3
20
387
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/e47061388ee04bdbd9ab6c5e47b069d4.mp3
e5568267171d0615dc6ee5b51fa16152
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
cassette tape
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:46:33
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
A name given to the resource
Towards "a new birth of freedom" - Tragedy and comedy, 1786 Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The marriage of Figaro.
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 17, 2004 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Berns, Gisela N.
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
2004-09-17
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item 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/1081">Typsecript</a>
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bib # 74602
Subject
The topic of the resource
Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805. Don Carlos
Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Nozze di Figaro.
Tragedy
Comedy
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/235f0dc0152010d8b003fd3d1fbce82d.mp3
a4909475386df417dd9fda7a626df453
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.)
01:21:56
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
A name given to the resource
Toward a Revival of the Mixed Constitution
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 16, 2022, by Patrick Deneen as part of the Formal Lecture Series. <br /><br />Mr. Deneen is a professor of Political Science at the University of Notre Dame, where he holds the David A. Potenziani Chair of Constitutional Studies. He is the author of <em>Democratic Faith</em> (Princeton University Press, 2005) and <em>Why Liberalism Failed</em> (Yale University Press, 2018).<br /><br /><span>This lecture is also part of the Steiner Lecture Series, which is made possible by a gift from the Steiner family in memory of Andrew Steiner, an alumnus of the college from 1963. The lecture series was established to bring notable speakers to campus from a variety of disciplines and endeavors, in recognition of Steiner’s intellectual versatility, and for the sake of continued learning.</span>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Deneen, Patrick J., 1964-
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
2022-09-16
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 a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Political science--Philosophy
Constitutional history
Constitutional history, Ancient
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Macfarland, Joseph C.
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Deneen_Patrick_2022-09-16_ac
Friday night lecture
Steiner lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/8dc41aacfbc4b2658a54f57c4a4ca963.MP3
fe0a31ad298dd27b08121130bb7a332e
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
CD
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:20:36
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Petrich, Louis
Title
A name given to the resource
To meet with Macbeth
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2012-04-20
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 20, 2012 by Louis Petrich as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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
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. To make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. To make an audio recording of my lecture available on the St. John's College web site."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Subject
The topic of the resource
Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Macbeth.
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bib # 79986
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/5a000f7802f4341cb5b151e0cfd5e5c5.pdf
0209ceed633dacf966acfee5cfc02c77
PDF Text
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 .
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
16 pages
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Berns, Gisela N.
Title
A name given to the resource
Time and nature in Lucretius' De rerum natura
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1974-03-08
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on March 8, 1974 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bib # 57328
Subject
The topic of the resource
Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura
Philosophy, Ancient
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
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Relation
A related resource
<a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1082" title="Sound recording">Sound recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/50e88d199c529ac41487bf8d699c11e1.mp3
aaa30ff6feb7f52b3200cacf8a1a071a
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
cassette tape
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:54:21
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Berns, Gisela N.
Title
A name given to the resource
Time and nature in Lucretius' De rerum natura
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1974-03-08
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on March 8, 1974 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bib # 10010
Subject
The topic of the resource
Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura
Philosophy, Ancient
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
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Relation
A related resource
<a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1088" title="Typescript">Typsecript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1fc7a9d73d33697f8a2b914330ba66e6.pdf
b0d4563a2f7cfb2381df9f93feaa3cd3
PDF Text
Text
Joe Sachs
Three Little Words
(Revised April, 1997)
Three words that loom large over any understanding of the
Nicomachean Ethics are habit, the mean, and noble. They might be said,
very loosely, to refer to the efficient, formal, and final causes of moral
virtue, but each of them is easy to misunderstand, and any
misunderstanding at such a crucial place must carry one far away from
Aristotle's intentions. This lecture is meant to be a preliminary approach
toward uncovering those intentions. I will argue that all three words
invite misunderstanding, the first because it is not habit but character that
makes moral virtue possible, the second because it is not any quantitative
adjustment to a mean that achieves that virtue, but a qualitative state that
stands between obstacles, and the third because the word noble is simply a
poor translation of a Greek word· that has a much richer meaning, and a
straightforward English equivalent.
Part I: Habit
Most people, if asked to choose one word that describes the central
focus of Aristotle's ethics, would be likely to say that it is habit. A faculty
seminar in Annapolis a few years ago got itself mired in the opinion that
Aristotle must be saying that the good life is one of mindless routine, and a
recent lecture there took Aristotle to task for praising habit when so much
that is important in life depends upon openness and spontaneity. But is it
even plausible to think that Aristotle thought the aim of a good life is to
eliminate thinking and choosing?
Certainly it makes no sense to offer that opinion as a possible
interpretation either of virtue or of Aristotle. But equally certainly,
Aristotle says that, for the way our lives turn out, "it makes no small
difference to be habituated this way or that way straight from childhood,
but an enormous difference, or rather all the difference." (1103b, 23-5)
But is this the same as saying those lives are nothing but collections of
habits? We need to think about causes and effects. It may be that eating
a good breakfast makes all the difference to your having a productive day,
but that does not mean that the breakfast is the only cause of what you
accomplish each day,-or that those accomplishments are only nutritional.
The habits that begin in childhood, like the nutrition that begins each
morning, may be indispensable to what follows without determining it.
Habits are not the only effects of habituation.
Now if you have read the Nicomachean Ethics in the translation of
Hippocrates Apostle, you will object that Aristotle says plainly that virtues
are habits. Here, though, we have run into one of the many ways in which
1
�a Latin tradition has betrayed a translator and distorted Aristotle's
meaning. Aristotle says that moral virtue is a hexis, a word consisting of a
noun ending attached to the root of the verb echein. The Latin habeo is
equivalent to echein, and the Latin habitus is a perfectly good translation
of hexis, and so, by one more easy step we get the English word habit. But
this paint-by-the-numbers approach to translation carries us so far astray
that every implication of the English word is wrong. A hexis is not only
not the same as a habit, but is almost exactly its opposite.
The meaning of the word hexis becomes an issue in Plato's Theaetetus.
Socrates makes the point that knowledge can never be a mere passive
possession, stored in the memory the way birds can be kept in cages. The
word for that sort of possession is ktesis, something that can be owned,
hoarded, and locked away like money. Socrates suggests that, whatever
knowledge is, it must have the character of a hexis, an active having-andholding that depends on the effort of concentrating or paying attention.
Meno, in the dialogue named for him, speaks always from habit, but cannot
begin an approach to knowledge because he will not sustain an effort to
say what virtue seems to him, right now, to be. The verb echein means to
have something in that effortful way, or to be something in an enduring
and active way, and its corresponding noun is hexis. By choosing that
word, Aristotle says that a moral virtue is an active state or condition.
Most translators do not make the mistake of turning virtues into habits,
but instead translate hexis as disposition. But in other writings, such as
the Categories (Sb, 29) and De Anima (417b 15-17), Aristotle makes it
clear that the general class of dispositions includes passive states such as
. heat, cold, and sickness, that are easy to remove and change, as well as
active states such as perceiving and knowing, that engage the soul in its
depths. The general word for disposition, diathesis, Aristotle uses only for
the passive and shallow ones; for the deep and active ones he reserves the
word hexis. Perceiving may seem to us, as it seemed to many of Aristotle's
predecessors, to be a passive state, but he is emphatic that we are only
open to the world by the effort of holding ourselves ready. And if
knowledge seems to be something imposed upon us by teaching or
training, we are not paying sufficient attention to the kind of learning that
is called recollection in the Meno. In Book VII of the Physics, Aristotle
says that children are not changed or acted upon when they begin to learn,
but get straight into an active state when time or adults help them settle
down out of their native condition of disorder and distraction. (247b 17248a 6) In Plato's image we draw knowledge up out of ourselves; in
Aristotle's metaphor we settle down into knowing. Think of the humble
example of a child's learning its native language. If we had to tell the child
what to do, the task would be hopeless. We are indispensable to them, but
they do all the work. The particular language they learn comes from
2
�without, but is not imposed, but is rather something that the deepest
things in them reach out to grasp. This is exactly the way Aristotle
understands moral virtue; in the passage cited from the Physics, he says
virtues no more alter what we are than putting on its roof alters a house.
It is in Book II, chapter 4, of the Ethics that Aristotle identifies moral
virtue as an active state, distinguishing it from such passive conditions of
the soul as feelings and impulses, as well as from the mere capacities that
belong to us by nature. This way of arguing presupposes one of the central
claims of the whole inquiry, that the virtue of an action resides in the doer,
not in the deed. It may escape our notice that, if Aristotle is right, there is
no point whatever in the sort of discussion that sets up hypothetical
situations and asks what the right thing to do is. Would you press a button
that would kill one person in China and avert nuclear war? That was once
a popular dilemma that passed for ethical philosophy. A well-known book
on ethics began with the plight of a pioneer woman who must kill her baby
to save the rest of the family from being found by hostile natives. If this
sort of talk strikes you as childish, it may be because you incline toward
Aristotle's view that no action is good or right or just or courageous
because of any quality of its own. Virtue manifests itself in action, but
only when one acts while holding orieself in a certain way. In Greek, the
phrase "holding oneself in a certain way" is pos echon, and the noun
equivalent to it is hexis.
How must one hold oneself, if one's act is to be worthy of the name
virtue? Aristotle's first and most general description of this active state is
that in it one holds oneself in a stable equilibrium of the soul, in order to
choose the action knowingly and for its own sake. I am translating as "in a
stable equilibrium" the pair of adverbs bebaios kai ametakinetos. The first
means stably or after having taken a stand; the second, if it didn't have the
meta between the negative prefix and the root, would mean immovably,
and make the pair signify acting from a rigid stand. With the extra prefix,
though, the second adverb means in a condition from which one can't be
moved all the way over into a different condition. A Newton's wheel in a
state of stable equilibrium is like that: however one moves it, it always
comes back to rest with the weight below the center. Virtue cannot, by
this account, be an inflexible adherence to rules or duty or precedent.
Already, at this first step, one may see that Aristotle cannot mean by
virtue what we call habit. Habitual action need not be chosen knowingly,
and it does not have a flexible constancy but a mindless uniformity. Even
an expert on habits can be taken unawares, as in the story told of the
behavioral scientist B. F. Skinner, that a class of his once trained him
always to lecture from the same corner of the room, by smiling and
nodding whenever he approached it, but frowning and faintly shaking
their heads when he moved away from it. Even when we deliberately
3
�impose habits on ourselves, what remains has in it nothing of the original
purpose, but only a passive and mechanical response to a superficial
sameness in outer circumstances. The stable equilibrium that Aristotle is
talking about is not habit--ethos in Greek--but character--ethos.
In this case, the change from an epsilon to an eta carries us from the
cause to its effect, since Aristotle's claim is that character is the result of
habit. It should now be clear, though, that the habit is no part of that
character. Our task now is to understand how an active condition of the
soul can arise as a consequence of a passive one, and why the passive
condition is a necessary step toward the active one. I remind you that
Aristotle's main examples of active states other than the moral virtues are
knowing and attentive seeing. We have only to look around us, or in the
mirror, to find countless examples of the passive and mindless conditions
that are our habits: biting one's nails, twisting one's hair, saying "like"
between every two words. Our mindless habits seem to be at the farthest
remove from conditions like knowing in which we are most alive. But in
fact there is another condition in us in which we are even farther removed
from our active states.
We all start out life governed by our desires and impulses. These
conditions do not last as long as habits do, but come and go, but when
present they are very strong. Listen to a child who can't live without some
toy that has aroused its desire in the toy store, or its greed in another
child's house, or who makes you feel like a murderer for trying to leave it
alone in a dark room. How can such powerful impulses be overcome? To
expect a child to let go of the desire or fear that grips it may seem as
hopeless as Aristotle's example of trying to train a stone to fall upward,
were it not for the fact that we all know that we have somehow, for the
most part, broken the power of those tyrannical feelings. We don't expel
them altogether, but we do get the upper hand; an adult who has temper
tantrums like those of a two-year-old has to live in an institution, and not
in the adult world. But the impulses and desires don't weaken; it is rather
the case that we get stronger.
Aristotle doesn't go into much detail about how this happens, but what
he does say is that we get the virtues by working at them: in the giveand-take with other people, some become just, others unjust; by acting in
the face of frightening things and being habituated to be fearful or
confident, some become brave and others cowardly; and some become
moderate and gentle, others spoiled and bad-tempered, by turning around
from one thing and toward another in the midst of desires and passions.
(1103b, 14-22) He sums this up by saying that when we are at work in a
certain way, an active state results. This apparently unremarkable
sentence seems to me to be one of the linch-pins that hold together the
Ethics, and to mark the transition from the language of habit to the
4
�language appropriate to character. It says that a hexis comes into being
out of an energeia. The latter word, many of you know, does not mean
mere behavior, however repetitive and constant it may be. It may be
translated as being-at-work, and this is the central idea in all of Aristotle's
thinking. Here it ties his ethics to his whole account of nature, and to the
structure of being. It is only this philosophic understanding that makes
intelligible the transition out of childhood and into the moral stature that
comes with character and virtue.
The moral life can be, and often is, confused with the habits approved
by some society and imposed on its young. You may not realize that the
reason you stood when I entered this room is that Stringfellow Barr was a
Virginia gentleman who always stood anyone entered or left a room. What
he considered good breeding is for us mere habit. This is painfully clear in
these thoughtless times when some some student who stood at the
beginning of a lecture gets bored and leaves in the middle of it. In such a
case the politeness was just for show, and the rudeness is the truth. Why
shouldn't we think that all habituation of the young is of this sort? To test
this opinion, we need to look more deeply into the soul, and to realize that
there is a whole layer of habituation that precedes the encounter of any
child with its elders.
We all arrive on the scene of human interaction already habituated, in
the habit, that is, of yielding to impulses and desires, of instantly
slackening the tension of pain or fear or unfulfilled desire in any way open
to us, and all this has become automatic in us before thinking and choosing
are available to us at all. This is a description of what is called human
nature, though in fact it is a barrier that blocks our access to our true
natural state. This is why Aristotle says that "the virtues come about in us
neither by nature nor apart from nature" (1103a, 24-5). What we call
human nature, and Hobbes calls the state of nature, is both natural and
unnatural; it is the passive part of our natures, passively reinforced by
habit. Virtue has the aspect of a second nature, because it cannot develop
first, nor by a continuous process out of our first condition. But it is only in
the moral virtues that we possess our primary nature, that in which all our
capacities can have their full development. Moral virtue does not
constrain a human being but completes us as a roof completes a house The
sign of what is natural, for Aristotle, is pleasure, but we have to know how
to read the signs. Things pleasant by nature, he says, have no opposite
pain and no excess, because they set us free to act simply as what we are
(1154b, 15-21), and it is in this sense that Aristotle calls the life of virtue
pleasant in its own right, in itself (1099a, 6-7, 16-17). A mere habit of
acting contrary to our inclinations cannot be a virtue, by the infallible sign
that we don't like it.
5
�Our first or childish nature is never eradicated, though, and this is why
Aristotle says that our nature is not simple, but also has in it something
different that makes our happiness assailable from within, and makes us
love change even when it is for the worse. (1154b 21-32) How do we
move from this first nature to a more stable and satisfying condition?
Parents who care about their children's happiness have no difficulty in
seeing that a child sometimes has to hear the word no, even when it might
easily be given one more desired thing, or allowed to avoid one more
frightening thing. If the time is out of joint, a parent might even need the
same sort of help from her child. I quote from Hamlet (III, iv, 181-9):
Assume a virtue if you have it not,
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
Of habits evil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next more easy;
For use almost can change the stamp of nature ...
Hamlet is talking to a middle-aged woman about lust, but the pattern is
universal, and expresses the common experience of human beings. What is
at work here that is so effective? We are in a position to see that it is not
the stamp of nature that needs to be changed, but the earliest stamp of
habit. We can drop Hamlet's "almost" and rid his last quoted line of all
paradox by seeing that the reason we need habit is to change the stamp of
habit. A habit of yielding to impulse can be counteracted by an equal and
opposite habit. This second habit is no virtue, but only a mindless
inhibition, an automatic repressing of impulse. Nor do the two opposite
habits together produce virtue, but rather a state of neutrality. When
habit is checked and balanced by habit, something else must emerge to
become responsible for action. Aristotle's use of the word energeia
suggests that this happens on its own, with no need for anything new to be
imposed. Habituation does not stifle nature, but rather lets nature make
its appearance. The description from Book VII of the Physics of the way
children begin to learn applies equally well to the way human character
begins to be formed: we settle down, out of the turmoil of childishness,
into what we are by nature.
We can now see how it is that habituation does not complete the
progress toward virtue, but only begins it. Aristotle describes a motion
from habit to being-at-work to the hexis or active state that can give the
6
�soul moral stature. If the human soul had no being-at-work, no inherent
and indelible activity, there could be no such moral stature, but only
customs. In Book I of the Ethics, when first trying to give content to the
idea of happiness, Aristotle asks if it would make sense to think that a
carpenter or shoemaker has work to do but a human ·being as such is inert.
His reply, of course, is that nature has given us work to do, in default of
which we are necessarily unhappy, and that work is to put into action the
power of reason. (1097b, 24-1098a, 4) Note please that he does not say
that everyone must be a philosopher, nor even that human life is
constituted by the activity of reason, but that reason must come forward
into our action. Later, Aristotle makes explicit that the irrational impulses
are no less human than reasoning is. (llllb, 1-2) His point is that, as
human beings, our desires need not be mindless and random, but can be
transformed by thinking into choices, that is, desires informed by
deliberation. (1113a, 11) The characteristic human way of being-at-work
is the threefold activity of seeing an end, thinking about means to it, and
choosing an action. Responsible human action depends upon the combining
of all the powers of the soul: perception, imagination, reasoning, and
desiring. These are all things that are at work in us all the time. Good
parental training does not produce them, or mold them, or alter them, but
sets them free to be effective in action. This is the way in which, according
to Aristotle, despite the contributions of parents, society, and nature, we
are the co-authors of the active states of our own souls. (1114b, 23-4)
Part II: The Mean
Now this discussion has shown that habit does make all the difference
to our lives without being the only thing shaping those lives and without
being the final form they take. The same discussion also points to a way to
make some sense of one of the things that has always puzzled me most in
the Ethics, the insistence that moral virtue is always in its own nature a
mean condition. Quantitative relations are so far from any serious human
situation that they would seem to be present only incidentally or
metaphorically, but Aristotle says that "by its thinghood and by the
account that unfolds what it is for it to be, virtue is a mean." (1107a, 7-8)
This invites such hopeless shallowness as in the following sentences that I
quote from a recent article in a philosophic journal (Ancient Philosophy
Vol. 8, pp. 101-4 ):
"To illustrate ... O marks the mean (e.g.
Courage); ... Cowardice is -5 while Rashness is 3 .. .In our number
language ... 'Always try to lower the absolute value of your vice."' This
scholar thinks achieving courage is like tuning in a radio station on an
analog dial. Those who do not sink this low might still think Aristotle is
praising a kind of mediocrity, like that found in people who used to go to
7
�college to get gentlemen's C's. It should be clear that no sort of courage
could be found in those timid souls, whose only aim in life is to blend so
well into their social surroundings that virtue would never be chosen in
preference to a fashionable vice. Aristotle points out twice that every
moral virtue is an extreme (1107a 8-9, 22-4), but he keeps that
observation secondary to an over-riding sense in which it is a mean.
Could there be anything at all to the notion that we hone in on a virtue
from two sides? There is a wonderful image of this sort of thing in the
novel Nop's Trials by Donald McCaig. The protagonist is not a human being,
but a border collie named Nop. The author describes the way the dog has
to fing the balance point, the exact distance behind a herd of sheep from
which he can drive the whole herd forward in a coherent mass. When the
dog is too close, the sheep panic and run off in all directions; when he is too
far back, the sheep ignore him, and tum in all directions to graze. While in
motion, a good working dog keeps adjusting his pace to maintain the exact
mean position that keeps the sheep stepping lively in the direction he
determines. Now working border collies are brave, tireless, and
determined; they have been documented as running more than a hundred
miles in a day, and they love their work. There is no question that they
display virtue, but it is not human virtue and not even of the same form.
Some human activities do require the long sustained tension a sheep dog is
always holding on to, an active state stretched to the limit, constantly and
anxiously kept in balance. Running on a tightrope might capture the same
flavor. But constantly maintained anxiety is not the kind of stable
equilibrium that Aristotle attributes to the virtuous human soul.
We stumbled on a more stable sort of mean condition when we saw that
habits are needed to counteract other habits. This way of reaching a mean
also accords with the things Aristotle says about straightening warped
boards, aiming away from the worse extreme, and being on guard against
the seductions of pleasure. ( 1109a, 30-b, 9) It must be our way to the
mean for each of the moral virtues, but how it works is perhaps clearest in
respect to temperance. The glutton, the drunkard, the person enslaved to
every sexual impulse obviously cannot ever be happy, but the opposite
extremes,·which Aristotle groups together as a kind of numbness or denial
of the senses (1107b, 8), miss the proper relation to bodily pleasure on the
other side. It may seem that temperance in relation to food, say, depends
merely on determining how many ounces of cake to eat. This seems to
follow from Aristotle's example of Milo the wrestler, who needs more food
than the rest of us, but I think that misses the point. That example is
given only to show that there is no single action that can ever be
prescribed as right for every person and every circumstance, and it is not
strictly analogous even to temperance with respect to food. What is at
8
�stake is not a correct quantity of food but a right relation to the pleasure
that comes from eating.
Suppose that you have carefully saved a slice of cake all day for your
mid-evening snack, and just as you are ready to treat yourself, a friend
arrives unexpectedly to visit. If you are a glutton, you might hide the cake
until the friend leaves, or gobble it down before you open the door. If you
have the opposite vice, and have puritanically suppressed in yourself all
indulgence in the pleasures of food, the hypothesis probably fails, and you
won't have cake or any other treat to offer your visitor. If the state of
your soul is in the mean in these matters, you are neither enslaved to nor
shut out from the pleasure of eating treats, and can enhance the visit of a
friend by sharing them. What you are sharing is incidentally the 6 ounces
of cake; the point is that you are sharing the pleasure, which is not found
on any scale of measurement. A sign that your soul is in good shape would
be the fact that the pleasure is even greater when the quantity of food is
less. But to discover this pleasure, you need to be free from both the
tyranny of desire, and the forcible restraint of desire.
The
characteristically human enhancements of life open up in the middle
region.
·
This example demonstrates that the mean that constitutes temperance
is not in anything external and measureable, but only in the soul. It is also
enlightening, I think, in another way. No argument seems needed about
why sharing the treat is the right thing to do. We all know it is right-don't we?--and we know it more clearly and immediately than we know
any principle that it might be argued from. Aristotle says that we know
such things by perception, not the perception of any one of the five senses,
but the sort by which we perceive that a triangle is the last kind of figure
into which a polygon can be divided. ( 1142a, 28-30) This sort of
perceiving contains thinking and imagining, but what it judges, it judges by
perceiving it to be so. In matters pertaining to character, our childish
habits, or any traces of them that remain in us, cloud our sight, but the
effect of the liberating counter-habit is to clear that sight. That is why
Aristotle says that the person of moral stature, the spoudaios, is the one to
whom things appear as they truly are. (1113a 30-1) Once the earliest
habits are neutralized, our desires are disentangled from the pressure for
immediate gratification, we are calm enough to think, and most important,
we can see what is in front of us in all its possibility. The mean state here
is not a point on a dial that we need to fiddle up and down; it is a clearing
in the midst of pleasures and pains that lets us judge what seems most
truly pleasant and painful.
The other sort of mean, that requires a constant adjustment between
n
too much and too little indulgence, is a recognizable huma. condition, but
not one that Aristotle will call virtue. This sheep-dog-like state of the soul
9
�is what Aristotle means by self-restraint or continence. In such people,
who are perhaps most of us, the reasoning part of the soul is keeping the
impulses reined in, but those impulses can slip the reins and go their own
way, as parts of the body do in people with certain disorders of the nerves.
(1102b, 14-22) Control in self-restrained people is an anxious, unstable
equilibrium that will lapse whenever vigilance is relaxed. We sometimes
think of life as a conflict between the head and the heart, but in such a
situation there is no unity of the human being, but only truces,
compromises, and temporary victories of parties with divergent interests.
The virtuous soul, on the contrary, blends all its parts in the act of choice.
This, I think, is the best way to understand the active state of the soul
that constitutes moral virtue and forms character. It is the condition in
which all the powers of the soul are at work together, making it possible
for action to engage the whole human being. The work of achieving
character is a process of clearing away the obstacles that stand in the way
of the full efficacy of the soul. Someone who is partial to food or drink, or
to running away from trouble, or to looking for trouble, is a partial human
being. Let the whole power of the soul have its influence, and the choices
that result will have the characteristic look that we call courage or
temperance or simply virtue. Now this adjective "characteristic" comes
from the Greek word character, which means the distinctive mark
scratched or stamped on anything, and which to my knowledge is never
used in the Nicomachean Ethics. In the sense of character of which we are
speaking, the word for which is ethos, we see an outline of the human form
itself. A person of character is someone you can count on, because there is
a human nature in a deeper sense than that which refers to our early state
of weakness. Someone with character has taken a stand in that fully
mature nature, and cannot be moved all the way out of it.
But there is also such a thing as bad character, and this is what Aristotle
means by vice, as distinct from bad habits or weakness. It is possible for
someone with full responsibility and the free use of intellect to choose
always to yield to bodily pleasure, or to greed, or to ambition. Virtue is a
mean, first because it can only emerge out of the stand-off between pairs
of opposite habits, but second because it chooses to take its stand not in
any of those habits but between them. In this middle region, thinking
does come into play, but it is not correct to say that virtue takes its stand
in principle; Aristotle makes clear that vice is a principled choice that
following some extreme path toward or away from pleasure is right.
(1146b, 22-3) Principles are wonderful things, but there are too many of
them, and exclusive adherence to any one of them is always a vice.
In our earlier example, the true glutton would be someone who does not
just have a bad habit of always indulging the desire for food, but someone
who has chosen on principle that one ought always to yield to it. In Plato's
10
�Gorgias, Callicles argues just that, about food, drink, and sex. He is serious,
even though he is young and still open to argument. But the only
principled alternative he can conceive is the denial of the body, and the
choice of a life fit only for stones or corpses. (492E) This is the way most
attempts to be serious about right action go astray. What, for example, is
the virtue of a seminar leader? Is it to ask appropriate questions but
never state an opinion? Or is it to offer everything one has learned on the
subject of discussion? What principle should rule--that all learning must
come from the learners, or that without prior instruction no useful learning
can take place? Is there a hybrid principle? Or should one try to find the
mid-way point between the opposite principles? Or is the virtue some
third thing altogether?
Just as habits of indulgence always stand opposed to habits of
abstinence, so too does every principle of action have its opposite principle.
If good habituation ensures that we are not swept away by our strongest
impulses, and the exercise of intelligence ensures that we will see two
worthy sides to every question about action, what governs the choice of
the mean? Aristotle gives this answer: "such things are among particulars,
and the judgement is in the act of sense-perception." (1109b 23-4) But
this is the calmly energetic, thought-laden perception to which we referred
earlier. The origin of virtuous action is neither intellect nor appetite, but is
variously described as intellect through-and-through infused with
appetite, or appetite wholly infused with thinking, or appetite and reason
joined for the sake of something; this unitary source is called by Aristotle
simply anthropos. (1139a, 34, b, 5-7) But our thinking must contribute
right reason (ho orthos logos) and our appetites must contribute right
desire (he orthe orexis) if the action is to have moral stature. (1114b, 29,
1139a, 24-6, 31-2) What makes them right can only be the something for
the sake of which they unite, and this is what is said to be accessible only
to sense perception. This brings us to the third word we need to think
about.
Part III: The Noble?
Aristotle says plainly and repeatedly what it is that moral virtue is for
the sake of, but the translators are afraid to give it to you straight. Most of
them say it is the noble. One of them says it is the fine. If these answers
went past you without even registering, that is probably because they
make so little sense. To us, the word noble probably connotes some sort of
high-minded naivete, something hopelessly impractical. But Aristotle
considers moral virtue the only practical road to effective action. The
word fine is of the same sort but worse, suggesting some flimsy artistic
soul who couldn't endure rough treatment, while Aristotle describes moral
11
�virtue as the most stable and durable condition in which we can meet all of
life's obstacles. The word the translators are afraid of is to kalon, the
beautiful. Aristotle singles out as the distinguishing mark of courage, for
example, that it is always "for the sake of the beautiful, for this is the end
of virtue." (lllSb, 12-13) Of magnificence, or large-scale philanthropy, he
says it is "for the sake of the beautiful, for this is common to the virtues."
(1122b, 7-8) What the person of good character loves with right desire
and thinks of as an end with right reason must first be perceived as
beautiful.
The Loeb translator explains why he does not use the word beautiful in
the Nicomachean Ethics. He tells us to kalon has two different uses, and
refers both to "(1) bodies well shaped and works of art...well made, and (2)
actions well done." (p. 6) The latter sense is ethical, while the former is
dismissed as merely "aesthetic." But we have just noticed that Aristotle
says the judgement of what is morally right belongs to sense-perception.
And he explicitly compares the act that springs from moral virtue to a well
made work of art. People praise the latter by saying it would not be
possible to add anything to it or take anything from it, and Aristotle says
that virtue differs from art in that respect only by being more precise and
better. (1106b, 10-15) An action is right in the sa111e way that a painting
might get everything just right. Antigone contemplates in her imagination
the act of burying her brother, and says "it would be a beautiful thing to
die doing this." (Antigone, line 72) This is as pure an example as I know of
Aristotle's description .of courage. Neoptolemus stops Philoctetes from
killing Odysseus with the bow he has just returned, and says "neither for
me nor for you is this a beautiful thing." (Philoctetes, line 1304) This is a
recognition that the rightness of returning the bow would be spoiled if it
were used for revenge. This is not some special usage of the Greek
language, but one that speaks to us directly, if the translators. let it. And it
is not a kind of language that belongs only to poetic tragedy, since the
tragedians find their subjects by recognizing human virtue in
circumstances that are most hostile to it.
