the point that, through my freedom, I can assign each one its limits, a
beautiful fate shall still await me . . . .33
Another relationship, crucial for Schiller's understanding of himself with
respect to the Ancients, was his friendship with W. v. Humboldt, the
great scholar in classical languages and literatures . In a letter of 1795,
Humboldt writes:
I believe I can justify this seemingly paradoxical sentence that you, on the
one hand, are the direct opposite of the Greeks, since your products exhibit
the very character of autonomy; and that, at the same time, you, among
the moderns, again are closest to them . since your products, after Greek
ones, express necessity of form; only that you draw it from yourself, while
the Greeks take it from the aspect of external nature, which is likewise
necessary in its form. Wherefore also, Greek form resembles more the object of the senses, yours more the object of reason, even though the former,
finally, also rests on a necessity of reason, and yours, of course, also speaks
to the senses. 34
After the completion of his Bride of Messina, in 1803, Schiller reminds
Humboldt of this earlier exchange of theirs:
My first attempt of a tragedy in strict form will give you pleasure; you will
be able to judge from it, whether as contemporary of Sophocles I might
10
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�have been able to carry off a prize. I have not forgotten that you called me
the most modern of all newer poets and, therefore, thought me in opposition to everything that could be called ancient .3s
In an introduction to the publication of their correspondence, 25 years
after Schiller's death, Humboldt reminisces:
What every observer had to notice in Schiller, as characteristically defining°, was that, in a higher and more pregnant sense than perhaps ever in
anyone else, thought was the element of his life. Continual authentic intellectual activity left him almost never, and only yielded to the more
violent attacks of his bodily illness. It seemed to him relaxation, not strain.
This showed itself especially in conversation for which Schiller seemed
most truly born. He never sought for a significant topic of discourse, he left
it more to chance to bring up the subject matter, but from each he led the
conversation to a more general perspective, and after a few exchanges one
found oneself in the middle of a mind-provoking discussion. He always
treated the thought as a result to be reached together, always seemed to
need the interlocutor, even if one remained conscious of receiving the idea
merely from him . . . Moving above his subject matter with perfect
freedom, he used every sideline which offered itself, and so his conversation was rich in words that carry the feature of happy creations of the moment. The freedom, however, did not curtail the investigation. Schiller
always held on to the thread which had to lead to its end. 36
Schiller's gift for friendship which, throughout his life, moved
him, whether face to face or in letters, to engage in conversation,
found its early expression in a letter of April 1783:
In this wonderful breath of the morning, I think of you, friend- and of
my Carlos . . . I imagine-Every poetic work is nothing but an enthusiastic friendship or Platonic love for a creation of our head .. . If we
can ardently feel the state of a friend, we will also be able to glow for our
poetic heroes. Not that the capacity for friendship and Platonic love would
simply entail the capacity for great poetry - for I might be very able to feel
. a great character without being able to create it. But it should be clear that
a great poet has to have, at least, the capacity for the highest friendship,
even if he has not always expressed it. 37
Schiller's return to poetry, and to dramatic poetry in particular,
begins with a work which stands out in many ways. In the center between
his four earlier and four later plays, Schiller's Wallenstein, his only
trilogy, surpasses the others both in subject matter and in poetic form.
Like the Republic among Plato's Dialogues, Wallenstein, among Schiller's
plays, in one dramatic poem of epic dimensions, encompasses all the
earlier and later themes. In order to appreciate its universality, let us first
conclude our sketch of Schiller's life and work.
Alternating. between a stricter and looser dramatic form, Schiller, in
the last five years of his life, completed Mary Stuart, a "tragedy" about
the Scottish queen and Elizabeth I, The Maid of Orleans, a "romantic
tragedy" about Joan of Arc and her mysterious fight for France, The Bride
of Messina, a "tragedy with choruses", modeled on the Oedipus story, and
finally William Tell, a "drama" about the Swiss fight for independent
unity. Of these later four plays, like the earlier ones focusing on the problem of freedom in connection with the conflict between natural herolsm
and conventional authority, only William Tell is not a tragedy. Written
St. John's Lecture Series
11
�as a New Year's present for 1895 (the opening year of Tolstoy's Wai: and
Peace), William Tell portrays a "new birth of freedom" out of the strength
of a people willing to fight for "the proposition that all men are created
equal". The fact that Tell, though a leader figure, does not presume any
power beyond the limits of republican government, avoids the abyss of
tragedy. That William Tell should be Schiller's last finished, but not his
last play seems to fit this "greatest adventurer of the history of the spirit'',
as H.v.Hofmannsthal calls him. 38 Besides two dramatic works of which
we have extensive fragments, there are about twelve titles of prospective
plays in Schiller's work plan. In addition to his own plays, Schiller, at the
end of his life, still completed two translations which, diametrically opposed to each other, show the range of his dramatic sensibility: the one, in
1801, Shakespeare's Macbeth, the other, in 1805, Racine's Phedre. One
story from the last few days of his life seems to me more revealing than
many a learned comment on his life and work: Bothered by the sight of a
newspaper, edited by a writer he had a very low opinion of, Schiller
begged:
Please, take it out right away, so I can truthfully say I have never seen it.
Give me fairy and knights' tales-there, indeed, lies the matter for
everything great and beautiful. 39
In the Second Part of Goethe's Faust,
early in the Classical
Walpurgisnacht, Faust inquires of the centaur Chiron whom, among the
heroes of his time, he thought to be the greatest. Not satisfied with
Chiron's answer, Faust prods: "Of Hercules you want to make no mention?" To which Chiron replies: "01 do not rouse my longing ... I" Remembering Hercules as "a born king", Chiron claims that neither song
nor marble will ever be able to express his magnificence. In his Essay on
Schiller40 , Th. Mann suggests that with this scene, echoing Schiller's poem
Ideal and Life which culminates in the transfiguration of Hercules,
Goethe paid a final homage to their friendship.
Faust's infatuation with Greek antiquity and his search for Helen as a
symbol of beauty has to be understood in connection with Goethe's and
Schiller's admiration for Homer and their aesthetic theories about a possible union between the natural grace and dignity of the Greeks and the
historical self-consciousness of the Moderns. Entranced by this ideal
which, in the late 1790s, was one of the main topics of their correspondence, both Goethe and Schiller produced works with Homeric
overtones: Goethe his Hermann and Dorothea, Schiller his Wallenstein.
Under the names of the nine Muses, starting with Calliope, the Muse
of epic poetry, and ending with Urania, the Muse of philosophical poetry,
the nine Cantos of Hermann and Dorothea present the whole realm of
poetic expression. Set against the historical background of the French
Revolution, the story of Hermann and Dorothea, together with the different modes of poetry evolving from each other, seems to be a modern
version of Homer's Shield of Achilles. The Muse of epic poetry, however,
not only governs the First Canto, but her spirit pervades the poem as a
whole: Homeric meter, Homeric diction, Homeric epithets and episodes,
though softened from herioc to idyllic tone, echo Iliad as well as Odyssey
in every line of Goethe's poem.
12
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�Schiller's Wallemtein, on the other hand, a monumental trilogy about
the imperial general of the Thirty Years War, presents itself as a modern
historical drama. An account of .the last few days of Wallenstein's life,
culminating in his treason and, finally, his assassination, it confronts us
with the issue of war and peace as symbol of the tragic situation of man.
Disregarding religious and political interests, Wallenstein, a new Caesar,
claims to be the only one able to unify Europe. Though noble in itself, this
ideal, in the hands of lesser men, turns into a treacherous weapon which,
in the end, is responsible for W~llenstein's tragic fall.
Like the Divided Line in Plato's Republic, Schiller's Wallenstein,
divided into the poet's Prologue and three plays, leads from the realm of
the visible to the realm of the intelligible, from the realm of imagination
and opinion to the realm of understanding and thought. Preceded by a
Prologue about the intricate relationship of life and history to art and
nature, the Wallenstein trilogy presents us first with Wallenstein's·
"shadow image", emerging from the opinions of his soldiers, then with his
"public self", surrounded by his family and his generals, and finally with
his "private self', suspended between the freedom of his heaven bound
reflections and the n~ity of his earthbound actions.
Even in the context of Schiller's History of the Thirty Years War, an
account of the confrontation betw'*'n the forces of the Emperor, defending Catholicism, and the forces of Gustav Adolf of Sweden, fighting for
Protestantism, the rise and fall of W~lenstein in the service of the
Emperor strangely reminds one of the fatJ' of the Homeric Achilles. The
historical figures and events of the Thirty Years War seem to fit the poetic
panorama of Homer's Iliad, where the natural enmity between Agamemnon, the ruler, and Achllles. the hero, almost outweighs their national enmity against Hector~ whose humanity encompasses both their natures.
Ending his account of W,.Jlensteln's ·role in the Thirty Years War, Schiller
states:
·
Thus Wallenstein, at the age of fffty, ended his action-filled and extraordinary life; raised by love of honor, felled by lust for honor, with all
his failings still great and admirable, unsurpmable if he had kept within
bounds. The virtues of the ruler and hero, prudence, justice, firmne$ and
courage, tower In his character c:oloaally; but he lacked the gentler virtues
of the man, which grace the hero and gain love for the ruler. 41
In answer to this Epilogue of the historian, the Prologue of the poet
promises:
Blurred by the favor and the hate of parties
His image waven within history.
But art shall now bring him more humanly
And closer to your eyes and to your heart.
For art, which binfls and Umlts everything,
Brings all extremes IN!ck to the sphere of nature.••
In the Preface to his Bride oj Mealna, Schiller speab of the relationship of
historical truth to poetic ~rqth or, as he calls it in On Tragic Art, to the
truth of nature:
Nature itself is only a spiritual idea, which never falls into the senses.
Under the cover of the appearances It lies, but it itself never rises to ap-
St. John 8 Lecture Set;ea
13
�pearance. Only the art of the .ideal is favored, or rather shouldered with
the task to grasp this spirit of the whole and to bind it into bodily form.
Even this (type of art] can never bring it before the senses, yet through her
creative force before the power of the imagination, and thereby be more
true than all reality and more real than all experience. From this it follows
by itself that the artist cannot use a single .element from reality as he finds
it, that his work must be ideal in all its parts, if it is supposed to have reality
as a whole and agree with nature.
Striving for a form of art that would be true both to historical reality and
to nature, Schiller, in his Wallenstein, surrounds the modern world of the
Thirty Years War with a mythical horizon of Homeric overtones. In a letter of 1794, in which he tells Korner of;'.'writing his treatise on the Naive
and, at the same time, thinking about the plan for Wallenstein," Schiller
confesses:
In the true sense of the word, I enter a path wholly unknown to me, a
path certainly untried, for in poetic matters, dating back three, four years,
I have put on a completely new man . 43 ·
Reaching for the truth of nature by combining Naive and Sentimental
poetry, Schiller integrates Homer's "imitation of nature" into his own
"presentation of the ideal". In his advice.-to Goeth. who, at the time of
e
Schiller's work on Wallenstein, was engaged in his Achilleis, an epic poem
about the death of Achilles, Schiller suggests:
Since it is certainly right that no Iliad is possible after the Iliad, even if
there were again a Homer and again a Greece, I believe I can wish you
nothing better than that you compare your Achilleis, as it exists now in
your imagination, only with itself, and in Homer only seek the mood,
without really comparing your task with his .. . . For it is as impossible as
thankless for the poet, if he should leave his homeground altogether and
actually oppose himself to his time. It is your beautiful vocation to be a
contemporary and citizen of both poetic worlds, and exactly because of this
higher advantage you will belong to neither exclusively. 44
Like catalysts in the process of establishing an ideal mode of poetic expression, the echoes of Homer's Iliad in Schiller's Wallenstein accentuate its
modernity.
A major change from the History of the Thirty Years War, Schiller's
Wallenstein, following Homer's Iliad, begins in the middle of the war.
But where Homer, in the first seven lines of the Iliad, describes the wrath
of Achilles, and the fateful clash between Achilles and Agamemnon,
Schiller, in the Prologue to Wallenstein discusses the role of art, and art's
relationship to history and nature. Befitting the ancient epic poem,
Homer's description centers on Zeus and the fulfillm~nt of his will; befitting the modern dramatic poem, Schiller's discussio11 centers on the
phenomenon of the great historical personality.
·
Both Homer's Iliad and Schiller's Wallenstein, with the Catalogue of
Ships and the first play of the trilogy, exhibit the army and its various
elements in a set picture. But where the Catalogue of Ships, preceded by
an invocation to the Muse, merely lists the leaders of the Trojan war,
Wallenstein s Camp (the model for Brecht'.s Mother Courage), depicts the
dissolution of life in the state of war which, (as a state of nature in the
14
Schillers Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy iQ Poetry
�midst of the state of society), perverts all human values.
