22 20 453 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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/cee03fd74c7428c271d16a7003cbfee5.mp3 165caa240ddd0ad410c194575077fc0d 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 00:54:41 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 Pihas, Gabriel Title A name given to the resource Dante's Beatrice: Between Idolatry and Iconoclasm Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011-12-02 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 December 2, 2011, by Gabriel Pihas 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 Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321. Characters. Beatrice Portinari. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 79702 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9ec3e28bee7075774ed8be34e282dc02.mp3 86810f76ab46f11ee0d9a11f75d22351 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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 LEC_Petrich_Louis_2012-04-20_ac Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1a240f1a567f64d9a88d16b3932ef4a7.mp3 5e88a97280a7d1ce8613931a0744545b 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:51:44 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav 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 Peirce, William Spangar Title A name given to the resource Can taxes be fair? : Should they be? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-10-11 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 11, 2013 by William Peirce 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 sound Subject The topic of the resource Taxation Fairness. Economic aspects. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 81119 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/44">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/a750e33a1cad4235ae601e22819f9821.pdf 472b3820a62b938da44bfd8fe905ba99 PDF Text Text Can Taxes Be Fair? Should They Be? Lecture to be delivered at St. John's College, Annapolis, October 11, 2013 By William S. Peirce Professor Emeritus of Economics, Case Western Reserve University, wsp@cwru.edu Abstract: The concept of "fairness" is so frequent in modern discussions of taxation that the absence of the term in ancient and medieval discussions of taxation may seem surprising. The older literature uses such terms as "intolerable" and "confiscatory," as well as "old" and "new." Fairness seems to have entered the tax discussion in the literature on natural rights that held sway in the era of the U.S. and French revolutions. Despite the ubiquity of fairness as a criterion in the discussion, it has not led to agreement in the design of taxes. The flaws are fundamental; the concept cannot be perfected. The economic concept of "opportunity cost" is more basic, and this leads directly to the choice of the land value tax. This offers a way out of the swamp of fairness in the design of a tax system. We hear references to fairness and taxation all the time. The President calls on the rich to pay their fair share. Organizations actively promote the "Fair Tax." If you study Public Finance you will hear much about specific versions of fairness in the form of horizontal equity (that equals should be treated equally) and vertical equity (that unequals should be treated in an appropriately unequal way). Although vertical equity has some echoes of Aristotle (bk.5, ch.3), the juxtaposition of the concepts of fairness and taxation is a recent phenomenon, beginning in the late 18th century—the intellectual climate that gave us Adam Smith, the American Revolution, and the French Revolution. That climate was, of course, the culmination of centuries of development of parliamentary control of the sovereign, as well as the evolution of Judeo-Christian concepts of natural law and individual rights. My topic is already impossibly large, but I want to sketch out an earlier view of taxation that explains why the pre-Enlightenment references to "fairness" are so scarce. Lacking the time and knowledge to review the facts of ancient history, and in the spirit of Adam Smith and the Scottish Enlightenment, I will engage in some "theoretical or conjectural history" inspired by Mancur Olson (2000, pp.3-12): Imagine yourself in a squalid village surrounded by wilderness a thousand or so years ago. You and your neighbors are engaged in the daily struggle to scrape together dinner. A cloud of dust appears on the horizon, followed by the thunder of galloping hooves. The villagers scramble to hide from the gang of roving bandits who kill or rape anyone they see, steal whatever they can carry, set fire to the rest, and gallop off. The surviving villagers crawl out of their hiding places and try to piece together their squalid life before winter sets in, knowing that the next gang of bandits may gallop in at any time. 1 �Now put yourself in the position of the roving bandits. (History is written by the winners.) You ride for days through the wilderness, risk the perils of attacking and plundering, and have very little to show for the effort because squalid villages provide scant booty. Eventually, the more perceptive roving bandits realize that by settling in a village as stationary bandits and protecting the inhabitants from other marauders, they can induce the villagers to work harder, accumulate capital, produce more, and provide them with more loot than they could extract by plunder. The stationary bandits can evolve into government by providing internal order, judging disputes, defending property rights, converting indiscriminate looting into predictable taxes, and providing the public goods that increase production and, hence, tax revenues—roads, bridges, irrigation, training in useful skills, etc. Although the villagers were safer and more comfortable when the roving bandits evolved into stable government, there was no doubt that the government was an alien power extracting surplus from the people. Taxes were not described as "fair" or "unfair." but rather as "tolerable" or "oppressive." A "good king" was someone who understood that arbitrary exactions and high tax rates did not yield him as much revenue as more moderate and predictable rates that allowed his subjects to prosper. The story with which you are probably more familiar is from I Samuel 8:5-18. Samuel judged Israel, but when he was old and his sons were corrupt, the people requested a king "like all the nations." Samuel explained what kings were like: "He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots. And he will appoint him captains over thousands, and captains over fifties; and will set them to ear his ground , and to reap his harvest, and to make his instruments of war, and instruments of his chariots. And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be cooks, and to be bakers. And he will take your fields, and your vineyards, and your oliveyards, even the best of them, and give them to his servants. And he will take the tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give to his officers, and to his servants. And he will take your menservants and your maidservants, and your goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work. He will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants." Again, the picture is that of an outsider who takes whatever he wants from his subjects. Fairness is not an issue. The alien power did not always settle in the subject territory. The Roman empire, and many others, extracted tribute from weaker nations. Often local agents (the hated "publicans" of the Bible) would be granted the tax franchise for a particular area. Each agent was responsible for paying the contractual amount to the government, but could keep whatever he could squeeze out of the populace. This ancient device of "tax farming" persisted in some form for many centuries, which suggests the value of using someone with local and particular knowledge to estimate what the government could extract from taxpayers. The problems with authorizing an agent of government to squeeze an arbitrary amount from the taxpayer have led most commentators to condemn any practice that seems to put revenue agents on commission. The details of the taxes and forms of government varied from place to place and time to time, but from the viewpoint of the mass of mankind the differences were not great. The masses could expect that nearly all of the surplus above subsistence would be extracted from them either as taxes or as rents to a landlord. When taxes became intolerable, the masses were squeezed to the point where 2 �population would actually be decreasing from malnutrition or because people fled from the high tax civilization to refuge with the barbarians. Even before the great invasions of Rome in the 5th century, central control of the Empire had weakened. As taxes on farmland were raised