In the most ordinary circumstances, any mother might say to a
misbehaving child, in plain English, "don't be so ugly." And any of us,
parent, friend~ or grudging enemy, might on occasion say to someone else,
"that was a beautiful thing you did." Is it by some wild coincidence that
twentieth-century English and fourth-century BC Greek link the same pair
of uses under one word? Aristotle is always alert to the natural way that
important words have more than one meaning. The inquiry in his
Metaphysics is built around the progressive narrowing of the word being
until its primary meaning is discovered. In the Physics, the various senses
of motion and change are played on like the keyboard of a piano, and
serve to uncover the double source of natural activity. . The inquiry into
12
�ethics is not built in this fashion; Aristotle asks about the way the various
meanings of the good are organized, but he immediately drops the
question, as being more at home in another sort of philosophic inquiry.
(1096b, 26-32) It is widely claimed that Aristotle says there is no good
itself, or any other form at all of the sort spoken of in Plato's dialogues.
This is a misreading of any text of Aristotle to which it is referred. Here in
the study of ethics it is a failure to see that the idea of the good is not
rejected simply, but only held off as a question that does not arise as first
for us. Aristotle praises Plato for understanding that philosophy does not
argue from first principles but toward them. (1095a, 31-3)
But while Aristotle does not make the meanings of the good an explicit
theme that shapes his inquiry, he nevertheless does plainly lay out its
three highest senses, and does narrow down the three into two and
indirectly into one. He tells us there are three kinds of good toward which
our choices look: the pleasant, the beautiful, and the beneficial or
advantageous. (1104b, 31-2) The last of these is clearly subordinate to the
other two, and when the same issue comes up next, it has dropped out of
the list. The goods sought for their own sake are said to be of only two
kinds, the pleasant and the beautiful. (lllOb, 9-12) That the beautiful is
the primary sense of the good is less obvious, both because the pleasant is
itself resolved into a variety of senses, and because a whole side of virtue
that we are not considering in this lecture aims at the true, but we can
sketch out some ways in which the beautiful emerges as the end of human
action.
Aristotle's first description of moral virtue required that the one acting
choose an action knowingly, out of a stable equilibrium of the soul, and for
its own sake. The knowing in question turned out to be perceiving things
as they are, as a result of the habituation that clears our sight. The
stability turned out to come from the active condition of all the powers of
the soul, in the mean position opened up by that same habituation, since it
neutralized an earlier, opposite, and passive habituation to self-indulgence.
In the accounts of the particular moral virtues, an action's being chosen for
it own sake is again and again specified as meaning chosen for no reason
other than that it is beautiful. In Book III, chapter 8, Aristotle refuses to
give the name courageous to anyone who acts bravely for the sake of
honor, out of shame, from experience that the danger is not as great as it
seems, out of spiritedness or anger or the desire for revenge, or from
optimism or ignorance. Genuinely courageous action is in no obvious way
. pleasant, and is not chosen for that reason, but there is according to
Aristotle a truer pleasure inherent in it. It doesn't need pleasure dangled
in front of it as an extra added attraction. Lasting and satisfying pleasure
never comes to those who seek pleasure, but only to the philokalos, who
looks past pleasure to the beautiful. (1099a, 15-17, 13)
13
�In our earlier example of temperance, I think most of us would readily
agree tha~ the one who had his eye only on the slice of cake found less
pleasure than the one who saw that it would be a better thing to share it.
And Aristotle does say explicitly that the target the temperate person
looks to is the beautiful. (1119b, 15-17) But since there are three primary
moral virtues--courage, temperance, and justice--it is surprising that in
the whole of Book V, which discusses justice, Aristotle never mentions the
beautiful. It must somehow be applicable, since he says it is common to all
the moral virtues, but in that case the account of justice seems to be
incomplete, unless it is completed in some later part of the Ethics by being
brought into relation to the beautiful. This is exactly what does happen,
although I read the book dozens of times before I grasped it.
Justice seems to be not only a moral virtue, but in some pre-eminent
way the moral virtue. It is a theme or major concern of almost every book
in our freshman seminar. And Aristotle says that there is a sense of the
word in which the one we call just is the person who has all moral virtue,
insofar as it affects other people. (1129b, 26-7) He even quotes a line
from Euripides, that "neither sunset nor sunrise is so wondetful as justice.
In spite of all this, I believe that Aristotle treats justice as something
inherently inadequate, a condition of the soul that cannot ever achieve the
end at which it alms. Justice concerns itself with the right distribution of
rewards and punishments within a community. This would seem to be the
chief aim of the lawmakers, but Aristotle says that they do not take justice
as seriously as friendship. They accord friendship a higher moral stature
that justice. (llSSa, 23-4) It seems to me now that Aristotle does too, and
that the discussion of friendship in Books VIII and IX replaces that of
justice.
What is the purpose of reward and punishment? I take Aristotle's
answer to be homonoia, the like-mindedness that allows a community to
act in concord. For the sake of this end, he says, it is not good enough that
people be just, while if they are friends they have no need to be just.
( 1 lSSa, 24-9) So far, this sounds as though friendship is merely
something advantageous for the social or political good, but Aristotle
immediately adds that it is also beautiful. The whole account of friendship,
you will recall, is structured around the threefold meaning of the good.
Friendships are distinguished as being for use, for pleasure, or for love of
the friend's character.
Repeatedly, after raising questions about the highest kind of friendship,
Aristotle resolves them by looking to the beautiful: it is a beautiful thing
to do favors for someone freely, without expecting a return (1163a, 1,
1168a, 10-13); even in cases of urgent necessity, when there is a choice
about whom to benefit, one should first decide whether the scale tips
toward the necessary or the beautiful thing (1165a, 4-5); to use money to
11
14
�support our parents is always more beautiful than to use it for ourselves
(116Sa, 22-4); someone who strives to achieve the beautiful in action
would never be accused of being selfish (1168b, 25-8). These observations
culminate in the claim that, "if all people competed for the beautiful, and
strained to do the most beautiful things, everything people need in
common, and the greatest good for each in particular, would be achieved...
for the person of moral stature will forego money, honor, and all the good
things people fight over to achieve the beautiful for himself." (1169a, 8-11,
20-22) This does not mean that people can do without such things as
money and honor, but that the distribution of such things takes care of
itself when people look to the good that is highest by nature. justice, by
contrast, Aristotle says in the Politics, looks only to what is necessary, and
has only the sort of beauty that necessary things can have. (1332a, 11-15)
The description of the role of the beautiful in moral virtue is most
explicit in the discussion of courage, where the emphasis is on the great
variety of things that resemble courage but fail to achieve it because they
are not solely for the sake of the beautiful. That discussion is therefore
mostly negative. There is also something of a tragic feeling to it, with its
ever-present paradigm of the extreme situation of war, in which nothing
might be left to choose but a beautiful death. We can now see that the
discussion of justice was also of a negative character, since justice itself
resembles the moral virtue of friendship without achieving it, again
because it does not govern its action by looking to the beautiful. The
largest collection of positive examples of beautiful actions in the Ethics is in
the discussion of friendship, which points to the healthy community in
which civil war and other conflicts are driven away by the choice of what
is beautiful in life. ( l 155a, 24-7) By the end of the ninth book, there is no
doubt that Aristotle does indeed believe in a primary sense of the good, at
least in the human realm, and that the name of this good is the beautiful.
And it should be noticed that the beautiful is at work not only in the
human realm. In De Anima, Aristotle argues that, while the soul moves
itself in the act of choice, the ultimate source of its motion is the practical
good toward which it looks, which causes motion while it is itself
motionless. (433a, 29-30, b, 11-13) This structure of the motionless first
mover is taken up in Book XII of the Metaphysics, where Aristotle argues
that the order of the cosmos depends on such a source, which causes
motion in the manner of something loved; he calls this source, as one of its
names, the beautiful, and says it is that which is beautiful not in seeming
but in being. (1072a, 26-b, 4) Like Diotima in Plato's Symposium, Aristotle
makes the beautiful the good itself.
I want to pause for a moment, before ending the lecture, to comment on
the fact that the beautiful in the Ethics is not an object of contemplation
simply, but the source of action. In a lecture on the Poetics I discussed the
15
�intimate connection of beauty with the experience of wonder. The sense of
wonder seems to me to be the way of seeing which allows things to appear
as what they are, since it holds off our tendencies to make things fit into
the theories or opinions we already hold, or to use things for purposes that
have nothing to do with them. That is why philosophy begins in wonder,
as does the whole of the contemplative life. But the way I have just
described the experience of wonder in a theoretical context is exactly the
same as what Aristotle repeatedly says is the ultimate effect of moral
virtue: that the one who has it sees truly and judges rightly, since only to
someone of good character do the things that are beautiful appear as they
truly are (1113a, 29-35), that practical wisdom depends on moral virtue to
make its aim right (l 144a, 7-9), and that the eye of the soul that sees what
is beautiful as the end or highest good of action gains its active state only
with moral virtue (1144a, 26-33). That is why both right desire and right
reason make their appearance only in the middle ground between habits
of acting and between opposite principles of action. The experience of
wonder brings thinking to a stop, but also lets it begin; similarly, the
contemplation of things as they are stands apart from action, but also lets
action find its aim. The true and the good stem from one source, and
converge in the beautiful.
16
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
16 pages
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
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
A name given to the resource
Three little words
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1997-04
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered in April 1997 by Joe Sachs as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Sachs 1997-04
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
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Sachs, Joe, 1946-
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/18bfeaae49243500a7c1d258d4201518.mp3
b79a3597744b296a9a0171bbae7d590e
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
CD
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:07:25
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Selcer, Daniel
Title
A name given to the resource
Thought, Image, and the Printed Page in Early Modern Europe
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2012-10-26
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on October 26, 2012, by Daniel Selcer as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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
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."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Selcer_Daniel_2012-10-26_ac
Subject
The topic of the resource
Materialism--History
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/d9e228e9ce9b7c0c95599b1fbb39c2ce.mp3
3e84a4747c09560a145ea035a9de896f
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.)
00:42:49
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
A name given to the resource
Thinking about Nature
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on January 20, 2017 by Matthew Linck as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Linck, Matthew
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
2017-01-20
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 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."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Language
A language of the resource
English
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1784">Typescript</a>
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Linck_Matt_2017-01-20
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c5ce720b507e8fd357d417455d4b6e28.pdf
f9025078c540b9b74cf2bda4108a45b3
PDF Text
Text
Thinking about Nature
Matthew Linck
I.
What is meant by ‘real’ can only be experienced.
Nature is a problem for thinking. In one sense it is a problem because it seems nearly
impossible to think about it at all. This can be seen in a few lines from Moritz Schlick and
Hans Reichenbach, both sophisticated interpreters of Einstein’s relativity theories. In a series
of lectures published under the title Philosophy of Nature, Schlick defines nature as “all that is
real in so far as it is determined in space and time” (Schlick, 3). For Schlick nothing more
can be said about nature without establishing those determinations through empirical study.
The philosopher has no role to play in inquiring about nature, since only natural science can
get at nature’s determinations.
Reichenbach clarifies the basis for the impossibility of thinking about nature. He
writes, “The physical object cannot be determined by axioms and definitions. It is a thing of
the real world, not an object of the logical world of mathematics” (Reichenbach, The Theory of
Relativity and A Priori Knowledge, 36). The work of the physicist, according to Reichenbach—
and perhaps in contrast to a commonly held view—is not to go beneath sensible
appearances and find what is really true of the physical world. Rather, the work of the
physicist is only a lining up of mathematical formulations with empirical observations. There
is, however, a role for thinking in this work. At its deepest level, the work of physics must
ask the question, “By means of which principles will a coordination of equations to physical
reality become unique” (Reichenbach, 47). The discovery of such principles cannot be the
work of empirical observation, nor have such principles ever been arrived at by means of
induction. But, according to Reichenbach, arriving at such principles provides no insight into
what nature really is. He writes, “there is no point in trying to define [the physical object’s]
existence more closely, because what is meant by ‘real’ can only be experienced”
(Reichenbach, 50). In its concrete reality, nature is forever cut off from thought.
Nature is a problem for thinking because it unthinkable.
———
�II.
Nature confronts us as a riddle and a problem, whose solution both attracts and repels us:
attracts us, because Spirit is presaged in nature; repels us, because nature seems an alien existence.
Nature remains a problem even for those thinkers who do attempt to grapple with
the question of what nature is and what is thinkable in nature. Thinkable should be heard
here in contrast to knowable. Nature as a problem for thinking is not at odds with the work
of natural science—thinking has a different goal. Natural science seeks knowledge of what is
encountered in experience. Thinking about nature is an attempt to comprehend what it is
that the scientist studies. Such thinking is not content with the claim that nature is something
determinately real but otherwise unthinkable. Instead, such thinking will risk asking about
the kinds of determinations that nature must have and about the basis for those
determinations.
Nevertheless, the philosophers that wish to think nature in this way seem to share a
basic point of orientation with philosophers like Schlick and Reichenbach, namely, that
nature faces us as a kind of brute fact. It is there before us, but mute, provoking us to reckon
with what it is.
———
III.
That nature is, it would be ridiculous to try to show,
for it is clear that among the things that are, such things are many.
It is not self-evident that nature has to be a problem in this way, either as the real
that is beyond thought, or as the real as a problem posed for thinking. It is not a problem of
this sort, for instance, for Aristotle. That nature is, Aristotle says, is evident. It would be
ridiculous to attempt a demonstration that nature is since this would be “to show things that
are clear by means of things that are unclear” (193a5). Put this way, Aristotle’s view seems to
be in line with the perspectives we have already considered: nature as a problem for thinking
also does not demand proof of the existence of nature—its existence is manifest. What
nature is and whether it is thinkable are the questions. But here we have to recognize a
profound difference in Aristotle’s understanding of nature. When viewed as a problem for
2
�thinking, nature is understood as the whole extended, sensible world. Schlick’s “all that is
real insofar as it is determined in space and time” captures this well. For Aristotle, however,
nature is a principle that accounts for motions that are intrinsic to a thing. A sensible world
of ponderable entities is assumed in Aristotle’s sense of the word, but that sensible world
and the things that populate it are not nature. So when Aristotle says that it is evident that
nature is, he means it is evident that there are things that possess intrinsic principles of
motion. The inquiry carried out in the Physics is not an inquiry about what nature is. Rather it
is an attempt to think through what motion is in a way that is consistent with nature
understood as a principle of motion. The inquiry into what nature is is carried out in the
Metaphysics, for only an inquiry about principles can, in Aristotle’s sense, be an inquiry about
nature.
The crucial point is this: at no point does Aristotle treat nature as a brute fact, as
simply what is real in space and time. There is a sensible, extended world, but it shows itself
as animated by indwelling principles. And as such it shows itself as amenable to thought. The
effort required to think nature along with Aristotle is tremendous, but at no point is nature a
problem for thinking.
———
IV.
The separation of subject and object is both real and illusory.
It seems, perhaps, that when nature shows up as a problem it does so because of our
inclination to see the world in terms of subjects and objects. The subject/object distinction
conforms to something we all seem to take for granted as a basic truth, that there are
subjects—thinking beings—confronted with objects. This deeply rooted attitude finds
expression in our readiness to regard matters of the mind as being “in our heads” and
matters of reality as being “out there,” different in kind from what is in the mind. In this
regard, the distinction between subjects and objects might just be called good, common
sense.
But we need only turn again to Aristotle to see that what seems like common sense
might be an unrecognized prejudice. Aristotle certainly recognizes that there are thinking
3
�beings. But the principles of thought—even, perhaps, the activity of thinking altogether—
are not to be found “in our heads.” It is not that we think and therefore there is thinking.
No, there is thinking and we participate in it. And of course Aristotle recognizes that there
are discrete items in the world, those things we call objects. But it is not as objects in our
sense—objects that stand opposite a subject—that such items figure in Aristotle’s thinking,
for the being of things is not grounded in their brute existence. The being of things demands
that they be regarded in terms of form, and so thought and being never stand opposed as
subject and object.
Nature for Schlick and Reichenbach looks as if it could be construed as the
subject/object distinction taken to its limit: nature as the totality of what stands opposite the
thinking subject. I cannot straightaway recommend a return to Aristotle as a way to dissolve
the problem of nature, for I am not sure such a return is possible or desirable. I also will not
attempt to explain how or why the subject/object distinction gained purchase in us. It may
well be that there is something right about the distinction, provided we can think it through
properly. In light of these considerations, our question becomes: Is nature thinkable within
the frame of subject and object?
———
V.
Since the moderns—rejecting substantial forms and occult qualities—have undertaken
to reduce the phenomena of nature to mathematical laws, it has seemed best in this treatise
to concentrate on mathematics as it relates to natural philosophy.
The mechanical view of nature adopted by Newton in his Principia, shared by many
of his greatest contemporaries, and adhered to by subsequent generations of natural
scientists, necessitates the subject/object distinction.
We see this necessity forcefully presented in Descartes’ writings, where mind and
matter are held to be separate substances. The principle of subjectivity—the principle
grounding my existence as a thinking thing—is thought itself as a created substance. The
truth of the world as encountered in sense perception is that it is a separate and distinct
substance from me as thinking thing. And while mind is infused with the natural light of
reason, the sensible world must be conceived as nothing but extension. Behind the play of
so-called secondary qualities—color, taste, smell, pitch, texture—all those things that give
4
�the world its allure and vibrancy—behind this play is a gray world of shape, position,
direction and speed. The living spark in thought is confronted with the dead world of
extension. Descartes’ bold metaphysics yields a striking conception of our condition as
thinking beings inhabiting a sensible world.
But we end up in largely the same place by eschewing metaphysics and pursuing
Newtonian science as our sole mode of thinking about nature. We end up there because
even if the conception of bodies in motion provided by Newton’s definitions and laws is
only meant to provide a platform for studying natural phenomena and not to establish what
nature is in itself, we cannot help but conceive of nature as mechanical while pursuing that
study on Newton’s terms. And despite its inclusion of inherent and impressed forces,
Newton’s external world is as devoid of mind as that of Descartes’. Yet when we read
Newton’s book or directly study the world in light of its principles, we are thinking, and we
think away the vibrant show of secondary qualities to get at the underlying machine. We may
regard ourselves as prudent and sensible in setting aside substantial forms and occult
qualities, but we delight in the satisfaction of mathematical proof and the sense that we have
gained insight into the laws governing natural phenomena. The sober Newtonian is a secret
Cartesian.
———
VI.
Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind.
Empiricism is inconsistent with Newtonian science. Newton tells us in the preface to
the Principia that he is undertaking a “rational mechanics,” that is, “the science … of the
motions that result from any forces whatever and of the forces that are required for any
motions whatever” (Newton, 382). Rational mechanics is not an observational science. It is a
science of principles and of reasoning from those principles. Empiricism is incapable of
explaining how such a science is possible.
But the work of the Principia is not limited to rational mechanics. Indeed, it cannot
be. The great accomplishment of the opening propositions of Book I of the Principia is the
establishment of how certain motions—bodies tracing a variety of shapes—can be linked to
laws governing the variation of a centripetal force. Showing these correspondences,
5
�however, tell us nothing immediately about the world around us. The propositions only tell
us that if a body is moving in a certain way, the forces acting on it must be varying according
to a certain law. Rational mechanics cannot tell us how bodies are actually moving in the
world. Pure reason cannot deduce the laws that are at work in the world. To find nature’s
laws we must find out how it is in fact moving. And so the Cartesian dream of a science of
nature without an empirical part runs aground here.
What is needed is a way of thinking that can account for the possibility and necessity
of both the pure and empirical parts of Newtonian science. We find such a way in Kant’s
transcendental idealism.
———
VII.
Thus we ourselves bring into the appearances
that order and regularity in them that we call nature.
The proofs of rational mechanics are not empty thoughts. Their content is provided
by the mind’s own capacities for receiving what is given in experience. This is true for
mathematics generally. But without concepts, what is received in experience cannot be
known by us. Cognition, and hence human consciousness altogether, must be conceptual all
the way down. So goes Kant’s thinking, and establishing these claims is the burden of the
opening sections of the Critique of Pure Reason.
The possibility of pure mathematics and rational mechanics turns out to be
something of a sideshow in Kant’s account, for the real problem for Kant is ordinary
experience itself, of which Newtonian science is just a refined form.
Consider these features of ordinary experience: the extended character of material
objects; the varying intensities of sensible qualities; the apparent persistence of objects
through time; and the coordination of the order of time with the relations of cause and
effect. Kant’s bold contention is that these features are not learned through experience but
are the very conditions for any experience. It is in this way that Kant’s transcendental
idealism becomes a philosophy of nature. How so?
Kant regards nature as lawful and orderly, and not because we find it to be so, but
because it must be so. It must be so because, as Kant writes, “The conditions of the
possibility of experience in general are at the same time conditions of the possibility of
6
�the objects of experience” (A158/B197). Another way of putting this is to say that the
relation of subject and object is not immediate but always mediated by our forms of
intuition, pure concepts and imagination. The sentence just quoted comes from the “System
of All Principles of the Pure Understanding,” in which Kant shows how intuition,
understanding and imagination work together to provide the quantitative, qualitative,
substantial and causal backbone of all experience of objects. One crucial aspect of Kant’s
argument is that only the full slate of principles working together can provide the basis for
experience of any object. (This means, for instance, that even the simple apprehension of an
object requires the concept of a cause since only causality can secure an objective order to
time. That is, if the apprehension of an object is considered as happening at a determinate
time, causality underpins that experience.) This makes the System of Principles the true heart
of the Transcendental Analytic. And while the order of presentation requires Kant to
consider the various mental faculties separately before elucidating their real use in concert, it
would be a mistake to think that the System of Principles can be generated deductively from
first principles. The insight provided by the System of Principles depends upon reflection
about real experience, and so the Transcendental Analytic must be read backward as well as
forward.
Why is this seemingly arcane assertion important? It is important because it shows us
that there is, on the one hand, no method of empirical observation by which to verify the
truth of Kant’s account of cognition, objectivity and experience; on the other hand, it
emphasizes that transcendental philosophy is not an apodictic science. Hence Kant’s
endeavor is an effort of thought that is different both from Newtonian science, which
culminates in empirical observation, and from the efforts of Cartensianism to set
philosophical thinking on indubitable grounds. Kant’s thinking is not an attempt to build up
knowledge on the basis of secure first principles; it is the work of drilling down into ordinary
experience to comprehend its conditions.
And in this way Kant’s undertaking is a thinking about nature, since in illuminating
the transcendental conditions of experience he shows that they are nature’s conditions as
well.
———
7
�VIII.
It seems, therefore, that only a lawfulness without a law, and a subjective harmony
of the imagination with the understanding … is compatible with the free lawfulness
of the understanding … and with the peculiarity of a judgment of taste.
It might seem that Kant has pulled off a philosophical sleight of hand. While we
were looking elsewhere, he transformed nature from something alien into something
familiar. Put another way, it seems that Kant has moved the conditions for objectivity away
from objects and into the subject. Kant won’t deny this. But it might also seem—as it has to
many—that Kant undermines his own aims and slides unwittingly from transcendental to
subjective idealism. Whether this is the case, we would have to recognize that Kant is
insistent that real experience is only possible if there is something—something not located in
the subject—that affects us. The goal of the Transcendental Analytic is to establish that the
grounds of what is objective in experience reside in the subject, not that experience is a
spontaneous creation of the subject. Kant’s account may, in the end, be one-sided. But this
shouldn’t blind us to whatever insight might be contained in that one side.
And we would be too quick in our judgment of Kant’s thinking if we made it based
on the Transcendental Analytic alone. At the very least, we would have to consider the place
of nature in Kant’s account of judgments of taste, that is, in our experience of the beautiful.
Such experiences are peculiar, in at least two ways. Unlike most judgments,
judgments of beauty do not seem to predicate a determinate concept of an object. “That
thing is beautiful” is closer to “I like the way this tastes” than it is to “That thing is red.”
One might be persuaded about this if one agrees that there are no objective criteria by which
to establish that something is beautiful. But unlike with subjective judgments of preference,
we expect that others will find things beautiful that we do. We know that we cannot compel
someone to see something as beautiful, but we would find it strange to assert that the
sentence “That thing is beautiful” is simply equivalent to “That thing is beautiful to me.” In
Kant’s vocabulary, the peculiarity can be expressed this way: A judgment of beauty is both
subjective and universal.
Kant contends that the only way to explain this peculiarity is to locate the experience
of beauty in a free play of our mental powers, powers that are a common possession among
us. The experience is properly called a judgment because it is grounded in our faculties for
judging: intuition, imagination and understanding. But it must be regarded as a free play
8
�since while the understanding is engaged, it is engaged without the employment of any
particular concept. The feeling of the beautiful is the feeling of our powers of cognition set
into harmonious play—the harmony assumed in any determinate cognition—without
settling on any particular thought.
What does this have to do with nature? Kant thinks that only products of nature—
for instance, a flower—can be the occasion for a pure judgment of taste. All man-made
products carry with them an overt or implicit element of conceptual determination, since all
artifacts—at the very least—can be attributed to some purpose. Products of nature can also
be objects of knowledge and hence conceptually determined. The flower can be studied and
known in a variety of ways. But in its bare presentation to us, the product of nature is as
something alien—alien because whatever it is, it appears before us of its own accord.
In this way, nature has shifted again back away from the determining capacities of
the subject. As an element of objective experience, the flower is swamped by subjective
determination: its shape, color, persistence, and location in time all remain based in the
subject. But—or so Kant claims—something about the flower—something in its form—
something not determined by us—sets our mental powers into free play.
Here then is the remarkable thought about nature contained in Kant’s account of
beauty: Nature as a thing in itself—not as the realm of lawful appearances—is nevertheless
in some way fitted to our mental powers. The alien and the familiar meet in concordance in
this encounter, even though no knowledge can be yielded from it.
———
IX.
This content is the exposition of God as he is in his eternal essence
before the creation of nature and a finite mind.
Despite the emphasis placed on the subject in Kant’s thinking—and the exiling of
things in themselves from knowledge and experience—Hegel contends that Kant’s
transcendental idealism remains “overawed by the object.” Both the byways and overall
thrust of Kant’s three Critiques systematically deny our access to things in themselves, while
nevertheless making experience, morality and beauty depend on this unknowable beyond.
Untethered from things in themselves, human thought spins in an empty void.
9
�For all of his sympathy toward and admiration for Kant’s transcendental turn, Hegel
will criticize Kant’s thinking from end to end as one-sided. This accusation cuts deeply. Take
the opposition of subject and object. Hegel is prepared to praise Kant for establishing that
the opposition of subject and object is illusory, that subject and object are only two
necessary facets of experience. Hegel will agree as well that experience must be regarded as a
realm of appearances. There is no harsher critic of dogmatic metaphysics than Hegel. But
Hegel thinks Kant has not gone far enough. To place the grounds of objectivity in the
subject alone, and to leave, as it were, an undigested thing in itself in a remote beyond is to
flirt again with metaphysics of the worst sort. In order to overcome the one-sidedness that
engenders this threat one must also overcome the opposition of subject and object from the
side of the thing in itself. Or, as one commentator has put it, “The truly Hegelian problem is
not to penetrate from the phenomenal surface into Things-in-themselves, but to explain
how, within Things, something akin to phenomena could have emerged” (Žižek, Tarrying with
the Negative, 241).
The first step in this undertaking is nothing less than the entire road of despair
trodden in the Phenomenology of Spirit. This journey culminates in the knowledge that there is
no opposition between consciousness and its object. In this way, the Phenomenology is in
accord with Kant’s thinking. But unlike Kant, Hegel arrives at this conclusion without ever
positing a role for things in themselves. Indeed, differently than in Kant’s thinking, the
concord between subject and object is accomplished only after all versions of a thing in itself
are shown to contain contradictions. Achieving the insight that subject and object are not
opposed is just the overcoming of all versions of that opposition.
What then is left to do? Why does Hegel write a Science of Logic after the
Phenomenology? To use Hegel’s own vocabulary, there is work left to do because the
Phenomenology itself is one-sided. It is one-sided because it overcomes the opposition of
subject and object from the side of the subject. What is yet needed is the same overcoming from
the side of the object. But what can this mean? Won’t such an attempt dive headlong once
again into bad metaphysics?
———
10
�X.
The Idea freely releases itself. . . . By reason of this freedom, the form of its determinateness
is also utterly free—the externality of space and time
existing absolutely on its own account without the moment of subjectivity.
Hegel is willing to regard the content of the Logic as “the exposition of God as he is
in his eternal essence” because he is comfortable being a heretic. His assertion is heretical
not only because Hegel presumes to have written down God’s thoughts, but also because
those thoughts cannot be construed as inhering in a transcendent being. While the
movement of thought contained in the Logic is something actual—call it thought thinking
itself, or being fully-comprehended—it stands to nature and human consciousness not as
willful creator, but as transcendental ground.
If metaphysics becomes dogmatic when it presumes to have direct insight into the
truth of being, then Hegel steers clear of this charge. The work of the Phenomenology remains
within the bounds of what appears to consciousness and the claims that consciousness
makes about those appearances. Consciousness as such is marked by its own distinguishing of
subject and object. So when the opposition of subject and object is overcome at the end of
the Phenomenology, this is, as it were, only a formal achievement. Absolute knowing has a
history at this point, but no content.
The content is explicated in the Logic. But if we are tempted to see dogmatism creep
in here, we have to recognize that Hegel insists that when thought begins to think itself, it
still has no content. To think being simply is to think nothing. And while the Phenomenology
has given us permission to begin thinking about being without apology, the content of that
thinking must accrue through a movement of thought. There is no immediate insight into
being whatsoever.
Ordinary consciousness will still balk at such statements, since any talk of thinking
about being will sound like metaphysical fancy. There is no easy way to dispel this suspicion.