Both Homer's Iliad, in the center of its first half, and Schiller's
Wallenstein, in the center of its central play, The Piccolomini, show the
most tender human relationship exposed to the harsh reality of war. But
where Homer, in the parting of Hector from wife and child on the wall of
Troy, focuses on the conflict between family and society, Schiller, in the
love scenes between Max and Thekla, focuses on the conflict between individuals and society. A poetic expression of Kant's Moral Law, founded
on nothing but their hearts, love creates an island of freedom in the sea of
historical necessity.
Both Homer and Schiller, with the Shield of Achilles and the chalice of
the banquet at Pilsen, use the detailed description of an artifact to
highlight the world view implicit in each poem. But where the scenes on
the shield depict human life within the timeless order of nature and,
therefore, are self-explanatory, the scenes on the chalice require an explanation not only for their reference to a specific moment in human history, but also for their use of allegory in portraying that moment.
Where Homer, in the First Book of the Iliad, tells of Achilles' meeting
with Thetis, and of her visit to Zeus on Olympus, Schiller, in the opening
scene of Wallenstein's Death, the last play of the trilogy, shows Wallenstein, concentrating on the long expected moment of the conjunction between the planets Venus and Jupiter. The change of perspective, from
trusting in divine powers that are moved by will and fate to relying on
heavenly bodies that move in accordance with universal laws, does not affect the hopes and the despair that either of them occasion.
Both Homer and Schiller, with dramatic suspense, portray their
heroes in thoughtful solitude. But where Homer paints the rich scene of
Achilles sitting before his tent, in the company of Patroclos, and singing
about the glory of men to the sound of his lyre, Schiller presents Wallenstein absorbed in a monologue, reflecting on the relationship of freedom
and necessity in human nature. Unlike Achilles' song which, in the
creative process, unites freedom and necessity, Wallenstein's reflection, in
the form of a syllogism with invalid premisses, denies such a union and is
left with the fragments of abstract thought. Achilles' restful repose conveys the harmony of his song as much as Wallenstein's restless stopping
and starting the disharmony of his reflection.
A striking change from the History of the Thirty Years War is Schiller's ·
modeling the friendship between Wallenstein and Max, the only nonhistorical character in the play, on the friendship between Achilles and
Patroclos in Homer's Iliad. Both Homer and Schiller, in the poetic constellation of their characters and plots, make friendship, a middle ground
between a natural and a conventional bond, the turning point for
tragedy. Like the death of Patroclos for Achilles, the death of Max brings
Wallenstein closer to realizing the tragic connection between freedom
and necessity, borne out in the problematic relationship of nature and
convention.
The modern complexity of Schiller's Wallenstein, over and against the
relative simplicity of Homer's Iliad, shows itself in content as well as in
St. John's Lecture Series
15
�form. Expressive of the fragmentation of human nature in the course of
history, Schiller's abstract language lends itself to portraying characters
that are torn between action and reflection. Striving for a new totality of
human nature, some of Schiller's characters parallel more than one of
Homer's characters: So Max, both Patroclos and Hector; so Thekla, both
Briseis and Andromache. This double role of the modern characters is the
more significant, as it obliterates the enmity between Greeks and Trojans
and thus points to an individuality which, viable or not, transcends the
political nature of man. Complementary to the parallels of characters,
parallels of plots create a maze of poetic affinities between the ancient
epic and the modern tragic poem. Discontinuous and staggered, the
parallels of plots seem to point not only to the fragmentation of human
nature in modern times, but also to a new totality made possible through
history.
Intent on exploring the complementation of time and timelessness in
the work of art, Schiller and Goethe, in their letters during the years of
Schiller's work on Wallenstein, discuss the relationship of tragic to epic
poetry. Perceiving them as complementary art forms, Schiller defines
tragedy, standing under the category of causality, as the capture of
"singular extraordinary moments of mankind", and epic poetry, standing
under the category of substantiality, as the depiction of the "permanent,
persistent whole" thereof. 45 In harmony with Aristotle's notion of tragedy
as more comprehensive than epic poetry4 6 , Schiller changes his early plans
for an epic poem about the Thirty Years War, centering on Gustav Adolf,
to his final ones for a dramatic poem, centering on Wallenstein. Immersed in his task of translating Euripides, in Schiller's eyes a poet on the
way from Naive to Sentimental poetry, Schiller, in 1789, had written to
Korner:
Let me add further that in getting better acquainted with Greek plays
I, in.the end, abstract from them what is true, beautiful and effective and,
by leaving out what is defective, I therefrom shape a certain ideal through
which my present one shall be corrected and wholly founded . 47
In a letter to Goethe, in which he speaks of "sketching out a detailed
scenario for Wallenstein'', Schiller remarks:
I find the more I think about my own task and about the way the
Greeks dealt with tragedy that everything hinges on the art of inventing a
poetic fable. 48
Schiller's Wallenstein and Euripides' Iphigeneia in Aulis, which Schiller
had translated in 1788, apparently follow the same poetic fable. In both
dramas, the leader of the army orders members of his family to join him at
his camp. In both, the political reasons for this move are disguised as personal reasons. In both, the heroic action of a youth close to the leader interferes with his plans and finally causes tragedy and death . In the comparison with Homer's Iliad, the main parallels were drawn between the
Emperor and Agamemnon, Wallenstein and Achilles, and Max and
Patroclos. In the comparison with Euripides' lphigeneia in Aulis,
however, the main parallels would have to be drawn between Wallenstein and Agamemnon, Max and Achilles, and Thekla and Iphigeneia.
16
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�The fundamental theme of Schiller's Wallenstein, the necessary connection between nature and convention, emerges in the "living shape" •9 of
Wallenstein. presenting. in one modern historical figure, Achilles, the archetype of the natural hero. and Agamemnon, the archetype of the conventional ruler.
In the 26th letter 011 the Ae.~thl'fic Edrt<'afion of Man, Schiller comments on the sovereign power of the artist:
With unlimited fn>edom he can fit togt-thcr what nature separated, as long
as lw can somehow think it togetht•r. and separate what nature connected,
as long as he can only detach it in his mind. Here nothing ought to be
sacred to him but his own law. as long as he only watches the marking
which divides his province from the existence of things or realm of nature.
True to the reality of history, Schiller presents Wallenstein in a modern
historical drama, set in the world of the Thirty Years War. Separating
what nature connected, Schiller abstracts from features of the historical
Wallenstein which would disqualify him for being a tragic hero. True to
the reality of poetry, where the historical characters, as poetic figures,
become symbolic beings, Schiller presents Wallenstein in a dramatic
poem, surrounded by a mythical horizon. Fitting together what nature
separated, Schiller strikes parallels, respectively, between one historical
and more than one mythical character, and between one historical and
more than one mythical plot. The fact that the poetic figure of Wallenstein reflects the archetypes from Homer and Euripides in a cross between
naturally opposed, but artistically complementary characters demonstrates both the fragmentation and the striving for a new totality of
human nature in the course of history. By reflecting the Iliad as well as
the pregnant moment before the Iliad, Schiller's Wallenstein, a living example of the unity of time and timelessness, opens up a perspective from
history to epic as well as tragic poetry. With his integration of Greek "imitation of nature" into his own "presentation of the ideal", Schiller seems to
point to the fulfillment of an ideal in which art and nature would meet
again.
To a letter in which Korner had suggested a few changes in the plot of
Wallenstein, Schiller replies with unusual sharpness:
A product of art, insofar as it has been designed with artistic sense, is a living work, where everything hangs together with everything, where
nothing can be moved without moving everything from its place. 50
Correlation of everything with everything can be detected in more than
one element of Schiller's dramatic poem: the polarity of characters sus.tains the symmetry of plots which, in concentric circles of scenes and acts,
form the whole of the trilogy. Corresponding to the three parts of the Prologue, the three plays of Wallenstein explore the relationship between
nature and art, portrayed in the life of individuals, representative of the
life of mankind. Schiller's integration of characters and plots from Greek
epic and tragic poetry into his modern historical drama contributes to the
symbolic nature of his poetic figures and poses the question of the relationship between Ancients and Moderns, fully discussed in his
philosophical writings. The correspondence between dramatic characters
St. Johns Lecture Series
17
�and aesthetic principles ties together life and art by interpretir{g them in
terms of history, understood in the light of .nature.
The evidence of such comple.x relationships between the various
elements of Schiller's Wallenstein certainly proves it to be a "product of
art", but does it prove it to be a "living work?" In a long painstaking letter
about Wallenstein , W .v. Humboldt writes to his friend:
We often talked with each other about this poem, when it was scarcely
more than sketched out. You considered it the touchstone with which to
test your poetic capacity. With admiration, but also with apprehension, I
saw how much you bound up in this task .. . . Such masses no one ever has
set in motion; such a comprehensive subject matter no one ever has chosen ;
an action, the motivating springs and consequences of which, like the roots
and branches of a tremendous tree-trunk, lie so far spread out and dispersed in such diverse forms, no one ever has presented in one tragedy. 51
In a letter to Korner , Schiller confesses:
None of my old plays has as much purpose and form as my Wallenstein
already has; but, by now, I know too well ~hat I want and what I have to
do that I could make the task so easy for myself.52
In the light of his notion of the poets as "preservers" and "avengers" of
nature, Schiller, in the letters On the Aesthetic Education of Man, compares the artist to Agamemnon's son who returns to the house of his
fathers in order to avenge the past on the present. Understanding him as a
contemporary and citizen of more than one world, Schiller advises the artist to take the material for his work from the present, but the form from
"a nobler time, yes, from beyond all time, borrowed from the absolute,
unchangeable unity of his being". In compliance with his own advice,
Schiller takes the material for his Wallenstein from modern history, but
the form from a blend of Naive and Sentimental poetry, explicated in the
aesthetic theories of his philosophical writings . Fully aware of the artificial nature of such a process, Schiller, nevertheless, expects to achieve
an ideal of poetry in which history and philosophy would contribute to
the vindication of nature. The fact that no one, for now almost two hundred years, has seen that Schiller's Wallenstein, in appearance the most
modern of his dramas, in substance is also the one where Naive and Sentiµiental poetry blend most completely, should be enough of an indication
that history and philosophy, though indispensable for Schiller's work, are
only means towards a higher goal: their fulfillment in poetry. To end with
Schiller's own words 53 :
All paths of the human spirit end in poetry, and the worse for it if it lacks
the courage to lead them there . The highest philosophy ends in a poetic
idea, so the highest morality, the highest politics. The poetic spirit it is to
which all three owe their ideal and which to approximate is their highest
perfection.
18
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy in Poetry
�1.
3!J.
40
41.
42 .
Translations of dramatic works, by C . E. Passage, Wallenstein, 1958; Don Carlos, 1959; Mary
Stuart , The Maid of OrleaflB, 1961: The Bride of Messina, William Tell, Demetrius, 1962; Intrigue and Love, 1971; Ungar, New York; by F . J . Lamport, The Robbers and Wallenstein,
Penguin, 1979.
Translations of philosophical works, On the Aesthetic Education of Man, by R. Snell,
Ungar, New York, 1954; by E . M. Wilkinson and L.A. Willoughby, dual language edition with
extensive introduction and commentary, Oxford, 1967: On Naive and Sentimental Poetry and
On the Sublime, by J. A. Elias, Ungar, New York, 1966.
The main sources for my account of Schiller's life are: F. Burschell, F. Schiller, In
Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten, Rowohlt, Hamburg, 1958; C.v . Wilpert, SchillerChronlk, Sein Leben und Schaffen, Kroner, Stuttgart, 1958. Given the format of a public lecture, references to secondary literature, except for a few places, have been kept ·out of the
account.
To Lempp (?),Jun. 19, 1783.
0 . Seidlin, "Schiller, Poet of. Politics", in A Schiller Symposium, ed. L. Willson, U. of Texas,
Austin, 1960, pp. 31-48.
·
H. Jantz, "William Tell and the American Revolution", in A Schiller Symposium, op . cit ., pp.
65-81.
Wallemtei11 , Prol .. II. 61-69 (tran<lation hy C . E . Pas.<age: "great objectives", my correction).
Wallen.otein'.• Death, III. 13, I. 1813.
F . Burschell . F. Schiller. op . cit ., p . 7.
C.v. Wilpert. Schiller-Chronik, op . cit .. p. 41.
A. Lincoln. "The Perpetuation of our Political ln<titutions'', Address Before the Young Men's
Lyceum of Springfield. Illinois, Jan . 27, 1838.
Th. Mann, Ver.mch Ober Schiller. Fischer, Frankfurt a.M .. 1955, p. 35 (cf. La•t E..•ays , translation hy R. and C . Win<ton . Knopf. New York, 1966. p. 29. but without this personal reference).
To Ch . and C. v. Lengefeld. Dec. 4. 17R8.
To Baggesen. Dec. 16. 1791.