to the point where small farmers abandoned their plots, the large landowners absorbed the smaller plots and became the feudal lords who contended with each other and with kings for power and taxes throughout the Middle Ages. Much of the political history focusses on barons, dukes, princes, and kings, but the maneuverings of these folks for land and revenue made little difference to the mass of mankind. Nevertheless, the concept of justice in taxation was developing and property rights and contracts retained their force. The teachings of the Church became increasingly important. "God will certainly punish anyone who reinstitutes an old tax…" (Pope Gregory,c. 600,quoted in Adams, p. 137). New taxes, also, were forbidden by the Edict of Paris (614 ) and it was expected that an exactio inaudita (unheard-of tax) would provoke divine retribution. Kings would often have to ask the barons for special assistance to fund wars. This was generally granted for defensive wars, but not for offensive expeditions, which were expected to be self-financing through plunder and tribute. Montesquieu (Bk. XXX) cites a number of contracts between kings and cities or particular populations setting , among other matters, the taxes that could be levied on the city or group. These examples are from 7th – 12th centuries in western Europe when the king, however limited the geographic extent of his kingdom, was the highest earthly power until usurped or conquered. Yet kings did feel bound by their contracts. Whether this was evidence of a fear of eternal retribution, some innate feeling of ethics, or a pragmatic calculation of the value of being known to keep one's word, or some combination of these, the result was strengthen an ideal of justice in taxation that involved stability, predictability, and appropriateness. Today, "just" is often used as a synonym for "fair," but the medieval concept is more closely related to the idea of being fitting, proper, and lawful. In Plato's Republic (p.112, "The Guardians' Duties"), the potter should not be paid either too much or too little because only the optimum pay would result in the maximum production of high quality pots. This is purely an efficiency rule. It has nothing to do with fairness. Aristotle (Ethics, Bk.4, ch.2) described the contributions that a man should make to his community. They should reflect his wealth and station in life, being neither too cheap and tawdry nor too extravagant. For example, a very rich man might present a well-equipped naval vessel to his city. Someone with less wealth could offer a good banquet to the poor of the city. By the time that Aquinas [1225-1274] brought the later works of Aristotle into the mainstream of western scholarship, that version of justice in taxation was firmly established. That is, the individual's contribution to the community should be somehow proportionate to the wealth and standing of the individual, but there was no thought of using taxes to change the wealth of one person relative to another. King Louis the 14th of France [1638-1715] is reputed to have responded to reports that the people were complaining about high taxes by stating, "It is all mine anyway, I can take whatever I want." Whether he actually said that is irrelevant. The statement is a throwback to the view that taxing power is just the continuation of the plunder by the roving bandits that is justified by the power of the government. In stark contrast, the roughly contemporaneous words of John Locke (1690) define the new intellectual atmosphere: "…every man has a property in his own person; this nobody has any right 3 �to but himself. The labor of his body and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his" (The Second Treatise of Government, para. 27). That leaves no room for slavery or feudalism and room only for those taxes to which he has consented. At this stage, reached in different countries at different times, it becomes possible and seemingly useful to speak of "fairness" in taxation. The concept presupposes the existence of a surplus above subsistence for the masses—a surplus that is not considered to be rightfully the property of landowners or governments, but rather belongs to the individuals who create it by their labor. This rough and impressionistic notion of a real divide in the way intellectuals perceived the world is borne out by a careful study by Alfani and Frigeni (2013). They analyzed manuscripts and printed documents from about 1100 to 1830 centering on Italy. They found that people were aware of the vast disparities in wealth throughout that period, but in the earlier years considered it acceptable and a natural part of a natural or God-given order. This is consistent with Aristotle, Augustine, and Aquinas. Beginning in the 16th century, they find signs of "jus naturalism" or individuals in a State of Nature with freedom and equality. This is consistent with Grotius, Hobbes, and Locke. The concept of the State of Nature reflects an abandonment of the Medieval (and earlier) concept of a natural hierarchical order. A key word count confirms the shift: "aequalitas" occurs 17 times from 1700-1785, and 334 times from 1789-1830; whereas "aequitas", which was common prior to the French revolution declined afterwards. To put it bluntly, the atmosphere shifted from the regal, "Why do they complain about taxes, it is all mine?" to the individualistic "What right do those bandits have to plunder any of my hard earned wealth?" Regardless of shifts in intellectual climate, the practical administrators needed to raise tax revenue, especially in times of war with the increasing cost of a professional military establishment. The traditional land taxes, tariffs, tolls, and excises had been stretched to the point where everyone recognized their weaknesses. By the beginning of the 19th century, many practical tax specialists thought that "capacity" or "faculty" to earn income was the appropriate tax base. It was commonly held that property was a good measure of faculty in a primitive economy, but that it had become progressively less comprehensive as an increasing proportion of income seemed to be generated without involving much visible property. When the British Prime Minister William Pitt was scrambling for revenue to fight the war against Napoleon, he proposed a "property tax" that was, in fact, an income tax. It was adopted in 1806. It relied heavily on "stoppage" (withholding at the source), but there were many difficulties in compliance in that era when the few written records were considered strictly confidential. One device was to establish committees of men in the same occupation and city who were charged with estimating the income for each of their competitors. The British tax was so thoroughly reviled, especially for its highly intrusive implementation, that when the wars ended and the budget stabilized in 1816 the tax was abolished and Parliament voted to destroy all of the records, as had been done with the income tax of 1404. Despite the public bonfire of destruction, the income tax administrator secretly retained a duplicate set (Adams, p.347). 4 �In 1842 Prime Minister Robert Peel persuaded Parliament to reinstate the income tax temporarily until the budget was in balance. It never was repealed, nor was the initial 3% flat rate maintained (Seligman, p. 132; Adams, p. 349). The top rate on earned income peaked at 83% before 1979, with a surcharge of 15% on investment income above 7,100 pounds (Pechman, p.298). The U.S. had a top rate in excess of 90% in the 1950s. So much for the assertions of Seligman, the great champion of the income tax for the U.S., that, "…the moderate rate [less than or equal to 6%] has been an important factor in the success of the income tax [in Great Britain]"(p. 216) and, with respect to Italy, "Obviously an income tax running up to twenty per cent, to which all manner of other kinds of local taxes are to be added, would indeed be unendurable if enforced to the hilt" (p. 353). The U.S. adopted an income tax to finance the Civil War in 1863. The rate was 3% on income exceeding $600 with a 5% rate above $10,000. Soon, the 5% rate was raised to 10%. The tax expired in 1872 when the revenue was no longer needed (Seligman, p. 437). Still, pressure was building for a permanent income tax. Enormous accumulations of wealth during the rapid growth of the post-civil war boom stirred the ire of reformers. Moreover, Lough (2013) stresses the growth of the free trade movement. If the tariffs that had traditionally supported the government, and aided northern manufacturers, were reduced, some substitute tax was necessary. Not least, the Progressive Movement, with its enthusiasm for direct government action and control of individual behavior, contributed to the pressure. An Income tax was passed in 1894 but declared unconstitutional. When the 16th Amendment was ratified in 1913, that obstacle was removed and the income tax soon followed because "wealth is escaping its due share of taxation" (Seligman, p.675). The rates were graduated, with a tax of 1% of the first taxable $20,000 and then increasing by 1% steps to 7% over $500,000 (equivalent to $11.7 million today). When Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., opined in 1904 that "taxes are what we pay for a civilized society" he was living in a world of 1% tax rates. Is a 40% rate 40 times as civilized? The progressive rates of the new law were immediately challenged in court as a denial of "equality," but the Supreme Court allowed the law to stand. This was a significant change because legal theory and popular opinion had long supported the idea that taxing everyone an equal proportion of income (the Biblical "tithe" or 10%) was the just way to share the cost of government. In order to understand the sudden prominence of progressive taxation, it is necessary to look at what the economic theorists had been writing. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations provides a compendium of the best economic thinking circa 1776. His four Maxims of Taxation are frequently cited: "I. The subjects of every state ought to contribute towards the support of the government, as nearly as possible, in proportion to their respective abilities; that is, in proportion to the revenue which they respectively enjoy under the protection of the state." "II. The tax which each individual is bound to pay ought to be certain, and not arbitrary." "III. Every tax ought to be levied at the time, or in the manner, in which it is most likely to be convenient for the contributor to pay it." 5 �"IV. Every tax ought to be so contrived as both to take out and to keep out of the pockets of the people as little as possible, over and above what it brings into the public treasury of the state." (summarized from book V, chapter II, Part II, pp. 777-779) Smith's advice and discussion have held up remarkably well for more than two centuries, but note that in Maxim I he slurred over the distinction between taxes as a price for the benefits received from government by the taxpayer (the benefit principle) and taxes as a measure of the ability of the individual to pay or the sacrifice that is inflicted on the taxpayer (ability-to-pay principle). He papers over the distinction by assuming that both approaches point to taxes proportional to income, although in other passages Smith suggests that additional taxes on luxury goods are acceptable because they fall only on the rich for goods they need only to display their status. A great deal of public finance literature since Wicksell (1896) has dealt with the benefit principle. Presumably, it is fair, and certainly efficient, to charge for services that can be directly or indirectly priced; e.g., charge tolls on limited access highways and finance construction of roads with a gasoline tax. After exhausting the cases where fees for service are technically feasible and politically acceptable, however, governments usually have a lot of bills to pay (e.g., the military budget and other aspects of foreign affairs, interest on the debt). This is where "ability to pay" usually becomes the standard. Instead of making the tax strictly proportional to income, the amount of income necessary for subsistence could be exempted, with a flat rate above that. This is sometimes called a digressive tax. For example, you pay 0% on the first $20,000 and 25% on everything above that. The marginal rate is 25% for everyone above the exemption level, but the average rate never quite gets to 25% although it approaches it for the very rich. [This is the concept underlying the "Flat Tax" advocated by Hall and Rabushka (1983).] Even this modest departure from strict proportionality raised warnings from those who forecast class warfare over the amount to be exempted. The strong support for progressive taxes in the economic mainstream originates in two separate, but highly interrelated, developments in economic theory during the century following the publication of the Wealth of Nations. The first of these is "utilitarianism" and the second is the dominance of marginal analysis. Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) coined the "utilitarian" term and adopted the slogan, "the Greatest Happiness of the Greatest Number." Bentham was a lawyer, but wrote voluminously in many fields including the design of legislation. His work influenced economics directly through writings and also through his sometime coauthor, economist James Mill (1773-1836) and participation in the education of John Stuart Mill (1806-1873), son of James. While the slogan suggests a mathematically impossible double maximization, it does convey the sentiment that has motivated much of the subsequent analysis of taxation and public expenditures, including modern cost/benefit analysis. Although he did not use the modern words, Bentham wrote his utilitarian analyses under the assumption that the marginal utility of income is declining (see Robbins. 1965, p.62). This view starts with the plausible proposition that a dollar more or less makes a lot less difference to the rich person than does a dollar more or less to the person who has very few dollars. The extra dollar that allows the 6 �beggar to buy a crust of bread increases his welfare (or happiness or utility) more than a decrease of a dollar would decrease the utility of Warren Buffet. Decreasing marginal utility is usually assumed in economics for most ordinary goods and services. You may value one bag of carrots or professional tooth-cleaning, but the second one that month is worth less to you and the third even less than that. But is that true for income in general? Most economists ceased to ask that question after the "Marginal Revolution" of 1870. At about the same moment, William Stanley Jevons (1835-1882), writing in English, Leon Walras (1834-1910), writing in French, and Carl Menger (1840-1921), writing in German, adopted a form of analysis that a cynic described as "the reinvention of a crude form of differential calculus a couple of centuries after Newton and Leibniz." Nevertheless, this "marginal analysis" soon came to dominate economics and made the concept of decreasing marginal utility of income almost automatic for economists. If we assume that successive units of income have less value, and we assume that everyone is equal with respect to capacity to enjoy income, then the tax implications can be quite dramatic. If the objective is to collect the required tax revenue while imposing the minimum total sacrifice on society, the appropriate tax is zero up to a certain point and then 100% after that. That is, depending on the revenue requirements, the government would set one annual income, for example, $100,000. If you have less than that, you pay no tax. Anything you earn above that is sent directly to the Treasury. Of course, most people realized that this was not going to work well—at least not for long. A few extreme socialists and utopians wanted to believe in it, and even such a clever economic theorist as Edgeworth (1897) had difficulty in abandoning the spirit of it. Indeed, if one accepts the goal not just of minimizing the sacrifice of taxation, but of maximizing the utility of society, why would you not advocate continuing the leveling by transferring money from rich to poor until everyone had the same income? A clever socialist, George Bernard Shaw (1928, p.470) put it this way: "Socialism means equality of income or nothing, and that under Socialism you would not be allowed to be poor. You would be forcibly fed, clothed, lodged, taught, and employed whether you liked it or not. If it were discovered that you had not character and industry enough to be worth all this trouble, you might possibly be executed in a kindly manner; but whilst you were permitted to live you would have to live well." Faced with this logic, most economists retreated slightly to the goal, not of maximum utility or minimum sacrifice, but rather to the notion that everyone should endure the same proportional sacrifice of income. Opposition to progressivity was the common position even among the liberal utilitarians of the 19th century (Hutchison, 52). The opposition was based in part on the fear that progressivity would diminish incentives to work and invest and hence hobble the engine of economic growth that was essential for raising the laboring poor to a more comfortable level. Another factor was the fear that breaking the rule of proportionality would lead to continuing efforts to shift all tax burdens to the small minority of the very rich. (Adams, ch. 31). It is interesting that the economists , in general, were more caught up in the utilitarian notion that the happiness of society would be enhanced by reducing the burdens on the poor, while the lawyers retained the tradition from history and political philosophy that, in the absence of firm rules (such as proportional taxation), the problems of "faction" as discussed by Madison in Federalist 10 would tear the republic apart or turn it into a tyranny. 