But what if one said that for Hegel the concrete world in space and time of our sense
experience is not included in the content of the Logic, the discourse that claims to
comprehend being altogether? This might at least obtain for us a brief reprieve from scorn,
for if the concrete world around us is not being, then what is it?
Hegel claims that the full sweep of thought contained in the Logic exhausts what is
thinkable about being, including the conditions of its intelligibility. The recognition of this
11
�completeness, together with the retention of everything encountered in the movement of
thought, makes a complete whole. And yet, while this completeness is genuine, its form
remains one-sided. The inwardness of thought thinking itself, while cut through with
maximal difference, has no outward expression.
Here we reach one of Hegel’s strangest thoughts, but the one that makes his thinking
about nature worth our time. The existence of external reality cannot be construed as
something needed by being, since being is inwardly complete. Nevertheless, the inwardness
of thought thinking itself frees externality to be itself. We might say that thought allows for
there to be something other than thought. This other is nature. Hegel writes, “externality
constitutes the specific character in which nature, as nature, exists” (Hegel, §247). Externality
is the key to understanding what nature is.
———
XI.
Nature exhibits no freedom in its existence, but only necessity and contingency.
As fundamentally external, nature is not only alien to us, it is alien to itself. All that is
truly intelligible in nature springs from the inherent intelligibility of being. But as the external
other of being, nature is not inherently intelligible. And yet it is thinkable.
A contrast will help us see our way through. We are familiar with thinking about
concrete beings in terms of essence and appearance, where the external show of things is
constituted by inward, intelligible forms. But if we try to think of the content of the Logic as
the inward essence of nature we will get it all wrong. Recall on the one hand that the
inwardness of thought thinking itself—that is, being in its full determination—is not the
inwardness of some other thing. It is complete in itself. Likewise, nature is not the external
aspect of something inward. Nature is externality through and through. And so the forms of
things that we encounter in nature must be regarded in three different ways.
As comprehended philosophically, nature shows itself according to certain general
forms: as matter in motion; as physically determinate and dynamic materials; as plant and
animal life. These general forms and the specific forms that fall beneath them, however, are
not sufficient to understand nature as thinkable, on the one hand, and nature as concretely
existing on the other. As thinkable, nature’s general forms borrow their intelligibility from
12
�the content of thought thinking itself. The concept of life, for instance, is a moment within
the development of the thinking of being. The plant and animal organism are life manifested
in the form of externality. In this way, thinking about nature requires a kind of double vision.
Nature’s general forms are thinkable if while keeping one eye on them we also keep another
eye on the structure of intelligibility as such. Rather than thinking of nature’s forms as the
appearance of an intelligible essence, we can perhaps think of these forms as images of the
intelligible, reflecting but not embodying the intelligible.
But there is a third way in which we must grasp nature’s forms, and here, I think,
Hegel’s conception of nature comes to fruition, for as a matter of concrete, sensual reality,
even nature’s general forms cannot be found in existence. There is no concrete example of
the plant or animal as such. There are only specific plants and animals. And while a diversity
of kinds might be necessitated in principle by the concept of nature, the actually existing
kinds have no ground either in being as intelligible, or in nature’s general forms. Nature as
actually manifest to our senses is irreducibly contingent. This point deserves special
emphasis, for it means that nature’s diversity and sensuous specificity is not capable of being
comprehended by philosophical thought. Our comprehension of what nature is includes the
insight that nature is not graspable in thought at this level because this is the level where
nature manifests its inherent contingency.
Hence Hegel gives us a way to think what seemed unthinkable: nature in its bare and
stubborn presence as object to our subjectivity.
———
XII.
Difference is what constitutes being.
The world of the scientist is a world of facts, and the world itself is treated as a fact.
Treating the world this way entails a theory of being. The theory goes like this: There are
things, and they are what they are, and that has nothing to do with us.
This sense of being animates G. E. Moore’s 1903 essay, “The Refutation of
Idealism,” a forceful attack on what had been the prevailing trend in British philosophy and
one of the inaugural moments of what has come to be called analytic philosophy. I mention
Moore’s essay because his allegiance to a world-as-fact ontology seems to make it impossible
13
�for him to be able to grasp idealist thought. Moore’s essay begins, “Modern idealism, if it
asserts any general conclusion about the universe at all, asserts that it is spiritual” (Moore, 28).
Moore’s misunderstanding of idealism can be unfolded from this first sentence alone, since
from the outset Moore seems to treat the universe as a simple fact, something present that
just is whatever it is. And I think it would be fair to say of Moore’s mindset that the universe
as he conceives it is equivalent to being: the universe is and it is all that there is.
For Kant and Hegel there is a difference between the universe—the totality of the
manifest natural world—and being. This should not be understood as asserting that nature is
part of being. This would not entail difference. Rather, nature must be thought, in some way,
as different from being.
This manifests itself in Hegel’s thought in a particularly strong fashion. For not only
is being itself unthinkable without difference—since being fully comprehended is equivalent
to the comprehensive self-differentiation of being—but nature, as the domain of exteriority
and contingency, is only thinkable in its difference from being. But it is just in this difference
that Hegel is able to account for what Moore seems to take at face value, that nature is the
realm of the factual. Nature differs from being as fact differs from principle. Hegel thus
comes to agree in a way with Reichenbach that the real can only be experienced, if we
construe the “real” of Reichenbach’s claim with Hegel’s exteriority. Yet unlike Reichenbach’s
real, Hegel’s nature, in its difference from being, nevertheless reflects what is inherently
intelligible in being. Nature must be known through experience, but is thinkable in principle.
———
One final thought, for the assurance of this final statement should not go
unqualified.
The quote from Deleuze that was included in the description for this lecture speaks
of a difference between empirical and absolute knowledge. The phrase “absolute
knowledge” is not typical of Deleuze’s way of speaking, but we can make sense of the
Hegelian language by noting that the quotation comes from a review of a book about Hegel
by Jean Hyppolite. Deleuze seems to think that Hyppolite gets Hegel right in ways that
others have not. And part of that getting-right bears on the questions I have taken up
tonight. Nevertheless, at the end of the review, Deleuze asks whether Hegel himself has
14
�gotten things right, whether Hegel can be followed in principle, whether contradiction can
bear the work Hegel has asked of it.
This can serve as a reminder for us that searching for principles and searching for
facts are not the same, and that thinking cannot be reduced to knowing.
15
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
pdf
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
15 pages
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
A name given to the resource
Thinking about nature
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on January 20, 2017 by Matthew Linck as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Linck, Matthew
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
2017-01-20
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 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."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Language
A language of the resource
English
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1798">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/176882998d937da030589770d4de5b8a.mp3
8618d1601e8b80ee89ff4d0fbb2d3541
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.)
00:41:21
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
A name given to the resource
The Wonder in the Word “Open”
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 6, 2018, by Daniel Harrell as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Harrell, Daniel
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
2018-04-06
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
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Harrell_Daniel_2018-04-06
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ef3f7b57808aa8eac5f6a1b0ef5f62ff.pdf
a98918a3c590427f4323a4f0b93edb48
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
8 pages
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
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
A name given to the resource
The Venetian Phaedrus
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1972
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered in the Spring of 1972 by Eva Brann as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Brann 1972
Relation
A related resource
The College, July 1972
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
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Brann, Eva T. H.
Deans
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/8908d181ae842b8a5f7e3a6308ade933.pdf
6d521e62342a8d9c9ce342fc7660d6d7
PDF Text
Text
)
~'
ecte b
The uni ~~'.?.:?-1 _t?_~~ ' nis material may he
Copyright law (Title 11 .::>.Code)
This is going to be a funny kind of
concert, part Quaker Meeting;
lec~--ure
- part
part of it is going to be talk.
That is the most difficult part.
Difficult be cause I shHll
try to stick to my subject, music, with all the rigour I can
And I want you to do the s 2Jne.
muster.
will subordinate the talk to the music.
That means that I
We can all talk
aftervrn.rds, when there will be no more music - or only a little
·if requir·ed to make a point clear.
During the lecture I want to let the music speak, and
myself to get a word in edgeways here and there where this can
be done without drowning the music.
that the one will drovm. the other.
music, for once, dominate,,
I
There is always the danger
If nec essary, let the
After some of the musical examples
shall try to let some moments of silence elapse before t aking
up the talk again.
Partly as a measm.'e of , self-defence - the
SD Oken
music is so much more eloquent tha t a.nyfwords fall very flat
after
• .l-
l
v;
but partly al so, and more in1portantly, b e cause I
really vmnt the music to have its say and to be cons ider ed,
So I sha ll occasionally try to give you time to consider it
v hen your ears are still full of it.
1
You might even - in an
unquakerish way - Yvant to jot things dov1 that occur to you.
m
Music has al1Nays been bedevilled by irrelevant talk.
Irrelevance a1, ises all too easily - it seems almost impo ss ible
to avoid it.
I continually c atch myse lf at it.
suffer from i rre levan t t alk;
All subjects
but thi s one mos t particularly,
for some fairly obvious and some more comp licated reason s .
One of the obvious reasons is that not all people experience
music mus ic a llv ( t118.t 1 s a.n und eI'statement) £md there is a
�- 2 -
..
conspiracy to pretend that they do.
Therefore we get a lot
of talk ostensibly about music that is not really about music
at all.
I am not saying that the unrausical cannot or should
not talk about nm.sic - they can and they should : the discovery
of true extra-nmsical analogies may depend on them.
But this
matter of exnerience nm.st always be kept firmly in mind.
By
experiencing music musically I mean something that involves
the whole person, including the mind, the active, participating
mind.
Not the mind that, Yihile there is music going on,
concentrates of half concentrates on something else - be it
the Bible, p·~to, or mathematics;
or the mind that drifts off
to visions, d1"es1ns, or reminiscences.
Befo:;"'."'e we start I should like to make some remaI•lrn about
the voluminous document you have been given.
Actually they
are pretty close to the heart of the matter we want to discuss
later.
For the texts that are not originally in English
that is,
when the composer set them to music - for those texts I have
It does not scsn like
given a rough and ready translation.
is
the original.
It fis:~ neither singable nor entirely literal,
noj_" in any way loyal to a s t'lle - it is rough.
Its purpose
is mainly to give the gener•al sense of the whole snd the exact
translation of the keI vrords in the original.
The latter•, the
exact translation of key words, :ls v1hat matters most:
bees.use
the listener should kn.ov1 what certain vrords mean that have
entered into union yrith cei-·tain musical phrases.
l\Iuch of the point of the best kind of vocal
cm:T~losi tion
(and all the e:o::01n~1les to-night belong to the best ki:1C1 Cchough
there is
not
a single operatic exam:pleJ)much of the point of
such a corn:::iosition is lost if the music is actually or mentally
�3
(in the listener's mind) forced into an· adulterous union
(however loose) with different words.
In this kind of vocal
music j_t is not just the general drift of a verbal statement,
or even the precise MetLlJ.ing of the vrhole statement, that has
been corribined with music, but often it is single vrnrds or
groups of tvrn or three v;ords that are t1expressed 11 ,
by - that are
.§._\~
t1accom:panied 11
vdth particular notes or groups of
notes~
Not only in such glar•ingly obvious cases as that of
word
11
th~
charms 11 in the E:;cam.ple you will hear first (Hat once it
charms the sensell)
or the sliqhtly less obvious
not only in such cases as tle
11
grieven;
"jarring seeds 11 ruJ.d the nscatter'd
a t oms", ouu also in a case l:lke that of the llwox•ld below 11 ar:d
...-A
.,
.L
"the spheres above 11
-
right up fu::c. ther to a case of such
0
sublimation or sublimi t;)T as our final sung example to-night.,
So, to get back to the use to be :made of this docu:rient, I
Viould advise the follovJine; : don't x·ead ahead.
Sufficient unto
A..n.d as v1e get to some
Examples, I may say something about the words.
Example, I think, needs no advance e::c_planation ..
The first
<:i'-r
( .12.i-t'...$
1)
-
'Tis nature's voice, 'tis nature's voice,
Thro all the movinc; wood and creatures understood,
The universal tonsue, the universal tongue,
To none of all her num'rous race unknovm,
From her, from her it learnt
The :mighty, the mighty, the mighty art
To court the ear> or stri1rn the heart,
At once the passions to ex_;;iress·and move,
At once the passions to express,
to express and move.
We hear, and straight v!e grieve o:c· hate,
We hear, and straight we grieve or hate,
rejoice or love.
In unseen chains it does the fancy bind,
it does, it does the fancy bind.
At once it charms the sense and captivates the mind;
At once it charms the sense and captivates the mind.
�- 4 -
..
Soul of the World, inspired by thee,
The jarring, jarring seeds,
The jarring, jarring seeds of matter did agree.
Thou didst the scatter'd atoms bind
Thou didst the scatter 1 d, ~Le scatter 1 d atoms bind,
·which by thy laws of true proportion joined,
Made up of various par· ts,
!"1ade up of various parts, of various, various parts,
Made up of various parts one.perfect,
One perfect, one perfect, perfect harmony.
..
.
Thou tun 1 st this world, this vTOrld. belo33_,
The spheres above,
Who in the heavenly round
To their own nmsic move.
However persuasively put, this is a bunch of pretty bold
claims.
They were made - not uniquely - you will be f aro.iliar
with most of them - by one Nicholas Brady.
the music, is by Henry Purcell.
11
The persuasion,
These two were chosen by
The Musical Society". in London to vVJ:>ite an Ode for St. Ceci-
lia's Day in 1692 (Purcell also wrote others, but this is his
biggest).·
Cecilia, as you may know, was a Rom.211 matron and
becsI!le a Christian saint.
blind - and of music.
She is the patron .saint of the
.
«S
Musical literature is full of pieces
written in her honour, but Purcell's great OdeA.the greatest,
because the most musically relevant, the most magnificent, and
the most assertive.
(The composer himself, incidentally,
sang the number with which we started and from which I,took
my title.)
The words, I said, are by Brady (a less distinguished
poet than Joh.tL Dryden - but just listen, one day, to the
Dryden/Haendel Cecilia Ode and you will be able to disprove
for yourselves the wisdom of Beethoven's desire to compose the
words of poets worthy of his efforts, like Homer or Schiller.)
The vrords of this Ode, then/ are by Brady.
did not
sheets.
~ite
But he probably
all those repetitions that you have on your
Those are by Purcell - and I only put a minimum of
�- 5 -
them down - in the polyphonic choral number even more repeating
goes on between the different voices•
repetitions?
Because if~ou repeat something often enough, even
a lie, it will be believed?
fancy bind n?
Why did he put all those
"It does, it does, it does the
Or
ttat once the passions to express and move,
at once the passions to express,
to express and move. 11
At any rate it is
That may be the most crucial claim of all.
one that is most volub"ly and most heatedly discussed nowadays.
Here is what the
11
anti-expressionist 11 Stravinsky says:
11 I consider that nmsic is, by its very nature, essentially
powerless to e:x:oress anything at all, whether a feeling,
an attitude of mind, a psychological mood, a phenomenon
of nature, etc ••• ~E.x:oression has never been an inlierent
•
.
.
property of music.
That is by no ment:,- the purpose •••
(E.A."}lression is) an aspect which, unconsciously or by
force of habit, we have come to confuse with its essential
being ••• Music is given to us with the sole purpose of
establishing an order in things, including, and particularly,
the coordination between man and time.
Its indispensable
requirement is constructiOll:Construction once completed,
this order has been attained, and there is nothing more
to be said. 11
Q.~"'s
11
0rder.c.the coordination between man and time. ~t (PLAY Ex. 2)
/ " G o t t e s Zeit, Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste,
ist die allerbeste Zeit,
die allerbe s te,
ist die allerbeste Zeit. II
Some of you may remember that.
Bach's Cantata
all 11 •
11
It is the opening "of
God's time is the best time
-
the best time of
The cantata is also called the Actus Tragicus.
a funeral piece.
It does not sound funereal.
win then : it expresses nothing?
It is
Does Stravinsky
Or the "expressionists rr vdn :
it expresses the Christian joy at a departure to a better life?
Or does Stravinsky win after all, because it "establishes an orde:r
••• between man and time 11
-
in whatever sense you may choose to
take that - either by its statement of the fact that "God's time
�-
is the best time 11
-
6 -
or by the very nature of music?
Let us ha.ve another example.
(Ex. 3)
Ich bin vergnilgt mit meinem Gliicke,
das mir der liebe Gott beschert."
11
A slow waltz.
11
But hardly gay.
You may have caught the words:
Ich bin vergnngt in meinem Glilcke 11
-
the lady says she is gay,
or content, in her happiness, or good fortune.
The oboe, and
indeed the lady rs vocal line, seems to say. ·something different
ri
t~
h
·;;
c.~ ...eJ.~J"A-~
~..
·
"""":•
""-e_.,.~.,.,-..J!... ~---""'"~Ji-
;t!J?~o
·,,. ..... l'J. . . ~~·'· e
... ·~<:~...t.L.,.$~"'£\
1,;...... ..,,_s..,_,...,,-~
·
(-c:>r something extra?).
J ·The next example, which I want to give
/'you for the sake of comparison, does not seem to me to be a far
cry:
Ex. 4
11
Erbarme dich.
o. 11
It is, most of you know it,
11
Erbarme dich 11 (Have mercy, Lord),
the plea for mercy af·ter Peter's betrayal and bitter tears in
the St. Matthew Passion.
Let us have the whole of that passage:
the three-fold challenge, tlJ.e three, increasingly emphatic,
denials, and the remorse.
It is Example 5 and you have all the
words on page 2, with a rough English translation beside them.
It is the Gospel story.
Try to stick to the German words and
only refer to the English when necessary.
Ex. 5
~
(Ex. 5)
Petrus aber sass draussen im Palast,
'Und es tra t zu ihm eine Magd und sprach:
Und du warest auch mit dem Jesu aus Galil!la.
Er leugnete aber vor ihnen allen und sprach:
Ich weiss nicht, vrns du sagest.
Als er aber zur T-8.r hinausging, sahe ihn eine andre
und sprach zu denen, die da waren:
Dieser war auch mit dem Jesu von Nazareth.
Und er leugnete abermal und schwur dazu:
Ich kenne des Menschen nicht.
Und ilber eine kleine V!eile traten hinzu die da sta.n.den
und sprachen zu Petro:
'Wahrlich, du bist auch einer -Von denen,
denn deine Sprache verr~t dich.'
Da hub er an sich zu verf luchen und zu schw8ren:
Ich kenne des l'.Ienschen nicht.
Und alsbald kr!ihete der Hahn.
Da dachte Petrus an die Worte Jesu,, da er zu ihm sagte:
Ehe der Har.in kr!llien wird,
_ 11
�- 7 Wirst du mich dreimal verleugnen.
Und ging heraus und V1einete bitterlich.
Erbarme di ch, me in Gott, u:.m me iner Zfiliren will en.
Schaue hier, shhaue hier,
Herz und Auge weint vor dir,
Weint vor dir bitterlich ••• 11
And now let us have the other, the gay lady once more.
(Ex. 6)
(Ex. 6)
~.course
when I say she says she is gay, I am not hinting
subtly that I think Bach is bungling his job.
rr express"
That he can
when he wants to "express t1 in the usual, if I may call
it that, most prosaic sense, he shovrn in his treatment of the
words llweinete bitterlichn.
I could give a lot of examples
for that kind of expression.
There are, however, other kinds
too that need illustrating.
TheT'e is a penitentialfanfilta, 11 Her1", gehe nicht ins Gericht 11
(Lord, enter not into judgment) vrhich has a suitably dovmcast,
.
.
ContrJ.. te b e"'01."' nni· DP' an?t t'nen , on
.
-o, -'-~
+:'.l~.le
~
,,-rords na.enn vor di· r 1.uird.
.-
kein Lebendiger gerechttr (for in Thy sight shall no man be
justified) breaks into a lively dance.
Is Bach bungling again?
There is no time for this first chorus fyou will have to take
my word for it), nor for the whole of the incredibly beautiful
but long aria on the vrnrds
1 "~Yie
zi ttern und wanken der sunder
Gedanken 11 (How the sinners' thoughts quake and tremble).
most incredible beauty comes in the development.
The
Unfortunately
I can only play the very beginning of it and I want to play
that because of its obvious rhyth'!lic connection with the
concluding chorale.
words
11
The chorale (Exrunple 7) starts on the
?Iun, ich weiss, du wirst mir stillen mein Gewissen, das
mich plagt 11 (Now I 1:now Thou wilt still my conscience ••• )
And the "stillingll is shown in the orchestra.
The singers
have a quarter note per syllable, and to begin with the strings
�- 8 -
"
quake below with 4 sixteenths per syllable, just as they did
in the soprano aria, then
the~,
calm dovm to triplets, then to
two eighths, then to nearly one, namely a quarter and an eighth
in 12/8 time (with the singers still in 4/4), then, ·when the
singing has stopped, to simple
postlude.
lJ;l(\
~tN.~EAA
%
A.cccH.f~(H.e-NT
(
--D1l J
{
)
/
T7I
~, /
\,'
J
~-
~
1J ~
/ .L
~(J
t1
J'
{ 1--
,,
~~
t f\
{"
l
/;;'
\_/'
~
\./
0
~\
~
- ~ ~~
~,
,,,l
E~
k
t&ei'~
1'd3.. .
.2E:,~,
J~
q~arter
.---,
I'
notes, in the
~~\-l,l
lu..i v
% e.v,
lt
j
J1~ 1 fl i ,
I
((\
,, ""
\J
L
l
l'
"~·
A simple trick?
0
___..
( \ (.
/
r
/
~tl
/
\
~
?
}
''
\...../
,)
But effective.
Bach was perfectly
~apable of more complicated rhythmic tricks; but I want to
leave those till later.
Let us first go back before the Fall, before Sin, repentance,
and anxiety.
Let us listen to the Creation of Man, as
~:l..-
presented byr:,_Joseph Haydn.
words on page 3.
It is Example 8 arid you have the
The recitative comes more or less straight
from Genesis:
Und Gott schuf den Menschen
Nach seinem Ebenbilde,
Nach dem Ebenbilde Gottes
Schuf er Lh..n.
Mann und Weib erschuf er sie,
Den Atem des Lebens hauchte er
In sein Angesicht,
�..
- 9 -
Und der Mensch vrurde
Zur lebendigen Seele.
The aria comes more or less straight from Milton - whose version
you can see below.
Haydn's version goes:
Mit wiirdt und Hoheit angetan,
Mit Sch8nheit, St!irk 1 und Mut begabt,
Gen HL11Lmel auf gerichtet
Steht der Mensch,
Ein Mann und K8nig der Natur.
Die breit gew8lbt' erhabne Stirn
Verklindt' der Weisheit tiefen Sinn,
Und aus dem hellen Blicke ~
Strahlt der Geist,
Des Sch8pfers Hauch und Ebenbild.
Actually M::iJton said (-when Satan first sees Adam and Eve):
••• the fiend
Saw undelighted, all delight, all kind
Of living creatures, new to sight 2.nd strange.
Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,
Godlike erect, with native honour clad,
In naked majesty seemed lords of all:
.And \'rorthy seemed; for in their looks divine
The image of their glorious Maker shone,
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure
(Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,)
vfnence true authority in men.
We only have time for
Or expressive?
One can virtually
-~
Man rising, and stand upright.
But then something happens
in the music that has no visual correlative.
In the passage
about man's sublime brow and his wisdom the music provides a
perfect non-pictorial image of the nobility and complexity of
man 1 s mind.
Let us hear that part again.
(Ex. 8b)
Does it not seem to correspond in a startling way to Iv1ilton 1 s
0 image
of their glorious Maker"'?
(Ex. 8c)
Let us have it once more.
It does not do it in words or in pictures.
Gesture comes closest to it, perhaps, but does not solve the
�- 10 -
..
When one trie$ to convey what happens in
riddle either.
the music, one is likely to use two hands to show the diversity
in the unity, the divergence of the lines of horns and strings
and their juxtaposition with the voice.
But one is just as
likely to throvv up oner s hands helplessly, for this kind of
miravle cannot really be explained, although one
ca~oint to
this and that that goes on in it.
It is not even that the various parts that make it up
It is that we are confronted with
are so many or strange.
the nature of music.
how?
It conveys something - but what, and
Or perhaps I should hy%,enate that and say
"what-and-how"?
Perhaps the
11
What 11 and the
11
How 11 are
identical.
My next example is much more complicated and quite
frankly so.
I can only pick out a few elements of it.
It is the opening chorus of the St. Matthew Passion.
I
hope the words, which you have got, ·will be of some help.
I would ask you to look at them now, rather carefully, so that
later, when you listen to the music, you need at most to glance
at them.
First, though, let me say this:
forces in this piece :
Bach employs considerable
two entire and separate orchestras,,
two choirs of four parts each, plus an extra choir of
sopranos, called Ripieno.
The two orchestras start, slowly,
After a while the first choir comes in and sings
sadly.
words that maan something like
lament 11
-
11
Come ye daughters, help me
with some repetition, but I have by no means
indicated all repetitions in the text you have in front of
you;
I
~'
hovirever, tried to indicate the difference between
the passages where four to eight voices polyphonically have
�- 11 -
their words at different times (and often have many notes to
a syllable) between such passages on the one hand, and the
passages where they are all together, on the other hand.
have underlined the latter.
underline~)
:
11
Sehet 11
-
11
Choir I goes on (altogether,
Behold 11
-
never mind the stresses fall1img
differently in English - follow the German (and to say
11
11
see" or
look" would not help either, or not much, because it only has
one syllable;
like
11 him 11 ,
and one cannot add a monosyllabic object,
because the exchange between the two choirs that
follows keeps changing que's tions.
"Behold ii, says Choir I,
11
So let us just take
Whom? n asks Choir II,
says Choir I, and goes on : "See him 11 •
11
I
Like a lrunb 11 , is the answer;
11
11
11
behold 11 . )
the bridegroom",
How 11 , asks Choir II
and as though this word "Lamb 11
had triggered something, the Ripieno choir enters, slowly,
deliberately, sounding almost unconcerned, heartless, inexorable,
with a choral tune no Lamm Gottes unschuldig 11 (0 guiltless laJUb
of God).
I have sometimes tried to cheat a bit to get the exact
English word underneath the corresponding German word, but
mostly I have simply used the English word order and I run fairly
sure you will see which Germa...n words mea...n what.
of course, what \vord is wedded to -vvhich note.
It does matter,
That is why it
seems to me best to perform a piece in the language in ·which it
'Nas composed.
One can always supply a translation for the
listener to refer to and must hope that he won't concentrate on
the trac"lslation instead of on the music.)
The slov-r can tus f irmus, that is the chorale melody sung by
the Ripieno choir, goes on (IN CAPITAL LETTERS) 11 am Stamm des·
or slawrh tered
Kreuzes geschlachtet 11 that is 11 butchered/on'-'the tree of the cross 11
�- 12 - while the two other choirs carry on with the lament and the
pointings and th0 questions and answers about the bridegroom,
(The . can tus f irmus is given in capital letters
the lamb.
thr our;i;hou t. )
Comes a s11ort orchestral interlude.
resume their exchange.
Be.hold - what? - behold the patience;
and the cantus firmus takes up
.
'
d espiseQ l1 •
Then the two choirs
11 always
four1d patient, hovvever
Then another short orchestral interlude, still in
J
the old rhytbrn, with the insistent
in the basses and grou:;Js of eighths, tied in different ways,
above - sometimes a dotted quarter, namely three eie;hths, tied
to the fi :st of
Nt
l~/
..
/~
.t~ ~
(
/
next gJ:ouIJ of
,,l .
·Tl
,, '
J ·"' /
~l
,l
l
ltt
9-
t~ll3
t
j J ,)
'
/
t<f'\
/
}
)
,i'
r._7
eight11s, tht1s
..i
'l:r
r'
7
~
>
...
J'
I
rT1
.-
...
:!_. I
}! 1 J. ~
;
..\
j
~
[j_(
tl1~ece
Lr_r
't.
-)
w~
o_,;_J'
l
"
.\...
.~
;..
,r,•
cJJ.
()...{.,· .,._.., ;)
'-"'l
v-
(;}vi?_.
,(
~
.f\
~ck ~;A,_.-e~}
f
But suddenly the pattern ch£'Lrise s.
'-"
The obstinate bass continues,
but above it there are now g;rou _ of three staccato eighths.
_:;s
And the Y1o:eds?
our guilt.
11
Look - at what, R_t vihat.,, 2t what? - look at
Surely it is no accident that this Protestant
11
Cantor, vrhen it comes to the confes:=;ion of guilt, emplo:rs the
musical equivalef\t of the Catholic triple striking of the breast.
Thou bo::r.ne 11 (it is
all rather 1~e:miniscent of th,3 Latin ·1:0::..•c.~; of t:i::; U'.::iJ·s
qul
'-_ •
toll''" ""'"CC".\+-..,
J.. "'' l"'
c .. v
c;
0.
-~11ndJ" • i1)
l<l ·'- ~
-
tteJ.~,e
•
1••1,1
e
11 .Agnus
sh_ould hqve to des_c,1 ai:r 0
-
Then the two choirs point to Christ carrying his own cross to
Dei
•
�- 13 his execution and the Ripieno choir ends by calling on Jesus
to have mercy - just as the corrt8ponding part of the Mass
concludes
~1 miserere
The two choirs once more point
nob is 11 •
to the Bridegroom, the Lamb, then comes the orchestral 2ostlude.
This introductory chorus is a long number and straightaway
sets the tone for a great and long work.
As soon as its starts
·we knmv we are in for 4 and a half hours of it., or should be.
That, too., is an aspect of the role of time in music.
time Stravinsky was talking about.
music.
To
~
The
One has to give time to
One cannot have it an.d something alse at the same time.
act as though one
.
~
is self-deception and has serious,
diabolical consequences.
So this great work starts with a grand and long number,
which by the clock usually taKts 10 or 11 minutes (the way
Schvrni tzer advocates and Scherchen actually takes is s ome.v1hat
quicker.
We m:>e now about to hear a
11
standard 11 version-} -
but, whatever the basic speed, the number itself contains two
distinct orders of time - or an image of time and eternity.