On fhe Ae..thetic Ed1wati1m of Ma11 . Letter 2.
Ibid .. Letter 2.
/bit/ .. Letter 3.
Ibid .. Letter 3.
Ibid .. Letter 6.
Ibid .. Letter 6.
Ibid .. Letter 8.
Ibid., Letter 11.
Ibid .. Letter 20.
Ibid .. Lettt'r 15.
Ibid .. Letter 21.
Ibid .. Letter 8.
Ibid .. Letter 27.
Ibid .. Letter 27.
/hit/ .. Letter 9.
Ibid .. Letter 9.
To Korner. Sep. 12. 1794 .
To E.v. Schimmelmann. Jul. 13. 179.1.
To C.v . Schimmelmann. No\' , 4. 1795.
To Goethe. Aug . .11. '1794.
To Schiller. No\'. 6. 1795.
To Humholdt. Feh. 17. lll0.1 .
Ober Schiller rmtl tle11 Gang .<ei11er Gei.ttt'"n1tu:ick/1mg. 1830, in Werke , II, ed. A. F1itner/K .
Giel . Wis.•en<chaftliche Buchitesellschaft. Darm<tadt , 1969, pp. 361-362.
To Reinwald. Apr. 14, 17R3, quoted from F . Burschell, F. Schiller. op cit ., pp . 47-48 .
Hofmannsthal. "Schiller". in Arisgeu:iihlle Werke. II, Erzahlungen und Aufsiitze, Fischer,
Frankfurt a .M.. 1957, p . 40R.
<)uo!L'd from F. Rur.chell . f. Schiller, op. cit .. Jl. 166.
Th. Mann. "Es.<a\· on Schiller" in La.ti E.""Y"· op. cit .. pp. 81-84.
Schiller. lli"tory ~f thi• 1'hirty Year.t War. End of Book IV.
Wal/1•n"fein. Prol., II. 102-107 (translation hy C. E. Pas.<age: "within" , "heart", my
4.1 .
44 .
45 .
To Korner. Sep. 4, 1794.
To Goethe. Ma\· IR. 179R.
To Cnethc. Ap~. 25. 1797: Aufo! . 24. 179R.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
R.
9.
IO .
11.
12.
1.1.
14 .
15.
16.
17.
IA.
19.
20 .
21.
22 .
23 .
24 .
25 .
26.
27 .
2R .
2!J .
30.
31.
32.
33.
34 .
35.
.36.
37 .
.1R .
H
,,.,
t·orre<:tions) .
St. John'.\· Lecture Series
19
�46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
20
To Goethe, May 5, 1797.
To Korner, Mar. 9, 1789.
To ~the, Apr . 4, 1797.
On the Aesthetic Education of Man , Letter 15.
To Korner, Mar . 24, 1800.
·
To Schiller, Sep. 1800.
To Korner , Nov . 28 , 1796.
To C.v . Schimmelmann, Nov . 4, 1795 .
Schiller's Drama - Fulfillment of History and Philosophy i11 Poetry
�
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Berns, Gisela N.
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Schiller's drama : fulfillment of history and philosophy in poetry
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1982-02-26
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on February 26, 1982 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805.
German literature
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Annapolis, MD
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Friday night lecture
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Text
NOMOS AND PHYSIS
(An interpretation of Euripides' Hippolytos}
Gisela Berns
St. John's College, Annapolis
The na_
tural order of presentation might seem to be reversed in a title which focuses on Nomos and Physis as ·two
related aspects of one and the same theme. Is not Physis
(Nature) an
indispens~ble
ground for Nomos (Convention) and
therefore a key to its unders,tanding? The
· the seemingly natural order can be found
arising from
~uripides'
play
~ippolytos,
rea~on
~n
the
for reversing
suggcs~ion,
that, in the case
of man, Nomos is as indispensable an end for Physis as Physis
is an
indispens~ble
ground for Nomos, that Physis provides
the potentialities, Nomos the actuality of man, and that
therefore Nornos comes to be the key to· a final understanding
of man's Physis.
II
Immediately following Aphrodite's prologue (1-57); the
play presents Hippolytos, offering
a wreath
of ·f lowers· to
Artemis (58-87). In th_ dedication of the wreath, preceeded
e
by an enthusiastic hymn to the goddess's beauty and exaltedness (58-72), Hippolytos reflects on the'possession of
�-2"olllcppoodvn" and its connection to his companionship with
Artemis.
'
"ooL
tdv6~
.
lcLµQvo,,
'
1lcxtov otlcpavov it &xnpdtou
1
6lo101.va, xooµ~aa' cplpw,
lv&' o~tc 101.µ~v &t1.ot cplpBcLV Sot~
o~t'
nl&l 1111 a(6npo,, &11' axnpatov
µllt.OOa lELµQv' npt.V~V 6t.lPX£Tat.
al6~' 6~ 1otaµCaLOL xnxcdcL 6~&00~''
.. ,
.
'
,;,
'-'to owcppovctv c1.lnxcv tt.!; ta xavt. ac ,
_,
QA).'
I
Wf(An
6l0101,VQ, XP00la!; x&µn,
'
I
\
ava6nµa 6lta1. _ xc1.po'
-'· µ cS v w 1. yap ; £• o t' t.
T o0 t
•
&10.
c~acSoo,
•
.I
c µ o '1. y &:; p a '
.
Bp o T Gh.1 •
'
'
.f
'
.I
•
001. XQL tuVCLPI. XaL loyoL, aµc1.Soµa1.,
#
\ .f
x~uwv
\
~
J!
µcv auu,.,, oµµa 6
0
;i_
0
,I
oux opwv to oov.
0
I
-
\
The dedication unfolds in two parts. Each part begins with an
appeal to the goddess and ends with a reflection, the first
one on the possession of "owcppoodvn" ,_ the second one on Hippolytos' companionship with Artemis. Both parts, though they correspond to each other in structure, differ from each other in
tone: the second one · applies to Hippolytos personally what
the first one elaborates in general.
In the first part of the dedication, Hippoiytos claims
�-3-
that only nature and divine allotment can truly account for
the possession of "aw,poadvn". This claim is
~xpressed
iri
·three, increasingly abstract statements: first a description,
then a poetic image and finally a philosophical discussion.
The description of the inviolate meadow, where the flowers
for Hippolytos' wreath were gathered, distinguishes not only
· between flock and iron on the one hand, and the roaming bee 1
on the other hand, but also implies a·distinction between the
flock, something in nature, and the iron, something from nature,
developed by art into something again.s t nature i tne sickle.
This increase in supposed violation of the meadow, inherent
in the sequence of examples which are set off from the example of the bee, has two opposite effects: its immediate .
effect, supported by a grammatical
"a~>.'"
(76), is separation.
Furthermore, the repetition of the watchword
"ax~patov"
(73; . 76) ·
ties the example of the bee rhetorically to Hippolytos' offering of the wreath, and sets them both off from the examples
of flock and iron. Yet the · interp.o sition of those examples,
implying violation, between the examples, implying no violation but rather fulfillment, suggests at the same time a
separation between Hippolytos'
offe~
and. the example of the
bee. This more subtle effect is to be weighed carefully, since
the description of the roaming bee carries ove+ into the
poetic image of
"al6111~"·
The extension of the one into the
other is grammatically effected by the implicit continuation
�-4of the direct object
11
A£ l.).JiiiV) ax~patov" (76). In keeping with
the ambiguous character of the link between Hippolytos'-offer
and the example of the bee before, the granunatical conjunction
\
.
"6t"
(78) between the example of the bee and the image of
"at6c)s" can at the same time be understood to connect and to
separate. Furthermore, the image of "al6<.3,", gardening the
inviolate meadow, contains in itself a strange alloy of .wild
and tamed nature, of nature and culture, and therefore seems
to question Hippolytos' claim that only nature and divine allotment can truly account for the possession of "awcppoa~vri",
the theme of the final discussion of the dedication's first
part. Mentioning the gathering of flowers
~n
the end of this
philosophical discussion however suggests, that there is one
continuous interpretation of Hippolytos' offer, which is consecutively exp-ressed in des~riptive, poeti'c, · and philosophical
language. The key term in Hippolytos' philosophical conclusion
. \
is "To awippovetv" (80). Like the center of two concentric
circles, it.is surrounded by two pairs of correlated terms:
"ev tf,\ ,,Soe1." and "er>.rixev" in the inner circle,
\.
~ri6ev"
and
"To~' xaxoto1. o'
opposition between the
11
'
61.oaM'tov
06" in the outer circle. The
accept~nce
of 'the 'bee and the rejection
of flock and iron from the initial .d escription repeats itself
.
. \
in this final stage of the argument as the rejection of "to
01.1>1ppovetv" as
"61.oaxt~v",
against the acceptance of
correlated with "Tot' xaxoto1."
11 't'~
oooqipovetv" as "ev T~ ftfoe1.",
correlated with "eC>.rixev". The opposition is emphasized rhe-
�-5-
torically through closeness to the center and affirmative
statement for what is accepted, remoteness from the center
apd negative statement for what is rejected. Grammatically,
an
"a>.>.'"
(79), like an echo of the one above, which isolated
the example of the bee from those before, isolates the inner
circle from the outer one. The connectiQn between the poetic
image of "at6~i;" and the philosophical discussion about . "T~
owq>povttv" is controversial. The two possible constructions
are: one --"'at6~i;' gardens with river dew for those to whom
it is not taught, but in their nature· allotted to be 'owcppwv'
with respect to all things all the time, for those to pluck,
but for the base it is not right;" the other --"'ot6~i;'
gardens with river dew; for those to whom it is not taught
but in their nature allotted to be
'a~cppwv'
with respect to
all things ali the time, f9r .tho$e to pluck, but for the base
it is not . right." In both . readings, the sentence structure is
highly complex: In . the first reading, where "at6~i;" is supposed to "garden for those, to whom it is not taught but in
I
their nature allotted to be
'o~cpp(l)v'
things all the time, for those to
with respect to all
pluck~ ·
the repetition of
the indirect object, once in relative, o·n ce in demonstrative
form, seems to overstress the connection between "at6~i;" and
"T~ awcppove:tv." At the same time however, the iength of the
relative clause separates the repeated terms more than appears
natural. In the second reading, where
11
·•at6~s;' gardens with
river dew; for those, to whom it is not taught but in their
�-6-
nature allotted to .be
'a~•pwv'
with respect to all things
ba~e
all the time, for those to pluck, but for the
it is not
right", the lack of any_grammatical relation between the
first sentence and the
followi~g
relative complex poses the
problem as to the connection between "at 6~ s" and
In addition to that, _
the necessity to supply
"to\ho1.s; opl1ca601." from
"ou
11
"t ~
a <1Hp p ov £ t
v" •
-&lµ1.s;" for
.&lµ1.s;" predicated for "xaxota1.",
makes the whole relative clause with its discussion of "t~
aw,povctv" rather suspect. 2
The problematic character of the.dedication's first part
will become clearer through an analysis of the second part
and the correlation of the two in their respective three
levels. The introduction of the second appeal to the . goddess
by "aA.A.' 11 echoes those passages from the dedication's ,·first
:
part that stated the basis
f~r
acceptance·and thus prepares
the _ground for the more personal character of the second
part. The _goddess, now addressed as friend, is bidd.e n to
accept a gift that previously was only offered. The justification
ftxc1.p~s; cuac~oOs;
im~gined
&10
11
recalls the po~tic image of "a[6~s;",
as . gardening the sacred meadow. The account of Hippoly-
tos' companionship, closely linked through "y~p" to the mention-'
i~g
of his piety, seems to correspond to the discussion of
\
"To awq>povetv" in the dedication's first part. ·1n keeping
with the positive and 'more personal character of the second
part, _the emphasis, indicated by the order of discussion, is
now rather on the supernatural gift than on the natural en-
�-7-
dowment. The correlation of "iv
t~
9t1a&1.tt and "tC>.nxtv" from
above, which centered around "t~ O(l)cppovetv", seems to reappear in the correlation of "yip as" and ~Tl>.os 6~ 1i~µ<1;a1.µ • ~al:tP
eCou",
nptcl\Jnv
which center around the description of Hippoly-
tos' and the goddess's companionship • . 'l'here
is . nothi~g
in
the second part that corresponds explicitly to. the negative
references in the first part, though the "i:ots xaxotoi. 6'
ou "
seems to be implicit in Hippolytos' exclusive chosenness, the
"61.6axt~v µn6~v" in his wish for concord between the beginning and the end of his life (a notion, that is supported
rhetorically by the position . of "tt'>.os" at the beginning of
the statement and contrasted. granunatically with "6~" from the
implications mentioned). The central account of Hippolytos'
devotion to Artemis is puzzling in so far : as it describes a
companionship'. which is characterized by the exchange of ">._ yo 1.",
&
the mortal hearing the voice but not seeing the eye of the
immortal partner. This detail beqomes significant, if one
recalls that the rational aspect of "T~ owcppovttv" had been
que•tioned, if not deniedJin the first part's negation of
\
.
and its correlation with "JC.a>eotai.." Apart from the
fact that "01.11cppoo~"Vn" is to be expla.i ned etymologically 3 as
"61..6axtov"
"thinking sane thoughts" or "saving
one'~ .
good sense" and
therefore implies a rational aspect, the question arises
whether the
excha~ge
of
11
.A.&yo1." can base itself merely on
divine. gift, allotted to one in his nature 4 , or whether the
�-8-
. qualification "xA.Jwv
\
µEV
\
au6f\', !µµa 6 'OUX
.