7 �But John Stuart Mill, who had grown up with utilitarianism, added this caution: "For what reason ought equality to be the rule in matters of taxation? For the reason that it ought to be so in all affairs of government. A government ought to make no distinction of persons or classes in the strength of their claims on it. If any one bears less than his fair share of the burden, some other person must suffer more than his share. Equality of taxation, therefore, as a maxim of politics, means equality of sacrifice." (Book V, Ch.I, section 2, p. 539). Despite the emphasis on sacrifice, "To tax the larger incomes at a higher percentage than the smaller is to lay a tax on industry and economy; to impose a penalty on people for having worked harder and saved more than their neighbors. It is not the fortunes which are earned, but those which are unearned, that it is for the public good to place under limitation." (pp.541-542) . Moreover, the income tax relies on self-reporting of income and, thus, "…is, in practice, unequal in one of the worst ways, falling heaviest on the most conscientious." (p. 556). Mill's comments provide a hint of the way out of the morass, but before we follow that trail, let us dig ourselves in deeper. If one accepts the view that the marginal utility of income is diminishing, and one accepts the goal that everyone should sacrifice an equal proportion of his total utility to pay for government, then it is easy to see that rich people should pay more dollars in taxes than should poor people. Does that require a progressive tax on income? It is easy to lapse into that conclusion, but it is incorrect, as was demonstrated cogently by Cohen-Stewart in 1889. [Also see Blum & Kalven. 1953]. Briefly, if the loss of a dollar is as painful to a rich man as to a poor, then equal sacrifice would call for equal dollar taxation. That is, a lump sum tax or a head tax—each person must pay a tax of, e.g., $1,000/year. That is the extreme of regressivity, unless one considers extremely decadent societies such as the strange world of pre-revolutionary France where, "One will hardly believe that in order to become noble it is sufficient to become rich; and to cease to pay taxes it is sufficient to become a noble. So there is only one way of escaping taxation and that is to make a fortune." [Pierre-Samuel Du Pont de Nemours, as quoted in Adams, p.218]. How quickly would the marginal utility of income have to decrease before equal sacrifice resulted in proportional taxation? The answer seems to be that proportional taxation is appropriate if, and only it, the marginal utility of income curve is a rectangular hyperbola! [See Musgrave, 1959, pp. 98-102] That is a wonderfully precise answer, but none of the assumptions can be observed to be met. We have no way to observe utility, let alone the shape of the marginal utility curve. Moreover, does anyone believe that the relationship between income and happiness is the same for everyone, or even for anyone throughout a lifetime? And we have not even inquired about the relationship between the happiness of one person and what he observes of his neighbors. In particular, if Mr. Smith is altruistic, deriving pleasure from observing that Mr. Knight is wealthy, and Mr. Knight is envious, deriving pleasure from the poverty of his neighbors, the way to improve the total happiness of society is to tax the altruist Smith and give the money to the mean-spirited Knight. Most of us would probably not vote for such a tax, even if it could be designed and administered. Yet, the prevailing economic definition of fairness leans on such weak reeds. In the modern public finance literature, fairness (and, perhaps, efficiency), depends on horizontal equity and vertical equity. Vertical equity depends on the degree of progressivity, as discussed above. Horizontal equity requires that "equals be treated equally," but, equals in respect to what? Academic tax specialists and 8 �reformers in the U.S. have usually begun with a bias toward a comprehensive definition of income as developed by Henry Simons (1950) and others. This amounts to whatever the person consumed during the year plus the net increase in wealth. Thus, it is the power to consume without decreasing wealth. In the purest form, consumption plus the net amount added to the accounts would be taxable income. That includes, for example, wages, interest, dividends, capital gains, rents (including the rent that an owner occupier could have received from his own house), gifts (of cash, securities, goods, and services). It would not matter where the power to consume came from or how it was used. The British debate, however, often favored the notion that wage and salary income should be discounted 25% relative to investment income because wages and salaries end when the recipient dies or loses his job. It is interesting that Andrew Mellon (1934, pp. 56-57), wealthy investor, Secretary of Treasury for Harding and Coolidge, and considered an arch conservative, stated, "The fairness of taxing more lightly incomes from wages, salaries and professional services than the income from business or from investments is beyond question." The actual tax law, of course, is a jumble of special treatment of particular sources and uses of income. Ownership of real estate is heavily favored, as is any investment that generates capital gains. Similarly on the uses side, medical expenses, gifts to charities, child care expenses, historic preservation, energy conservation, electric cars, and saving for education and retirement are among the favored expenditures. Which is fairer, the comprehensive definition or the tax law definition? Each exception to the comprehensive base for particular sources or uses of income is defended in the name of "fairness" by its beneficiaries. It matters because it is (roughly) taxable income, rather than comprehensive income, that determines who is treated as an equal of whom. In recent years an effort has emerged to consider consumption, rather than income, as the tax base and, thus, the fair basis for defining equality. The classical reasoning for this is that consumption measures what a person uses up from the product of the economy, whereas income should be a better measure of what he produces. John Stuart Mill arrived at consumption as the preferred tax base by an alternate route. In his view, the lower tax on earned income would allow the wage earner to accumulate savings for the years when his earning capacity had diminished. The modern pressure for consumption taxation is driven in part by belief that saving and investment should be encouraged. Some versions of consumption taxation also promise less intrusive administration (Zodrow and Mieszkowski, 2002). Some of these problems seemed remote prior to 1930 when the federal government took less than 5% of GDP, but with total government spending now exceeding one-third of GDP, including massive redistribution, the warnings about control of a dominant faction to prevent exploitation of the rest of society become more pertinent. In the modern era, economists have continued to analyze the effects of taxation on incentives to earn income and balance these against changes in social utility, defined in some unmeasurable way. The philosopher Rawls (1971) added the twist of assuming that only the income of the person with the lowest income needed to be a concern of public policy. But economists and philosophers of the Rawlsian type do not stop to consider the Madisonian question of what will happen to a tax bill of the most sophisticated design when it is submitted to Congress. Nor do they 9 �consider the possibility that the sovereign is a revenue maximizing entity at war with his subjects; i.e., a stationary bandit. Because of the impossibility of defining a "fair" tax, it is worthwhile searching for a different approach. The comment by Mill, "It is not the fortunes that are earned, but the fortunes that are unearned..." provides the starting point. Of course, an income tax becomes totally arbitrary and capricious if the IRS agent has to review your return to judge each receipt for its "worthy earnedness." Spare us that intrusion! In fact, it is possible to make a distinction between earned and unearned if we are willing to give up the idea of taxing the individual on his income and turn, instead, to a tax levied on the source of the unearned income. This does require giving up progressivity as it is usually defined because the concept applies only to people. The specific alternative to consider