The two orchestras and choirs operate in one, the ripieno choir
clearly in another.
Its basic unit per syllable is a dotted
quarter or three basic units of an eighth( that the others
work in.
The difference, the distinctness, is further empha-
sised by the distrihution of the phrases of the cantus firmus
over what goes on belov1 and by the fact that it is a major tune
and much of what the others utter is in minor or where it is
not imt'~nor is harmonically slanted in a way to contrast vrith thE
clearly ma:;.,.,ked melody of the
Ex. 9 (Kormnt ih...r T8chter)
~·
(PAUSE.
Then: )
C&'l.
tus firnrus.
(Ex. 9·}
�- 14 -
You
lr.now~the
quotation from Stravinsky which I
at the beginning was incomplete.
I
~ave
you
ga'4e it in the form in
which it is given in a book of the "expressionist" school of
thought that has appeared relatively recently:
nhor, by Donald Ferguson.
Sally, a straw man.
Music as Meta-
Ferguson clearly needed an Aunt
So he made half a Stravinsky into his
stre:w man and quoted:
11
I consider that music is, by its very nature, essentially
powerless to express anything at all, whether a feeling,
an attitude of mind, a psychological mood, a phenomenon
of nature, etc.
Expression has never been an inherent
property of music.
That is by no mea.-ris the purpose of
its existence, •• ~xpression is) an aspect which, unconsciously or by force O.Lfiabi t, we have come to confuse with its
essential being ••• Music is given us with the sole purpose
of establishing an order in things, including, and particularly, the coordination between man and time,,,Its
indispen$able requirement is construction:-- Construction
once completed, this order has been attained, and there
is nothing more to be said, 11
That is the Ferguson quotation from strawman Stravinsky,
Now,
let me give you the real Stravinsky:
11 ••• For I consider that music is, b:T its very nature,
essentially powerless· to express anything at all, whether
a feeling, an attitude of mind, a psychological mood, a
phenomenon of nature, etc •••. Expression has never been
an inherent property of music,
That is by no means the
purpose of its existence.
If' as is nearl a~ ~'
music a-:Jnears to express some hin.iz
is is oniv an~illusioil
no ·a real t •
is s_mp -~nal a ri'biT£e-.,...v.....,·rn.-.i-;-,~--- and inve erate
- acit
greement, we~
t'11rU:St un~~ a conve~- in ·d}lort, an
~ich, unconsciousl~force of habit, we have
come to confUse with its essential being.
Music is the sole domain in which man real.,.,. s the pres en'
the inroer ec vi:m of is - "GU· , ma·1 is doomed t su m -1>0yhe p.assag~1e - to i s cav :ories of
s~w~~ p a le
o ive su sta.i'1ce, and therefore
-~ ~i'Z.gorv oj_
ne o:'ip:-71.>-;-:o~~-i-v:-.-----~1-ienomeno of music is given to us with the sole
purpose of es ab_ishing an order in things, including, and
particularly, the coordination between man and time.
To
re put into practice, its indispen$able and single requirement
is construction.
Construction once completed, this order
has been attained, and there is nothing more to be said.
It·
...._ would be fu til.e to look for, or expect anything else from ....
· it.
It is precisely this construction, this achieved order
�- 15 -
which produces in us a UTulUe emotion having nothing_
~~~+-~
in uuHm1on vn.l,n our or d.
.inarv_s_e.J.~.ons
ancl our resnonses
~iliLI~p.i1-asiiDD.s nf (;LS j J ¥-i.u_a__ t-efte- "'H~o-t-oe tter define the sensation
c D.y music thf:Jll by
saying that it is~~'cca with that evoked by the
interplay of ~_1rtJitectural forms.
Goethe thoroughly
underC'
ct that when he called architecture petrified
~------'-'
_.
~-)
What interests me most in the part of Stravinsky suppressed
by Ferguson G'is the last bit about it being "precisely this
construction, this achieved order, ·which produces in us a
unique emotion.
11
The s&'lle Stravinsky, incidentall,, said
some time later, ·when asked about religion and the 1Nri ting of
relie;ious music (and as you know he writes it) : that it
cannot be done without faith.
And he did not, I think, just
say that to bamboozle the burghers.
11 A
unique emotiono ••
We obviously do not all feel it
11
who are properly moved by it.
s~me
harmful to pretend
But there is something in cornraon between those
that we do.
to the
~nd
It is useless
when we listen to music ..
The same thing in them responds
thing in the nTQsic.
One can also be improperly
moved,, by extra-musical associations.
The improper movement
can be ezploi ted and manipulated by Movie and Muzak
other Merchants.
.And I
8Jn
make1~s
and
convinced that unless v;e drive
them out where theJ have no legitimate business, and keep them
at bay, Hi-Fi, transistors, and all, we will be driven out of
our minds.
It is precisely because it is the universal
tongue that music must not be ubiquitous.
Let us, however, return to proper motion or emotion mid
to our last
I~x.runple.
V!e ~~ moved - bod:Lly and in ou:r souls.
'i'I'nat is it that does that?
the v-railing on
11 Come
In this instance it was not just
ye daughters .... 11
,_,
It is the ·way that
musical phrase has been used in a musical structure, not only
�.
- 16 having the "llih'1loved 11 cantus firmus superimposed on it, but also
-being switched about, mo-ved and used here and there, either as
the stressed or as the unstressed part of the larger unit, and
used with different words.
All our exarnple s to-day were of music with words - though
I think the most exciting part of the Haydn is the purely
orchestral part - still 1 it comes in a context of sung words.
You may have noticed that I omitted opera.
This was not done
to rig the argument in any way ( it doesn 1 t actually - opera
cuts both ways ) but in order to keep the field of discussion
manageable.
On the other hand I do want to end with ·a_ few words a~out
instrumental music.
.. It moves too - even_, and especially,
when it is far removed from any association with words •
. You 1mov1 .tl1a_t I __could give exs.mples of instrumental music that
seems to express emotion.
Much of Mozart rs instrumental music
is dovmright operatic, reminds one of dr&'llatic situations and
characters singing.
But for my last e:cample I have chosen
something to whic:h no emotional label will stick.
And yet
~t
moves.
So let Mozart have the last 1,wrd.
(Ex. 10, Minuet from
Serenade in·
C-minor)
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
16 pages
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
A name given to the resource
The universal tongue
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered in 1963 by Beate Ruhm von Oppen as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Ruhm von Oppen, Beate
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
1963
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Ruhm von Oppen 1963
FaFi-Ruhm von OppenB024
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b576a36b4101ff45b2414fd52b8c3db7.mp3
be85bd1190b26181699e8e0d91a70f50
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.)
01:03:52
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
A name given to the resource
The Ten Commandments
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 30, 2016, by Leon Kass as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Kass describes his lecture as, "a close examination and fresh interpretation of the Biblical text (Exodus 20)."
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Kass, Leon
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
2016-09-30
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. To make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. To make an audio recording of my lecture available on the St. John's College web site."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
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
Kass_Leon_2016-09-30
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Typescript" href="https://stjcollege.ent.sirsi.net/client/en_US/default/search/detailnonmodal/ent:$002f$002fSD_ILS$002f0$002fSD_ILS:84552/one?qu=84552&te=ILS" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Typescript (available to check out from the Greenfield Library)</a>
Subject
The topic of the resource
Ten commandments
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/39bbe47e04fc008ff2c151cbcfe14c85.pdf
45e1f0016e49968cda4828a9c6965b19
PDF Text
Text
THE STUDENT'S PROBLEM
LECTURE ON THE LIBERAL ARTS
Eva Brann
Collegian Supplement,
~tober
1967
�St. John's College is a small liberal arts school, co-educational
and non-sectarian, with campuses in Annapolis, Maryland and
Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Editors. . . . . • . • . . . . . . . • . . . . .George and Meredith Anthony
Associate Editor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • • • . • • .Richard Sohmer
Assistant Editors. . . • . . • . . . • . . . . . . . . . . . • Steve Forman
Masha Zager
F<1.culty Advisor . . • . . . . • . . . . • . . . • . . . • . . . . . • Eva Brann
Cover Design . • . . . . . . . . . . . . . • . . . •.•.. Gabrielle Bershen
St. John's College
Annapolis, Maryland
�The Student's Problem
Lecture on the Liberal Arts, given at St. John's College in
Annapolis on Friday night, September 22, 1967
Eva Brann, Tutor
Fellow members of the Community of Learning,
There is a sickness, traditionally called melancholy, which
is particularly at home in communities of learning such as ours.
Its visible form can be seen in the engraving by Duerer called
Melencolia Prima. Amidst the signs and symbols of the liberal
-arts, especially geometry, sits heavily a winged woman. Her
eyes are fixed intently on visions of nothing - she is a figure of
"careless desolation" surrounded by unvalued riches. Almost all
the older members of this - and any - community of learning, be
they teachers or students, are well acquainted with her. So will
you be, who are fresh to our enterprise, the later the more devastatingly. However, not only we, but students throughout this
country, over a quarter of whose citizens are now entering schools,
are subject to this malady which has, in fact, in this very decade
reached epidemic proportions. It therefore seems right to take
account of it publicly, the more so since its cause is a peculiar
version of a fundamental human problem which is just now beginning
to cause this nation what will turn out to be, I think, its most
characteristic agony. It is the problem of poverty amidst riches.
I shall try to talk about its intellectual aspect not in those facile
current terms which can do little but give the victims the bleak
satisfaction of having a disease at once choice and popular. I shall
not mention either "identity crises" or "alienation, " nor shall I
talk of "middle class values, " rejected or otherwise, and "trends
in society, "rapidly increasing or the opposite. Instead I shall begin by referring to a book which is a compendium of the traditional
wisdom concerning the nature of human unhappiness, written when
the human soul had not yet become a "field" for experts. In the
beginning of the seventeenth century an English scholar, Robert
Burton, wrote for his own relief and for the comfort of his friends
a book called The Anatomy of Melancholy, in which everyone may
find his particular misery acknowledged as a human condition.
Burton makes a distinction between chronic suffering, a true
disease of spirit, and the occasional type, of which he says simply
that "melancholy in this sense is the character of mortality." I
-3-
�think that by the "character -of mortality" he means the knowledge,
implied in every feeling that has any urgency about it, that the time
of our life is finite. Melancholy, however peculiar and complex it
may be, is essentially the sometimes paralyzing and sometimes
frenzying dread of "missing out, " which comes to those who have
had tantalizing intimations of earthly happiness. It is the stronger
the more remote death is, and so strongest in the young, for in
them every day demands the renunciation of a hundred possible
futures for the choice of one actual life, and the very riches of this
indeterminacy may stymie the energies and induce listlessness and
restless sloth. Consequently the opposite of melancholy is riches
in poverty, a serene ardour of the sort perfectly described in a
: Buddist song of which the translation is as follows (I have, of
course, no idea what the original really says):
Well -roofed and pleasant is my little hut,
And screened from winds:- Rain at thy will, thou god!
My heart is well composed, my heart is free,
- And ardent is my mood. Now rain, god! rain.
· Melancholy is, then, a human sickness attendant ort the in · vestrhertt and expenditure of living time. That this is the case is
shown by the kind of reliefthat that part of the youth of this country
is indulging in which negotiates its future for an instant bliss and
sells its hopes for a high moment, as the slogan goes, "right now."
Their prototype is Dr . Faustus, the melancholy scholar who buys
"experiences" of the devil at the expense of all time to come; there
is,. in fact, a very perceptive novel of student life by John Hersey,
called Too Far to Walk, which exploits this very legend of the
melancholy doctor in modern dress.
This then is the sickness which particularly afflicts students,
and I shall now inquire why this is so. Our freshmen will soon
lea.rn that the English word "school" is derived from the Greek
word ''schole" which means "leisure." A student at school is a
· person of leisure, a human being with an abnormal wealth of time
free from business, left free to confront the acknowledged riches
-of the spirit. And yet he often finds his appetite inept to this food,
so that he who must have come because he wanted the life of study
as a whole, cannot bring himself to study this or that assignment
and spends his time in the frame of mind of which Paul says: "For
what I would that do I not; but what I hate, that do I." Why does
this happen?
-4-
�There are certain reasons for student discontent which I
shall not consider much since they do not seem to me to go to the
heart of the matter. One has to do with the restrictions and con formities demanded by the school as a semi-public institution. A
college is a civil association grounded in the body politic and en tirely dependent on it for its survival. Its members, in joining
this association, have in fact agreed to conform to the laws of the
land. There remains, however, the vexed and vastly exaggerated
question of conforming to its conventions. Here a subtle argument
applies, and a student's appreciation of it is the measure of his
understanding of the nature of a liberal education. For as I shall
try to show later, a proper school harbours within itself such
depths of true dissent and such abysses of true radicality, that an
unobtrusive cloak of ordinary behavior is essential to its internal
and external survival. Those who are considering growing long
beards and sporting bare feet are, though they may not know it,
supported even by classical Western authority, for the last great
pagan, the Emperor Julian, showed in his essay called the "Beardhater" that it is a sign of Christian impiousness to despise beards,
which are, even when thickets of lice, the philosopher's attribute.
And who has read Plato's Symposium and does not know that bare
feet are the very marks of the demon Love himself? But it is precisely because he appreciates the significance of such external
signs that a serious person can afford to avoid them until he is
sure that he knows what he is doing and to whom - to call such
deliberate conformity hypocrisy is extremely simple-minded.
Much restlessness also arises from the fact that students,
who are in these years by the plan of nature at the peak of their
sexual desires, are required by serious schools to observe the
rites of celibacy. In this, more than in any other respect, the
rules of school - life are no mere conventions, for whoever knows
anything about the life of learning will not entertain the frivolous
notion that it ought to be a very natural or satisfied life, but will
understand that it requires a certain tension of soul and body and a
certain reserve of deferred desire. µi the Symposium Aristophanes,
whose business as a comedian it is to pursue the logic of ordinary
and natural human behavior to its absurd end, gives a picture of
constantly fulfilled desire as a frontless, faceless "two-backed
beast" within which the mediating distance through which Eros
needs to move has been closed, with the result that love and its
attendant learning are at an end. And indeed, most of us have felt
a certain loss of ardour in ageneration which feels free to proceed
-5-
�immediately to that end.
Such then are what appear to me false irritants. There is,
of course, also a genuine reason for the universal student disgust,
and this has no cure but revolution - just such a revolution, I be lieve, as took place when the present program was instituted at
this school over a generation ago. * Let me describe, justly, I
hope, what seems to me the position which must be overthrown,
the position of the vast majority of those engaged in the vast busi ness of higher education.
They consider that there are at hand ready made bodies of
information and disciplines which constitute the heritage of human
learning. These must be made available to the student, who may,
however, be expected to choose among them and who is therefore
expected to desire to learn the ones he elects. Moreover, a certain
randomness or freedom is granted in the manner in which the subject is to be absorbed, and some resistance to the mental food is
not only expected but is actually considered healthy. Incentives
such as marks are certainly used, but it is recognized that the best
feeders ingest because they are hungry. The finest of the teachers
under this view of learning are usually those who have themselves
become in turn absorbed in their subject and are contributing.to its
advancement. The institution of learning which corresponds to this
·'view is a vast clearing-house for the private predilections of people
who are, to be sure, usually very much in earnest. This storehouse of specialist knowledge is the university, with its two major
divisions of the sciences and the humanities and its combination
of freedom of choice and formalization of presentation. The activity carried on there is diverse and stimulating, and yet efficiently
organized, as Kant already observed, like a factory, on the
principle of division of labor. It is in the nature of the set-up that
the latest, the most effective and the most highly technical and
theoretically elegant field is found most captivating by bright and
. fresh students, and that the universities should become the breeding grounds of sophisticated theories and techniques.
~
*The program of St. John's College requires every student
to· pursue the elements of the linguistic as well as the mathematical
arts; and to consider seriously certain books belonging to the reflective tradition.
-6-
�Now why is it that this veritable smorgasbord of learning is
more often than not stale and tasteless for its students? It is, I
think, because this view of learning regards everything whichis
not the latest technique as rriere history, somehow fascinating to
those who happen to be curious and fond of sight-seeing, but not
inevitably interesting to all who are human: "For to converse with
those of other centuries is almost the same thing as totravel,"
says Descartes in the Discourse. The effect of engaging in such
historical, or "objective", investigations of other people's affairs
and opinions can be deadly. Let me read you what the most prophetic critic of our contemporary life, Nietzsche, wrote about the
universities of 1873:
. . . The young man is kicked through all the centuries;
boys who know nothing of war, diplomacy, or commerce
are considered fit to be introduced to political history. We
moderns also run through art galleries and hear concerts
in the same way as the youngman runs through history. We
can feel that one thing sounds different from another, and
pronounce on the different "effects." And the power of
gradually losing all feelings of strangeness or astonishment,
and finally being pleased at anything, is called the historical
sense or historical culture. The crowd of influences
streaming on the young soul is so great, the clods of barbarism and violence flung at him so strange and overwhelm ing, that an assumed stupidity is his only refuge. Where
there is a subtler and stronger self-consciousness we find
another emotion, too - disgust. The young man has become
homeless: _ he doubts all ideas, all moralities. He knows
"it was different in every age, and what you are does not
matter. " . . . No, such study of history bewilders and
overwhelms. It is not necessary for youth, as the ancients
show, but even in the highest degree dangerous, as the
moderns show. Consider the student of history, the heir of
ennui that appears even in his boyhood. He has the "me thods" for original work, the "correct ideas" and the airs of
the master at his fingers' ends. A little isolated period of
the past is marked out for sacrifice. He cleverly applies
his method and produces something, or rather, in prouder
phrase, "creates" something. ·He becomes a "servant of
truth" and a ruler in the great domain of history. Ifhe was
what they call ripe as a boy, he is now overripe. You only
need shake him and wisdom will rattle down into your lap;
-7-
�but the wisdom is rotten, and every apple has its worm. . .
Thus Nietzsche.
But I shall not linger on this genuine cause of student des pair either, since you at St. John's College are not, I think, confronted with it. If the sin of the universities may be defined as the
perversion of tradition into history and of the liberal arts into
special techniques, then the deeply conservative revolution by which
the program of this college was instituted may be described as a
return to the tradition of learning and the liberal arts. But as ,the
freshman will learn all too soon, this campus too is the scene of
much confusion of the spirit resulting in dreary apathy or danger ous wildness. Whatever the particular circumstances of those afflicted, in some central way our program of study is responsible.
It too occasionally induces melancholy, and that in some of the
most serious students, who sometimes feel a stultifying lack of fit
between their human necessities and the store of learning provided,
to whom the wisdom of the ages sometimes appears as a grotesque
formalization of their vital problems, for whom the course of
study sometimes runs aslant of, or counter to, the course of their
lives. So I shall address myself now to this particular problem
which I recognize as the central legitimate difficulty of the life of
learning: Why are we sometimes unable to accept the riches we
have inherited? I shall do this by investigating what the liberal
arts are and, in connection with this, what is meant by our tradition of learning.
For us it is not so important to know that there are traditionally seven liberal arts as to understand why these are divided
into two groups, the trivium of grammar, rhetoric and logic and
the quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy.
This division mirrors the double nature of learning, namely that
it is always done through words on the one hand, and that these are
always concerned with learnable objects on the other. The trivium,
the arts of the word, deals with those skills by which thought, that
which is internal to human beings, is brought out, expressed and
made communal, while the quadrivium, the arts, one might say,
of the world, deals with those skills which help us to acquire as
knowledge what is in the world, apart from and outside of our
speech. The first group was sometimes called "exoteric, "suitable
for the uninitiated, since words are that of which all human beings
-8-
�have sufficient natural know ledge to be ready for artful instruction.
Thus grammar, the art of using words correctly is, as Cassiodorus, the sixth century author of a book fundamental for the whole
subsequent liberal arts tradition, says, the principle, source and
foundation of the arts. The second group was, correspondingly,
called "acroamatic," meaning the arts "to be heard," namely by
fewer and more advanced students. This distinction goes back to
Plato's Republic, in which all citizens receive some sort of education in poetry, while only certain chosen C'>nes study precisely those
arts which were later to be known as the quadrivium - arithmetic,
geometry, astronomy, and music, dealing in turn with numbers,
bodies, moving bodies and audible moving bodies, understood as
the intelligible elements which constitute the natural world. I
mention this ancient and medieval distinction because, with acertain shift of meaning and blurring of lines, it still dominates the
schools. The devotees, as we all know, of the literary fields often
think of mathematicians and scientists as practicing black arts
alien to humanity, while the latter think of the former quite simply
as occupied with "trivial" matters.
Now that I have said briefly what liberal arts traditionally
exist, let us take a look at their name itself. The liberal arts are
the "free" or "freeing arts." But isn't the phrase which names
them a contradiction in terms? Listen how John of Salisbury, a
medieval defender of the trivium, defines "art" in his work called
Metalogicon: "Art is a reasonable procedure which, using the
shortcuts proper to it, brings about a facility for achieving the
naturally possible. For in this procedure reason does not promise
to undertake or effect the impossible, but having in view those
things which can be done, it opposes, as it were, to the wasteful
circuitous road of nature a short cut, and brings into being, if I
may put it this way, a faculty for mastering the difficult. For this
reason the Greeks speak of art as 'method,' a 'short way, ' which
avoidi? the extra expenditure of nature and makes straight its winding circuit, so that that which is to be done can be done more di rectly and easily." And Thomas Aquinas says: "Art, then, is a
method, a set course, whose pursuit has become a habit, a second
nature, and whose aim is to do something and to do it efficiently. "
(It goes, of course, without saying that the activities of people
called "artists" at present can be called arts only insofar as these
people are fully in command of their work. But we are, in any
case, not now concerned with the so-called productive or with the
mechanical arts, but with the arts of learning.)
-9-
�Now to be able to do things in this way means to be a train ed expert. The notion of efficient theoretical know-how, acquired
by habit-forming training, by the internalizing of precepts, which
dominates the modern instructional business, derives, therefore,
strange to say, from the traditional liberal arts themselves. The
arts are understood as curriculum subjects, scheduled and insti tutionalized learning programs, or as John of Salisbury himself
calls them: "compendia," sets of precepts governing a range of
particulars. Since the body of such precepts needs to be developed
and perfected by the concerted and continued efforts of the masters
of the arts, arts-learning is always "traditional" in the two senses
of the Latin word "tradere," namely of "handing on" and of "betraying" a heritage. For the accumulation of know-how is on the one
hand passed down, mostly in books, from generation to generation,
and regarded as a valuable inheritance, but on the other hand, insofar as improvements and advancements in learning are made,
each generation is very willing to forget and deny the perch from
which it took off - and obviously, the steeper the flight, the more
vehement the denial. To give an example: for almost two millenia
the great tool of learning which tops off the triviwn, logic, had had
its most authoritative statement in a body of treatises by Aristotle
called traditionally the Organon or "Instrument." At the beginning
of the seventeenth century Francis Bacon published, as part of a
huge plan for the re-organization of human knowledge, a work
significantly and boldly called the "New Organon," in which he
writes: "For after the sciences had been cultivated and handled
diligently, there has risen up some man of bold disposition (he
means Aristotle), and famous for methods and short ways, which
people like, who has in appearance reduced them to an art, while
he has, in fact only spoiled all that the others had done." And that
from a man a good quarter of whose vocabulary is, I would think,
Aristotelian! The point, however, which I mean to make is that
the arts-tradition, characterized by the conception of art as
method, is as much behind the iconoclast as behind the scholastic.
Let us take a very brief and inadequate look at the history
and meaning of this word, "method. " The Greek word m~thodos
means simply "a way to follow" or a "pursuit." In the dialogue
The Republic, Socrates uses the word in just this way. He speaks
of the "pursuit" of mathematical studies which will end in a unified
view of all of these, and then goes on to speak of the "way followed
by dialectic, which alone travels in such a way that it gets rid of
hypotheses and comes to the source itself . . . . " If someone
-10-
�were to translate "the way followed by dialectic" by the words "the
dialectic method" he would be very much misrepresenting Plato's
text, for the way of dialectic, the way of questions and answers
about the nature of things, is, as I shall try to show, fundamentally different from, if not diametrically opposed to, the artful, abbreviated, problem-solving procedure which is signified by the
word for us. Gradually, largely under the influence of medical
writers, who particularly appropriate the word and mean by it a
rationalized technique of treatment clearly communicable to an
apprentice physician, method comes to be a key word with very
nearly its present meaning. An obvious and essential part of this
meaning is that such a technique must be teachable, that is, - there
must be handy, rationally organized compendia of precepts such as
are associated with a program of studies; an art must have "elements," first beginnings through which a student is properly introduced to it. In fact, in time "method" sometimes comes to
mean simply "curricular subject, " any organized public presenta ti on. By the sixteenth century interest in "method" as the pedagogi cal side of arts learning had become rampantly exaggerated. An
outraged scholar (I'urnebe) of the period says: "Method - no word
is more popular in our lectures these days, none more often heard
none give a more delightful ring than that term. . . . " And
Ramus, the prolific rhetorician whom he is attacking and who is the
great proponent of method at this time, says: "But method is used
not only in the matter of arts and curricular subjects but in every
matter which we wish to teach easily and clearly." Our modern
"textbooks" are the consequences of this trend.
In the next century the method of method undergoes one of
those great betrayals of which I have spoken. Having been so far
largely in the service of humanist training, particularly rhetoric
and logic, or, in terms of the liberal arts, in the service of the
trivium, it is freshly appropriated now for the inquiry of nature,
it becomes "scientific," always with the intimation that no previous
method was a true method. The work most characteristic of this
development and most influential in the new understanding of the
meaning of science (although by no means in the actual pursuit of
it) is Descartes introduction to three physico-mathematical
treatises setting out his own discoveries in optics, analytical
geometry and metc:;orology, called significantly a Oiscourse on the
Method of Rightly Conducting the Reason and Seeking for Truth in
the Sciences. It proposes essentially the introduction of quantita-
-11-
�tive, that is, mathematical, methods into the speculative or liberal
arts. Descartes says: "Most of all I was delighted with mathematics because of the certainty of its demonstrations and the evidence
of its reasoriing, but I did not yet understand its true use, and believing that it was of service only in the mechanical arts, I was
astonished that, seeing how firm and solid was its basis, no loftier
edifice has been reared thereupon." And later on: "I have never
made much of those things which proceed from my own mind, and
so long as I culled no other fruits from the method which I use,
beyond . that of satisfying myself respecting certain difficulties
which pertain to the speculative sciences . . . , I never believed
myself obliged to write anything about it, but so soon as I had ac quired some general notions concerning physics I believed that I
could not keep them concealed . . .. For they caused me to see that
it is possible to attain knowledge which is very useful in life and
that, instead bf that speculative philosophy which is taught in the
Schools, we may find a practical philosophy by means of which,
knowing the force and action of fire, water, air, the stars, heavens
and all other bodies that environ us as distinctly as we know the'
different crafts of our artisans, we can in the same way employ
them in all those uses to which they are adopted, and thus render
ourselves the masters and possessors of nature. " (Incidentally,
the phrase "practical philosophy" contains that very self-contradiction I am on the way to pointing out - for what in the world might
an "applied" love of wisdom be? - whose end-result is that thorough
debasement of philosophy whieh Hegel, with vicious humour, il lustrates in his Encyclopaedia by a new book title he found announced
in an English newspaper, namely "The Art of Preserving Hair on
Philosophical Principles.") Speaking very broadly, then, ever
since Descartes to be "scientific" means to introduce the Cartesian
method or to approach matters of any sort as a natural scientist.
As one little sample of the scope and pervasiveness of the method,
I might quote from just such an application, Emile Durkheim's
fundamental essay on sociology, called "The Rules of Sociological
Method." In this book he says: "that what the method demands is
that the sociologist put himself in the same state. of mind as the
physicist, chemist, or physiologist. "
I have introduced this insufficient little disquisition on
method to complete the description of the arts side of the liberal
arts. Arts are rules for the direction of the mind, binding precepts. Medieval writers, who are still much concerned with the
nature of the curricular arts, emphasize this by their understand-12-
�ing of the etymology of the Latin word "artes" itself. The same
Cassiodorus I mentioned before, as well as Isidore of Seville,
claims that arts are so called because, in Latin, "artant arte"
(translated: "they bind strictly"). Thus the arts appear to be the
opposite of free or freeing. Again Cassiodorus - the work, inci dentally; in which he introduces the pagan liberal arts into Christendom is called the Institutes of Divine and Worldly Arts - recognizes this problem by rather shamelessly claiming that "liberal"
comes from "liber, "book, thus turning the free arts into the bookish arts, a characterization which does, of course, in view of the
traditional nature of the arts, have some appropriateness. John of
Salisbury, again, catches another aspect in understanding "liberal"
as pertaining to "liberi, " children, so that the arts are here interpreted as the education of children, which also has some truth
in it. A last medieval writer, Hugo
St. Victor, in his very acute
discussion of the liberal arts called the Didascalicon, the "Teacher's Manual, " takes full account of the fact that the arts are con straining and that they are, perforce, taught by masters to. the
immature: "They are indeed the best instruments and rudiments
for preparing the way for the soul of a full knowledge of philosophi cal truth. This is why they are called the three-way (the trivium)
and the fourway (the quadrivium) . . . . Of Pythagoras too it is
said that he employed in his studies · a special custom." (I should
remark here that the introduction of the quadrivium is traditionally attributed to Pythagoras, a Greek "mathematician" of the sixth
century B. C., , the same one who is said to have introduced the
word philosophia, literally the "love of, or friendship, for wisdom").
"For seven years," Hugo continues, "obviously corresponding to
the seven liberal arts, none of his students might dare to demand
of him a reason for what he said, but the words of the master had
to be taken on faith until the student hadheard everything and could
thus find the reason for himself." With this story Hugo acknowledges that the very arts intended to make the independent search
for knowledge possible must come to the student as to a child, in
a constraining and authoritative way. We all know that this aspect
of the teaching of the arts is usually predominant.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century appeared a work
which crystalizes the development which I am sketching, and which
0
oreshadows, in an almost uncanny way, the problem of our own
:ducational situation, Giambatista Vico's expanded lecture On the
Study Plan of Our Time.