'
op&'rv TO OOV 11
does
not suggest that Bippolytos lacks insight 5 into the nature
of his companionship as well as of the virtues connected with
it.
Ju~ging
from the correlation between the two parts of the
dedication, Bippolyltos understands "t~ awcppovttv", meaning
chastity6, to be aided by "f&L6~~". meaning shame, and both
to be equated with "tua~tltLa'~, mea~ing pious devotion to Artemis. 'l'he lack of insight, supposedly indicated by Bippolytos'
not seeing the
e~e
of the goddess., vould pertain to three· :
related aspects of his - understandin,g:.First, the meanin,g of
the virtues
.
11
.
\
.
at6c3,, To awcppovttv, tuallitLa": second, their
origin; and third, their interrelation. The fact that Hippolytos understands the meaning of these virtues exclusively in
terms of his companionship with Artemis 7 , determines at the
same time thei,r origin and interrelation •. Yet the ambiguity
'
of. grammatical and rhetorical links in the dedication's first,
more. general, part seemed to question the interrelation between
the virtues and therefore also their meaning and .their origin.
The
unarnb~guous
character of the
~orresponding
gra.mniatical
links .in the dedication's second, more personal, part only
reinforces the impression that
Bippolyto~
the complexity inherent in both the
\
of "to
has
ineani~g
~ost s~ght
of
and the origin
G~fPOV&tv".
III
'l'he issue in question might be articulated most clearly
by considering some philosophic texts, which are concerned
�-9-
with the relationship between "at6~'" and "awcppoa\SvJl", the
terms most problematically related in this
cruci~l pass~ge
of Euripides' Hippolytos. One might object to the attempt to
clarify a dramatic statement through the analysis of a philosophic text. The objection however can be met by the fact,
that Euripides himself employs philosophical language in such
a way that it becomes an integral part of the drama.
In Plato's Charmides,,a dialogue about "owcppoodvtln, we
are {>resented with a .number of definitions that are discarded,
one after the other, as insufficient.·Though all insufficient
in themselves, their order of presentation fJ:'.om a less ra·tional
to a more rational understanding
sugge~ts
the possibility .that .
.
"
all of them play a part in a definition which, though never
.
.
.
reached, might comprehend "ow9poodvn" as ~whole.a S~gnifi
cantly for
ou~
purpose,
Ch~rmides,
in his'second attempt,
defines "awcppoodvn" ·as tt~~ep at6~'" (160e). The refutation,
which is based on a very inappropriate quote from Homer, ends
with the assertion that "at6~i;" is neither good nor bad (l6la-b)
and therefore fails to define "oll>11,i:>ool1~1l,., admittedly something. good. The questionable character of the refutation reveals itself in two aspects, which are borne out by the drama
of the dialogue: When Socrates, after comparing Charmides to
a beautiful statue (154c) , first asked him whether he posaessed
11
awq1poa1'vn 11 (158b), Charmides blushed and looked even
more beautiful than before, since his shame became his youth
(158c). Tracing out this apparent connection between
11 at6~'"
�-10-
and "01.11,pood"n", Charmides pronounces his second definition
after courageously looking into himself (160e)., an act that
later will supply the basis for one of the highest definitions
of "01.111ppoad"n" (167a). A closer examination of Socrates'
- or~ginal
question (158b-c) will provide us with an answer,
as to why Charmides' second definition was nevertheless refuted.
Socrates considered first, whether Charmides was by nature
sufficiently endowed for
11
011>1ppoo1Svn" (158b), then, whether·
he was already sufficiently
"a~fp11>v"
(158b), and finally asked
him, whether he would say that he participated sufficiently
in "ow1ppoadvn" (158c). The stress on a natural presupposition
that, oz.i .the one hand, is
fic~ent
nec~ssary,
on the other hand insuf-
in itself, explains the statement that "at6~c" is
neither. good nor bad (16lb). The comparison of Charmides to
a beautiful statue ·might point to the fact that he possesses
"a1.111ppoo .~vn"
only in the static form of its natural presuppo-
sition9.
The last chapter of book IV of Aristotle's Niccmachean.
Ethics deals with the same problem in a more elaborate form.
"At6~'" is not considered a virtue, · because it has to do with
the body (1128b 14-15) and therefore . is rather a
a
"ltL~"
"~d~o~"
than
(ll28b 10-11). Concerned with the same issue, Aris-
totle.' s Eudemian Ethics (1234a 24-35) provides the criterion
for the distinction between
''11d~n"
and "ltt1., 0
:
the former
are "!vtu 'lpoaLplatw'" (1234a 25-26). This however does 1'ot
mean that there is no connection between the two: _he "11d-&n",
t
�-11bei~9 "tpua1.xcl 11 , can be understood as leadi~9 into, "ipua1.xal
&peTaC", which are distinguished from "apeTa\" proper thr~ugh
the latter's being "lltT~ fPpov!faew'" (1234a 28-30). The example
of ''at
6..,, .. ,
/
leading into
"011Hpp oa.Svn",
is commented on in pa- ·
renthesis, that for that reason people define "awcppoadvn" in
this genus, namely "at6~s;" (l234a 3.2-33). The difference
.
'
'
'
between "fPU<H xa" apt Ta 1." and "ape T<H" . proper is made even
more explicit in book VI of Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics
by calling the latter "apeTa~ xdp1.a1. 11 .(ll44b 3-4) 10 • Now
applied to virtue in. general, the passage in book VI not only
.
'.
· tries to clarify the similarity ("1&01. yap 6ox£t lxaaTa Tiav
~-&ii>\I U1t.dpxe1.v cpdat1. t(l)s;", 1144b 4-5) and dissimilarity (xa~.
y~p 1a1.al xal ~np(o1.' at tpua1.~al U1tdpxoud1. l~&L,, &11" &v~u
voO SlaJh:pa\ ipa(vovTa1. oi'oai.", 1144b 8-9; _.,cf. H.A. 588a 17-
589a 9) between the two forµis , of virtue, b'ut also. understands
their distinction to be based on a highly rational principle.·
While the two passages from the Eudemian Ethics spoke successively of
11
1tpoa(peat.s:"
(E.E., 1234a 25-26) and "cppdvnai.s;"
(B.E., 1234a 28-30), the passage from the Nicomachean Ethics
speaks of "vous;" (N.E., ll44b 8-9). Significantly for our
purpose, the example illustrating the lack of "voOs;" shows a
man of strong body (the natural presupposition), who lacks
s~ght;.
(the rational component) and. is therefore likely to
fall heavily (ll44b 10-12; cf. lll4b l-25). As the passage
frQm the Eudemian Ethics warned of confounding virtue with
its natural presupp6sition (e.g. defining "awtppbadvn" as
�-1211
at6ws;"), so the passage from the Nicomachean Ethics warns of
confounding it with its rational component (ll44b 17-36) and
suggests that it be understood as "oux av£U
tppOV~C7£ws;"
(1144b
20-21).
The fullest treatment of the question is to be found at
the beginning of book II of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics:
11
.tt
Out
•
.t
.If
\
.f
•
'
•
I
apa lpu0£L OUT£ wapa 'uOLV £YYLYVOVTQL QL apttaL,
•
t
alla
'
•£fUX&OL \.l~V nµtv oltaa~aL auTas;, T£A£LOU\.llVOL$; 6~ OL~ Ton
l~ous;"
(1103a 24-26). What in the passages quoted above was
. distinguished as '11 aptta\ 1pu0Lxa\ 11 and ·"cip£·ta\ xdp1..cu", is here
articulated in terms of "odvaµLs;" and "cvlpytLa" (ll03a 26-28).
'l'he difference between the two stages has to be bridged by
"l~os;" and "6L-6aoxal{a 11 (1103~ 14-18), their proportion depending on whether the virtue is "n~hx~" or "6Lavont1ox~",
though the aspect . of teaching - and learning,
~·:hich
is illustrated
by. examples from "tlxv11" (1103a 31-34 1 ll03b 8-13), seems to
become more and more relevant even for.the moral virtues
(1103a 31-1103b 2, 1103b 13-22), for instance "aw1ppoadv11"
(1103b 1-2, cf. llOSa 17-llOSb 18). If matters were different,
Aristotle ' points out, there would be no need for teaching,
.
.
· but we all would be either good or ba. (1103b 12..;.14).
d
In such a case, as Plato's Protagoras remarks (323a-324d),
one would never praise nor blame a · man ·for the presence or
absence of a virtue, since only nature or fortune would be
responsible for it. Significantly for our purpose, the passage
directly preceding this one, Protagoras' Prometheus_ myth
�-13-
tella about how Zeus sent Hermes with the. gift of "aL6~'" and
"6C•ll" .(322c) to all men in order to prevent the threat of
their mutual destruction. What the myth, appropriately for a
d~vine.
gift, called "ato~s" and "6(xn", the following dis-
cu~sion
about political virtue calls a11uppoa.Sv11" and "61.xcua.Svn"
(323a ff.), representing the addition of a rational component
in an ending indicative for abstract nouns.11
The one feature which is common to all the texts, quoted
in this excursus, is the rejection of exclusivity in the
account of virtue, be it .by teaching,
~Y
training, by nature,
·or in any other way (Plato, Meno, 70a). The last possibility
most me~ni~gfully would con\bine all three ways~ 12
'l'he one passage that not only brings
lthis·· whole '~.discus'sion
into focus, but also opens up new perspectives to be followed
up in the analysis of Euripides' Bippolytos, is the fundamental
definition of man in the opening pages of Aristotle's Politics
(1253a 1-39): "tavcp~v, St1. ••• 6 &v~p~•o' tdac1. ~ol1.t1.x~v
~;o~"
(1253a 2-3). The "'dat1.", which is replaced, in
thee~
laboration on the definition, by "61.~ ,do1.v" and in that form
set off from "61.~ Tdxnv" (1253a 3-4) ·, states man's being political as inherent .necessity and differentiates thus the
species "man" from others within the same . genus "animal".
.
.
Bei~9
'
political, on the other hand, does not seem to be an
exclusive differentia, s'ince
~t
applies to other animals as
well. (Significantly for our purpose, the examples chosen are·
the bee and
herdi~g
animals, thus linking together the two
�-14stro?gly contrasted in Hippolytos' dedication to Artemis.
~f
Hippolytos' acceptance of the bee against the rejection
the flock might be seen in the l~ght of Socrates' myth in the
Phaedo (82b), where those who possess "awippoadvn" without
philosophy and
in
thinki~gwill,
a later life, take on the
form of other political animals like the bee).
Th~
difference,
which girll'es the differentia "q)\fo£1. 1ol.LT .1.lCdv", added to the
genus "tijlov", differentiati?g power, is a difference of degree
("61.dt1.
6i
1ol.1.T1.lC~V
o &v8pC11•os
tll'ov xcfons i ~d -~'t~ll~
.:,.:a.\ · •1:1\>'t~S
&y&l.aCou t'ou µa~l.ov, 6~l.ov", 1253a 7-~; cf. H.A. 588a l7-
589a 9), based on man's exclusive possession of tt>.&yos" (">.&yov ·
6~ µ&vov av8p(l)IOS lxt1. TWV '~(l)V", 1253a
.
II
\
\ .
fY
• \ \
. -
ta µEV ouv QAAa tll>V
,.
If
t~~\I
.
. A \
•
·
\
µuAl.OTa µEv
9-io, cf. 1332b 3-8
ill
ty
_f .
,u~EI. '
ill
l';y,
.
'
µ1.lCpa
~
' ' c '
'
1;V&.C1 lCa.&. Tot' t;-&£01.v; av-&p(l)IOS 6£ lCal. . l. _Sy..,1 µ&vos yap
.
6'
t;XEI.
A&yov' WOT£ 6ct Ta0Ta au~,wvc?v aAl.~l.01.s. ~o>.>.~ y~p nap~ TO~!;
'
\
'
.