is the land value tax (LVT) as developed with great vigor and insight by Henry George in his best-selling book, Progress and Poverty (1879). LVT had antecedents in both practice and theory, including the Physiocrats, Smith, Ricardo, and Mill, but George and those inspired by George have worked out the details most fully. To put the matter in its simplest form, the LVT would replace other taxes with a single levy on the market value of the land that each person claims title to. Thus, the mechanics are similar to the existing real estate tax used by most local governments and school districts in the U.S. The difference is that the tax would apply only to the value of the land. All buildings and other improvements would be exempt. The market value of land reflects the income you could receive just from holding title to the land. Thus, if you happened to inherit a block of vacant land in the middle of Manhattan, or any other thriving city, you could easily lease it to a developer who would do the work of arranging for a building to be built and rented out and managed. The developer would be compensated for his work, but you could just sit back and enjoy the lease payments. Those payments would be described by an economist as "economic rent." The proposed LVT would be designed to take a substantial portion (e.g., 90%) of the economic rent, but it would be levied as a percentage of the market price of the land, so that you could not avoid it by leaving the land idle. You would have a strong incentive to put the land to work at the optimum moment. If you think of imposing a LVT today while dropping all other taxes it may seem unfair to those who have just invested their hard-earned savings into a piece of land. That is the transition problem that arises with any change in the tax law—there are winners and losers, and sometimes special transition rules can be adopted to ease the pain. Most parcels of land in the city already have buildings on them, so the taxpayer would save by eliminating the building tax while paying more for the land. The most important point is that the LVT would, over time, make the whole economy, especially the cities, function more efficiently. The LVT is easier to justify if we think of starting with a blank slate, before anyone has laid claim to land. The words of John Locke are the starting point for the analysis of property by many in the classical liberal tradition: 10 �26. God, who has given the world to men in common, has also given them reason to make use of it to the best advantage of life and convenience. The earth and all that is therein is given to men for the support and comfort of their being. And though all the fruits it naturally produces and beasts it feeds belong to mankind in common, as they are produced by the spontaneous hand of nature; and nobody has originally a private dominion exclusive of the rest of mankind in any of them, as they are thus in their natural state; yet, being given for the use of men, there must of necessity be a means to appropriate them some way or other before they can be of any use or at all beneficial to any particular man. The fruit or venison which nourishes the wild Indian, who knows no enclosure and is still a tenant in common, must be his, and so his, i.e., a part of him, that another can no longer have any right to it before it can do him any good for the support of his life. 27. Though the earth and all inferior creatures be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person; this nobody has any right to but himself. The labor of his body and the work of his hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the state that nature has provided and left it in, he has mixed his own labor with, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes it his property. It being by him removed from the common state nature has placed it in, it has by this labor something annexed to it that excludes the common right of other men. For this labor being the unquestionable property of the laborer, no man but he can have a right to what that is once joined to, at least where there is enough and as good left in common for others. (John Locke. 1690. The Second Treatise of Government). This analysis has a powerful appeal for the situation where land is a free good. Locke, himself, noted that significant restriction in the famous closing phrase of the quote, “where there is enough and as good left in common for others.” Although Locke tried to make the case that the world had enough good unclaimed land that men might enclose and homestead, few would try to argue that proposition today. When land of a particular quality is no longer a free good, unregulated markets will readily generate annual rental rates for particular parcels, and those annual rents can readily be capitalized into sales prices for parcels that change hands and appraised values for parcels that do not. Land rents, like other prices, can serve to allocate inputs to their most productive uses. The rents are an opportunity cost that must be paid by the user of the land if the economy is to operate efficiently. But who should receive that rent? Henry George argued that the rent should belong to society because it either measures the natural advantage of a parcel; e.g., superior fertility of soil or location on a natural trade route, or the efforts of other people; e.g., highways, ports, and other public infrastructure, the activities of neighbors that attract business to your block, and the growth of population of the community. The opposition to LVT often cites the unfairness of taking nearly all the rent, and hence, nearly all the value, of property in land. Most holders of land today have acquired it in legal and morally 11 �defensible ways. That is correct and is a serious concern, but there are two sets of counterarguments. Georgists often claim that even a fully legal land title still leaves the buyer of land as the holder of stolen property. After all, British titles date to a roving bandit, "a French bastard landing with an armed banditti," as Thomas Paine (1776, p.16) so gently expressed it. U.S. titles generally date to a grant by a European monarch of land that belonged to someone else. Even in the rare case when a title does not originate in "force or fraud," --even if it originates in Locke's enclosure from the state of nature—why should that historical accident contribute to the inequality of fortunes today? The set of arguments that I find more convincing, however, relate to the comparison of the LVT with nearly all other feasible taxes. If the LVT is theft, it is a one-time problem. The income tax robs people every year of the fruit of their labors. When this moral case is combined with the efficiency and privacy advantages of the LVT, the case, to me, seems overwhelming. So, rather than arguing about fairness or justice in taxation, let's shift the focus toward the one tax base that has a well-defined market value based on opportunity cost; i.e., what the market determines to be the rent of the land. The focus can then shift away from the utilitarian pseudo-science of minimizing unobservable "sacrifices" and maximizing unseen "utilities" or pretending that we can say anything about the "fairness" of taking from one person to give to another. To quote Frank Chowderov (1946, p.267), "Taxation is highwaymanry made respectable by custom, thievery made moral by law," while the LVT just allows the community to reclaim the value that it has produced. References Adams, Charles. 1993. For Good and Evil: The Impact of Taxes on the Course of Civilization. Lanham, Maryland: Madison Books. Alfani, Guido, and Roberta Frigeni. 2013. "Inequality (un)perceived: The emergence of a discourse on economic inequality from the Middle Ages to the Age of Revolutions." Dondena Working Papers, No. 58. Milan: Carlo F. Dondena Centre for Research on Social Dynamics, Univ. Bocconi. Aristotle. c. 330 B.C. The Ethics of Aristotle, translated by J.A.K. Thomson. London: Penguin Books, 1955. Backhaus, Juergen, and Richard E. Wagner. 1987. "The Cameralists: A Public Choice Perspective." Public Choice 53 (No.1): 3-20. Blum, Walter J., and Harry Kalven, Jr. 1953. The Uneasy Case for Progressive Taxation. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Buchan, James. 2003. Crowded with Genius; The Scottish Enlightenment: Edinburgh's Moment of the Mind. New York: HarperCollins. 12 �Chodorov, Frank. 1946. "Socialism via Taxation." In Fugitive Essays: Selected Writings of Frank Chodorov. Compiled, Edited, and with an Introduction by Charles H. Hamilton. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1980. Cohen-Stuart, Arnold Jacob. 1889. "On Progressive Taxation." Musgrave and Peacock, pp.48-71. Edgeworth, Francis Ysidro. 1897. "The Pure Theory of Taxation." Musgrave and Peacock, pp.119-136. George, Henry. 