Vico understands what he calls "the
genius of his time, " his modernity, in terms of the menacing
-13-
�dominance of the scientific method; the whole work is a reaction of
somewhat concealed but vehement opposition to Bacon and Des cartes. He describes the method of the latter, which he calls the
"new critical philosophy," as intending to be "the common instrument of all our arts and sciences," which "supplies us with something fundamentally true of which we can be certain even when as sailed by doubt." There are also particular instruments such as
the telescope, the microscope, the universities, the printing press,
which assist in the discovery and mastery of nature and in the wide
dispersion of that knowledge. But of all these the most powerful
instrument is "analysis," that is, algebra, which represents the
method in all its characteristic aspects, in its brevity, ease,
communicability, power. Vico, although he acknowledges these
virtues, is at heart disturbed by the predominance of training in
these swift and certain manipulations in the study programs of
young men. He believes that "the greatest drawback of our educational plan is that we pay an excessive amount of attention to the
natural sciences and not enough to matters of human conduct."
Vico, who delivered this lecture in his official capacity as Professor of Rhetoric at the University of Naples, wants to lead the
university back to an emphasis on the uncertain, understood as the
probable, which, he conceives, was taught in traditional logic. He
wants the imagination again to be trained by poetry, the common
sense by the wisdom of the ancients and the judgement by the opinions of contemporary men. In short, he wants the universities to
give more weight to what we call the humanities, which are for
him comprised in rhetoric. He is initiating, under the guise of the
then current topic of the quarrel between the ancients and the
moderns, the deeply shallow division of university learning into
the "two cultures" of humanism and science with which we are
more than ever afflicted. Now note what lies at the root ofthis
quarrel. It is the difference between method and non-method. Let
him who is not to be a physicist or mechanic, Vico says, "not
spend much time as a boy or afterwards in those studies which are
handed on by method." The founders of such studies are compared
to tyrants who scatter the inhabitants of a eity to prevent opposition, who hobble individual judgment with rules, and gravest of all,
who know nothing of free speech. The distinction between studies
is based only secondarily on the nature of the objects involved, and
primarily on the kind of approach used. But this distinction leads
to an almost paradoxical classification. The natural sciences
alone are artful, in the sense _ being methodical, while all that
of
concerns not the experts but humanity in common is artless, that
-14-
�is, free, but only in the sense of having no strict procedure, and
being dependent on the taste and talent of each individual. Vico
himself does not fail to issue a demand for the unification of the
study plan of universities, but, I submit, his own understanding of
the di vision of studies makes this unification permanently im possible, as the present state of universities, 250 years after
Vico's lecture, shows. For so long as the sciences are regarded
as the rigorously reasoned but inhuman business of a group specially habituated to a certain theoretical procedure, while a vast con glomeration of interests called the humanities are in the hands of
professors who do not take quite so great a professional pride in
their ability to think rigorously as in the meticulousness of their
sensibility, clearly no power on earth, not even that benevolent
coercion, an interdisciplinary credit requirement, can persuade
very many students to study seriously in both divisions. For
everyone will plead that his preferences are really the expression
of his aptitudes and that he has, as the case may be, that famous
"block" against mathematics or against languages. And so the
liberal arts disappear, torn apart into the humanly rudderless artfulness of scientific method and the willful freedom of organized
idiosyncracy. As I have tried to show, this division, driven to
pernicious extremes in the universities, is in fact already inherent
in the very notion of the liberal arts and in any liberal arts program, and our problem raises the possibility that the very neces sity of the paradox points to some understanding which, instead oi
perpetuating the division, will heal it by showing it to be an indis pensable and yet a merely intermediary phase of a truly humar
education. To point out this possibility will, among other things,
mean giving aid and comfort to that serious student whose diffi culties with our program are precisely that it presents himat fixed
and perhaps privately inappropriate times with prepared problems
and procedures, which may all seem to shunt aside rather than
meet his own concerns and doubts. In particular, there are those
well-known scandals, the so-called classics of tradition, the foremost food of solid schools, which, although presented as containing
what human wisdom there is, seem to insist on speaking in terms
infuriatingly remote and "academic." And yet every student acknowledges with his act of matriculation that he is in need of an
organized community of learning where there will perforce be a
set sequence of studies such as can take little account of the con tingencies of the single human soul, and that whatever skills and
arts there are can hardly be transmitted otherwise than in the
terms of those who perfected them, so that in the beginning, at
-15-
�least, their rules and precepts and requirements must be submitted to. What troubles him, and rightly, is how he himself fares in
this beneficent assault, how the tyranny exercised by the arts can
ever succeed in setting him free from confusion and impotence.
The problem can now be formulated m this way: how can the arts
be the freeing arts?
Let me put that same problem one last time in te rms of a
simple and pointed formula. Human inquiry proceeds either .£y
setting problems or by asking questions. I would by no means
claim that the distinction between them which I am about to offer
is simply a general fact of language usage; in fact, the Cartesian
work which formulates the "rules for the direction of the mind"
toward problems specifically terms these "questiones." But it is
sufficiently pervasive at present for my purpose. Vico had, very
accurately, seen the essence of Descartes' new method in an instrument which he regarded as a great danger to the human spirit,
in "analysis" or algebra. Now Descartes himself received this
instrument from a great but insufficiently acknowledged predeces sor, Franciscus Vieta by name. His fundamental essay, which
has the significant name "Introduction to the Analytical Art, " ends
with the following stupendous claim:
"Finally, the analytical art
appropriates to itself by right the proud problem of problems,
which is: TO SOLVE EVERY PROBLEM." We are still or rather,
more than ever, dominated by Vieta's immense ambition. We see
everywhere and in everything problems which we expect to solve
by the application of some general method - that is why we submit
to the tyranny of a training. We speak of the "problem of freedom" or the "problem of God." Our griefs a::re called "personal
problems, " and if they are expressed in a form annoying to others,
"personality problems;" our aches and pains are "health problems," our vices "drinking problems" and the like; our public
statements, especially lectures, frequently recur to "the problem
under examination. "
What is a problem? Again it will be useful to go back to the
original meaning of the word in Greek. A problema is simply
"something thrown out before" us, anything from an outwork, that
is, a defensive structure thrown out before a military camp, to a
task set before someone to be done. The word was also used with
a special meaning in geometry, where it signified that a construe tion was to be furnished rather than a theorem demonstrated. For
instance, the last book of Euclid's Elements culminates in a series
-16-
�of problems, the constructing of the five regular solids; and the
propositions read, in abbreviated form: "to construct a pyramid",
"to construct an octahedron, " a cube, an icosahedron, a dodecahedron. An ancient commentator observes that in some sense all
problems are theorems, for "we regard the generation that takes
place iu them as referring not to actual making but to' knowledge, "
and Euclid presents his problems in this theoretical way. But
there is a procedure which is special to problems as distinct from
theorems and which the Greeks called "analysis;" here is the
source of this important method, which consists essentially in
imagining the construction as having already been done, and then
analyzing it, that is, breaking it up, to discover how it could have
been do.n e. The elements which, as the technical phrase goes,
wUl "do the problem" are then put back together or "synthesized."
Furthermore, Aristotle, using the word "problem" in a logical
context, distinguishes it, in his Topics, from the straight-forward
interrogative proposition by the manner of the response expected;
the problematic form constrains the answer to be an affirmative
or a negative, as, for example in the question: "Is it, or is it not
the case that animal is the genus of man", while the propositional
form simply asks: "Is animal the genus of man?"
We see that there are three related aspects to a problem.
It is first of all a challenge, a publicly enunciated task requiring a
solution in its own terms; secondly, its solution usually has the
nature of a construction which may well be a th·e oretical construct;
and finally and fundamentally, a problem is characteristically that
which requires a solution, that is to say it requires its own aboli tion; a solv;ed problem is no longer a problem, and problems once
solved are very legitimately forgotten. Take as an example the
famous problem of squaring the circle, attacked in the past with
veritably fanatical persistence. When in 1882 this problem was
solved, or rather resolved, by being proved to be insoluble, the
many clever efforts made in its behalf all, at a stroke, lost their
interest except for antiquarians or slightly unhinged characters,
like Public Prosecutor Paravant in Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain,
who, laying out a piece of string on the circumference of a circle,
attempts to catch the problem napping, as it were, by suddenly
pouncing on the string and stretching ,it into the shape of a square.
This self-destroying nature of a problem is acknowledged by Bacon
and Vico and Kant, who all use for their new method, the method
which turns every question into a soluble problem, the metaphor
of Ariadne's clue, the thread which lead Theseus out of the laby-17-·
�rinth to safety after he had killed the monster at the center.
Problems have a fourth aspect, which is the one most relevant in my present context. In the Republic Socrates makes a
special point of introducing problems into the quadrivium. He says:
"Then in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems
and let the heavens alone . . . . " We have some evidence of what
he meant by "employing problems" and "letting the heavens alone,"
since Plato is said to have set for his students the problem of
rationalizing the irregularity of the visible heavenly motions by
going beyond them to form mathematical hypotheses. The word
"hypothesis" as used here designates the solution of the special
kind of problem which calls for a mathematical fiction such as shall,
without itself laying any claim to being true, provide a rational
underpinning for the errant appearances of nature. What hypotheses are produced is never quite so interesting as that they
should be produceable. From this point of view Socrates' call for
the use of problems by learners, that is, the demand that they
should construct hypotheses, is a demand that they should learn by
exercising their skills on questions the answers to which are fundamentally indifferent. We are all very familiar with a rather low
example of this teaching device: the practice problem. For instance, an analytic geometry textbook may present a student with
the problem (I choose one of a multitude): "Show analytically that
the latus rectum of a parabola is of length 4a. " This is the very
model of a problem, showing explicitly what every problem at least
implies. To begin with, the author and i:he student are both aware
t,hat the problem is not waiting for the latter to be solved - his
solution is in itself of no interest. Furthermore he is to "show
analytically" what is required, and he understands immediately that
this means "show by constructing an equation, " "show algebraically. "
Just as the arts have in them the seeds of the scientific method, so
the very notion of problem has in it an invitation to analysis or
algebra; you will remember that analysis was originally a geometric procedure in which a construction is regarded as accomplish ed from the very beginning and then analyzed. But this is precisely what the fundamental algebraic form, the "formula" or equation,
does for general numbers, for when I write 3x=l2, I am putting
down a mathematical sentence which requires no question mark,
much as if I already knew the answer, and all I need to do to make
that answer explicit is to analyze out the unknown number by re organizing the equation. Now I can simply read off: x= 12 == 4.
3
-18-
�The solution, four, does away with and abolishes the problem, for
when I substitute it in place of x, the equation becomes an identity,
a useless tautology. But most significantly, the unknown is fourid
wholly in terms of the original problem so that the solution reaches
in no way beyond it. Now, this procedure, although most nakedly
apparent in mathematics, may be used in any art, and, as some
people think, even in those human enterprises which go beyond the
arts, if only their terms have been compacted into recognized
obstacles, outworks inviting attack, that is problems. This is in
fact our predominant way.
Let me now say what a problem is in terms of all that has
gone before. A problem is a sham question, a counterfeit question.
For a genuine question is the desire for an answer, and it does not
dissolve when an answer is gained anymore than love necessarily
disappears because its object is won. A genuine question does not
demand an answer in its own terms or on its own level, but seeks
its desire wherever it may hope to find it, remaining open to any
intimation its object might give. Nor will it rest satisfied by a
construct or a fiction fabricated only to set it at rest, for it wants
only what is in itself worth having. Problems are ultimately exercises, mere means, but questions are the serious and final hu man business. Let me try to formulate this once more.
Is there something which human beings have for themselves,
which is so very much our own that if we found a creat:Ure that
possessed that same ability we would count it as human, no matter
what its shape? Or, to put it in the opposite way, a very contemporary way: is there not something that we can be certain the
most complex computer can never do? There is such a thing. The
most sophisticated machine can never ask a question. For it can
never feel the desire to know, which is the heart of a question.
This desire, the desire in a true question, is not for apre-conceived x, hidden but present and entangled with all the terms at hand,
but for something beyond. If, for instance, I seriously ask "what
human learning might be?" I do not want my question transformed
into the . problem of describing learning "systematically" or of
"measuring it methodically," or of finding its "correlative phenomena, " or even of "constructing an effective theory" of learning,
·· but I want to gr asp what it truly is whenever it takes place. Here
my very question implies that everything that is presented to me
about learning, in observation or in books, is external and insufficient; I want to know for myself, and yet, in the common langu-19-
�age of human beings, what makes the thing what it is. I am not
looking for a pre-conceived x, unknown for the moment but so involved with and defined by the problem itself that I need only to
re-arrange the terms cleverly enough to get a solution, but I want
something beyond these, namely the reason why the thing is what
it is, and I want this reason to be freely communicable. Every
"academic" search, particularly the kind nowadays called "research, " moves strictly within the set terms of its discipline, and
is therefore usually of interest only to the expert specialist, while
many others can live without it: the quest of a question alone is
after that without which we can hardly be said to live our lives, at
least as human beings. So it is the genuineness of the desire in a
question which keeps it open, keeps it from pre-judging the answer
by setting it terms. There are no "traditional, " inherited, ques tions; every question is my own, and yet every such question is
generic to human beings, insofar as they are human.
Here now is the place to say something about "the Tradi tion" and its relevance to the quest for truth and the love of wisdom.
The unreflective opinion of the times has it that human wisdom is
both cumulative and automatically transferrable. We speak all the
time of "our rapidly increasing knowledge," "our recent achievements and advances, " "our breakthrough" in this or that field, as
if each contemporary human magically acquired the results of the
research carried on by thousands of different people. Ridiculously
we talk as if human beings were no longer born as naked little
babies who have to begin the learning process at the beginning and
who have perhaps a quarter century to invest in it. Now the Pla tonic dialogue The Statesman does envision a race of men born old
and, perhaps, wise, who return in the course of their lives to a
first childhood. But this race lives when the world's time is reversed, in the Golden Age when a god sits at the temporal tiller of
the cosmos. In our present, mortally governed, world we have to
begin at the beginning. Undeniably, the disciplines of the quadri vium, more modernly speaking, of mathematics and the sciences,
are "progressive," in the sense of being capable of becoming more
and more sophisticated and potent tools of research and manipula tion. But this does not for a moment mean that the young man
who "inherits" such subjects in their advanced state has inherited
accumulated knowledge. The wisdom of babes may indeed be
powerful, but it is almost always bought at the expense of a re flective understanding of the terms and first elements of the science
in question, for such an understanding becomes almost inaccessible
-20-
�when the beginnings of a disciplinewhich arose progressively, that
i's, as a continuous sequence of problems, are relegated to mere
history. Most possessors of such latter-day knowledge are, I say,
prodigious babies, Peter Pans of wisdom who, incapable of remembering their past, lightly fly hither and thither over their o\vn
fantastic islands, · having lost their mother and the groi.ind under
their feet. . Those, on the other hand, who are willing, as you are,
to go more slowly in order to keep solid ground underfoot, will
soon find themselves involved in the dialogue of tradition. It is a
telling fact that a work by the very founder of modern physics; the
one which introduces ·the New Astronomy tb the public, is itself
written in dialogue form and includes among its participants his
Greek predecessor: in Galileo's Dialogue Concerning the Chief
Two World Systems, Aristotle, the founder of the ancient physics,
is literally present in the shape of a book in the pocket of one of the
interlocutors; this is Galileo's way of acknowledging that thebasis
of the New Sciences is the responsive repudiation of the tradition.
On the other hand, in those studies which are not progressive in their original design but only insofar as they are forcibly
assimilated to the natural sciences, for instance, in psychology,
anthropology and sociology (the accounts of the soul, of man and
of community) the tradition is yet more than the grolln.d of the present - it is that present itself, for quite aside from the incidental
fact that our times seem to me to show a strong decline of wisdom
concerning these matters, the tradition, just because it is not
progressive, consists of a conversation in which the participants
listen to each other, circumvent, re-invent and echo each other,
so that while temporal in its parts, it is timeless, or ever-present,
as a whole. It is in this sense that it seems tome possible that our
West alone. has a tradition, that this strange dialogue of contemporaries who are yet bound into their times, this sequence .of acceptance and betrayal, can take place only through books in the Western
sense, ,hooks of arguable "theory" rather than of spiritual practice.
This 'conjecture is supported by circumstances of the following
sorts: the the Indians , for instance, seem to have no word for
philosophy, for that search for a wisdom which is a communicable
activity rather than a silent possession.
Now how are · the members of this tradition established?
This is the general version of the perennial question: how do we
choose our seminar books?, for the tradition comes to us through
books. What books are these? Are we entirely at the mercy of our
-21-
�library catalogues? We are indeed. It seems to me just as possi ble that there are momentous manuscripts which are quite unknown
as that unworthy books become canonized. But all in all, I think
we can trust the consensus of reading mankind as shown in the
quantity of the propagation of a book. We can do this so much the
more safely because of a human fact which I have always marvelled
at - that worthy works attract the professional industry of legions
of people who have no interest in their contents. A principal
example of this in my own experience is the crowd of classical
philologists, those "scientific language microscopists," as Nietzsche calls them, who fill libraries with comment on the attendant
circumstances of wisdom.
What single trait dis tinguishes the persons acknowledged as
belonging to the tradition? Here we must refer once again to the
distinction made between history and tradition. The persons of
history, if there be such a science, must be, as Hegel says,
nations. The persons of tradition are single and special human
souls. If there be such an item as "the Greek mind, " if for instance
it was the pervasive quirk of canonical Greeks to believe in visible
gods, then the authors of the classical tradition have probably overcome that quirk and are certainly not of that mind. For these
authors are usually radicals; this is why they are at worst ignored
and at best considered dangerous in their own times. So that if,
for instance, the Olympian gods appear in the Homeric poems,
they may safely be suspected of playing there a role deeply different from that which they played in the mind of "the Greeks, " a
problematic, perhaps even an ironic, role. Hence so-called
"historical backgrounds" can never help to understand the central
intention of works of tradition (except, perhaps, to set off the
foregroundofthought by contrast), since history does not make that
which is valuable in the tradition - although the tradition sometimes
makes history. For the authors of tradition sound a reflective
descant on the common opinions of mankind and the peculiar opin ions of their nation - and so these opinions sometimes modulate.
The tradition is, then, always problematic, and it is for this
reason that no one is born into it. As children we become entan g led in a web of accepted opinions and conventions; in youth we begin,
largely by means of books, to break out of this cocoon into the light
of the tradition, and this cannot help but be .a laborious but monumentous phase of our lives. Nowadays most of the earliest serious
reading done is contemporary, and this raises a question which I
-22-
�will put very outrageously: Are contemporary writings ever part
of ·the tradition? or, what is the same thing: Are contemporary
writirigs ever relevant to the hurtJ.an condition? There seems to be
no inherent reason why they should not be, though it is, perhaps,
as unlikely for a "contemporary" to enter into the realm of trac:lition as for · the camel to go through the needle's eye, simply because it is'. essentially the agreeably conforming, even if apparently shocklng, which instantaneously fascinates and becomes pbpu lar, while the' tradition is always somewhat uncomfortable, not to
say repiilsiv~ . .· · Especially at present, the contemporary, with its
accent orl the new, the changeable and the young, tends to be sham
radfral, and i.t s problems tend to be derivative and, in fact, antiquated. ·. For to begin with, it is self-defeating to insist on newness 'and youth as independent goods, forgetting that newness and
youth are conditions which by their very nature have no future. But
more important, the easy revolt of the contemporary scene is an
opposition almost entirely determined by that which is rejects, a
mirror image of common current opinion; conthlning all the flaws
of the older opponent in reverse, a counteraction in the manner of
·a brute body whose reaction is equal to the action upon it. Such
mere :qehavior is truly "reactionary." . I will give an example. In
1864 · Dostoyevsky published a manifesto of genuine despair over
ciV:i.l:faation,calledLetters from the Underworld, in whieh he wrote:
hF solerrip.ly declare to you that I have often wished to become an
i'ns'ect; but couldliever attain my desire." In this century, over a
~eneration ago; Franz l(afk~ wrote a dreadful story called "The
Metamorphbsis, " in which one young man, a travelling salesman,
in silent 'desperation over what present day jargon would call
''middle Class values" painfully turns himself into a great cocktdach'; In . the 19pO's, finally, a whole swarm of youngmen turn
therhselves into Beatles with the most exuberant facility, and the
fuldej:'ground man emerges in amiable companies, his eyes shield:
ed' against the Unwonted sun, his inardculate wisdom pinned to him
on a printed button, his ways mildly lawless, his uniform complete•
ly determined by opposition to rosily wholesome suburbanity, a
harmless, institutionalized latter-day version of the prophetic,
criminal outcast of the Western traditicn.
It is, then, the very radicality of the tradition which mikes
it so· inaccessible. For to become absorbed in the tradition means
quite simply to break away both from one's own private idiom and
the current public jargon into the language of humanity, to com tntinieate; not in the current sense of "being effective" or "making
-23-
�contact," but in the sense of entering the human community. The
traditional authors, who speak that language, must always seem
somewhat forbidding, for this human tongue is much more boldly
simple and subtly complex than the dialect of our place and time.
It takes time to grow simple and subtle and requires a certain
willing trust in the wisdom of these initiators and guides, who are
as yet untried strangers, but such an expense of present, youthful
time is the best way of insuring a future in which ardour will on
the whole outweigh melancholy. For at best a faithful student has
hope of sharing the experience of Dante in his journey through the
world of the soul, when, in the face of hell, his guide and teacher
Virgil "placed his hand on mine, and with a cheerful countenance,
which comforted me, led me into the secret things. " And at worst
he will have learned to make a knowledgeable and dignified retreat
into the decent pleasures of the practical life.
But, you will recall, I entered upon this consideration of
the tradition after I had defined traditional problems as sham
questions, almost as if traditional learning of necessity interfered
with genuine questioning. For questioning is that situationofdetermined openness in which the soul, willingly attentive to the apparent and the immediate, encounters even in its deepest delights
certain difficulties and perplexities which, out of its very love and
concern for things, it is determined to face and resolve, or not
think life worth living; it is the "ardent mood" of the soul which is
well -composed and free. If this enterprise is carried on with a
certain trust in its possibility, it is called the love of wisdom. But
the traditional questions come to the learner as "problems, " by
which I mean as another's question, which is, if anything is, a
contradiction in terms. In sum, all formal study, perhaps even
all purposeful conversation, must give up living thought to "formulations." Nay more - evidently Western tradition itself must needs
progress along the road, which Nietzsche characterizes as leading from the forms of Plato to the formulas of algebra.
I cannot resolve this, the problem of my lecture and the
question in my mind. I herewith hand it over to you, without,of
course, myself relinquishing it. The study of the liberal arts,
which are the public and adequate learning procedures, and of their
fruits, which are the various bodies of knowledge, as well as the
absorption of the reflective tradition which is based on them, can
only provide materials, tools and a language for questioning; the
love of wisdom itself cannot be gainedby study; and for that portion
-24-
�of our life of learning in which our unknown source fails us - for
it is more arduous to maintain the condition of openness than a
state of levitation - we must expect to be sometimes prey to the
mortal's malady, the confusion of the soul induced by the futile
passing of precious time. But in this understanding of that sickness there is implicit the suggestion of a cure: .to fix stubbornly
and determinedly on that present preparation, that acquisition of
the problem-solving arts and the problem -posing tradition, which
is certainly at least the pre-condition of a questioning life, a life
worth living. In the words of the tradition as represented once
more by the Didascalicon of Hugo St. Victor:
"Therefore it seems to me that first an effort should
be made in the arts, for here are the foundations of everything and in them pure and simple truth is opened up; most
of all I am thinking of the seven of which I have spoken
which are the instruments of all philosophy . . . . But
philosophy is the love and the pursuit and, in a manner of
speaking, the friendship felt for wisdom; not, however, for
that wisdom which is concerned with some kind of hardware
and any sort 9f applied science and expertise - he says: quae
in ferramentis quibusdam et in aliqua fabrili scientia
notitiaque versatur - but of that wisdom which needs nothing
and is living thought and the sole original reason for things
- vivax mens et sola rerum primaeva ratio."
-25-
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
25 pages
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
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
A name given to the resource
The student's problem: lecture on the liberal arts
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1967-09-22
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 22, 1967 by Eva Brann as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Brann 1967-09-22
Relation
A related resource
The Collegian, October 1967
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
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Brann, Eva T. H.
Deans
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/2ac4c7d3fc25e62facd4fe12c0c6905c.pdf
573353eeebd62f83d05e6801981762d9
PDF Text
Text
The Soul’s Choice of Life
Most dreams are forgotten, perhaps even before the night has passed. Others obtrude into
daytime thought, even as their meaning remains obscure. They haunt us, and seem to promise a
rare and precious revelation. Their coming insistently to mind implies a faint undertone of
reproach, like hearing your name repeated on waking, before you are quite sure who you are.
Such dreams seem to call from afar, and from where we stand, they can only seem alien. But we
also suspect that we are the ones who are out of place, and that the dream is calling us back from
our wandering. In this recollection of the unfamiliar, we sense dimly that we are tied to what is
familiar by only a specious kinship and that our true home lies elsewhere.
This sort of strange appeal that calls us back from estrangement can characterize not only
dreams or visions, but also deliberately produced works of art such as poems, paintings, and
stories. In refusing to make any ordinary sort of sense, they refute our understanding and invite
us to speak along with them in something like a foreign tongue. The dialogues of Plato, in
particular, contain many examples of images or tales of this sort, beguiling works of imagination.
For those of us who read and talk together about Plato with some frequency, such tales or images
have become part of the vocabulary of our thought—perhaps even a large part, just as loanwords can come to outnumber a language’s own stock of true-born names. Reflecting briefly on
a familiar one—the image of the cave in the Republic—will show something of how this process
works and what it has to accomplish. Socrates has his interlocutor Glaucon imagine a cave in
which people are chained in such a way as to see only the cave wall before them, on which
shadows are projected by a fire above and behind them. Glaucon exclaims that these are “strange
prisoners” (515a). “Like us,” Socrates replies. But then something odd happens. At the very
1
�moment when we might expect Socrates to offer the key by which to decipher these unfamiliar
letters, he instead continues to speak in the language of the image. The prisoners are “like us,” he
says, “for do you suppose such men would have seen anything of themselves or one another
other than the shadows cast by the fire on the wall facing them?” Now, this is not so strange a
move as to pose an impossible task of interpretation, especially to someone who has thought
about the image for some time. We might start with the idea that our ordinary efforts to know are
wrongly oriented and thus largely unsuccessful, and from there move on to the idea that this
concerns not only our attempts to know the world but even our self-knowledge and knowledge of
others. That sounds about right. But we should try to imagine what Socrates’ reply would sound
like to someone who had never heard the rest or had the time to think about it, someone who
does not know where he is going. To this person, Socrates’ response must seem pretty nearly the
opposite of the explanation that Glaucon’s remark implicitly requested. After hearing it,
Glaucon would probably still say that the prisoners are strange, perhaps as a sort of polite way of
saying that the man telling him about the prisoners is strange, and it would be hard to disagree.
But whether or not Glaucon meant his remark as a reproach, and however strange
Socrates’ speech is, its strangeness does not stem from some madness of his, some disordered
state of his powers of thought or imagination. What is truly strange here is not the image to
which he gives voice, but the situation it is intended to portray, namely, the fact that creatures
destined for knowledge should spend their lives so unaware of and so unwittingly cooperative
with the powerful impediments to knowing that characterize their situation. The proper way to
hear Socrates’ response to Glaucon’s remark about the prisoners’ strangeness is thus
affirmatively—not “the prisoners are not strange; they are like us,” but, “they are like us,
strange.” And his explanation is an explanation not of the prisoners’ likeness to us but of their
2
�strangeness; again, “do you suppose such men,” those described in the image, “would have seen
anything of themselves or of each other than the shadows?” Given what Socrates is trying to
accomplish, deflecting the question of likeness and going farther into the image may be the only
way to make it work. The image presents important features of our epistemic situation that are
normally difficult to discern, but that we can come to perceive if we take up an initially
unfamiliar and awkward perspective, make it our own, and then turn this view back on what had
previously gone unquestioned. In order to know, we must learn to speak strangely.
With a few small though significant differences, this kind of change in understanding is
what is aimed at by the final pages of the Republic, the so-called Myth of Er (614b-621b). It, too,
is a fantastical story that represents in figurative form an important but overlooked dimension of
our actual situation. Its fantastical character is not a product of wild genius, but arises from
Plato’s rigorous attention to both the nature of human freedom and the difficulty of discerning
this nature from within our ordinary perspective.
In the case of the cave image our learned familiarity with it makes it relatively easy to put
a name to what it is about; unlike Glaucon, we have read the Republic. And we get some more
help from the fact that Socrates tells us outright what the image is meant to be an image of.
“Make an image,” he says, “of our nature in its education and want of education” (514a). The
Myth of Er, by contrast, is not presented as an image of anything at all. It is ostensibly the report
of a man who returned from the dead to tell of what awaits souls after life. Socrates presents it as
the completion of the dialogue’s investigation of justice, inasmuch as it gives an account of the
good and bad that come from being just or unjust not in this life, but after death.
In this connection, the story is a fitting end for the dialogue, in that it recapitulates a
theme first sounded very near the beginning. Cephalus reports that as a young man he scoffed at
3
�the stories of punishment in the afterlife, but that old age has found him and his age-mates more
fearful of what is to come. They are looking back over lives that contain perhaps no small
measure of wrongdoing. Cephalus is thankful for his wealth, above all for the ability it gives him
to conduct the costly private rituals of expiation that his fear has made seem prudent. Socrates’
return to this theme at the end of the dialogue, then, seems to endorse Cephalus’ anxious piety, at
least in confirming that there is something to fear for those who have done wrong. But the story
contains much more than is necessary for this purpose and for that reason demands
interpretation. Also, it is just very strange. Even with some degree of paraphrase, it will take a
few minutes to recount it. So, here it is.