\
\
l81.dµous lCat. Tnv ,da1.v 1pdttoua1. 61.a tov
~&yov,
·'
Eav 1c1.aema1.v
ch.All)!> f)(e1.v all.tt.ov."). This natural possession of "l.dyos"
(1253a 9) allows for universalization with respect to the
sensation and expression of pleasure and pain, shared in by
~ll
animals (1253a 10-14). While the sensation and expression
of what is pleasant and painful is always occasioned by and
bound to some particular occurrence, Which involves one individual and takes .place in one present time, the possession
of "l.cSyoi;" allows foruniversalization of both through the
notion· of what is convenient and harmful (1253a 14-15) This
�-15notion, that is based on
abstracti~g
.from a particular present
as well as from a particular individual, leads over into the
notion of just and unjust, good and bad (1253a 15-18). The
connection between the two prominent forms of the dif f erentia
'
"tdoe1. 1tOA1.·ri.xov" and
11
.
Adyov cxov" has to be gathered from
the contrasting examples of the
be~st
that is unable to, and
the. 9od who does not need to share in the notions of just and
unjust, . good a~d bad (1253a 27-29) 13 • The reference to man's
being the best of animals, if and when perfected, the worst,
if and when disassociated from "vc5µos:" and "6(x""
(1253~
31-33),
. suggests, in contrast to either beast or. god, the capability
for perfection on the basis of having "Adyos:". The difference
in
wordi~g
.
between "being political" and· "having AcSyos:" mig)lt
point to the likely 'f act that having "Adyo.s:" potentially makes
for
bei~g poli~ioal
bei~9
actually,.but that
political actu-
ally .makes for having "A6yos:" actually. The difference between
bei~g
and
havi~g
would .become apparent in the possible lack
of having "Adyos:" actually, in the possible failure of man to
.
'
use his natural .weapons for the intended purpose: "9pdvna1.'''
\
.
.
.
and "apetn" (1253a 34-35), a failure .that would cause him to
remain
11
UVOO 1.fh<ITOS:
\
JC.CU
ayp 1.chCITOS:
4Vt:U
mp etl\S:"
(125Ja 35-36) •
IV
The thematic passage (73-87) from Euripides' Hippolytos,
if it is seen in the light of this and the above discussions, .
seems to be concerned with one fundamental problem: the connection between Physis and ' Nomos • . Hippolytos' rejection of
�. -16\
""to awcpp ovctv" as "ch 6aM "tov" can be interpreted as a rejection
of the natural weapons, with which man is born and which are
intended for the perfection of his nature, i.e. for the perfection of Physis through Nomos. Hippolytos' fault then would
lie in his failure to recognize the fact, that what is natural
for all animals is narrower in content than what is natural
for man, the only animal which is by nature endowed with the
possession of
"Adyo~"
"A&yo~"·
His failure to
rec~gnize
the role of
in human nature leads him to neglect the fact that
.in the case
of
man NomoS is as indispensci.ble an. end for Physis
as Physis is an indispensdble ground for Nomos, that Physis
provides the potentialities, Nomos the actuality of man, and
that therefore·Nomos comes to be the key to a 'f inal understanding
of man's Phys is. Hippolytos' wish for concord between the be-.
. ginning and the end of his life reminds one of the description
of Charmides as a beautiful statue, a description which indicates Charmides' insufficient possession of
following
an~lysis
"awq>p
oa\S.vn". The
of the play will attempt to show that the
play can be interpreted as a development of the thematic passage we have been concerned with. Indications_ given so far by
Euripides as to the insufficiency of Bippolytos' view of himself and of human nature can be detected in .content as well
as in form: in content - from his
bei~g
together preferably
with beasts and a_ goddess; in form - from the grammatical and
rhetorical analysis of Hippolytos' dedication to Artemis, which
revealed the implicitly ·contradictory character of the ex- .
�. -17-
notion that "T~ a111q>pov&tv" is allotted to
plicitly stated
one in his nature by divine gift. The fact that the paradigms
for acceptance in Bippolytos • dedication,
t~e
example of th.e
bee, visiting, and the image of "atof.11'"• . 9ardeni~g the sacred
meadow, imply a fulfillment of ·natural potentialities_- questions .
Bippolytos' understanding of the origin ot
11
T~ ac.1Hppovctv". · ...
\
Moreover , that "a t 6111 s " . and " T' a (.I) cp p o v e: t" " • equated with " ·c uo l Bc 1. a" ,
o
seem to be at the same time grammatically disconnected and very
closely connected, questions their relation
meani~g.
·of the
i~9
as well as their
The climax of Hippolytos' dedication in the description
excha~ge
of. ").cSyo1." with Artemis, Bippolytos only hear-
the . voice but not seeing the eye of the:. goddess, reminds .
one ()f Aristotle's example of 'the man with strong body, but
without sight, who is likely to fall
heavi~y.
Aphrodite's
characterization of the · rel~tionship between Hippolytos and
Artemis as
seen in the
"µc(l;t11 BpoTc(as 1pocncawv 0µ1.).(a!;"
l~ght
(19), if it is
of the Aristotelian simile, would suggest
that Hippolytos' hearing the voice but not seeing the eye of
the goddess symbolizes his failure to appreciate the role of
"Adyo'" in man's nature and the li.J<elihood .of his fall for . that
reason~
The failure to appreciate the role of
").dy()!;"
in man's
nature would show itself in the failure to appreciate the ways
in which man's nature, perfected by convention, overcomes
nature simply (cf. Aristotle, Politics, 1253a 31-33) 14 •
�·-18-
v
In
the prologue, Aphrodite proclaims her
vengefuln~ss
towards anyone who dares to affront her with "µlya cppov£tv" (6).
Hippolytos' companionship with Artemis, yet even more his
der!Jgatory attitude towards herself ("Alyct. xax(a'tnv 6a1.µcfvwv
1t£q>uxlva1. 1511 , 13), strike her as falling beyond any human
bounds ("µcCtw BpoTc(a, 1poo1ealilv
0µ1.A(a~",
19). Artemis, in
turn, refers to the fatal revenge
Aphrodi~e
takes on Hippoly-
tos by accusing her of wrath over his "01.111ppoodv11" ( "K1hp 1. ~ •••
aei>ppovoOv'tL tixae'to, 1400-1402). When Hippolytos finally X'.eal-
.izes, which divine power destroyed him, he expresses his recognition with a verb that represents the neutral component of
.
'
6~
6aCµov"
n µ'
&1~A&acv",
1401). Between t.he two characteri-
zations of HipP:olytos, as "µ,ly11 cppov&iv" by 'A phrodite, as
"a1A>1ppovGv" by Artemis, stands, like the fulcrum of a balance,
Phaedra's prediction: "awcppovctv
µa.e~oc'ta1."
(730-731). This
prediction appears to be in striking contrast to Hippolytos'
own
.
understandi~g
.,
.
\
'
\
.
of nyo a11><ppovctv" as "µ11 61.oax't&v", where
"61.6axtov" was rather correlated with "xaxoto1.'' (79-81). In
accordance with this notion, Hippolytos' claim to
.b~
"or!cpp(l)v"
se~ond
revolves around the task to prove or disprove, in the
half of the play, whether he is base natured or not ("ct xax~,
~lcpux' &v~p", 1031, 1075, 1191; cf. lb71 "ct 6~ xaxcf' · ye
cp a (vo µ a ~ 6 o H ii\
t £
a o ("
~
, l lf. 5 2 " b>
cp ( 1. 't a .e
, w
s
y £ vva t
o ~ € xcp a ( v ti
\
1la'tpC "). Together with the thematic discussion of "'to awcppovctv"
�.
.
'
as "µn
-19.
61.6c:un~v",
the triad "µlya ,poviiiv" - "awq>povctv ·
µae!fac-ra1." - "awqipovwv" s:u9gests the question whether the
center separates or mediates between the two opposite characterizations. Before being able to answer this crucial question
one would have to explore three related aspects: first, the
broader context of Hippolytos' rejection of teaching in the
\
.
·.
case of "To Oll)q>povetv", second, the internal and external
causes behind this rejection, and third the meaning of Hippolytos' predicted
learni~g
to be
"a~eppwv".
The last consideration,
concerning itself initially with the relation between teaching
and learning (cf. Plato, Meno, 70a}, will be decisive for the
final discussion of Hippolytos as
tr~gic
hero.
In the scene (88-120), which follows Hippolytos' initial
address to Artemis, his old servant involve's him in a conversation that aim~ at questioning his exclusive devotion to one
. goddess. At first, the cautious question is, whether the "vcfµos"
of "cu1tpoanyop(11" (95), established among men (91) and supposedly ("eCu:p", 98) following the
"v~µo1."
of the gods, has
obliging force even where there is no inclination, as in the
case of Hippolytos towards Aphrodite (106,113). The old serlord changes. significantly _
from
"!vat" (88) to "1at" (107) 16 in order to indicate that. Hippoly-
vant•~
appeal to his
yo~ng
tos' attitude of mind ("To~s vlou~ y~p oo \.IL\.lnTlov q>povouvTas
o~Tws",
114-115) has to be accounted for with his youthful
(118) immaturity and therefore to be fo:rgiven (117). The final
postulate of superior wisdom on the part of the immortals (120)
�-20-
does not promise fulfillment, since both, · Aphrodite directly .
(99, 103), Hippolytos indirectly.(93, 94), . are charactel;';i.Z~d
by one and the same epithet; ''a ell\> cf, n • Aphrodite' s enmity
17
~gainst
Hippolytos in her prologue was not so much provoked
by his companionship with Artemis, as by his haughtiness,,
which expressed itself ·in derogator:v statements about .herself
(13, cf • .~, 330-342, especially 333-334). Bis attitude
appears uniquel~ provocative, in that
he
alone of the citizens
of'l'roezen (12) does not acknowledge Aphrodite's claim to .all
pervadi~g
fame (1-2, cf. 103, 445, 1268-1281). In acqordance
.w ith the emphasis on what she is called or said to be (2, 13),
her qualification
"µ&vo~
1tOAt.Tiv" recognizes the worship of
the gods to be .a public matter·, closely · tied in, ·w ith 'the· ''-..J4...a;o ""
of the "'lcH" '". In contradistinction to that, Hippolytos ·' ,
stresses not sq much the
ou~st.anding
posi t:i:on he has
amo~g
the citizens as among all mortals (84). This abstraction of
himself from conventions, bound to time and place,. and understanding himself as mortal in relationship to immortals, shows
a radicality that, goes both beyond and against the "v&µo'" in
question: beyond, in so far as it tolerates no compromisel 8
of principles; against, because through this lack. of tolerance
his attitude points to the meaningless superficiality of a
"vcSµos;" which is indifferent to the principles i'nvolved. Hippoly-
tos• · answer to the old servant's challenge to conform to the
1
"vcSµos;". of "cu1poanyop (a" with respect to Aphrodite;
• '
'
'
autnv ayvo'
al
~v
"11:pcfolll~ev
•
I
•
aa1a,oµac." (102, cf. 113), indicates that one
�-21cannot, at least not uncompromisingly (104), worship at the
same time Artemis and Aphrodite •. (The close connection between
19
the two goddesses , Artemis being not only the goddess of
but also of childbirth, completing, as it were,
vi~ginity,
the work of Aphrodite, does not render their incompatibility
less striking).
The sequence of the first two scenes, Aphrodite's prologue
and Bippolytos •. address to Artemis, presented, ·as thesis and
antithesis, the principles o1 the play. The third scene, the
conversation between Hippolytos and the old servant,
poi~ts,
· as to a synthesis, · to a possible though improbable untragic
solution. The fact that Bippolytos' only reply to the old
'
servant's final exhortation ("·uµata1.v,
xpe~v",
">' '
c.i
•.
'!tat, o<uµ&v(l)v xpt\a-&a1.
107) is in turn an exhortation to .his fellow hunters
. (108-112) is
("xpe~v",
u~derlined
by
~epeati~g
an expression of necessity
107, 110); the old servant speaks of the necessity
to use the gifts of the_ gods, Bippolytos of the necessity to
have his horses prepared for exercise. The insistence on necessity in both cases, one implying immortal, the other mortal
will, appears to hint ironically toward Hippolytos' terrible
end, the destruction through his own horses. Hippolytos' last,
con~mpuous
.I
.
•
\
,,
~
"
.
'
\
\ .f
1 ine ( "tnv .c:rnv 6e Ku11p1.v 'ltQAA • ey(I) xa1.pe1.v 1\e;yw,
120), together with
his
n~gative
attitude towards
acquiri~g
"aw<ppoalSvri" through teaching, defies the old servant's hope
that his young lord may mature and come to his right senses
("vouv lxw" oaov a~ 6£t", 105). The question, which arises
�-22· from the unity of these three introductory scenes, is, whether
the appearance of debunking .the
tho~gh
H
\I cfµ
o s;"
of
"£
u po o ray op 'a" ,
even ·
it
it involves incompatible principles, is compatible with
the possession of "a.wippood\lra", claimed by Hippolytos, and
whether his attitude towards
11
\ldµos;"
in. general is significant
for the truth oi: untruth of his notion about the origin of
VI
Th~
"vdµos;" of "tultpoonyop(a", which was discussed in
the final scene of the introduction, comes to be treated more
specifically in the conversation between the nurse and Hippolytos (601-668) , on the one hand, and Hippolytos and Theseus
,
'.