1879. Progress and Poverty: An Inquiry into the Cause of Industrial Depressions and of Increase of Want with Increase of Wealth. The Remedy. Garden City, NY: twenty-fifth anniversary edition, Doubleday, Page & Company, 1911. Hall, Robert E. and Alvin Rabushka. 1983. Low Tax, Simple Tax, Flat Tax. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1983. Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr. 1904. Compania de Tabacos v. Collector, 275 U.S.87, 100. Hutchison, T.W. 1953. A Review of Economic Doctrines, 1870-1929. Oxford: The University Press, 1962. Locke, John. 1690. The Second Treatise of Government. New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1952. Lough, Alexandra Wagner. 2013. "The Federal Income Tax and the Georgist Movement." Pittsburgh: Lecture presented to the meeting of the Council of Georgist Organizations, August 8, 2013. Mellon, Andrew W. 1934. Taxation: The People's Business. New York: Macmillan Company. Mill, John Stuart. 1848. Principles of Political Economy. Abridged by J. Laurence Laughlin. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1884. Montesquieu, Baron de. 1748. The Spirit of Laws. Thomas Nugent, trans. New York: The Colonial Press, rev.ed., 1900. Musgrave, Richard A. 1959. The Theory of Public Finance. New York: McGraw-Hill. Musgrave, Richard A. and Alan T. Peacock. 1967. Classics in the Theory of Public Finance. New York: St. Martin's Press. Olson, Mancur. 2000. Power and Prosperity: Outgrowing Communist and Capitalist Dictatorships. New York: Basic Books. Paine, Thomas. 1776. Common Sense. In Basic Writings of Thomas Paine.New York: Willey Book Company, 1942. Pechman, Joseph A. 1987. Comparative Tax Systems: Europe, Canada, and Japan. Arlington, VA: Tax Analysts. Plato. c. 380 B.C. The Republic of Plato. Cornford translation. New York: Oxford University Press, 1945. Rawls, J.A. 1971. A Theory of Justice. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press. 13 �Robbins, Lionel. 1965. The Theory of Economic Policy in English Classical Political Economy. London: Macmillan & Co. Seligman, E.R.A. 1914. The Income Tax: A Study of the History, Theory, and Practice of Income Taxation at Home and Abroad. New York: Macmillan, 2nd ed. 1914. Shaw, Bernard. 1928. The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialism and Capitalism. New York: Brentano's Publishers. Simons, Henry C. 1950. Federal Tax Reform. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Smith, Adam. 1776. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. New York: Modern Library. 1937. Wicksell, Knut. 1896. "A New Principle of Just Taxation." Musgrave and Peacock, pp.72-118. Zodrow, George R. and Peter Mieszkowski. 2002. United States Tax Reform in the 21st Century. New York: Cambridge University Press. 14 � 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. 14 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/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Peirce, William Spangar Title A name given to the resource Can taxes be fair? : Should they be? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-10-11 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on October 11, 2013 by William Peirce 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 Taxation Fairness. Economic aspects. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80998 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/45">Audio recording</a> Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/94dc6462d81dec0c7399856ac29e022d.mp3 b23040f38f37b839a44111ede4c60ba6 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a> or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe. 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Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource McCoy, Marina, 1968- Title A name given to the resource Pity as a Civic Virtue in Sophocles' Philoctetes Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011-04-08 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 8, 2011, by Marina McCoy 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 Sophocles. Philoctetes Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_McCoy_Marina_2011-04-08_ac Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/92e04ead139a4f0c935e5e1569027acb.mp3 cb5c375aecf95ecba34f239f9a8f626e 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 00:51:18 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 Mazur, Barry Title A name given to the resource What Is the Surface Area of a Hedgehog? (Steiner Lecture) Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011-09-30 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 September 30, 2011, by Barry Mazur as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Mazur describes his lecture: "Well, I don't know the answer to the question of the title and no hedgehog will be harmed, or even mentioned again, in my lecture. The concept of area is one of the many things of interest in Euclid's Elements, and is familiar to all who have been through the Freshman program here at St. John's. There are many ways to approach it. Archimedes, for example sometimes likes to convert the problem of computing area to computing something akin to weight. I'll spend this hour considering these approaches and how they touch on broader issues in mathematical thought such as analogy, heuristic, paradox, and something I'll call characterization (a version of axiomatization). As for prior reading, absolutely none (except what you may have already read in Euclid) is needed, but I will be turning again and again to Proposition 37 of Book I of the Elements: Triangles which are on the same base and in the same parallels equal one another. So if you want to read one page in preparation, take a look at the statement and proof of that marvelous proposition." 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. 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 Euclid. Elements Surfaces--Areas and volumes Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Mazur_Barry_2011-09-30_ac Friday night lecture Steiner lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/0f1843c8bce9ee12fb5f8a8649897e45.mp3 11224df1c44595977bb1f83dcf6b786c 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 01:05:59 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav 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 Lennox, James G. Title A name given to the resource Aristotle on Respiration: The Origins of Functional Anatomy Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-03-22 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 March 22, 2013, by James Lennox 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 Subject The topic of the resource Aristotle. Posterior analytics Respiration Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80898 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/95ecb6eadde37bfc0f5b66d5e937391d.pdf b04d98730d1a84f52fdeed60207c4fdd PDF Text Text Intellectual Sin : three case studies by Philip LeCuyer [lecture delivered at St. John’s College on Apr. 12, 2013] A few days after submitting the proposal for this lecture, entitled “Intellectual Sin,” it occurred to me that some people, perhaps some of you here tonight, might attend for the wrong reason. You might think that this will be about how the usual type of sin—murder, adultery, theft, etc.—can be done in a more “intellectual” way—something like French cinema as compared to Hollywood. If so, you have been, as Bogart’s character Rick says in Casablanca, misinformed. * * * On the morning of May 22, 1972, newspaper readers around the world were shocked to see on all front pages two photographs side-by-side. The first of was Michelangelo’s Pieta, damaged in three places. One hand and part of its arm were completely missing. The other photograph was of a man about thirty years old named Lazlo Toth. On May 21st he had walked into St. Peter’s Basilica with the same rock-splitting hammer he had used as a graduate student from Hungary doing field work in geology in Australia’s remotest outback—and attacked Michelangelo’s masterpiece. He hit the 1 �figure of Mary in the statue three times, in the eye, in the mouth, and in the hand, before a guard and onlookers could subdue him. By the time he was seized and almost killed on the spot, he had finished. Lazlo Toth was never charged with a crime. Instead he was remitted to an asylum for the insane within Italy’s prison system. No country but Australia would accept him. Before he was deported, never to have any further contact with his wife and young son back in Hungary, he stated in an interview with the Pope’s personal envoy that he had hit the eye of Mary because it could not see, the mouth because it could not speak, and the hand because it could not act. (We hear in these remarks echoes of Isaiah and of Psalm 115—“They have eyes but do not see, they have mouths but can