Upon his death, the soul of Er traveled along with other souls of the dead and came to a
place where there were two openings in the earth and two in the sky, above and across from
them. Between the pairs of openings sat judges, who directed the just to continue to the right and
upward through the opening in the sky, and the unjust to go to the left and downward into the
earth. Er himself they instructed to remain, observe, and report what he saw on his return to the
world of the living. What he saw first was this: as some souls were going into the two openings
indicated by the judges, other souls were coming out of the others, some up from earth, others
down from the heavens. All those who had returned went off with delight to a nearby meadow,
where they made camp and engaged in conversation. Those who had known each other in life
greeted each other and asked what it was like in the other place. So they all told their stories,
some lamenting and crying as they recalled all they had seen and undergone in the thousand-year
journey beneath the earth, the others telling of the beauty of the sights and experiences above. In
general, those who came from below the earth said they had received a tenfold punishment for
each of their acts of injustice, once each hundred years, on the grounds that a human life was
4
�about a hundred years long. For acts of impiety towards the gods, the penalty was yet worse. Of
one particularly terrible tyrant named Ardiaeus it was related that when it was his turn to go up,
he and other perpetrators of unholy deeds were rejected by the opening. Men standing nearby
seized them, then bound them, flayed them, and dragged them along the rough ground in the
sight of the others, and finally cast them into the pit of Tartarus, from which none return. Fear of
being rejected by the opening was thus the last of the punishments for souls who had lived an
unjust life. The rewards for justice were said to be the counterparts of these.
On the eighth day, the souls who had returned were made to leave the meadow and
continue their journey. In four days’ time, they came to a place from which they could see a sort
of pillar of light stretched from above through all of heaven and earth, like a rainbow. This light
was said to bind the earth and the heavens and be connected to a complex, interlocking
arrangement of whorls forming a sort of spindle, said to be that of goddess Ananke or Necessity.
Her daughters, the Fates Atropos, Clotho, and Lachesis, put their hands to the turning of these
otherworldly whorls and were associated with the three dimensions of time: Atropos who cannot
be turned with the future, Clotho the weaver with the present, and Lachesis the dispenser of lots
with the past.
The souls were then brought before Lachesis. Her spokesman gathered up the lots and
patterns of lives that lay in her lap, and then delivered the goddess’ message to the souls arrayed
before him. He said: “This is the speech of Ananke’s maiden daughter, Lachesis: ‘Ephemeral
souls, this is the beginning of another death-bringing cycle for the mortal race. A spirit shall not
be allotted to you, but you shall choose a spirit. Let the holder of the first lot make the first
choice of a life to which it shall be bound by Ananke. Virtue is without a master; as each honors
her, it shall have more or less of her. The blame belongs to the chooser; the god is blameless.’”
5
�Then the lots were distributed to the souls and the patterns of lives were laid out on the
ground before them, lives of all sorts—lives of animals and tyrants, lives of the famous and the
unregarded—and these lives far outnumbered the souls present.
The spokesman continued: “Even for the one who comes forward last, if he chooses
intelligently and lives earnestly, a life to be happy with has been laid out, and not a bad one. Let
the first not be careless in his choice, nor the last disheartened.”
Since the soul’s choice of life is my theme, let me read without paraphrase the section
that follows, which deals most directly with that choice.
“And the first to choose came forward and immediately chose the greatest tyranny, and,
because of folly and gluttony, chose without having considered everything adequately; and it
escaped his notice that eating his own children and other evils were fated to be a part of that life.
When he considered it at his leisure, he beat his breast and lamented the choice, not abiding by
the spokesman’s forewarning. For he didn’t blame himself for the evils but chance, demons, and
anything rather than himself. He was one of those who had come from heaven, having lived
under an orderly constitution in his former life, partaking of virtue by habit, without philosophy.
And, it may be said, not the least number of those who were caught in such circumstances came
from heaven, because they were unpracticed in labors. But most of those who came from the
earth, because they themselves had labored and had seen the labors of others, weren’t in a rush to
make their choices. For just this reason, and because of the chance of the lot, there was an
exchange of evils and goods for most of the souls.”
“He said that this was a sight surely worth seeing: how each of the several souls chose a
life. For it was pitiable, laughable, and wonderful to see. For the most part the choice was made
according to the habit of their former life. He said he saw a soul that once belonged to Orpheus
6
�choosing the life of a swan, out of hatred for womankind; because he died at their hands, he
refused to be generated in and born of a woman. He saw Thamyras’ soul choosing the life of a
nightingale. And he also saw a swan changing to the choice of a human life; other musical
animals did the same thing. The soul that got the twentieth lot chose the life of a lion; it was the
soul of Telamonian Ajax, which shunned becoming a human being, for it remembered the
judgment of arms. And after it was the soul of Agamemnon; it too hated humankind as a result of
its sufferings and therefore changed to the life of an eagle. Atalanta’s soul had drawn one of the
middle lots; it saw the great honors of an athletic man and couldn’t pass them by but took them.
After this he saw that of Epieius, son of Panopeus, going into the nature of an artisan woman.
And far out among the last he saw the soul of the buffoon Thersites, clothing itself as an ape.
And by chance the soul of Odysseus had drawn the last lot of all and went to choose; from
memory of its former labors, it had recovered from love of honor; it went around for a long time
looking for the life of a private man who minds his own business; and with effort it found one
lying somewhere, neglected by the others. It said when it saw this life that it would have done the
same even if it had drawn the first lot, and was delighted to choose it. And from the other beasts,
similarly some went into human lives and into one another—the unjust changing into savage
ones, the just into tame ones, and there were all kinds of mixtures.”
So far the report of Er. Socrates interrupts the tale just once, to emphasize the supreme
importance of this choice of a life and to point out that we really ought to devote all our energies
to acquiring the art of making this choice well. His way of talking about what would make for a
good choice is very interesting, and I will return to it near the end of my talk. But for now, let us
reflect on the many ways in which the story gives the attentive reader pause and does not simply
7
�supplement the dialogue’s account of justice and its effect on souls. The story, it must be said,
does not do just what it was said to do.
In the first place, it is worth reflecting on how extravagant the whole section on souls’
choice of life is. The account was introduced and admitted on the pretext that it would
supplement the dialogue’s account of the power that justice has in the soul without the assistance
of reputation or other external benefits. Like other such familiar tales, it accomplishes this by
adding to whatever uncertain external benefits justice and injustice might win in life and among
humans, a certain and unerring exactitude in punishment and reward from the gods in a sort of
life after life. So, one might reasonably inquire how this purpose is advanced at all by the
elaborate account of the spindle of Necessity or the whole idea of souls choosing their next life,
not to mention the many examples of particular choices made by souls famous and unknown. At
most, one might argue that the fact that the lives for which the souls are being rewarded or
punished were of their own choosing underscores souls’ responsibility for their own justice or
injustice and thus shows that the rewards and punishments are deserved. Even according to this
explanation, however, the wealth of detail concerning particular souls’ choices as well as the
cosmic backdrop would be only so much ornament.
More significant than this reason for taking the Myth of Er as a figure for something
other than what it is said to be is the fact that the rewards and punishments are at best ineffectual
if not entirely impossible.
That the rewards for a just life are ineffectual we learn from the example of the soul that
draws the first lot and chooses its next life first. It had come from heaven, and apparently a
thousand years’ worth of beautiful sights and enjoyment was not enough to persuade it of
anything but its own fitness to be the biggest tyrant of all. Although it was happy enough to reach
8
�immediately for this life, it was also particularly resistant to taking responsibility for its own
choice when it became clear that the life contained many evils. This kind of remorse over bad
choices, Socrates’ summary indicates, was not uncommon among those who came down from
the heavens.
What of the others? Those who had toiled and suffered below the earth and had seen the
toils and suffering of others were said to chose more carefully, and thus on the whole, we are
told, there was an exchange of goods and evils for most souls. This might lead one to the
conclusion that while the rewards do not promote the choice of justice, the punishments do.
But several things undercut this confidence we might have in the efficacy of posthumous
punishments: in particular, the fate of the incurable or unholy, the complete forgetfulness of the
living, and above all the impossibility of adequately representing injustice to the unjust
perspective. As for the first, there are those like Ardiaeus, for whose crimes, it seems, no finite
punishment could be adquate, on the grounds that his soul was incurable, and possibly also
because of the enormity of his crimes, which transcend the horizon of justice altogether, being
not only unjust but also unholy.
A second problem with the notion that the punishments of the afterlife are effective in
curbing injustice lies in the fact that souls are made to drink from the river of Carelessness on the
plain of Forgetfulness before continuing into the life they have chosen, and as a result, forget
everything. Those who have chosen a just life, being the majority of those who completed the
underground passage, will go through it and then join those who make the heavenly passage.
Now having forgotten their former labors, they are likely to choose hastily and with misplaced
confidence in their ability to discern what is a good life. Interestingly, this “exchange of goods
and evils” for most souls was already inscribed, so to speak, in the topography of the place of
9
�judgment: the opening that leads out of heaven is located above and opposite the one that leads
into the earth, as the one that leads out of the earth lies below and opposite the opening that leads
back into heaven. Forgetfulness and carelessness seem to guarantee that there will be a
revolution not only of whorls, but also of souls. But forgetfulness and carelessness are not
magical effects brought about by the eponymous plain and river. If punishment is the engine
driving the motion of souls upwards and towards justice, then the beatiful sights and enjoyment
found in the heavenly passage do no less to drive them down, towards injustice. The image is
precisely not that of a world-order that uses rewards and punishments to produce justice with
mechanical accuracy and inevitability, but of one that strongly inclines souls towards an eternal
and predictable alternation of good and bad. Why should this be the purpose of the cosmos?
A third problem with the account is that it is difficult to see what the souls must be in
order for their passage to be able to teach them anything. This difficulty is thrown into relief by a
significant omission. Of the souls returning from beneath the earth, Socrates says: “They were
punished for each injustice once every hundred years; taking this as the length of a human life,
they could in this way pay off the penalty for the injustice ten times over. Thus, for example, if
some men were causes of the death of many, either by betraying cities or armies and had reduced
men to slavery, or were involved in any other wrongdoing,” and here I interrupt to note that just
where one might hope to learn precisely how such acts are answered in that other place, Socrates
concludes simply, “they received for each of these things tenfold sufferings”—in other words,
with no specific information. Plato handles the issue of narration very deftly here, for he has
Socrates preface this section with a warning about its incompleteness; Socrates says, “Now, to go
through the many things would take a long time, Glaucon. But the chief thing is this,” and then
10
�proceeds with the summary I just read. But if the purpose of resorting to summary was to avoid
trouble, then it is difficult to understand Socrates’ choice of examples.
In the first place, the list of specific forms of injustice by itself leads one to expect a
similarly specific list of punishments. Also, the fact that each “cycle” of punishments is
calibrated to the length of an average human life supports the expectation that punishments will
somehow correspond to, mirror, or just repeat in inverted form the particular wrongs one has
done. But the examples of injustice do not fulfill any of these expectations, for the important
reason that the victims of these injustices are in each case many in number. If a man betrays an
entire city, how can his single life (or afterlife) stand any chance of comprising the myriad ills his
betrayal occasioned in the lives of his fellow citizens? If he sold dozens into slavery, how could
his life encompass suffering the same fate dozens of times? Even if somehow it could, it would
also have to contain dozens of instances of the state of freedom that slavery destroys. And each
of these would have to be in some way pristine, so that the evil that is enslavement could have its
full effect on the soul being punished in this way, for one person’s being enslaved twice is
arguably not the same as two different people’s being enslaved. In general, then, a single life
cannot easily have the evil it does to many represented to it effectively.
One solution to this conundrum, of course, is to take one sort of evil to stand for all
others, to serve as a kind of medium of exchange. Maybe pain could serve as such a punitive
currency, repaying specific evils with generic badness. The extravagant punishment of the soul of
Ardiaeus, however, is both an example of this sort of thinking and a sign of its insufficiency. The
punishment is not only of infinite duration; it is also unimaginably intense, and the one being
punished in this way does not in any way signal to us what his experience is. Now, it is possible,
of course, that we hear nothing from the soul of Ardiaeus because there is no need. If his soul is
11
�incurable, perhaps his punishment is not for him but an example to others, and in order for him to
serve as an example, all that matters is that they take his experience as an example, whatever he
himself may think of it. Consistent with this interpretation is the presence of the guards who
point out to the others why these souls are being singled out for such treatment; that is, it seems
at least in part to be a show put on for them. Also consistent with this view is the claim that what
improves the judgment of those who make the underground passage is not just that they have
labored and suffered themselves, but also that they have seen the labors and sufferings of others.
Nonetheless, the absence of the directly suffering soul’s perspective on the single particular
punishment we get any report of underscores the problem outlined by omission in the preceding
passage, the problem of how a soul’s evil can be represented to it; and this remains a problem.
If the soul’s thousand-year journey below the earth is to teach it anything—as the
improvement in its choice of life suggests it does—then the soul must somehow have the evils it
engaged in as though they were something good presented to it as what they in fact are. But in
order for one’s wrongdoing to be recognizable as such, one must have a different perspective
than one had in doing it, and this kind of thoroughgoing change in perspective is precisely what
we have learned is terribly difficult. In the cave image, it is represented as a turning around that
can be a passage from what is darker to what is brighter (and thus an actual improvement) and at
the same time from what is perceived clearly and comfortably to what is perceived only dimly
and painfully (and thus an apparent worsening). Something else is needed: a guide who is
trustworthy and trusted and can articulate what is happening to the soul being forcibly turned
around in this way. In the end, pain by itself is too diffuse, too immediate, and too
uncontextualized to bear the articulated meaning that would be necessary in order to effect this
change, a fact that is perhaps hinted at by the punishment’s tenfold repetition. Even the
12
�exemplary suffering of the souls of the unholy requires agents standing by to explain it, which is
as much as to say that it cannot bear its meaning within itself on its own.
In the case of both punishments and rewards, then, the report of Er sets up certain
expectations or requirements that it then pointedly does not or cannot fulfill. The rewards for a
just life, we feel, ought to reinforce the choice of justice, but instead they are presented as
promoting the careless haste and entitled self-importance that lead to a bad choice of life. As for
the punishments, while they are said to have the effect they ought to, still, the mechanism by
which they are meant to accomplish this is markedly obscure, and inquiring more closely into it
only makes the confusion more intense, particularly by directing attention to what lies at the root
of all: the soul and its perception of or perspective on the good. If the myth’s self-presentation is
at odds with its content, we have to turn elsewhere to discover its real import. One thing that is
clear, as we have just seen, is that the story concerns the soul. Just what is the soul in this story?
One phrase in the description of souls’ choice of lives incidentally brings to the fore one
of the key features of the myth’s portrayal of the soul. Er saw “a soul that used to belong to
Orpheus” choosing the life of a swan. The striking phrase “used to belong” underlines something
that must be assumed in order for the story to work at all, and it does so compactly and
forcefully. For the myth to work, a soul, whatever else it may be, cannot be identical with any
named person. The name “Orpheus” must indicate the temporary composite of an otherwise
anonymous soul with the singer’s life whose story we know from myth. Any name, then, must
miss the soul and indicate only such a composite, even my name or yours. The possessive in the
phrase “my soul” becomes particularly obscure. If I spoke in this way of “my soul,” who would I
be saying the soul belongs to, and what would I be taking myself to be that is distinct from my
soul? Who or what is speaking when the words “my soul” are uttered? Whatever we thought it
13
�was before, the story is now telling us that a soul is not identical with a life or a person, since it
precedes and outlives both.
One possible source for this strange conception of the soul is the discussion of its
immortality earlier in Book 10. There, the question arises how the soul can be both immortal and
capable of being at odds with itself. Self-opposition (of the sort examined in Book 4) is
associated with being composite, and this, in turn, is associated with change and decay. A soul
composed of parts, it seems, could only be mortal. Instead of investigating this dilemma,
Socrates merely suggests that the view of soul that we have—and that he and his interlocutors
have had throughout the whole of the dialogue—is like the view one would have of how a man
looks if one were to see only the statue of him that had lain at the bottom of the sea for many
years and become disfigured and covered with shells, seaweed, rocks and so forth, as in the case
of the statue of Glaucus. Our embeddedness in body, change, and manyness, the image more or
less directly asserts, has made our souls unrecognizable. This is an unpromising starting point,
but Socrates remains confident and ventures the guess that the soul’s true nature is to be found by
our looking to its philosophia, its love of wisdom. This recalls another account of the division of
the soul that emerges from the yet earlier discussion of the terrible evils of tragic poetry in Book
10. This account divides the soul’s philosophical, calculating, law-abiding part, which suffers
misfortune in silence and tranquility, from another part, which indulges in loud lamentation. The
latter is itself indulged by writers of tragedies, who trick even the decent man into weeping
immoderately at the misfortunes of another on the grounds that this is at least not self-pitying,
and is only a kind of play. The gist seems to be that the first part of the soul would do its work
better without the second. Both accounts, then, solve the problem of manyness by making one
part stand for the whole. Whatever the technical merits of this solution, we should consider that
14
�if the true identity of the soul should turn out to be only its rational part understood in this way,
then the whole drama of existence—the stories of our lives as we commonly understand them—
would be wholly irrelevant, composed entirely of a sort of encrustation of alien matter that only
serves to obscure the soul from view. By themselves, souls might have nothing to do with lives.
While these two prior discussions of soul seem relevant to the myth and are consonant
with some aspects of its sharp distinctions between soul and person and between soul and life,
they are at odds with others. Souls in the myth are not heartless calculating machines, but beings
capable of feeling and expressing emotion. When the souls complete their respective journeys,
they go off “with delight” to the meadow where they confer. When those who came from the
underground passage recount what they have seen and undergone there, they cry and lament in
recalling it. When these souls are nearing the exit and see some like the soul of Ardiaeus being
rejected, they experience a great fear, which they note is only one among many they have
suffered. In sum, then, these souls respond emotively and expressively to their situation, even
during this time when they are presumed to exist in separation from body and life.
In addition to transitory affections such as a moment of fear, souls in the myth also have
longer-standing dispositions or traits of character. The soul of Ajax, son of Telamon, bitterly
recalls the judgment that granted the arms of the departed hero Achilles to Odysseus instead of to
him, and so flees humanity. The souls of Orpheus and Agamemnon, in turn, make their choices
of animal lives out of long-standing hatred, of women in the first case and of humanity in general
in the second. In each case, these quasi-permanent states were crystallized, so to speak, by the
trauma of their previous lives (the very ones we associate with their names). They appear to have
persisted unchanged and utterly undiminished throughout their millennial journeys. Their hatreds
and resentment are very much not the passions of a moment. A final, most significant example of
15
�a state or characteristic of soul allowed by the myth is that of the soul of Odysseus, which “from
memory of its former labors, ... had recovered from love of honor.” Somehow, the soul as
portrayed in the myth is capable of being affected by its life, and affected in such a way as to be
able to learn, not just greedily carry forward the savor of bitter memory. In either case, however,
what we see is that however distinct souls may be from lives, their lives affect them. In light of
this, perhaps it is time finally to turn directly to what the story must take a life to be.
This is in one way the most straightforward and familiar element of the story; everyone
knows what a life is, what it is composed of, why it is important, what makes it good or bad, and
so forth. In another way, however, what the central conceit of the myth of Er requires a life to be
makes it almost impossible to understand. The life, recall, contains elements like wealth or
poverty, good or bad birth, strength, beauty, political office or rule, and indeed everything that
could characterize a life, or almost everything. For, as was explained, since the soul that lives the
life must be changed by it, the life considered by itself does not contain an “ordering” or
“arrangement” of soul (taxis). If our question is what we ought to remove in thought from our
usual conception of what a life is in order to arrive at an idea of what the lives whose paradigms
lie in the lap of Lachesis are, the answer is both simple and devastating. We must remove only
this: everything that soul is. As it has done in many places, the dialogue is once again causing a
problem by treating a distinction as a separation. When Socrates manages to bring the
conversation to a halt of this sort, he often turns to an image or example that retroactively
modifies one of the discussion’s starting points. We could try the same, and instead of trying to
proceed with delimitation or definition, we might look at an example of what the myth takes to
be a life.
16
�None of the lives is very extensively described, but the first example of a life that is
chosen is perhaps the fullest. The soul that drew the first lot—which “participated in virtue out of
habit, without philosophy” after living in “an ordered regime”—picked the life containing the
biggest tyranny straightaway, “but it escaped its notice that eating his children and other evils
accompanied this.” It escaped his notice. How strange. How can we understand this? Should we
agree with the old song that “the large print giveth and the small print taketh away”? Do the
events or elements of a life presented to choice differ in their prominence, such that some would
count as the large print, and some as the small? And what would determine which appear more or
less prominent? Just what is written or figured on the paradigms of lives in the lap of Lachesis?
In the example just considered, the great tyranny looks good at first, but when the soul
“considered the life at its leisure,” it discovered its evils, and was unhappy with its lot.
In a way, this latter portrait of what a life is is familiar and cogent: a life containing an
apparent good may of necessity also contain actual evils, such that they counterbalance or even
outweigh the apparent good. But in another way, this is an unsatisfactory way of talking about a
life. It tries to mark the badness of the life that contains one sort of fact sometimes thought to be
good (being a tyrant) by pointing out that it also contains another sort of fact, which is generally
acknowledged to be bad (eating one’s children). The whole question of what makes a life good or
bad has been reduced to the piecemeal evaluation of particulars, and the summation of such
judgments, as in what is sometimes called a rubric.
But we really ought to doubt this soul’s assessment of its chosen life, since we have
already been told that it makes the choice affected by folly and gluttony. It could be so misguided
as to be mistaken about which of the life’s elements is good and which bad. In fact, we have
already been told in Book IX that the worst possible eventuality for a soul that is tyrannically
17
�inclined is for it to become an actual tyrant. Conversely, it may be that something as horrible as
eating his children is an appropriate accompaniment to the “large print” of his being a tyrant.
But just inverting the assessment this foolish soul made of each of these facts does not
really solve the deeper problem, of which the problem of the relative prominence of a life’s parts
—its large and its small print—is just a symptom. The component elements of a life in the myth
seem subject to two contradictory demands: they must be “without an arrangement of soul” and
thus somehow meaningless, and they must be capable of “leading” the soul to being just or
unjust and thus somehow have a meaning.
As for the former term of the contradiction, given that there are good and bad among rich
and poor alike, wealth, to pick one example, looks like the sort of thing that the Stoic Epictetus
would call indifferent, something that is of no importance when compared with the greater
question of whether we are living well, and that does not by itself answer it. As for the latter,
however, the soul that has learned the art of choosing lives well, Socrates says, will call lives
good or bad depending on whether they “lead to virtue or vice.” But now we have to ask: how
can events be said to “lead” to virtue or vice at all unless they have within them the germ of a
sense, an incipient significance that is preserved in what it gives rise to?
As in other similar cases, the commentary on the myth is quite relevant and helpful, if in
part by oblique paths. Socrates portrays the person who has acquired the art of choosing lives
well in some detail. He says: “He will take into account all the things we have just mentioned
and how in combination and separately they affect the virtue of a life. Thus he may know the
effects, bad and good, of beauty mixed with poverty or wealth and accompanied by this or that
habit of soul; and the effects of any particular mixture with one another of good and bad birth,
private station and ruling office, strength and weakness, facility and difficulty in learning, and all
18
�such things that are connected with a soul by nature or are acquired. From all this he will be able
to draw a conclusion and choose—while looking off toward the nature of the soul—between the
worse and the better life, calling worse the one that leads it toward becoming more unjust, and
better the one that leads it to becoming more just” (618ce).
One of the most striking things in this passage, I think, is the intensity of its emphasis on
combination. The possessor of the art of choosing lives is said to consider the elements of lives
both “separately and in combination” but all the examples are of complex configurations. Here,
then, is one way in which something can both have a meaning and not have it in itself: it can
have its meaning in being combined with something else. Note that the myth helps us here. The
composition of elements that makes up each life is not something chosen; the lives have already
been assembled by the time the souls have to choose them. Rather, souls are to call lives good or
bad on the basis of no element in them, but on the basis of what living such a life will work in
the soul that lives it. That is, the choice was already not happening at the level of the particular
feature or event of the life, whether or not the choosers noticed this.
Another striking feature of the passage is how thoroughly confusing it makes the
separation of life and soul that lies at the basis of the myth. In the first place, the possessor of the
art is said to know about the effects of mixtures that include elements such as “this or that habit
of soul.” This just seems in direct opposition to the claim that lives are without an “ordering” or
“arrangement” of soul. By itself, though, including this states the problem well; the soul that sets
out to have wealth or any other good thing will be changed by its pursuit, with the result that
there is no guarantee it will still want or be able to enjoy what it was pursuing by the time it gets
it. The one who possesses the art would have to be able to predict what changes the living of a
life would work in the soul. In short, what makes elements of a life part of a life that can be
19
�called good or bad is their connection with the soul that has to live that life: the suffering,
rejoicing, experiencing, remembering, and thinking being. These powers are what lend to those
events or conditions whatever sense they have. Here we see another way in which a life has a
meaning, but not in itself; it has a meaning for a soul.
To state the matter most generally, elements of a life are capable of having a meaning that
is not in them because that’s just what it is to be an element of a life: to be a ‘Here’ that is also,
with all the weight Plotinus gives the word, a ‘There’—to be a ‘Now’ whose meaning is ‘Later’
or ‘Forever.’ The seeming paradox is just the reality of our situation, and one that Plato has been
at pains throughout the dialogue to turn our attention to. We spend as much time as we do in this
dialogue on the proper organization of an educational program not merely for the stated reason,
that we need guardians who will be both harsh with the city’s enemies and gentle with its
citizens. Rather, as the central books show and the final myth signifies, the deeper issue is that
what is most immediately apparent is always somehow a distraction from the intelligible reality
of what is. But the sensible is not merely something other than the intelligible: it is the region
wherein the intelligible shows itself; it is where we live. The small things matter. The ball I learn
to catch may be little more than arbitrary mineral, vegetable, and animal products refashioned to
the measure of a human hand, but the act of catching that it makes possible is an emblem and
anticipation of all sorts of future forms of mastery. The little bumps and tussles of playground
life are like prophetic utterances spoken to us in childhood that foretell adult life’s
disappointments—its alliances and betrayals, its kindness and its savagery—and they foretell
them with both the accuracy and the obscurity that are characteristic of an oracle.
This strange mode of being of the elements of our lives is a feature of the world of the
myth of Er that also happens to be a feature of our world; it is the literally true thing at the center
20
�of a mass of figurative falsehoods, and around which the whole turns. It is the true thing that
seems strange to us who have become strangers to it. The elements of lives can appear big or
small, cruel twists of fate, or irrelevant impediments to powers we find we do not need to get by.
We who live them do not experience ourselves as having chosen them, but reflecting on what it
would mean for what our souls are to choose what our lives will be can awaken us from the
dream-state in which we treat the meanings of our lives as beings, as ta onta, as things that
always are and have no tincture of ambiguity or self-opposition, no dependence on perspective or
interpretation, no horizon of possible transformation. Rather, we should recognize them in their
truth: they are the materials—somehow both indifferent and essential—out of which souls weave
the tissue of meaning they put on and inhabit, elements that stand to our souls and hearts as do
those other elements—earth, air, fire, and water—to the multifariously capable bodies of living
beings of all kinds, as their material support and flesh. When the elements of our bodies or lives
fail us, we break, but when they cooperate, what we succeed in being is something they would
not be on their own, something other and beyond.
For our part, the myth is saying, we need to learn how to cooperate with these elements
and their ways, so that we may make a good passage in this life and the next, and perhaps in the
next after that. But what would make for a good passage? What should we hope for? A welldeserved reward? Or a suffering that makes the soul better? The beautiful sights and good
experiences that the myth sets up as a reward for a good life carry with them the same ambiguity
as the goods of this life: many souls are not improved by them, but made worse. To answer the
question, we might think of the soul that once belonged to Odysseus. Of this soul we were not
told whether it came down from heaven or up from the earth, only that memory of its former
labors had cured it. Those labors could have been carried out on earth as part of the life we
21
�associate with Odysseus’ name—where he struggled to regain his home after long years in
foreign lands, losing all his comrades—or they could have been performed as payment in that
place beneath the earth, some days’ journey from the spindle of Necessity where lives are woven.
Perhaps our hope and prayer should be the same as his could have been: may we all perform
such labors and remember them and be cured of what ails us.
—Greg Recco
Delivered Nov. 30, 2012 at St. John’s College in Annapolis, MD.
22
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Recco, Gregory
Title
A name given to the resource
The soul's choice of life
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2012-11-30
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on November 30, 2012 by Greg Recco as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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
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
text
Subject
The topic of the resource
Plato. Republic.
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bib # 80876
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/49">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/fcc0ef326f5122a91e7e11ed29d54da5.mp3
a448a1cc7b01b6ac0d7853cfcfe1beb5
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
CD
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:48:39
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
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Recco, Gregory, 1967-
Title
A name given to the resource
The Soul's Choice of Life
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2012-11-30
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 30, 2012, by Greg Recco as part of the Formal Lecture Series. An alternative title for the lecture was "The Conference in the Meadow: The Choice of Life in Plato's Myth of Er."
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
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
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Recco_Gregory_2012-11-30_ac
Relation
A related resource
<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/51">Typescript</a>
Subject
The topic of the resource
Plato. Republic. Book 10, lines 614-621
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9fc63e1cfeb59c6d860d234e0fa6ef95.pdf
29d3d28e173aec2af1c60b9904fd87ff
PDF Text
Text
The Song of Timaeus
Peter Kalkavage
T
his lecture is about the strangest of Plato's
dialogues, the Timaeus. I would like to focus
our attention this ~ning on the famous eikos
mythos, the "likely story," told by the character
Timaeus.