(902-1101), on the other hand. The two conversations are. grouped
.around Phaedra's prediction for Hippolytos, "awcppo\lttv µa-&!fot-rcu"
.
(731), and spe1:1 out what Hippolytos' .rejection of the "vdµos;",
specifically what his rejection of Aphrodite, means in a broader
context: Rejecting Aphrodite, on the one hand, means rejecting
family, on the other, rejecting political society, the one
being the basis for the other and both an expression of man's
· 11
,do 1. , .. ., represented
thro~gh
"vdµo1. 11 .; This representation has
its roots in the possession of
11
).dyos;", which enables man to
perfect his nature from potentialities to actuality. As a
speculation, one might say that a rejection of Aphrodite, the
. 90. dess that initiates, even if unintentionally, family and
d
political society, means, even if seemingly the opposite, a
rejection of
th~
perfecting role of "A&yos;" with' respect ·
�-23-
to human nature. Seen in this light, Hippolytos' negative
. attitude towards Aphrodite leads directly to his denial ~f
\
.
"To ow,povttv" as "61.6axT&v", as result of a process of per-
fection rather than as a gift allotted to one in his nature.
The correlation of the two aspects of Hippolytos' rejection,
the rejection of family and political society, suggests itself
both in form and in content: In form, the synunetry of the play
(with Aphrodite and Artemis providing 'the frame 20 and Phaedra's
prediction the center) .• keeps the two scenes
be~ween
the nurse ·
and Hippolytos and Bippolytos and Theseus in balance. In con•
. tent, both are inextricably related through their exchange of
roles: In the earlier scene, which points toward the rejection
of family, Hippolytos accuses , and condemns, and Phaedra, . through
the nurse, is accused and conde..mned. In the later
scene~
which
points toward ;the rejection of political society, Phaedra,
thro~qh
Theseus, accuses and condemns, and Hippolytos is accused
and condemned.
· aippolytos' condemnation of women as universal evil (608, . 616,
629, 632, 651, 6.66), with its ironic c6nclusion "~ vdv TL' aoT~'
OWtPOVttv 61.6atdTw, A x&µ• ~dtw Tatcr6' l~tµBa(v&l.V
a&\n (667-
668), ix:onic 21 if seen in the light of his rejection of teachi~g
'
as source for "-ro awcppovetv" (79-81), shows a fundamental flaw
in his understanding of human natu:t:"e: . His
ju~qement
women are alike in nature, ruled by passions,
~heir
that all
passions
served by reason; his suggestion to surround women with mute
beasts rather than servants in order to avoid corruption through
�-24exchapge of . words (645-648); and his absurd recommendation to
buy one's children rather than to continue the human race
thro~gh
women (616-624), all three attest to his .failure to
appreciate the role of ''A&yo'" in man's nature. Judging all
women to be alike in nature makes .him misjudge Phaedra through
the nurse, Phaedra's nobility
thro~gh
the nurse's vulgarity,
Phaedra's reference to the Nomos as criterion for the struggle
of reason over -the passions
thro~gh
the nurse's reference · to ·
Physis as criterion for the triumph of the passions over reason.
Towards the end of the conversation between .Phaedra and the
·nurse, the nurse had tried to persuade Phaedra of the senselessness of . fighting against love, a drive that is natural to all
creatures of all elements, including the gods (437-439, 447458). Only to have been
different decrees and
b~gotten
diffe~ent .
("tpuTe~e1.'1",
460) under
gods would, in the nurse's
eyes, justify Phaedra's uneasiness with respect to these
"v&µo1." (459-461). Phaedra's attitude, on the other hand,
points to the essential distinction between all creatures of
all elements, including the gods, and man: his not being
fixed in his nature by universal powers but being responsible
for the fulfillment of it on the basis of having "A&yos" 22 •
Hippolytos' absurd recommendation to buy one's children
accordipg to financial ability in th_ temples of the gods
e
would be a solution to the problem of continuing the human
race without..women, but it also would be a way to avoid all ·
responsibilities that family life naturally imposes on men:
�.-25-
Responsibilities between husband . and wife, between parents
and children, that form .men in their fulfillment of human
nature, in their perfecting themselves and eac;h other through
"v~µo1. 11 ,
bringing to actuality the
potenti~lit;ies.
.
'~cpda1.!;".
of
.
Despite manifest disagreement between the riurse and Hippolytos,
.
'
.
.
there is a strong resemblance in their fundamental vd.~w' of ·
.
.
human nature. Though the nurse acceptsandllippolytos rejects .·
.
.
the triumph of . the passions over reason, both . presuppose that ·
man's nature is fixed and therefore not to be . altered by education. The nurse takes her standard from all creatures of
all elements, including the gods, Hippolytos his from most
men, close to -beasts, and himself, clo.s e to gods~ Yet
this
similarity in form between the· nurse's .a'rt.d Hippolytos' view
should not obfuscate the dissimilarity in ·content between the
two. Hippolytos' intoleranc~ of baseness arid his radical 2.3 .
understanding of morality not only separate. him from the
nurse, but also bring
him close to Phaedra. Both Phaedra and
'
Hippolytos are driven into tragic conflict by the moral choice 24
between violating a sacred "vdµos" (in the case of Phaedra the
"vdµos" of yielding to suppliants, in the case of Hippolytos
the "v&µos" of keeping one's oath) and saving themselves from
shame and death. The fact, that both preserve the "v&llos"
rather than their own lives, becomes the stepping stone to
tragedy for both of them. Yet this similarity in character
between Hippolytos and Phaedra should not obfuscate the dissimilarity in tragedy between the two, shown by _the difference
�. -26. of their deaths. Phaedra is conscious of her fault and the,ref.ore ·kills herself., while Hippolytos is not conscious of his
and therefore is killed. The ,similarity a,nd . dissimilarity
between Hippolytos and ·Phaedra appears to be ..mos.t ambiguous
in Phaedra's central prediction for Hippolytos . "tn~ v&aou o~ .;
ti\a6l µoc. xoc.vfh l.IEtaax~v owcp·povetv µa-&rto£tac." (73d-7. 31) ·~
.
.
.
.
Judging from the correlation of the .s cenes. dire·c tly · surrounding
this prediction, the sickness alluded to seems to be Hippolytos' misjudgement of Phaedra, followed by Theseus' misjudge.. ment of Hippolytos • . Both .involve
a self-contradiction:
Phaedra
contradicting her love with hate, Hippolytos contradicting
his hate with love, though the one is a true, the ' othei:- ori:l,.y
an alleged self-contradiction. The question which carries
over into the sec.a nd ,E>art of the play is,·
way Phaedra•s :prediction "a(l)cppov£tv
wh~ther
µa.e~attac."
and in ·What
1
will come to
be fulfilled.
The discovery of Phaedra's note drives Theseus into ·blind
and unrelenting accusation of Hippolytos (790-1101). Theseus'
conviction of Hippolytos' guilt, in full support of Phaedra's
charge, springs from his knowledge of young men in general
(967-970), from the knowledge that they are ruled by passions,
letting their passions be served by reason (920, 926, 936,
951, 957). This
misjudgement of Hippolytos uses against him
the same argument (916-920) he himself had used in his misjudgement of Phaedra (616-668, cf. 921-922, 79..:.91): the impossibility of teacl)ing anyone to think aright and be, "awcppw\1 11 who
�-27\
is by nature "xaMos;" (94.2 , 945, 949, 959, 980). Hippolytos'
attempt to clear himself . from. . guilt (933 cf. · 73l) ' and to
.
.
Lute Theseus by demonstrating that he is
sup~rior
re-
not only . to·
the · ways of young men, .but to the ways of ·men .i n general (994-:
1001), makes him even more· suspect in the :eyes of Theseus. A
man, who claims to be a companion of the gods and a,t tpe . same
time rejects the most natural and sacred ways of men · (to have
'.
.
.. .
.
a family and to participate in political· society), has to be
suspect (949), or else the gods or the most natural .and sacred
ways of men,
s anctione~
by the gods, would be suspect. This
however is a thought Theseus is not willing to embark on (951).
Hippolytos' desire to be first in the "ay~v" rather th. n in
a
the
"lt~AH"
(1016-1017) shows a lack of commitment that reminds
one of his .recomntendation . to buy one's ch_ldren in . tlw, temples •
i
of the gods r~ther than to depend on women for the con.tin~ation
of the human race (618-624). Both instances could be .excused
by the fact that Hippolytos is the son of an Amazon and therefore by nature averse to Aphrodite and family life, and the
son of an Amazon by Theseus before The's eus' marriage to Phaedra
and therefore by convention excluded from political ieadership.
Yet, far from excusing himself, Hippolytos judges his lack of
commitment to the most natural and sacred ways of men to prove
his freedom from all human passions, which in his view are
nothing but all too human. The reason why his acclaimed bei.n g
"a~q>pCA>v"
(994-1001) - (by hipiself and by Artemis) - is accused
as being "µlya cppovwv" - (by Aphrodite and in one or the other
�-28-
form by all characters of the play) - can
be
found most openly
in his boasting about it (73-87, 102, 994-1001, 1100, 1364..,.
..
1365), as if · it were something to be recko.n ed t,o· himself rather
than to nature and fortune or to · nature and god-:~Jiven fate,· as
he himself professes (78-81). The difference in judgement
.
.
be~
.
tween the goddesse$ provides the frame for a deeper search into
the meaning of "T~ owcppove:tv"~ provoked by thecenter line
"ow1ppovti:v µa-&nae:ta
tos~
L", which seems ·t o contradict not only Hippoly.,..
understanding of himself but also his understanding Of
llippolytos• understanding
~f
himself apparently remains the
same throughout the whole play.: he sees himself as
11
th~
rrios:t:
ow1ppwv" of all mortals (994-1001). Afte.I'.. being banned from his
homeland,. and ready to' depart from it
with
his horses (which at
the beginning of the play he had ordered to be prepared for exer- ·
cise)
(110-112), Hippolytos appeals to Zeus as witness of his
innocence: " ZtD,
·
~
µ11M£T
• ttnv
•
• xoxos
\
£L
i
l 9ux • avnp ••• "
• '
c1 1 91- · ,
·
1193). In the following account of his .death, which might be
understood as Zeus' answer, one aspect comes to be pointed out
as most tetrible: that Hippolytos,
t ~o
was so familiar with
horses (1219-1220); cf. 110-112), should have been killed by his
own _horses, frightened by the appearance of the godsent bull
out of the sea (1204, 1218, 1229, 1240). Even in the last
scene, in the
presenc~
of Artemis and Theseus, the fatal race
of his horses rouses Hippolytos to a more heartre·nding ·1ament
(1355-J..357) than the fatal curse of his father (1348-1349,
�-29-
.1362-1363, 1378). The self- defending reappeal to Zeus, which
refers to his being · outstandingly
"ot:·µvoi;", "~£o<H~1tTwp"
and
"owcppoalSvt1 nav"ta& uitt:pox~v" (1365-1366) . reminds . one of the
early scene with the old servant who exhorted Hippolytos to
behave more in accordance with the "voµos" of men and . gods.
The analysis of Hippolytos' i=ejection of the "voµos" of
"&6•poonyop(a" and of his natural and bonventional disposition
towards such rejection will receive decisive clue.s from considering the circumstances of his death.
Hippoly.tos' confrontation with the bull recails Theseus'
encounter with the Minotaur .':'he significant difference between
the two events can be seen in the nature of the man as well
as in the nature of the beast. Theseus, on the one hand, represents himself, l1is family and his city. He is lead through
the labyrinth with the help of Ariadne, who had fallen in
love with him and had given him the famous thread of Daedalus.
The beast, Theseus finally conquers, is a monster with the
head of a bull and the body of a man. Hippolytos, on the other
hand, is without responsibility for either family or city, the
one by nature, the other by convention. In addition to that,
he is banned from his homeland and therefore represents solely
himself. The lack of experience in family and political life
results in a lack of judgement about man and human nature.