not speak, etc.”) Since 1974 Mr. Toth has lived in obscurity in Sydney, where he lingers on still today. A couple of years ago he was felled by a massive stroke which, with seeming Sophoclean irony, has left him nearly blind, unable to speak, and without the ability to do the simplest acts for himself let alone anyone else. I mention the strange case of Lazlo Toth here at the outset of my lecture in order to distinguish myself from him. Six years before the Pieta was defaced, I stood in St. Peter’s Basilica three or four feet from it. It was ravishing. I asked a nearby guard if I could touch it. He said, “Yes—just be 2 �very, very careful.” I wanted to re-assure myself that the material was stone—cool, smooth, Carraran marble. A visitor to the Basilica can no longer do this. The Pieta, exquisitely restored, stands on the same spot, but now encased in bullet-proof plexi-glass. One can gaze, but one can no longer touch. What I want to do today is to touch, carefully if only very briefly, three monuments of our Western civilization: Descartes’ argument in the Meditations for the existence of God; Kant’s assertion of the ultimate coherence, the unity, of the rational subject in the Critique of Pure Reason; and Heidegger’s “saying” of the essence of being in one of his well-known essays on the fragment of Anaximander. The existence of God, the coherence of the soul, and the essence of being are not issues that I have lost sleep over in the past month, and I would be surprised if many of you have. It is not the content of these arguments, but how they are conducted, that interests me tonight. I promise that I will not break anything. But like the young man that I was back in 1966, I want to, as it were, touch these arguments with my mind, not just gaze admiringly at them through the plexi-glass of canonical greatness. 3 �Part I: Let us now approach Descartes’ Fifth Meditation. In it he begins to articulate a bridge between thought, the ground of subjective existence, and external or objective reality. Listen: “I find in myself an infinity of ideas of certain things which cannot be assumed to be pure nothingness, even though they may have no existence outside of my thought. These things are not figments of my imagination, even though it is within my power to think of them or not to think of them; on the contrary, they have their own true and immutable natures. Thus, for example, when I imagine a triangle, even though there may perhaps be no such figure anywhere in the world outside of my thought, nor ever has been, nevertheless the figure cannot help having a certain nature, or form, or essence, which is immutable and eternal, which I have not invented, and which does not in any way depend upon my mind. This is evidenced by the fact that we can demonstrate various properties of this triangle, namely that its three angles are equal to two right angles…. These properties must be wholly true since I conceive them clearly. And thus they are something, and not pure negation, since it is quite evident that everything which is true is something, as truth is the same as being.” (LaFleur, pp. 119-120) 4 �Well, now, the first piton in Descartes’ climb out of subjectivity has been placed. The ascent begins. The next staging area of the argument will be reached by using this first thought in the supporting part of an analogy. Descartes has already, in the Third Meditation, put forward an argument for the existence of God, which was that the idea of God as ultimate perfection could not have originated in his imperfect mind. It must have an author other than himself, namely God. In the Third Meditation this proof becomes the source of an expansive, effusive adoration. But even in an initial reading of this earlier passage, it is not quite clear if Descartes is worshiping a real God or only a deeper dimension of his own mind. The question quietly survives his first major attempt at answering it. And in the Fifth Meditation he now re-visits it, writing (and thinking): “Even if everything that I concluded in the preceding meditations were (by chance) not true, the existence of God should pass in my mind as at least as certain as I have hitherto considered all the truths of mathematics…. I find it manifest that we can no more separate the existence of God from his essence than we can separate the essence of a rectilinear triangle from the fact that the size of its three angles equals two right angles….” (LaFleur, pp. 120-121) 5 �A silent, odorless disaster lies immediately ahead. I am interested in Descartes’ response to it. After affirming that “it is not in [his] power to conceive of a God without existence,” (LaFleur, p. 121) whereas by contrast, it is in his power to imagine a horse with or without wings, he takes up once again, but not exactly in the same way, his analogy: “…as soon as I come to recognize that existence is a perfection, I conclude (L. 1642 very properly) that this first and supreme Being (F. 1647 truly) exists, just as it is not necessary that I should ever imagine any triangle, but every time I wish to consider a rectilinear figure containing three angles only, it is absolutely necessary that I attribute to it everything that leads to the conclusion that these three angles are not greater than two right angles….” (LaFleur, p. 122) Amazing. The phrase “not greater than” has replaced “equal to.” Descartes has here uncovered for himself the logical possibility of what we know at St. John’s College as Lobachevskian geometry. He does not explore here or anywhere in his work this unnerving possibility. Instead, on the very next page he reverses the roles of the two propositions in his analogy about angles and about God. Listen now, very carefully: “Thus, … , when I consider the nature of the (F. 1647 rectilinear) triangle, I recognize (L. 1642 most) evidently, 6 �I, who am somewhat skilled in geometry, that its three angles are equal to two right angles…. But as soon as I turn my attention away from the demonstration, it can easily happen that I doubt its truth if I do not know that there is a God.” (La Fleur, p. 124) The supposed self-evidence of the proposition about the angularity in a triangle, which was to have supported the proposition about the existence of God, has dissolved. Now it is the existence of God which guarantees Euclidean geometry, as he “who is somewhat skilled in geometry” tells us. The argument from reason has devolved into an argument from authority. This, I submit, is a sin of the intellect. What shall we call it? It manifests itself as the suppression of a new logical possibility in argument for the sake of preserving a previous certainty. Let us call it the sin of “desiring certitude.” It is not unavoidable. What is needed, as a preventative, is the distinction we find in chapter 9, Book II of Aristotle’s Physics. In that chapter Aristotle distinguishes hypothetical necessity from simple necessity. If a saw is to cut wood, it must then have teeth made of iron. And, interestingly, Aristotle adds: if a triangle is to have the sum of its angles equal to two right angles, then a straight line must be “such and such.” We must remember to use the word if when we are thinking in order to avoid the lapse into fundamentalism. 7 �As I mentioned at the outset, it is not the content of Descartes’ argument that interests me, but the tone in it. Its tone, the feel of it, arising from and perhaps identical with the desire for certitude, I would describe as latently “contemptuous.” Part II: The second case I will present for our consideration is found in the Critique of Pure Reason. It is Kant’s Table of Categories. The bit of textual history bearing on this case is as follows: Kant published the first edition of the Critique—the A text—in 1781. Two years later he published the Prolegomena, which apparently was intended to present an overview of the Critique. But it also touches new problems, of interest to us tonight, not mentioned in the Critique. Then in 1787 Kant published a second edition of the Critique—the B text—differing in some important passages from the first edition. So we have a “before” version—the A text-- and an “after” version—the B text-- of the argument with the Prolegomena in the middle. In both versions of the Critique the argument moves onward and upward toward the Table of Categories, and then flowing directly from the Table come the famous deductions, the paralogisms, and the antinomies. The categories themselves are fundamental concepts—the deep structure of our minds. Referencing himself favorably to Aristotle, who as Kant writes, compiled his list of these basic concepts “on no principle” and “merely 8 �picked them up as they came his way,” (A 81, B 107, Smith p. 114) Kant then says of his own Table: “It has not arisen rhapsodically, as a result of a haphazard search after pure concepts, the complete