The likely story tells about the beginnings of the visible, touchable world. Our story-teller, Timaeus, takes us
through the process by which the world was generated
from its most radical causes and principles. Whereas the
Republic dramatizes the fo~nding of regimes both in city
and in soul, the likely story shows the foun~ing of the
cosmic regime, the government of the world. For
Timaeus, the world's founding depends to a great extent on the power of mathematics. Throughout the likely
story, Timaeus draws the listener's attention to the arts
of arithmetic, geometry, and especially the theory of ratio
we find in the fifth book of Euclid's Elements. Timaeus'
physicist is a mathematical physicist, and his bond with
mathematics expresses his dream that the world be wellgoverned, that the cosmos no less than souls and cities
display the virtues of stability, moderation, and wisdom.
Timaeus at one point articulates the motto of such a
physicist. It takes the form of a little jingle in Greek: pan
de to agathon kalon, kai to kalon ouk ametron; "All the good
is beautiful, and the beautiful is not measureless." 1 The
physicist for Timaeus represents all that is decent, healthy,
and beautifully arranged, all that is conveyed by that rich
Greek word kosmos. Throughout the likely story, goodness
is associated with the beautiful structures of mathematics,
and badness is associated with the ugliness of disorder.
Peter Kalkavage is a tutor.at St. John's College, Annapolis. T he Song of TiTTUJnJS
was originally delivered as a formal lecture at St. John's College, Annapolis.
in 1984.
56
I will try in this lecture to say what the world, our world,
looks like through the eyes of Timaeus' motto about the
good, the beautiful, and the measured.
The Timaeus is the most artful and artificial of all the
Platonic dialogues. There is really not anything in it that
could be called conversation. And the dialogue as a whole,
so plentiful in references to life and motion, seems
somewhat lacking in vitality and spontaneity. The major
characters-Timaeus, ·critias, and Hermocrates- meet
Socrates according to a preestablished plan. Socrates
appears in a most uncharacteristic way. He is dressed up,
kekosmbnenos, as though he 'were going to some formal
event. 2 Socrates expresses a desire for a war-movie in
speech, then seems eager just to sit back and listen. The
entire program is presented with extreme formality by
Critias. 3 In fact, all the speeches to be given do constitute
a formal event. That event is the feasting of Socrates,
the dialogue's central dramatic image.
The likely story of Timaeus fits well into this highly
artful setting. Artfulness plays the central role in Timaeus'
mythical physics. The very word kofmos suggests not only
a world-order but ornamentation. Timaeus' story is composed of what Socrates calls· a prelude and a song. 4 The
pair of terms also means preamble and law. The song of
Timaeus, the nomos as Socrates calls it, embraces two
forms of artfulness, that of music and ~hat of politics.
Timaeus' speech will show us how artfully arranged the
world of becoming is. His song sings the praises of the
god Kosmos, who for Timaeus is the whole of all
generated things.
The Platonic dialogues are all imitations of live conversations. They are living images, dramas. This is true
even of the Timaeus, which seems at times quite lifeless
and undramatic. Very often in the dialogues something
in a speech or interchange is not so much spoken about
as it is playfully enacted. In the likely story, it is easy
WINTER 1985
�to see what is being enacted, or rather re-enacted. It is
the birth of the world as we know and experience it. The
likely story is mimetic in this precise sense: it "plays at"
world-building. It imitates the noble, though often risky
process by which the gods made a world-order. At the
beginning of the Critias, the dialogue which immediately
follows the Timaeus, Timaeus calls the cosmos "the god
who was born once upon a time long ago and who was
just now begotten by speeches." 5 The likely story, in other
words, imitates the artist-god or demiurge. It is recreational. When god makes the world-soul, we are engaged
in the various constructions. When the gods make us,
we are involved in the work of putting ourselves together.
The world with all its structure comes to light for
Timaeus in a divine activity we ourselves take part in.
Timaeus calls this activity of world-building in speech
"thoughtful and measured play."6 Such play for Timaeus
is identical with the activity of the mathematical physicist.
To read the likely story profitably, we must therefore relax
our preconceptions about the serious nature of physics.
We must exert our imaginations and, I think, our sense
of humor.
There are many obstacles the reader confronts as he
reads the likely story. The story is very long and very
technical. Furthermore, it cannot help but strike us as
whimsical and ridiculous, a sort of prank. This is the
story, you remember, that Timaeus places in the region
of trust, pistis. 7 Yet what could be more unbelievable,
more unworthy of our trust, than some of the explanations we get from Timaeus? Take, for example, the story
of the liver. Timaeus describes the liver as a sort of moviescreen for i:he soul. And the pancreas is said to be the
liver's wiper. 8 Is there anything less unbelievable, I
wonder, in the apparently more scientific parts of the
story? True, there is bound to be some sense behind such
unbelievable accounts. But even while we see a certain
sense to what Timaeus says, it is impossible not to say
to ourselves "Hahl A likely story." Whatever region ihe
likely story occupies, that region cannot be identified
simply with trust.
But th~re is anothe7 difficulty with the likely story..
The story is apparen~y incoherent. It is not one seamless
narrative but is composed of three stories. Timaeus makes
two radically different beginnings. And in his third story,
he makes no effort to show how the two beginnings are
related. This problem is the greatest occasion on which
the story seems to be incoherent.
Timaeus himself warns Socrates and us about this
pr?blem the ~rst ti~e he uses the phrase "likely story."
It is worthwhile quoting the whole passage in which the
phrase first appears:
Don't wonder, Socrates, if we are not able to pay you
back with speeches about the birth of gods and of the
All, that are not in every way in agreement with
themselves and altogether precise. But you must esteem
the speeches we provide as likenesses inferior to none.
You must remember that I who speak and you my judges
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
have human nature. So, in order to receive the li!(ely
story about these things, it is fitting not to search beyond
this.9
The physics of Timaeus will be a likely story for two
reasons. The first is that the world is not a being in its
own right but an appearance, a moving and unstable
likeness of an intelligible, stable model. Proper speech
about the world must therefore take the form of imagery.
Secondly, the story-teller and his listeners are human,
not divine. They must know their place and not search
beyond the likely story. This passage ends what Socrates
refers to as Timaeus' prelude. Socrates' response to the
prelude is extremely interesting. He tells Timaeus to "perform the song;' a command which can also mean "execute the law."10
Now there are many strange things about the passage
I quoted. It is very important, first of all, because it is
addressed explicitly to Socrates. But the most important
feature of what Timaeus says is that he articulates the
limitations of the upcoming myth. Socrates is being
asked, as a human being, to take the likely story about
the cosmos as merely a likeness, not as the truth. That
is, the likely story begins with an apology and a caution.
But why apologize for a likeness? Myths after all are
likenesses. No one needs to be reminded of this fact. And
Socrates, although he tells many stories, never feels the
need to apologize for any of them. Indeed, we sometimes
feel that a Socratic mythos has the power of showing us
wha~ dialectical logos cannot explain to us. At the end
of the Gorgias, just before the concluding myth, Soc;rates
says to Callicles, "You may think it is only a myth, but
I take it to be a true account." 11 I take what Socrates tells
Callicles here to be true of all the Socratic myths. These
myths are images without apology because, as likenesses,
they aim at and in a certain sense contain truth.
Likenesses in this sense do not function as boundaries.
They are rather springboards for our perception of invisible, eternal truths. Socrates would never say, "You are
only human; do not search beyond the likelihood of my
story." For Socrates, myths appear to belong to the level
of the divided line called imagination, eikasia, the level
at which images take us beyond themselves to that which
they image.12
As I mentioned earlier, the story of Timaeus is composed of three separate stories. The high-point of the first
story is Timaeus' construction of the divine, intelligent
soul. In the second story, Timaeus unveils the receptacle,
the supreme condition for all body, change, and appearance. The third story is about the birth of human
nature. This third story is the most bizarre and most
playful story Timaeus tells.
The remainder of this lecture will be divided into
three parts, corresponding to Timaeus' three stories:
Part I -The Story of the Soul
Part II -The Story of the Body
Part III-The Story of Human Nature
57
�One reminder before we begin. Timaeus is a
character in the dialogue, not Plato's spokesman. Plato
causes us to reflect on the problem of a world not by a
direct encounter with the issues but through a human
soul and its various motions, through the soul of
Timaeus. We will thus have two questions before us constantly: What is· the world; and Who is Timaeus? We
must be careful not to separate these questions. It is by
no means clear that the likely story represents what has
come to be called "Platds cosmology."
Let us now turn to the likely story.
Part I -The Story of the Soul
T
he deed imitated by Timaeus' story is the
birth of the world. The story is filled with
language that suggests begetting. Later in
his story, Timaeus will tell us that the world
is the "offspring" of a "father" and a
"mother." 13 He will also tell us that the pyramid is not
orily the element but also the seed of fire. 1+ Human souls
are planted, originally, in their individual stars. 15 The
star-gods themselves are referred to as god's "children."16
The likely story thus aims at being a likely biology as
well as a likely physics. Timaeus acknowledges that the
realm of becoming is also the realm of procreation.
But the central, overriding image for the likely story
is that of artful production, techne. God is a craftsman,
a demiurge, who makes a world by giving it mathematical
order. This is very different from the story in the Bible
in which God says to his creatures, "Be fruitful and
multiply." In the likely story, the goodness of a cosmos
derives wholly from mathematical ordering. Insofar as
becoming is good, it is mathematically structured. Fruitfulness is not good for its own sake. In fact, as we see
at the end of the story, the ems for begetting stems from
our mindless and tyrannical nature. 17 The female kind
is derived from the "first men" who were cowardly and
unjust. 18 Procreation comes about because the first men
"fell" from their divine and orderly condition.
The theme of art is central to the entire Timaeus. The
dialogue takes place on the feast day of Athena, 19 and
there are numerous references to Athena in both the
Timaeus and the Critias. Athena is called a lover of war,
wisdom, and art. 20 She is the patroness of Athens which,
as Pericles reminds us, philosophizes without becoming
effeminate. 21 I think that Athena, or more precisely the
birth of Athena, is one of the dialogue's implied images.
Athena was born out of Zeus' head. This intellectual,
masculine birth takes place just after Zeus swallows up
the Titan Metis, whose name means craft or cunning.
The myth about Athena's birth seems to me to provide
an accurate image for Timaeus' re-creation of the world
through art. Timaeus seems to be imitating Zeus. Having swallowed up the mathematical. arts, Timaeus gives
birth out of his head to an artfully constructed, eminently
58
masculine world. The likely story imitates Zeus giving
birth to Athena; a most accurate image, I think, for the
mathematical physicist and his various brain-children.
Even when Timaeus introduces the "mother" of becoming later in his story, I think he retains his role as Zeus.
He re-creates the womb of becoming as a dynamic
medium for artful, mathematical construction.
The likely story begins with the divine craftsman, the
demiurge, who gazes upon a perfectly stable and utterly
intelligible model of the world. The model or paradigm
simply is and thus experiences no becoming. It is that
peing which the cosmos imitates at the level of regular,
periodic motions and the "laws of nature" which govern
such motions. 2 2 As the not-yet-actual structure of a moving world, the intelligible paradigm functions for the
craftsman as a kind of "cosmic blueprint;' a plan which
guides the construction of the cosmos and in which the
various forms of motion, power, and life find their
prophecy.
By consulting this model, the god tries to make
Becoming as beautiful, that is as orderly, as possible.
Before the divine ordering, Becoming is said to be in
a state of disorder. Timaeus calls this condition "not at
peace and out of tune."23 In order to regulate and tune
this ugly condition, the god consults not only the cosmic
blueprint but also the goodness of his own intelligence.
He looks within himself in much the same way that the
mathematical physicist looks within his intelligence for
the mathematical principles of order. The god desires that
the world imitate him as much as possible. 2+ To this end,
the god constructs intelligence within the soul and soul
within body. 25 The soul is that on account of which the
cosmos is a living being.
What Timaeus' construction means here is that the
cosmos is alive for the sake of being intelligent, not
because life is a good in itself. Life is present because
it is impossible, says Timaeus, to make the world intelligent without also making it alive. And unless intelligence is put into the world, the world will not be the
best and most beautiful of possible worlds. At this point
the cosmos is said to be an animal composed of body,
soul, and intelligence. The cosmos is patterned after what
Timaeus calls "the intelligible animal."26 The intelligible animal contains the forms of all the animals that are
really living and are contained within the sensed cosmos.
The notion of an intelligible animal is one of the most
perplexing notions in the likely story. It is extremely difficult to see how an intelligible dog, for example, could
be called an animal. This difficulty comes up again and
again for the likely story. It reappears when we are asked
to accept the existence of an intelligible fire. 27 As a really
living, vibrant whole with all the signs of life, the sensed
cosmos appears to be more truly what it is than the
original it copies. The reason is that the sensed cosmos
is possessed of a soul. I think we need to remember here
that, although Timaeus appeals to the image-original
relationship we find in many other dialogues, this relationship has a special context in the likely story. It is in
WINTER 1985
�the context of productive or demiurgic art. The artist
works from a vision of perfection that appears within his
intellect. So long as this vision is in the intellect alone,
the perfection is uncontaminated and stable, yet
unfulfilled. Fulfillment comes in the act of bringing forth
the vision of perfection, actualizing it in time and space.
In the context of productive art, the relationship of
original to image is the relationship of blueprint to fully
actualized structure. The sensed cosmos, though an image, is nevertheless the fulfillment of the idea within the
mind of the demiurge.
Timaeus proceeds to show, first, how the body of the
world was constructed, and secondly, the soul. The body
of the cosmos display.s the good and beautiful ordering
of mathematics. The four elements of body- fire, earth,
air, and water-are arranged in a continuous proportion. 28 The entire body of the world is then given spherical
shape and the motion of rotation. Soul is constructed
next.
The story of the soul is one of the most exquisite
pieces of architecture in the likely story. It is based on
a remarkable premise - that a soul can be built. In the
likely story, we are treated to a vision of a likely soul,
that is, a soul whose being in speech consists in its being
. constructed. This is all part of the re-creational activity
of the likely story.
The construction of the divine soul takes place in
three stages. The god first mixes together the forms of
Being, Same, and Other. This is accomplished, Timaeus
says, "with force." 29 Next, the god articulates the mixture into a spine-like band, the sections of which correspond to several octaves of the Pythagorean scale. 3°Finally,
he slices and bends this spine-like band into the circuits
of Same and Other. 31 You know these circuits from your
study of Ptolemy; Timaeus gives a two-fold meaning to
the circuits. They are the outwardly appearing motions
of the heavenly bodies and also the inner, invisible "revolvings" of our thinking, of our dianoia. Timaeus goes on
to tell us how the circuits of Same and Other; that we
see in the heavens, constitute the moving image of the
eternal which we call time. The circuits of Same and Other
cause the world to be measured by recurring cycles. In
this way, Becoming imitates the utterly non-moving look
of Being. Because of these intelligent circuits ordered according to musical ratios, the world is filled with
timeliness. It is characterized by time not merely as duration, but time as a principle of "right timing" or
seasonableness. Once the circuits are set in motion, the
world becomes thoroughly musical as the moving structure of time. The world is enlivened and also "set straight"
by the periodicity of rhythm as well as the periodicity
of the musical scale.
I think it makes sense to compare the soul as Timaeus
constructs it to a spine. Our drawings for the cutting of
a monochord certainly resemble the spine with its
vertebrae. Owing to its musicality and seasonableness,
the soul seems indeed to function as the backbone of a
constantly moving order. It gives poise and rigor to an
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
otherwise flabby and graceless world. This is much like
the way in which the Pythagorean scale gives structure
to the music we hear or the way in which Timaeus' song
as a whole gives backbone to our flabby conception of
the world.
It is important to note 'that these two contrary circuits which govern Becoming, the circuits of Same and
Other, are not confined to the heavens. The soul is said
to be "woven throughout" the body of the world "from
center to extremity." 32 The soul ensures that the entire
world is filled with the recurring patterns characteristic
of music. Musical intelligibility exists everywhere. It exists
not only in the heavenly motions but also in something
like the vibrating string. A string vibrates periodically.
It displays the togetherness of sameness and otherness.
The circuits of Same and Other are therefore not confined to a place. Like music, they do not belong
exclusively to the realm of body or to the realm of soul.
It is impossible to say, when we are listening to a piece
of music, that the music is either inside us or outside us.
It seems to be everywhere. We do not "stand back" when
we are really listening to a piece of music. The music
penetrates and engulfs us.
Timaeus' account of the soul is a powerful transformation of our ordinary experience of the world. The account requires that we see the world throu.gh the eyes
of the imagination. Usually we distinguish rather rigidly
between the inner and the outer; the non-extended and
the extended; the soul and the body. But in the likely
story the world is approached through the power of
likenesses. For Timaeus the _soul's act of thinking and the
world's act of turning in a circle imitate one another. Now
our souls contain the divine circuits of Same and Other.
In the act of thinking we too "revolve within ourselves."
The circuits are housed in our heads, or more precisely,
in our brains. This true self of each of us, the intelligence,
is planted in a star before being submerged in the violent
flux of becoming. As we gaze out and away from ourselves
into the heavens, we are in fact looking upon an appearance of our most intimate selves. We are in a sense
gazing within and not out towards a "beyond." Now gazing at the stars is an activity we all love. This ordinary
activity so often associated with softness and romanticism
has a very specific meaning for Timaeus. A star is
perfectly shaped, it is always brilliant, and its motions
are unwavering and thoroughly regular. Also, a star is
deathless. No wonder gazing at the stars can fill us with
admiration and longing. We are remembering,
remembering what it was like, in our Golden Age, to be
entirely healthy and well-formed. Through the study of
astronomy we return to a likeness of what Timaeus calls
"the form of our first and best condition."33 Astronomy
is the true homecoming of the human soul.
Another powerful transformation of experience occurs
. in Timaeus' story of the divine soul. This transformation has to do with that special phenomenon, the physicist
himself. Timaeus' story "saves" this phenomenon. That
is, it shows how the activity of the physicist forms a vital
59
�part of the whole, how thinking about the cosmos is itself
the world's own most essential act. The likely story "saves"
the phenomenon of the physicist himself by allowing intellectual activity to permeate the whole ceaselessly.
Thinking finds itself reflected in the object of thinking,
especially in the heavens. This is another way of saying
that logos as thoughtful speech as well as logos as ratio
permeates the whole. The cosmos of Timaeus is an intelligent animal. It is always engaged in giving accounts
of itself to itself. 34 The physicist, then, does sporadically,
partially, and sometimes out loud what the cosmos does
continually, fully, and in silence. Strange as the likely story
is, it nevertheless has the power to account for the
presence of physics and the physicist within the world.
This should come as rio surprise to us. As I have tried
to suggest in my discussion of Athena's birth, the world
of Timaeus has its home in the mind and speech of the
physicist. It is his brainchild. Such a world is not the world
in its originality but the world as it is re-created through
the powers of art. Throughout Timaeus' praise of the
god Kosmos, he is praising the physicist's god-like power
of re-creation, the power of bringing the world into being through speech.
The world is fulfilled for Timaeus in the physicist's
act of thinking. There are of course many wondrous and
admirable motions which the cosmos displays. Yet its
highest activity for Timaeus is clearly that of
thoughtfulness or reflection. The world longs, one might
say, to make itself known and articulate. Only through
the powers of intelligent human speech does the world
shine forth as what it most truly is - an intelligent, living embodiment of artful structure and purpose. Timaeus
calls the cosmos a "happy god."35 This god would not be
happy, would not be fulfilled, were it not for the human
beings who tell likely stories about the world's structure.
Through the recreational powers of the physicist, the
world comes to possess something like a plot, a mythos.
In this way, the world comes to be an object of trust. We
can place our trust in the appearances only once we have
saved them with the peculiar powers of a likely story. At
the beginning of the story, Timaeus invoked to hbneteron, 36
that is, ourselves and our own powers of mathematical
story-telling. Our trust in the likely story is also our trust
in a world that we ourselves have brought into being.
Part II -The Story of the Body
I
n Timaeus' first story of origins, time plays the
central role. Time is said to be the moving likeness
of eternal, changeless being. I think this means
not that time as duration goes on forever, but that
time is one of the world's supreme ordering
principles. Timaeus agrees with Aristotle in the sense
that time is conceived as the measure of motion.37 Time
gives the various happenings of the world rhythm and
periodicity. In the cosmic region below the heavens, the
world is constantly coming together and falling apart.
60
But this region is nevertheless ruled by the ever-intelligent
circuits of Same and Other. The world in a sense "knows"
when to do what. In his second account of origins,
Timaeus unveils the other supreme ordering principle
and dimension of a world - space as the giver of place.
For Timaeus, space, like. time, is a moving structure.
Space shakes what is within it. 38] ust as time is associated
with the world's stability, space is associated with the excitation of all things that have place.
Timaeus' first account of body at the very beginning
of his speech took the four elements of body as the uncuttable simples out of which body was composed. In
his second story the simple-minded notion of an element
proves to be insufficient. What confronts us in the region
below the heavens is the change of elements into each other.
Fire acts on water to beget steam, a form of air. Water
evaporates, steam condenses, and fire goes out, leaving
its descendants earth and smoke. The.element of fire is
given special attention by Timaeus. Of all the elements,
fire is the most spirited, the most ambitious, and the most
desirous of gaining victory over the others. The elements,
in other words, are themselves unstable. They appear
in the wondrous display of appearing and disappearing.
In order to "save" this perplexing phenomenon, Timaeus
reconstructs the four elements out of the regular Platonic
solids. 39
This ingenious construction accomplishes two highly
importal)t goals. First, the elements are shown to have
parts. These parts - the various sides of the regular,
geometrical· solios - can be rearranged to form other
elements. Timaeus' mathematical physics thus accounts
for the fact that an element can have integrity and identifiability while at the same time being able to suffer
transmutation. There is a second goal which is of great
importance to the likely story. The regular Platonic solids
are called by Ti!Ilaeus "the most beautiful bodies."•0 What
this means is that Timaeus accounts for the structure
of body in terms of principles that are beautiful and good.
Timaeus here puts to work once more the motto of his
physics that I quoted earlier: All the good is beautiful,
and the beautiful is not measureless. Of course, what I
have been calling an account of the elements is, like all
accounts of Becoming, a likely story. It represents the
attempt on the part of the physicist to construct the best
of all possible worlds in speech. Timaeus constructs the .
paradigms or archetypes of the four elements. He makes
no attempt to deduce the real nature of body and change
from the supposition of mathematical principles.
Timaeus' second attempt to account for the world's
beginning unveils a new cause at work in the world.
Timaeus calls this cause necessity, ananlri.41 At one point
he refers to this cause as "the form, eidos, of the wandering cause."42 Fire does not act on water purposefully. Fire
burns because it has to, and water must evaporate
whether it likes it or not. In the second beginning
Timaeus makes, the world is seen as originating in the
cooperation of two causes - the good and the necessary.
The good is identical with intelligence, or more precisely,
with the ordering power and stability of intelligence. InWINTER 1985
�telligence is said to persuade necessity to take on the
beautiful structures of mathematics. 43
In his second beginning, Timaeus acknowledges the
role that mindlessness and chance play in the scheme of
things. This element of chance cannot be eradicated, nor
can it be fully mastered. Timaeus' reference to persuasion suggests that the god's work of ordering the world
according to an intelligent and intelligible design is
limited oy the nature of tlie original condition in which
the design is supposed to ~nhere. What we _have before
us in the guise of the necessary cause is none other than
the primitive and unmusical condition that exists "before"
the divine ordering. By leading us back to a reconsideration of this condition, Timaeus introduces us to that
dimension of a world which is distinct from the purposeful
activity of an intelligent soul. This new dimension is the
world of power.
When the gods construct our eyes, they do so for
reasons that are beautiful and good. We are given eyes
so that we might learn the intelligible structure of time
manifested in the heavens.++ By learning about this structure through astronomy, our souls become ordered and
healthy. We become assimilated to our first and best condition as stars. But unless our eyes have the power of seeing, no good will come of them. What I think this means
is that astronomy, although it functions as that through
which the human soul is rendered musical, is not sufficient for our complete understanding of the world. To
grasp the totality of our world, to tell the whole story
of the cosmos, we must become students of violent
change; we must study the world of efficiency or power.
There are no good ends in the worlq unless there are
powers to actualize diose ends. Intelligence by itself cannot accomplish the actualization. As Timaeus informs
us, the intellect can only persuade the necessary cause to
work towards the best ends.
But what is ultimately responsible for this turbulent
though necessary aspect of the world? What is that in
whi"ch change appears? What is that in which the crafty
god builds his mathematical models of the four elements?
Timaeus calls this medium for appearing the receptacle. +5
He refers to it also as the mother of becoming 46 and everexisting space. 47
Timaeus makes several attempts to say what the
receptacle is. This proves to be no small matter for the
receptacle, as the material ground or condition for the
appearance of determinate though shifting natures, does
not itself possess a determinate nature. If the receptacle
is said to possess a nature at all, such a nature must be
located in its indetmninateness, in its character as the receptivity to form. +a
Timaeus' attempts to speak about the receptacle take
the form of likenesses. The receptacle is compared to gold,
which receives constantly changing shapes, +9 to the
neutral bare in which perfumes can be mixed,5° and to
an instrument for purifying corn. 51 The use of images
to explain the receptacle is well-suited to the receptacle's
·all-receiving nature. For the receptacle is not only the
medium for change and the womb of becoming. It is also
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
the ground of all appearance and imaging. I c funct~ons
like the surface of a mirror. As the womb of becoming,
the receptacle is "impregnated" with the mathematical
structures of the four elements, that is, with the regular
Platonic solids. The divine craftsman gazes at the purely
intelligible forms of fire, air, earth, and water. At the same
time, he is said to schematize the receptacle "with shapes
and numbers." 52 The purely intelligible form or eidos of
each element is called by Timaeus "father." 53 In other
words, the world of change and appearance is born of
two "parents," the formless and all-receiving receptacle
and the purely intelligible eidos. Timaeus makes it clear
that the offspring which is the cosmos is something in
between its two parents. The world is neither pure
formlessness nor pure form but a peculiar mixture of the
two. The world is the presence of intelligibility within the
realm of flux.
Now before the divine act of ordering, the receptacle
is already filled with "traces" of the four elements. 54 What
this means is that the primordial chaos could never have
been ordered unless it were potentially ordered, unless it
had a predisposition to be formed. Since the receptacle
and its contents are in perpetual imbalance, the ghostly
pre-cosmic elements are constantly vying for each other's
proper places. Through its vibratory motion, the receptacle tries to send these wayward elements back to their
proper places. There is a marvelous poignancy and aptness in Timaeus' account of the pre-cosmic condition.
Since the dynamic interplay of receptade and contents
persists once the elemental traces are schematized with
shapes and numbers, this interplay may be said to
characterize the world as we know it. As our experience
of our world testifies, things that are made, whether by
art or by nature, tend to become unmade. The world
displays itself as a realm in which things that are brought
to order and unity, at the same time tend to fall to pieces.
The world tends both to order and to disorder, a fact
seen most vividly perhaps in the founding of cities and
in their constitutions, but seen no less in the history of
all plants and animals. In modern theories of the cosmos
this tendency is seen even in those celestial beings, the
stars and planets. Timaeus' receptacle confirms our sense·
that the realm of change is also the realm of mortality.
Timaeus' reference to "traces," ilchni-literally "footprints" - of the elements suggests that prior to the divine
schematism body does not exist. The so-called elements,
stoicheia or letters of the alphabet, are not really elements
at all. They are rather the result of a subtle and beautiful
construction. So far are fire, earth, air, and water from
the status of genuine elements, that a man who possessed
just a little prudence, according to Timaeus, would not
even liken them to syllables. 55
Body, then, comes into being only with the god's con- .
struction of the regular Platonic solids in the medium
of the receptacle, the medium of eternally unstable space.
Insofar as body for Timaeus can be studied, it is indistinguishable from a mathematical object endowed with
mort'ality. According to Timaeus' provocative definition,
body is that which possesses the third dimension of depth,
61
�bathos. 56 The definition allows Timaen to identify
bodiliness with solidity, and solidity with threedimensionality. More precisely, body's solidity derives
from the dimension of depth. The depth of body takes
on immense mythical significance when we remember
that the cosmos for Timaeus is a living being, a being
with a soul. While it might seem difficult to grasp the
connection between the living character of the whole and
the three-dimensionality of body, Timaeus' emphasis on
depth does point to the absurdity of a two-dimensional
living being. But why should a living being necessarily
be "solid," that is, possessed of the third dimension of
depth? The answer lies, I think, in something Timaeus
says about the soul; he speaks of the soul "circling back
upon herself," auti te anakukloumeni pros autin. 57 The soul
or animating principle of the whole, in other words, is
a principle of inwardness and reflection. One might call
it a principle of "depth; without which the world would
be superficial and lifeless. The depth Timaeus sees as
the defining characteristic of body thus supplies a
home-mythically-for the eternally reflective source of
. life.
I say "mythically" in order to remind us that although
Timaeus' account of body dwells in the region of
mathematical physics, its primary dwelling-place is the
realm of stories and images. Timaeus makes no effort
to derive the "real" properties of body from his
mathematical principles. The likely story supplies no explanation of the descent from tP,e purely intelligible archai
to the world of body and change. All takes place by way
of analogy and image-making, so that the most technical
constructions (like that of the musical scale or of the
regular solids) hover between the invisible and true beginnings and the world as it is given to sight and touch. Fire
is not a moving pyramid; it is merely like a moving
pyramid. Nor does the likely story claim to be able to
derive the mathematical structure of fire from the eidoJ
of fire, from "fire itself by itself."58 Even at its most apparently scientific moments, the likely story retains its
character as a mathematical poem, a poem that places the
mathematical arts in the service of non-mathematical
meaning and "depth."
In the entire discussion of body and bodily change,
Timaeus make several references to guarding and saving the power, the dynamis, of likely accounts. 59 Indeed,
an invocation of "Zeus the Preserver"60 stands at the head
of Timaeus' second attempt to speak of beginnings. In
the same oreath Timaeus calls his second story about
a mathematics of body "a strange and uncustomary exposition." Zeus is invoked to save us during the strange
business of constructing a mathematical poem about
body. He seems to be the patron god of likely stories.