This lack of judgement made him spurn the thread he could
have received from Phaedra, had he learned to be "owqipwv" ,
in other words had he learned to have respect for the labyrinth
�-30-
of human nature. The symmetry of the play, with Aphrodite and
Artemis providing the frame and Phaedra's prediction for Hippolytos the center, suggests not only, as mentioned earlier, the
correspondence of the scenes between the nurse and Hippolytos,
and Hippolytos and Theseus, but also the correspondence of the
scenes between Phaedra and the nurse and the description of
Hippolytos' encounter with the bull. The development of the
scenes between Phaedra and the nurse from a mad alternating between the passions and reason (198-266) to a clear account of
reason and the passions as warring powers in man's soul (373-430),
is answered in the description of Hippolytos' encounter with the
bull by a development from self-control to a complete loss of
control; in other words, to a complete getting lost irt the labyrinth of human nature. Unaccustomed to that labyrinth and to the
hidden crossways between and the deviations of the rassions and
reason, the beast Hippolytos is finally, though indirectly, conquered by is not a monster, half beast, half man, but wholly
beast, ·Lhough of monstrous size 25 • Hippolytos' complete rejection
of the passions, which he thinks renders himself above man and
human nature, results in a complete ignorance about then and
.,
therefore in an extreme vulnerability with respect to them. The
fact that he was not killed by the bull, but by his own horses 26 ,
frightened by the bull, shows a lack in his understanding of
himself as a man, a failure to appreciate the interrelation
of the powers that make up human nature. The picture of Hippolytos in his chariot 27 , losing control over his horses, frightened
by the bull, reminds one of the picture Plato paints of the
�-31human soul
Hippolytos, as charioteer, represents the con-
trolli~g elern~nt
of reason; the horses, tied to the chariot,
represent the spirited element, in the case of Hippolytos
usually under control, but able to be swayed either by reason
or the passions; the bull, rising out of the sea, represents
the passions, frightening the spirited elemeni and finally
overriding the control of reason. The·fact that the bull comes
out of the sea, the element always and everywhere in flux, ·
might be a symbol for the difficulty of understanding the
nature of the passions. The fact that Hippolytos' horses,
frightened by the appearance .of the bull out of the sea, race
across the land and throw their master against the rocks, the
hardest form of the firm element, the earth, might be a symbol
for Hippolytos' uncompromising rigour. The circumstances of
~ippolytos'
death bear out the implications that contradicted
the explicit statement of the thematic passage about "t~
awcppovc~v"
in the beginning of the play: The fulfillment of
natural potentialities, implicit in the example of the bee,
visiting, and the image of "at6ws", gardening the
~acred
meadow,
together with the ambiguity about the connection between "a.t.S~s"
and "t~ awcppove:i:\I", between the natural presupposition of
'
"aw,poadvn" and "awcppoadvn" itself, suggested that Hippolytos'
explicit statement about "t~ . awcppove:tv", its not being taught
or to be taught, but being allotted to one in his nature, was
highly questionable. The circumstances of Hippolytos' death
seem to reaffirm the questionability of that statement. The
�-32-
complexity of human nature, represented by the complex of
charioteer, horses and bull, would suggest that virtue has
its origin not simply in nature but also in training and
teaching. Hippolytos' rejection of the two latter stages of
development and the wish for concord between the beginning
and the end of his
life means a rejection of the natural
weapons towards "qip&vna1.s;" and "apE-r~" (Aristotle, Pol., 1253a
34-35) and results somehow in remaining "avoa1.1hcnos; xai
ayp 1.chatos; &.veu
ap £Ti\s;"
(Aristotle, Pol., 1253a 35-36)
I
rather than fulfilling human nature and becoming truly
"autapx~s;" (Aristotle, Pol., 1253a 1, 25-29). In terms of the
thematic passage at the beginning of the play this would mean
that Hippol.y tos posses!R.s"a l 6ws;", the natural presupposition
of "t~ owq>pov&tv", but b~cause he rejects training and teaching~
does not possess "t~ owqipovetv", as he claims. His overestimating the divine makes him underestimate the human, a trait
that marks both his way of life and his notions about life.
A reason for that seems to be his awareness of the fact that
where\{er human affairs are concerned, there is rarely the
possibility to adhere to principles, but more often the necessity to
concede to compromises. This awareness, one could
say, of the difference between Physis and Nomos, distinguishes
Hippolytos from most men; yet it is this distinction from most
men which illudes him about himself and what it means to be
a man.
The fact that Hippolytos is killed in the end without
�-33-
ever having acknowledged the presence of any flaw in his nature
(a fact that contrasts strikingly with Phaedra's recognition
of her guilt followed by suicide) raises
centna.1.ll.ne "owqipovttv
µa-&~atta1."
a question
about the
which acts like the fulcrum
of a balance, both parts of the play representing the s. ales
c
in correspondence to each other. One aspect to be accounted
for in this context is the discrepancy between Hippolytos and
Phaedra in their connecting or disconnecting
"aw1ppoa~vn 11
with
either teaching or learning2 8 • The question which arises from
this discrepancy is whether Phaedra's prediction for Hippolytos
11
awqip ovt t v JJa.&tfat ta 1. 11 (731} is in contradiction to his
own understanding of "t~ owqipovttv" as something not taught
or not to be taught, in other words whether his denial of
teaching allows nevertheless for learning. Learning without
teaching would take place, if Hippolytos, out of his own
nature 29 , were capable of developing his natural potentialities
to the actuality ·of being fully a man, in which case the
"tl>.os:" of his life would be, as he wished for, truly in
concord with its beginning. Yet Hippolytos' repeated selfappraisai 30 as the most "awqipwv" among mortals reminds one
rather of
Aristotl~'s
description of those that by talking
and philosophizing about "acucppoa\1vn" believe that they are
"awcppwv", while they resemble the sick that only listen to
the physician without following his precepts (N.E., llOSb 918). Hippolytos' life, which is spent in the concern for the
hunt and in the company of horses, dogs, a small circle of
�-34friends and supp'?sedly the goddess of the hunt, seems to
leave little room for learning, in the sense of comprehending
the nature of man. Yet the disillusionment with his .. horses,
followed by the disillusionment with his _goddess, ~t the end
31
of the play , opens up the possibility for a final fulfillment
of Phaedra's prediction for Hippolytos. The disillusionment
with his goddess (1440 ff.) significantly is expressed in
terms that resemble the earlier description of Hippolytos'
companionship with Artemis (85-86). There Hippolytos spoke
of exchanging
11
A&yo1." with the goddess, here of obeying her
">i.&yo1.", there he spoke of hearing the voice but not seeing
the eye of the goddess, here of darkness touching his eyes an indication that his believing himself in the friendship of
Artemis was, at least from a final point of view, an illusion.
The problem of a friendship, either with beasts or gods,
arises out of the difference of their natures with respect to
man 32 • Beast as well as god, the one unable to share in a companionship which is based on the possession of ">.c!yo!;"; the
other not in need of it on account of his "a \n dp XE:" a" 3 3, are
fixed in their natures (cf. 13, "itlcpuxa") below and above man
and therefore no fitting partners for human friendship. Human
friendship, on the other hand, flourishing most and most ,stable
where it is based on equality, has as its highest goal the
perfection of the friends through each others company, though
the perfection has to stay within the limits of remaining
human. Hippolytos' death in the company of his father, after
�-35beasts as well as gods have deserted him, might be understood
as a fulfillment of Phaedra's prediction: "awqipov£tv
µaa~ottai".
His pity for and forgiveness of his father 34 seem to be motivated by respect for human suffering (1405, 1407, 1409) and
therefore to display a
"awq>poo~vn"
that is much broader then
the one Hippolytos prided himself on throughout the play,
a "owq>poothn" which was to be understood exclusively in terros
of his devotion to Artemis. Nevertheless, the fact that his
forgiveness occurs only after the appearance of Artemis and
. in obedience to her (1435-1436, 1442-1443, 1449, 1451), makes
one wonder whether a
11
au1cppoouvn" ordered by divine intervention
can be truly regarded as "owqipoouvn". In Aeschylus' words: it
makes one wonder whether Hippolytos' "awqipov£tv" at the end of
the play not only comes to .o ne who is unwilling to accept it,
but also comes as
(Aischylos,
~-'
11
lta-&c1.
µciao!;" and therefore as
"xapc.~
l3L'a1.o~"
174-183). The question left at the end of this
analysis concerns the divergence of judgement between the goddesses, "irlya cppovwv" by Aphrodite, "crwcppovwv" by Artemis, con-
••t
cerns the exact meaning of Aphrodite's
6"
Et,
(µ'
(21), which accounts for Hippolytos' violent death
~µapt~xe"
("tLiawp~ooµaL
'I111to>.otov f:.v tij6' TJJJEP'}", 21-22).
VII
'
· Racine, in his preface to his "Phedre", justifies changes
he made in the character of Hirpolytos with the fact that
already the ancients had reproached Euripides for having presented Hippolytos
11
commc un philosophe exempt de toute imper.-
fection: ce qui faisait que la mort de ce jeune prince causait
�-36-
beaucoup plus d'indignation que de
piti~"
Cf4). This charac-
terization of the Euripidean Hippolytos seems to be .at the
same time right. and wrong. Like a philosopher, HippQlytos does
not feel himself bound by a particular, commonly accepted
"vdµo!;", the worship of Aphrodite. The philosopher's reason
for feeling himself superior to any
par~icular
"vdµos", is.
the recognition, that all particular "vdµoi.", compared to
the ground they stem from, compared to "qnfo 1. s", are only t'fa.n s~eht
~~ct, depend in their coming into and going out of
being on accidents of time and place. Nevertheless, the philospher recognizes the inherent necessity in man's nature to
develop particular "v&µo1.", that is he recognizes the necessary
connection between "qnfo 1. s;" and "v&iro s" 35 • Unlike a philosopher,
Hippolytos rejects the worship of Aphrodite in the name of
the worship of Artemis, which means merely to supplant one
particular, commonly accepted "v&iros" by another particular,
though uncommonly accepted "v&µo!;". The rejection of the worship of Aphrodite in the name of the worship of Artemis seems,
at first sight, to be a rejection of the passions in the name
of something purer. The ways, in which the worship of Artemis
expresses itself,
by
~Lre,
on the other hand, certainly tainted
passion: chasing and killing animals as a hunter does not
attest to a nature that would be divested of all animalistic
feelings. In Racine's opinion not being tempted by Aphrodite
was enough ground for having Hippolytos resemble a philosopher,
cxempt from all imperfection. He consequently not only changed
�-37\
the title of his play to "Phedre", but also believed that he
should give Hippolytos nquelque faiblesse" (~4), meaning "la
passion qu'il ressent
malgr~
lui pour Aricie" (§4) •. Thus Racine,
in a Christian rather than classical spirit, takes away the
rea~
son for Hippolytos' only flaw: his feeling of superiority over
all human beings on the basis of being . by nature not tempted by
Aphrodite. The more radical "faiblesse" Hippolytos suffers from
in Euripides' play is, that he does not recognize that his by natu:
and convention being predisposed to live a life dedicated to the
worship of Artemis and therefore not being tempted by Aphrodite,
is in itself not enough reason for being better than all men.
His understanding of "owq>poauvn" as something allotted to one in
his nature leads him to restrict its meaning mainly to chastity
(87) and therefore to mistake what man is by nature potentially
for what man is by nature actually. The fact that man is an
animal, but an animal which has
11
>.ciyo'" and is political, ne-
cessitates the perfection of human nature through the development of
"ldyoE" in the society of other men, which means a
perfection on the basis of nature through training and teaching, the latter two more or less depending on the former.
The basic flaw in Hippolytos' understanding of himself and
man in general seems to consist in his failure to recognize
that in the case of man "vdµo, 11 ,
through
~hich
expresses itself
the . development of ">. oyo s;", is as indispensollle an
end for "qnfo1.!:" as "qnfo1.!;" .is .=\n indispensable ground for "v&µos;",
that "cpuol.!; 11 provides the potentialities, "voµo!;" the actuality
�-38-
of man, and that therefore "vo1.1os" comes to be the key to a
final understanding of man's
11 ,~aLs 1136
• It is for this failure
that Hippolytos is not a philosopher but a tragic hero. Seen
in the light of Phaedra's prediction: "awqipovti:v 1.1aencre:TaL",
his constant failure to recognize any flaw in his nature (1455)
makes his death fall short of being truly a "nd8e:L µdOos", of
representing a
"xaPLS
SCcuos" rather than mere "BCa" without
"xapLs". This aspect of the play, and of Euripidean plays in
general, is demonstrated most harshly through the presence of
gods, that if they are gods, ought to be wiser than men, but
that far from it, only set and clear the stage of human tragedy without ever redeeming it. What Goethe in his Song of the
Harper expresses unambiguously:
"You"-meaning . the "heavenly forces:r __
"into life lead us ahead,
You let the wretched become guilty,
Then you deliver him to grief,
For all guilt is revenged on earth"
)
this feeling of the tragic situation of man, Euripides expresses ambiguously with the Deus ex machina, with immortals
apparently solving conflicts, which for mortals remain unsolved and unsolvable. This, I think, is part of what Aristotle
(Poetics, 1453a 29-30) 37 means, when he speaks of Euripides
as the most tragic of the poets.