The account will begin in distrust, perhaps even in our
laughter at such absurd hypotheses as those made by
Timaeus. But our imaginations will presumably save us
from distrust once we see that the mathematical
hypotheses succeed in saving the appearances, once these
hypotheses supply a reasonably coherent story of body
and bodily change. The safety of a likely story thus stems
62
from our remembering that what we are doing is building
mathematical models or analogies, that we are being recreational. The likely story in this way dramatizes for
us what we now call a scientific theory. A theory must be
careful not to promise what it cannot deliver. It does this
by acknowledging and insisting upon its origins in a productive, imaginative intellect. Strictly speaking, theories,
for Timaeus, do not belong in the realm of knowledge
but in the realm of trust, pistis. For this reason,
mathematical physics aims at persuasion. It is a form of
rhetoric. The rhetorical connection between physics and
the world is strongly implied by the fact that the divine
intelligence itself is said to persuade the receptacle to
assume the best and most beautiful mathematical form. 61
We must remind ourselves at this point that the entire
Timaeus addresses the problem of the world in its totality.
The world of all generated things - gods and men, cities,
customs, reputations, and also likely stories. All such
generated things reveal in their individual fates the life
of the whole to which they are subject; all reveal the pervasive and inescapable workings of necessity within the
receptacle. The receptacle comes on the scene in answer
to questions of physics proper. Yet Timaeus' mode of
speech suggests that we see the world of bodily change
as revelatory of the soul, of our souls. In fact, at the end
of the likely story, we find souls going up and down the
scale of animality. 62 This happens in just the same way
that the four elements of body go up and down in their
violent change of place. The cosmos, you remember, is
both body and soul. And the receptacle, as the mother
of all becoming, is necessarily the place of souls as well
as the place of bodies.
No one can deny the power that place as well as time
exerts over our lives. Time and place together have to
do with the meaning of a life withi.n becoming. Such a
life is unintelligible without history, or, if you will, without
the story or plot of a life. Insofar as an individual life comes
to be defined as a story, it is governed by the Where and
the When. It is of the utmost importance to us that we
have a place; and at the appropriate times it is good and
necessary for us to change place. Sometimes the change
of place, like the change of the elements, is not smooth
and continuous but is a violent upheaval.
Timaeus' account of the receptacle fits well with
Critias' story about the great cycles civilizations go
through and the great wars between cities. In Critias'
story Athens plays the role of the great liberator of the
political world. Athens fights against the insolent kings
of Atlantis who attempt to enslave the entire mainland.
But as we know from the account given to us by
Thucydides, the Athens of Plato's day launches an insolent campaign against the great and powerful island
of Sicily, a campaign which proves to be Athens' downfall.
In the course of history, the roles have been reversed.
What is true in the political order seems to be true in
the cosmic order as well. The life of the whole cannot
be identified simply with the serene motiOns of the
heavens. Life is not only intellectual activity; it is also
the passion and vibrancy which cause the whole to be
WINTER 1985
�alive in the first place, to reach glorious moments which
tend towards tragic decay. At the beginning of the
dialogue, Socrates says he is filled with a desire to see
the best city go to war, to a fitting and beautiful war.
Socrates seems to be mimicking our fondness for life in
the sense of passion and vibrancy, and also our desire
to witness a beautiful show of strength. Socrates is asking to see the best city transformed into a heroic city,
a feat that requires great skill in the making of lively
images. Timaeus' two stories of origins - the story of the
s-oul and the story of the receptacle- reflect the two senses
of the term life. The divine soul, manifested as the moving structure of time, embodies life as intellectual activity.
The receptacle embodies life as passion and vibrancy.
Both senses of life are necessary if we are to tell the whole
story about the life of the whole and our own spatiotemporal lives as well. Yet it is no easy matter to say how
these two senses of life can combine to form a coherent
whole.
In the last third of the likely story, Timaeus attempts
to "weave together" the two supreme causes of Becoming: the good and the necessary. 63 He attempts, in other
words, to harmonize the two senses of life which the two
stories of beginnings have uncovered. We might expect
that given these two accounts of the world's founding,
Timaeus in his third story will tell us how the two clifferent accounts of origination are reconciled, how it is
possible for the soul to be the first and best of generated
things 6 + and for the god to have constructed the elements
of body first. 65 But Timaeus makes no effort to explain
how the first story of origins fits with the second. He
leaves us with two beginnings, two archai. This incoherence of beginnings is meaningful. It suggests that
neither time nor space was constructed first. The world
itself is characterized by a double beginning. Time as intelligence and space as receptacle interpenetrate but are
not reducible to each other. This doubleness of goodness
as intelligence and the necessity of the receptacle mikes
its most dramatic appearance in Timaeus' account of
human nature. For Timaeus our nature and the nature
of the whole imitate one another. If we find an
incoherence in our 9wn lives, a tension between our intelligent and our passionate selves, this is because such
a tension exists in the world which we imitate and to
which we necessarily belong. The cosmos for Timaeus
is something like the human soul, and the human soul's
incoherence, writ large.
Part III-The Story of Human Nature
W
e know from the dramatic prologue to
T imaeus' speech that the likely story is
.
intended by Critias to be a preface to
Critias' own story about Athens and her
day of glory. You recall that the Timaeus
begins with a very watered down summary of conclusiOns we find in the Republic about the regime that would
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
be best according to nature. But Critias is not satisfied
with Socrates' concern for a non-historical city, a city
which had no actual birth in the realm of becoming: "The
citizens and city you went through for us yesterday as
in a myth we will now carry over into the realm of truth."66
For Critias, Socrates failed to given an account of the
best city insofar as this city would have an actual birth
in the realm of becoming and history. History- or rather
the memory of past deeds- is identical with truth. Critias
does not distinguish between the faithfulness of this
memory and the truthfulness of what he remembers. His
memory is etched with stories he heard as a young boy.
Critias scrupulously avoids the word mythos when he refers
to his own story. He claims boldly that his account is
"true in every respect." 67 It is through Critias, in other
words, that we come to be suspicious of anything that
has the character of a likely story.
Socrates' speech is mythical for Critias, mythical in
the bad sense of the term, because it was about a city
with no history. It was about form without motion and
place. Critias attempts to correct this lack by transforming Socrates' best city by nature into a young and glorious
Athens. But Critias needs a transition from Socrates' inquiry into Being to his own concern for a begotten and
therefore genuine city. Timaeus supplies this transition.
Timaeus will generate a world in which things come to
be and pass away in a splendid show of beautiful structure and purpose. He will construct the cosmic background
and context for the cycles of human history. As Critias
says, Timaeus will generate the universe down to the birth
of human nature. 6 8 What this means is that human
nature is the intended goal of the likely story.
Timaeus' story of human nature began just before
the gods confronted die problem of the necessary cause,
the cause of power. The star-gods, who are said to be
the childmz of the demiurge, put us together piece by piece,
organ by organ. What Timaeus shows us in this very
odd and at times repellent view of human nature is that
for him human nature is something neither whole, nor
natural, nor especially attractive. The human animal is
a creature of great vulnerability and multifarious needs,
and it is to these needs that Timaeus' likely story is addressed. Our neediness is summed up by the fact that
we are not spherical: we lack the self-sufficiency and
general happiness Timaeus associates with the spherical
cosmos. Timaeus' identification of happiness with
sphericity reminds us of the myth Aristophanes tells in
the Symposium. But whereas that myth attempts to ground
our happiness in the love we have for other human beings, Timaeus' story grounds our happiness in the study
of the heavens.
It is true that our complicated bodily arrangement
demonstrates how well-meaning and ingenious the gods
were. Like the world as a whole, man is a sort of cosmos,
an artfully arranged living order. But precisely because
man is so artfully constructed in the likely story, he is
also something artifical or, as we say, synthetic. There
is something grotesque about him. Man is a moving network of parts and functions. There is one and only one
63
�thing about man in the likely story that is completely
non-artificial and unconstructed. This is his passionate
nature, the nature that is at odds with the intellect's efforts to give life order and artfulness.
Human nature starts out as a head. The head contains the divine circuitry of Same and Other. To this head
the gods attach a torso and limbs to serve as the head's
means of transport. 69 The gods then put the mortal parts
of the soul into the torso. Spiritedness and the love of
winning go in the chest, and the desire for food and drink
goes in the belly. 70 An amusing and plausible topology
of the human soul! Timaeus describes this addition of
spiritedness and desire to our divine intelligence as a pollution of the divine. 71 To minimize the bad effects the mortal
parts of the soul have on the intellect, the gods construct
a buffer to go between the head and the torso. That is
to say, the gods invent the neck. 72 Like the belly-button
of Aristophanes' myth, the neck is a constant reminder
of our "fall" from sphericity and happiness.
Like all the bodily constructions we find in this part
of the likely story, the invention of the neck points to some
invisible truth about the human soul. Timaeus' account
of the neck shows us in its peculiar comic fashion that
human nature is ultimately absurd and incomprehensible. There is really no logos of human nature, no
reasonable explanation of how the best in use is related
to the worst. This seems to be implied also by the fact
that Timaeus compartmentalizes the soul: intellect goes
in the head, spiritedness in the chest, and desire in the
belly. One can only tell likely stories about human nature,
and such stories look at man in terms of artful construction. The ingenious invention of the neck shows us that
we do not cohere by natu~. Intelligence has no business
mingling with the passions, but it must mingle with them
if human nature is to be born at all. The neck forcibly
joins the head to the rest of us and at the same time supplies some protection for the head's "private life" of
thinking.
In the likely story, human nature is the most mixed
and most terrible of all things. We are composed of all
animal possibilities the world has to offer-the highest,
the lowest, and all the stages in between. Our soul in its
humanness is everything .life can be. In our heads, we
lead the divine life of thinking. But owing to our other
parts below the neck, we partake of mindlessness. Because
of this region below the neck, we run the risk of losing
our human shape in our next birth. The penalty for a
deficient life is transformation into a lower animal. That
is, contained within our human nature is the full range
of animal possibilities corresponding to the various forms
of unintelligent life. This range stretches from the stars
all the way down to the stupidest, most worthless animals
there are. But the cosmos requires even these most worthless animals if it is to be whole. Deficiency itself seems
to be necessary to the world order, and this deficiency,
witnessed in the moral hierarchy of animals, is rooted
in the all-encompassing nature of man. The cosmos approaches its final perfection and completeness for
64
Timaeus as the original, healthy conditior: of human
nature becomes degenerate with time. In t!le closing
scenes of the likely story, the cosmos receives th~ ani~al
forms destined for it by the "intelligible animal:•; 3 These
forms are generated, so co speak, by the need in man's
nature to actualize in tim ~ all the possibilities which lurk
within him and which constitute his being. For Timaeus,
the cosmos is both just and beautiful: just because it seeks
a harmonization between type of soul and type of body,
beautiful because through such harmonization it shows
itself to be a genuine kosmos, that is, a world governed
by a wondrous symmetry and coherence, even for those
beings farthest removed from the motions of intelligence.
Divine care in this way makes a blessing even of the curses
that man's nature brings upon the world. This intelligent
care which orders all things and which seeks to make good
out of bad, perfection out of deficiency, seems to be an
instance of Timaeus' guiding song: "All the good is
beautiful, and the beautiful is not measureless." The
beauty and nobility of intelligence consist in its care that
the good triumph in all things. This divine care for the
order of all things is the same as the generosity of the
demiurge. It is that goodness which Timaeus, at the very
beginning of his talk, characterized as the god's lack of
phthonos, envy. 7+
As we have seen, human nature in the likely story
contains· within it all the animal possibilities the world
has to offer. These possibilities spring from the complexity
of our own nature. This complexity which makes us what
we are can be looked at in the light of Timaeus' two great
cosmic principles- the necessary and the good. These
two principles define human life as well as the cosmic
life. Timaeus associates the passionate part of us with
the necessary cause, with the receptacle. As always in the
likely story, goodness is associated with the orderliness
of intelligence.
When Timaeus introduces our non-rational nature,
he calls the passions "terrible and necessary." 75 The passions belong to our necessary nature insofar as we are
absorbed in the life of bodily desire, honor, and victory.
The turbulence with which these passions fill us remind
us strongly of the turbulence within the receptacle.
The passions are necessary because without them we
would not be human. To have human life at all, we must
be absorbed in ·the impulsive, non-reasoning sense of life.
To be sure, as long as we are men and not stars, life in
this sense is a condition for the life of thinking. If we
do not care for our whole human lives as human beings,
our intellectual life suffers. Thinking presupposes that
our lower desires are held in check and that we get enough
food, sleep, and exercise. Furthermore, if we had no
spiritedness we would lack the daring it takes to tackle
and solve such things as mathematical problems. But the
lower passions are disruptive, terrible as well as necessary.
Human nature is therefore in the following quandary:
the necessary condition for our happiness is also an
enemy to our happiness.
One might be tempted to think that the gods should
WINTER 1985
�have made our passions less terrible before they pqt them
into our souls. But this, I think, would deprive them of
their nature and function as passions. A passion, insofar
as it is a passion, cannot be anything other than consuming and measureless. Passion must contain the
possibility for being terrible. I think it is this boundless
and frightening character of our passions that Timaeus
points to when he says that the gods mixed all the passions with "love, eros, that attempts all things." 76 Since
the passions for Timaeus are causes of disorder, they must
be subjugated by the force of intellect. Timaeus is clear
about how the· intellect itself becomes fit to rule the soul.
It becomes fit through the study of astronomy. This study
restores our intellect, our circuits of Same and Other,
to the originally divine and musical condition we lost at
birth.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this lecture, the
likely story takes the fonn of a song. Timaeus sings the
praises of the god Kosmos. He sings the world into shape
with the beautiful constructions of mathematics and harmonics. The song of Timaeus, the nomos as Socrates calls
it, gives the world its musical and lawful shape. The center
of the song's teaching is this: all the good is beautiful,
and the beautiful is not measureless. It is now time for
us to ask what we are to make of Timaeus and his song
of. order.
•
We know from the very beginning of the dialogue
that the making of order within becoming will · be the
dialogue's central concern. Socrates gives us our clue in
his :mathematical account of who is present. He counts
people. That· is, he replaces their human identities by
their general characteristic of countableness. By counting his hosts, Socrates also implies the connection between time and number so important to Timaeus' story.
By asking whert the missing fourth is, he. implies the importance of place in the dialogue, reminding us at the
same time that time and place always accompany Qile
another. But the missing fourth remains unidentified
precisely because Socrates uses numbers instead of
names. Mathematics, it seems, has the power to order
beings, but it is powerless to identify them. Timaeus
fabricates an explanation for the absence of the fourth
host. Timaeus says he must have fallen ill, for surely he
would not be aQsent willingly from such a meeting. 77 A
likely story! The very first time we meet Timaeus he is
playing the role in life that he plays when he delivers his
speech about the cosmos.
The dialogue is filled with all sorts of playful
references to our desire for the orderliness and beauty
implied by that rich word kosmos. Even Socrates is ornamented, dressed up for the occasion. But it is in the
likely story of Timaeus that all the various senses of lr.osmos
find their most original place- in the world as a whole.
The cosmos is thus the paradigm and source for all the
ways in which order and the making of order appear in
human life.
In the light of what we have seen so far about the
likely story, let us return to our earlier question: Who
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
is Timaeus? What sort of man tells a stoiy like the likely
story?
.
Timaeus is described for us by Socrates. Everythmg
about Timaeus is splendid, even his name which suggests time, honor. He is an honored, powerful statesman
from Italy. He comes from a noble family, he is wealthy,
and he rules a city known for its good laws. Socrates also
says that Timaeus has "made it to the top in every
philosophy."78 Timaeus is the paradigm of the worldly
man, the successful worldly man. Unlike Socrates he is
an eminently public man, full of worldly experience and
known for his mastery of all learning. He seems too good
to be true, more like a work of art than a real human
being. I sometimes think this must be why, next to the
historical characters in the dialogue (Socrates, Critias,
and Hennocrates), Timaeus is conspicuously fictional.
He seems to be a likely story, that is, an unbelievable
though beautiful story.
Beautiful though he is, Timaeus makes us question
the virtues of a devotion to orderliness and accomplishment. Through the character of Timaeus, Plato causes
us to ask· this question: Is it so clear that all the good
is beautiful and that the beautiful is not measureless? Is
it so clear, in other words, that orderliness and goodness
are the same? Even if we follow Timaeus in identifying
goodness with intelligence, it is far from clear that intelligence is good solely because it is a cause of order and
decency. In the Republic we get a different view of the
good,. There the good is that which yokes together the
knower and the known. 79 In other words, the good is the
ultimate cause of truth.
The likely story is possessed of many virtues. Its
greatest virtue is, I think, its effect on our imaginations.
The story tunes and sharpens our ability to construct
and to identify likenesses within a world we are used to
thinlcing of in tenns of meaningless facts. Through the
power of the likely story, the realm of body and change,
the object of the physicist, becomes a realm of meaning.
There are reasons for the way things are. We are thus able
to find ourselves reflected in the cosmos Timaeus builds
in speech.
But I wonder if we are able to find ourselves accurately reflected in the likely story. In the story's devotion
to a moral cosmos ruled by orderliness and art, something
human seems to get lost. I think the loss is especially felt
in Timaeus' treatment of our passions. For Timaeus our
passions are necessary but not good. Or rather, they are
good only insofar as they are necessary. The passions pull
us away from the orderly life of thinking. Timaeus tells
us something we know all too well from experiencethat the passions are terrible. But he does not leave room
for the possibility that a terrible thing is not for that
reason bad. Just as goodness is not necessarily identical
with order, badness is not necessarily the same as terribleness. The terrible things in us, those things Timaeus
sums up as "love that attempts all things," could very well
have more of a connection with the good things in us
than Timaeus is willing to admit. Is not our effort to learn
65
�the truth about all things rooted in a terrible longing,
a divine madness as Socrates calls it in the Phaedrus? 80
A soul possessed by the madness of philosophy is surely
not the same as a soul which has "made it to the top in
every philosophy."
In the likely story, the beautiful appears in one guise
oilly- the guise of mathematical structure. For Timaeus
this mathematical beauty is always linked with nobility
or good character. It is never treated as something which
could awakeri love. If longing is at all present in the likely
story, it is present in our longing to return to our original
condition as stars. But this sort of longing is prompted
by our desire to be orderly and well-shaped. Timaeus
at one point refers to the lover, the erastes, of intelligence
and knowledge.81 But I think this refers simply to the
man who loves his own noble activity of building
mathematical models of Becoming.
The absence of the sort of beauty I am talking about
can be seen in Timaeus' portrait of human nature. The
portrait combines the symmetry of structure with the
grotesqueness of a medical operation. Let us consider
for a moment the beauty of a human face. In the likely
story, the face is entirely a matter of organs and their
proper functioning. If, for example, you wanted to say
that someone had beautiful eyes, Timaeus would point
out to you that the beauty of the eyes consisted in their
ability to see, especially to see the objects of astronomy.
The eyes, therefore, are beautiful because they lead us
eventually to the ordering of our soul. Timaeus' account
of all the other facial organs follows much the same line
of thought. These organs exhibit nothing more and
nothing less than the gods' attempt to reconcile the
demands of orderliness with those of life's necessities. But
a face is not an orderly arrangement of parts that work
properly. It is a single, uncuttable look, an idea. It is
something that allows us to say "This is Socrates" or "This
is Theaetetus." Because of the uncuttable look of the face,
we can identify Socrates and Theaetetus despite the
similarity of their faces. Furthermore, owing to the
character of the human face, it is ridiculous to give an
account of pec;>ple by counting them. Timaeus shows us
that he does not know how to look at a human face. His
ingenious and well-meaning gods do not care if their arrangement of facial organs also inspires longing. Or
rather, if they care, they care because such longing would
cause us to "lose our heads" and become disorderly and
ugly.
The absence of a beauty that inspires longing in the
likely story is deeply connected with the absence of
philosophical love. The idea or look of the human face
resembles the uncuttable look of a Socratic eidos. This
eidos too cannot be reduced to a proper arrangement of
parts. In other dialogues, notably in the Symposium, our
perception of beautiful bodies is the starting-point for
our ascent to the purely intelligible region of the forms.
The likely story contains no such ascent. The cosmos is
our boundary and law-giver. And, as we saw earlier, we
must accept the likely story and not search beyond it.
66
We never get to the true face of things in the story. We
must rest content with a beautiful mathematical facade.
The absence of the philosopher and the philosophical
love pf the forms in Timaeus' cosmos brings up a
perplexity that lies at the heart of the likely story. Timaeus
often refers to the region of the forms which our cosmos
imitates. He refers also to the dialectical study of the
things that are always. Why then, when Timaeus constructs the cosmos and all its contents, does he leave out
philosophy as the study of the truly intelligible whole?
Why does astronomy rather than dialectic become the
highest human activity within Timaeus' cosmos? To
answer this question, we will seek guidance from the
divided line of the Republic.
On the divided line the level Socrates calls dianoia is
situated just below the level of dialectic. To this realm
belong all those activities called arts, technai. The most
important of these arts are the mathematical studies arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and harmonics.
Socrates distinguishes these arts from the uppermost level
of dialectic in the following way. The mathematical arts,
unlike dialetic, make use of hypotheses which are never
questioned. Socrates compares such hypotheses to images. 82 This is wtiy Socrates says that the mathematician
merely dreams the truth.83 The mathematician is intellectually asleep, and in his sleep he has beautiful dreams
whose clarity and distinctness lull him into thinking that
he has found the truth itself. He is asleep because he does
not search for the original beings, the forms, of which
his own mathematical objects are likenesses. Caught up
in his dream world of beautiful structures, the mathematician beholds images, thinking all the while that the objects of mathematics are in fact the truest, most original
beings. Despite "the imaginativeness characteristic of the
mathematical activity, he lacks the most important kind
of imagination. He is unable to see beyond the clarity
of mathematical objects to the more precise, ·more
original, region of the forms. While the mathematician
works down from his unquestioned hypotheses to
necessary conclusions, the dialectician works up and back
to the vision of the forms. The philosophical education
Socrates outlines in the seventh book of the Republic
attempts to undo the mathematician's sleepiness, to make
the mathematical studies a ladder to the higher region
of dialectic.
What we can say about Timaeus' likely story is that .
it too works down from hypotheses. It embodies that intellectual activity Socrates calls dianoia. Unlike the
mathematicians described in the &public, Timaeus begins
with the realm of the forms- the forms of Same and
Other, the intelligible animal, and the pure archetypes
of the four elements of body. Timaeus treats the forms
themselves as hypotheses from which he then descends to
make a world. Notwithstanding his supposition of these
forms, the motion of the likely story is away from the
assumed principles rather than towards them. What this
accounts for, I think, is the likeliness of the likely story.
In the likely story, we descend from the region of being
WINTER 1985
�to the image-world of becoming. We enter the beautiful
dream world of the mathematician. We build a hypothetical re-created world in speech.
As the cosmos gets filled and perfected in Timaeus'
story, ~t "closes upon itself." It becomes a self-sufficient,
self-contained god. As we build this hypothetical world
with the powers of mathematics, we move further and
further away from the realm of Being which was our
starting-point. I think it is in this way that astronomy
as the highest of the mathematical arts comes to replace
the dialectical inquiry into first principles. This is one
of the important things the likely story dramatizes - the
covering up and forgetting of first principles as the true
objects of inquiry. Such a covering up is vital if we are
to guard and save the power of giving likely accounts,
of constructing theories. In the likely story, our desire to
ascend to the &public's greatest study of the good gets
"swallowed up" by our attraction to the beauty of
mathematical structures. Because of this, the likely story
necessarily takes the form of play and diversion from
serious matters. True to our familiar expression "entertaining a hypothesis," the likely story comes before us as
a form of entertainment for Socrates. As we have seen,
Socrates fully accepts Timaeus' conditions. He accepts
the likely story as his guest-gift and does not, on this occasion, search beyond it. He thereby takes the story in
just the right spirit, the spirit that shows exactly what
a likely story about Becoming is.
As the silent Socrates listens to Timaeus' song of law
and order, we of course wonder what he is thinking. My
~ess is that he is enjoying his feast of speech, though
not because he is persuaded of its teaching. I think
Socrates must all the while be looking into Timaeus' face,
thinking about the quality of Timaeus' soul as it is
revealed in the likely story. He may be searching for some
trace of philosophical longing buried beneath the clever
constructions and worldly accomplishments that have 120
doubt spoiled the glorious Timaeus.
Something is surely lacking in the Timaeus. This is
signalled by the famous absence of the fourth host. The
fourth host is perhaps the philosopher, who has no place
in the dialogue or in the world as Timaeus re-creates it.
The likely story offers us a strange and provocative
look at the world and at ourselves. But we do not find
ourselves accurately reflected in the likely world that
emerges out of Timaeus' head, the world without human
faces. For all its virtues of order and musicality, the likely
story leaves us with a need that can be met, I think, only
·by turning back, back towards the first principles and
to those Socratic stories; like the myth of recollection,
which encourage us to turn back. Timaeus' cosmic song
thus draws our attention to that other singer who, for
now, silently listens.
FOOTNOTES
1. Timaeus 8 7c4- 5
2. Ibid. 20b7-c3
3. Ibid. 27a2-b6
4. Ibid. 29d4-6
5. Ibid. 106a3 - 4
6. Ibid. 59c5-d2
7. Ibid. 29c3
8. Ibid. 71 a3 - 72d3
9. Ibid. 29c4-d3
10. Ibid. 29d6
11 . Gorgias 523al - 3
12. Republic VI, 509d6-510a4; 51 ld6-e5
13. Timaeus 50d2 - e 1
14. Ibid. 56b3-5
15. Ibid. 41c6-d3; 4le4-42a3; 42d2-e4
16. Ibid. 42e5-43a6
17. Ibid. 91a4-b7
18. Ibid. 90e6-91al
19. Ibid. 21a1-3; 26e2-27al
20. Ibid. 24c7-dl; Critias 109c7-8
21. . Thucydides, Pelopponesian Wars, II 40
22. Timaeus 83e4- 5
23. Ibid. 30a4
24. Ibid. 29e2-3
25. Ibid. 30b4 - 6
26. Ibid. 31a4-b3
27. Ibid. 51b7'-c5
28. Ibid. 32b6-7
THE ST. JOHN'S REVIEW
29.
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
Ibid. 35a8
Ibid. 35b4-36b6
Ibid. 36t16-d7
Ibid. 36e2-3
Ibid. 4Zd1-2; 90c6-d7
Ibid. 37a2-c5
Ibid. 34b8- 9
Ibid. 27d2
Aristotle, Physics; IV, 219b1-2
Timaeus 52d2 - 53a7
Ibid. 53c4-55c6
Ibid. 53d7-e2
Ibid. 47e4-5
Ibid. 48a6- 7
Ibid. 48a2-5; 56c3-7
Ibid. 46e6- 4 7c4
Ibid. 49a6
Ibid. 50d2 - 3
Ibid. 52a8
Ibid. 51a1-b2
Ibid. 50a4-c6
Ibid. 50e4-8
Ibid. 52e5 - 53a2
Ibid. 53b4-5
Ibid. 50d2 - 4
Ibid. 53b2
Ibid. 48b5 - c2
Ibid. 53c5-6
57.
58.
59.
60.
61.
62.
63.
64.
65.
66.
67.
68.
69.
70.
71.
72.
73.
74.
75.
76.
77.
78.
79.
80.
81.
.82.
83.
Ibid. 37a5
Ibid. 51b8
Ibid. 48d1 -4
toe. cit.
Ibid. 48a2-5; 56c3-7
Ibid. 92c1 - 3
Ibid. 68e1 -69a5
Ibid. 34b10-35al
Ibid. 69b8 - cl
Ibid. 26c7-d1
Ibid. 20d8
Ibid. 27a3-6
Ibid. 44d3-45a2
Ibid. 69c5-70e5
Ibid. 69d6
Ibid. 69d6-e3
Ibid. ·39e3 - 40a2
Ibid. 29e1-2
Ibid. 69c8
Ibid. 69d4-6
Ibid. 17a4-5
Ibid. 20a1 - 5
Republic VI, 508el -509a5
Phaedrus 243e9 ff
Timaeus 46d7-8
Republic VI, 510b4-511a2
Ibid. VII, 533b6-c3
67
�
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
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
12 pages
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
A name given to the resource
The song of Timaeus
Description
An account of the resource
Typescript of a lecture delivered on April 13, 1984 by Peter Kalkavage as part of the Formal Lecture Series. (Reprinted in the St. John's Review, Winter 1985 Issue)
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Kalkavage, Peter
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
1984-04-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Kalkavage 1984-04-13
Relation
A related resource
<a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3809" title="Audio recording">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/5a488a13fa594175b55aad4aa8244228.mp3
b25fc3485ffe19d95ca5861fa1713aed
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
audio cassette tape (Tape 652 v. 1 & 2)
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:12:09
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
A name given to the resource
The song of Timaeus
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 13, 1984 by Peter Kalkavage as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Kalkavage, Peter
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
1984-04-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
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 Kalkavage 1984-04-13
Relation
A related resource
<a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3838" title="Typescript">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ed53c39435a793fa526519101f85bc6a.mp3
801748a8f9d24fe1fd0c689dfdab5aa0
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.)
01:03:13
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
A name given to the resource
The Significance of Quantum Mechanics
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on December 1, 2017, by Bernhardt Trout as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Trout, Bernhardt L.
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
2017-12-01
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 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."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
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_Trout_Bernhardt_2017-12-01_ac
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/59a573b4953919a9a1a32de6e9405335.mp3
e83f3099496bd37156a4c702cde25e83
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.)
00:47:33
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
A name given to the resource
The Serpent and An Octopus: On Reading
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered by Matt Linck on January 18, 2019 as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Linck, Matthew S.
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
2019-01-18
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 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."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
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
Linck_Matt_2019-01-18
Friday night lecture
Tutors
Deprecated: Directive 'allow_url_include' is deprecated in Unknown on line 0