�-39-
NOTES
1. For the symbolism, involved in the image of the bee cf.
'Knox, "The Hippolytos of Euripides
Yale Classical
Studies, 13, 1952, p.28. It might be interesting to compare
F. Bacon, Novum Organum, I, Aph. 95,. and its elaboration in
J. Swift, The Battle of the Books, Prose Writings of Swift~
ed. w. Lewin, London, 1886, · p. 178. ·
B~M.W.
11
,
2. For the philological controversy over 11. 78-81 cf. w.s.
Barrett, Euripides, Hippolytos, Oxford, 1964, pp. 172-175.
tnv
"lv.ae:v 11a\
owQlpocnSvn'J
TOUT,., ltpooayoptlSoµ"£Vti;i 0v6µat1., w~ o~i;ovoav 't~V fP0\11'\0I.'#."
3. cf. Aristotle, N.E., VI, 1140b 11-12
4. H. North's ("Sophrosyne, Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint
in Greek Literature", Cornell Studies in Classical Philolo ,
Vol. XXXV, Ithaca, N.Y •., 9 , pp.
.assertion: wit
regard to the origin of vJ.rtue, ·inclqding sophrosyne, Euripides
is firmly of opinion that physis plays the chief role" disr~gards the fact that the one pronouncing the theory in question .
is killed at the end of the tragedy. Euripidean fra9ments like
Fr. 807 (Nauck) "µly1.otO\I °!p' 7iv ;, rpuo1.s;•t~ Y~P Max~v ouot\s;
tplcpwv
xpncnav &v ~e:Cn ltott" do not have to be interpreted
with H. North, following E.R. Dodds ("Euripides the Irrationalist",
The Classical Review, 43, 1929, p. 99) as attesting to the
"moral impotence of reason", but can be understood as a claim
to nature as a necessary but not necessarily sufficient source
of virtue. The fact that in the case of man reason is a part
of nature makes the claim to nature as chief source of virtue
rather ambiguous. Dodds' (op. cit., p. 99} "Euripides• characters do not merely enunciate these principles, they also illustrate them", meaning "the victory of irrational impulse·
over reason in a noble but unstable being" ought to make one
cautious in separating them out as "their authors thoughts"
(op. cit., p. 98; cf. "The At6~~ of Phaedra and the Meaning
of the Hippolytos", The Classical Review, 39, 1925, p. 103),
expressing "systematic irrationalism" ("Euripides the Irrationali~t", p. 103), opposed to "Socratic intellectualism" ("The
At6ws; of Phaedra", p. 103).
·
co
5. cf. 1004-1005; for an elaboration on the distinction between
hearing and seeing with respect to "the quest for the first
things" cf. L. Strauss, Natural . Right and Historl, Chicago,
1953, Ch. III, "The Origin of the Idea of Natura Right"
pp. 86-89.
.
6. For a discussion of the different meanings of "awrppoo~v11"
in Euripidean tra,gedy cf. H. North, op.cit., pp. 68-84.
�-40-
7. Plato's Euthyphro explores this question with respect to
"&6crletLa": The original definition of "t~ oaLov" as "t~
~&ocpi.>.b;" (7a) appears to be insufficient on the basis of
differences among the gods as to their likes and dislikes (7b~
Se). The amendment of· this insufficient definition to "t~ ·
!aLov" as "t &v ~dvtts o~ ~to\ cpLAoOaLv" (9e) is o~ly an intermediary step on the way towards a more fundamental inquiry
into the nature of "T~ oaLov". The follow up of the crucial
question, '/Jhether "t~ oaLov" is 11 001.ov" because it is "-&toqi1.>.~s"
or whether it is "-&tocpL>..~s" because it is "001.ov", in the
discussion of "t~ 001.ov" a~ "µlpos Toi) . 61.xa(ouft (12a-e) points
to a more universal definition which goes beyond the scope
of th~ dialogue.
8. cf. H. North, op.cit., pp. 153-158.
9. For a comparable relationship between "ato~~" and "owcppoo'1vl'l"
cf. Xenophon,~, II, 1, 22, and H. North, op.cit., p. 92.
10. cf. F. Dirlmeier, Aristoteles, Mikomachische Ethik,Darmstadt,
1969, note 138, 9, pp. 471-472 and "Der cpJotL - Charakter der
Arete" in "Die Oikeiosislehre Theophrasts", Philologus, Suppl.
30, l, Leipzig, 1937, pp. 39-46.
11. Therefore, "owcppooi1vn" does not seem to me to be synonymous
with "ato~~", as H. North, op.cit. p. 87, claims.
12. For the same disjunctive question cf. Aristotle, N.E.,
ll79b 20 ff.; Pol., 1332a 38-b 11 and H. North, op.ci~p.
208; related to "tu&cuµov(a" on the basis of "aptTn", cf.
Aristotle, N.E., 1099b 9-llOOa 9, E.E., 1214a 14 ff •• For a
discussion of acquisition and loss()f""11 crwq>poovvn" cf. Xenophon,
Mem., I, 2, 21-23; Cyl., VII, 5, 75 and H. North, op.cit.,
pp. 123-132, especial y p.131, with the discussion of Cyr.,
III, 1, 16-17, the problem of "ow,poavwn" as "na.enµa" or
"µa-&niia".
13. For the exclusion of the lower animals and the gods from
considerations of virtue cf. Aristotle, N.E., ll49b 27-llSOa
1, ll78b 8-18 and H. North, op.cit., p. 2'05andnote 30 ibid ••
14. For a harmonious view of "v&µos" and "'tcri.:.!;" cf. Euripides,
Bacchae, 11. 890-896 and E.R. Dodds, Conunentary, adhuc,
2.
ed., Oxford, · 1960, pp. 189-190; Ion, 11. 642-644; cf. Philemon,
fr. B7(K).
-
15. Ironically enough, Hippolytos' notion of a fixed nature
is answered with fatal revenge by a goddess> the only k~nc;L of beLnq,. to
whom it truly applies. Of course, the judgement "xaxLoTnv
O
oaLµovwv", with its implicit hybris of mortal judgement over
immortal nature, carries more weight than the otherwise true
notion of a fixed nature in the case of gods.
�-41-
16. Comparably, the nurse changes her usual address to Phaedra
from "'lat" or "tlxvov" to "6la1to1.v''~ where Phaedra has shown
moral strength (433) or at least moral indignation (695).
\
17. For the ambiguity 9f 11 a£µvoc" as epithet of Aphrodite as
well as Hippolytos cf. w.s. Barrett, op.cit., p·. 187.
18. Cf,; B.M.W. Knox, op.cit., p. 22.
19. cf. B.M.W. Knox,
op.~i t.,
p. 28.
20. cf. B.M.W. Knox,
op.cit~,
P• 29.
21. I doubt whether this is simply a "good sententious peroration", cf. w.s. Barrett, op.cit., p. 286.
22. cf. Philemon, fr. 87(K}:
"t( ioTt Ilpoµnitds, ~v Alyoua' ~µas 1tAdaa1.
xal ~!Ala 1tdvta . tlat Tot £ µ~v enp(oi.s
l6wx'
£xdat~ xat~ ylvo~ µ(av ~~01.v;
&1tavT£S ot Alovtls tta~v &Ax1.µ01.,
6c1.1ol 1tdA1.v £tns 1dvtcs tto~v oL Aayw.
•
•
•
• ' ,
•
\
•
_f
OUM EOT
QAWltn~ n
µEV £1.pWV Tij ~u0£1.
no' au~lxaatos, aAl' edv Tpi.aµup(as
&A~ltcxds TLS auvaydy~, uCav ~oai.v
a~ata1aowv · S~cta1. tpditov e' lva •
• p
\
\
,
\
•
\
nµwv 6' oaa xai. Ta awµaT • • \ Tov api.~µov
EOTL
xa~· £vds, 1ooodtou5 loti. xa\ 1pd1ous t6ttv."
'
\
.
23. cf. E.R. Dodds, "The At6ws of Phaedra", p. 103.
24. cf. B.M.W. Knox, op.cit., p. 15 "The fact that the moral
alternatives are represented by r-ilence and speech is not
merely a brilliant device which connects and contrasts the
situations of the different characters, it is also an emphatic
statement of the universality of the action. It makes the play
an ironical comment on a fundamental idea, the idea that man's
power of speech, \.'hi ch distinguishes him from the other animals,
is the faculty which gives him the conception and power of
moral choice in the first place."
25. For the significance of the bull in Greek mythology cf.
E.R. Dodds, Euripides, "Bacchae", 2. ed., Oxford, 1960, p. XX;
ll. 920-922 and note pp. 193-194.
· 26. cf. the etymology of the name Hippolytos, either to be
analyzed as "Breaking in horses" or as "Broken by horses".
27. For the symbolism involved in the image of the charioteer
cf. H. North, op.cit . , pp. 380-381, especially note 3.
�-4228. cf. Plato, Meno, 70a.
29. cf. Xenophon, On Hunting, I, 11; XII; XIII, 4, lSff •• For
great parts of it, this treatis~ oi Xenophon :3oun<ls like a
· commentary on Euripides' Hippolytos, attempting . to demonstrate
that hunting is the best preparation for "awq>pocn5vnn and that
it is best to be taught "itap~ aihns; Ti'i' q?lfo&ws;" (XIII, 4).
30. cf. F. Bacon's interpretation of a similar myth in The
Wisdom of the Ancients, IV, "Narcissus 11 or "Self-Love", The
Works of F. Bacon, ud. Spedding, Ellis, Heath, Vol. VI, pp.
705-706.
31. cf. B.M.W. Knox, op.cit., p. 22, referring to Euripides,
Hippolytos 11. 141, 1451.
32. cf. Homer, Od., IX, 105-566; both,the Cyclops and Hippolytos, are representatives of the same phenomenon, the "choA1.s;",
though the Cyclops on the side of the beast, Hippolytos on
the side of the god.
33. cf. Aristotle~ Pol., 1253a 28 with N.E., 1158b 29-1159a 12;
E.E., 1238b 18;27; l24'4b 1-22; 1245b 14=rg-and F. Dirlmeier,
op.cit., note 180, 3, pp. 520-521; cf. Plato, Lysis, 214e215c; Euthyphro, 14e 9-15a 10.
34. cf. B.M.W. Knox, op.cit., p.31. "The play ends with a
human act which is at last a free and meaningful choice, a
choice made for the first time in full knowledge of the nature
of human life and divine government, an act which does not
frustrate its purpose. It is an act of forgiveness, something
possible only for human beings, not for gods but for their
tragic victims. It is man's noblest declaration of independence
and it is made possible by man's tragic position in the world.
Hippolytos' forgiveness of his father is an affirmation of
purely human values in an inhuman universe."
35. cf. Leo Strauss, op.cit., pp. 151-153.
36. cf. Leo Strauss, op cit., p. 145. "In the language of
Aristotle, one could say that the relation of virtue to human
nature is comparable to that of act and potency, and the act
cannot be determined by starting from the potency, but, on
the contrary, the potency becomes known by looking back to it
from the act."
37. cf. G.E. Lessing' s remark in the "4.9·th-· piece of.. the
"Hamburgische Dramaturgie": "Aristoteles hatte unstreitig
mehrere Eigenschaf ten im Sinne, welchen zu Folqe er ihm
diesen Charakter erteilte", and his speculations about the
passage in question.
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Text
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42 pages
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paper
Dublin Core
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Creator
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Berns, Gisela N.
Title
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Nomos and physis: an interpretation of Euripides' Hippolytus
Date
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1971-03-05
Description
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on March 5, 1971 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
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Bib # 52998
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Publisher
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St. John's College
Language
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English
Type
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text
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
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pdf
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b74bf35c334a162a42928e47386f7ae9.mp3
f7bdef759725120258278cae0bb1e5b4
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
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Original Format
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cassette tape
Duration
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01:07:55
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Creator
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Berns, Laurence, 1928-
Title
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Getting Things Together Again in Kant
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2000-04-14
Description
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 14, 2000, by Laurence Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
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Bib # 68459
Subject
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Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Publisher
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St. John's College
Language
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English
Type
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sound
Rights
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
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mp3
Relation
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1090">Typescript</a> (Entitled "Getting things together again in Kant")
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/3b17ec861fe2011b7cd4c8b9eddd702e.mp3
84e818fc14a536120af88dffe491cf8b
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
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cassette tape
Duration
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01:13:16
Dublin Core
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Creator
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Berns, Laurence, 1928-
Title
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Aristotle and Adam Smith on justice: cooperation between ancients and moderns
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1994-03-18
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on March 18, 1994 by Laurence Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
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Bib # 10323
Subject
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Aristotle
Smith, Adam, 1723-1790
Justice
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Publisher
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St. John's College
Language
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English
Type
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sound
Rights
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St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
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mp3
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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