enumeration of which, as based on induction only, could never be guaranteed. Nor could we if this were our procedure, discover why just these concepts, and no others, have their seat in the pure understanding.” (ibid.) Aristotle gave us a list. Kant gives us a table, not just a mere map, but an arrangement which asserts organic and unique logical relationships between different categories—an internally self-symmetrical, self-reinforcing “Gliederbau” (B xxiii) —a structure with members organized as in a body. In the B Preface we also find this additional new assertion: “For pure speculative reason has a structure wherein everything is an organ, the whole being for the sake of every part, and every part for the sake of all the others, so that even the smallest imperfection, be it a fault (error) or a deficiency, must betray itself in use. This system will, as I [Kant] hope, maintain, throughout the future, this unchangeableness. … Any attempt to change even the smallest part at once gives rise to contradictions, not merely in the system, but in human reason in general.” (B xxxviii, Smith pp. 33-34) 9 �This same newly heightened concern for an organic order is emphasized elsewhere in the second (1787) edition, namely in section 11. We should note that this and the immediately following section 12 are not revisions of passages or arguments found in the first edition, but major new insertions—the only such whole sections in the entire B text. Kant, then, inserting this new passage into the later edition of the Critique, writes: “This table of categories suggests some nice [“artige”— more on that word in a moment] points, which may have important consequences in regard to the scientific form of all modes of knowledge obtainable by reason. [It] is indispensable to supply the complete plan of a whole science. … The table contains all the elementary concepts of the understanding in their completeness—even their order….” (B 109-110, Smith pp. 115-116) The sentence which introduces this inserted section 11 is highly unusual in its phrase “artige Betrachtungen.” “Artig” means well-behaved, pleasing, pretty, even neat—as in “that’s really neat.” It is this same very odd word found in an almost identical sentence, dealing with the exact same issues, which begins a strange footnote in the Prolegomena—#29 in the Carus translation. This footnote points out, as does section 11 inserted later in the B text, that in each group of three categories, the third arises as a synthesis of the first two, and arises from a distinct mental act—e.g. “unity,” then 10 �“plurality,” are synthesized by a separate act of the mind into the concept “totality.” Then Kant mentions in this footnote another “artige” point, and this is where it happens: “… in those categories of quantity and of quality there is merely a progress from unity to totality, or from something to nothing (for this purpose the categories of quality must stand thus: reality, limitation, total negation.” [“völlige Negation”-i.e. nihilism] (Carus, p. 67) This is a change in the order of these three categories from the A text (see Appendix A), but it is not an innocent change. The crucial original order of the categories—reality, negation, limitation (i.e. definition) has been shifted so that now the synthesized result is no longer a defined thing, but “nothingness.” I regard this footnote as Nietzsche’s philosophical birth certificate. It is as if an arm is where a leg should be, and then, of a sudden, shapelessness is where the body should be. Kant will not bring this change back into the 1787 Critique—the B text. Instead he there insists, in the newly inserted passages already cited, on an organism-like order in his original Table, but he knows that what is at stake is the distinction between something and nothing—between objective thought and nihilism. In the A text, and again later in the B text, he had 11 �concluded the first major division of the Critique with a one-page treatment of nihil and a sketch of the usual four tabular headings for nihil—for “the nothing.” Imagine that—a Table of Categories for nihilism. Kant could begin to imagine it, but he could not fill it out. Under each of the four headings—quantity, quality, relation, mode—stands the word “empty.” (A 291, B 347, Smith p. 295) Out of every opening Kant sees emptiness. He and we realize that, far from the table containing the emptiness, the emptiness engulfs the adumbrated table. Kant had written in the earlier A text that the issue of nihilism, “although not in [itself] of special importance, might nevertheless be regarded as requisite for the completeness of the system.” (A 290, Smith p. 294) In the later B text, even after his discovery in the Prolegomena of category tectonics, he leaves standing without comment his statement that the issue of nihilism is “of no special importance.” (B 346, ibid.) But in the later B Preface he does now note that it would be absurd to conclude “that there can be appearance without anything that appears.” (B xxxvi-xxvii, Smith p. 27) There it is. Descartes attempted to overcome, to vanquish, nihilism— to establish by argument, then by authority, that at least some of what is in our consciousness, individually and collectively, is “not pure nothingness.” 12 �Kant wishes only to play nihilism to a stalemate. By rendering the paralogisms and the antinomies, which are the easiest targets for refutation and for denial, harmless, taking them off the board so to speak, Kant does not attempt to win, but rather to not lose. His sin is, I think, deeper and more serious than that of Descartes. He acknowledges nihilism in the A text while denying its importance, then notes it leaking into his compartmentalized configuration of mind in footnote #29 in the Prolegomena, and then, a few years later in the B text, still denies its importance. The voyage of the Titanic comes to mind. What shall we call this sin? Not suppression of argument, but rather deafness to the importance of an argument. Let us call it “enthusiasm.” What would be the antidote for it? Definitions are the antidote. Immediately after presenting his Table of Categories in section 10 (in both editions), Kant wrote: “In this treatise I purposely omit the definitions of the categories, although I may be in possession of them.” (A 82-83, B 108, Smith p. 115) This statement, when considered carefully, does not become less strange. Aristotle is in possession of them. In chapter 26, Book V of the Metaphysics, Aristotle defines two kinds of wholes: one in which the positions of the parts with respect to each other matter (as in Kant’s Table), a whole (τὸ ‛όλον), and one in which position doesn’t matter, a totality (τὸ 13 �πα̃ν). Throughout his newly inserted section 11 in the B text Kant uses these two concepts, totality (Allheit) and whole (Ganze), interchangeably— revealing his profound unawareness of and confusion about this distinction. In the version of the table he included in the Prolegomena, under the heading “quantity,” he places the two sequences “unity-plurality-totality” on the one hand, and on the other “measure-size-whole” side by side as alternative, fully equivalent namings. There are other telling alterations in the Prolegomena’s table. They arise from the problem of how to accommodate negation. In footnote #29 Kant now refers to his Table as “a” table, not “the” table (Vorländer, p. 86), thereby quietly admitting the existence of another, as yet unarticulated paradigm. (Nietzsche will take on this task.) But for Kant the issue was, and I repeat as he did in the B text, “of no special importance.” Part III: Descartes would require us, finally, to submit to his authority. Kant, regarding his achievement in the Critique as beyond controversy, places his argument about the structure and coherence of the mind almost out of our reach. In his second Preface he writes: “…the danger is not that of being refuted, but of not being understood.” (B xliii, Smith p. 36-37) Martin Heidegger, in the opening passage of his 1941 14 �lecture on Anaximander’s fragment, which is the third of these case studies, goes further. He asserts that the “truth” (yes, in quotaton marks) of his translation from the Greek of these few oldest-known, all-important philosophic words can only be verified (“geprüft”) by abandoning our thought processes and turning the citadel, so to speak, over to him. His lectures on the fragment were the culmination of a course given in the winter of 1941 called Grundbegriffe—foundational concepts. Heidegger presents the fragment as the ultimate source of our philosophical tradition. It antedates Aristotle by over two hundred fifty years, Simplicius, who preserved it for us, by a thousand years, and Heidegger himself by two and a half thousand years. It is, as Heidegger says, by listening directly to this fragment, these thirty-one words of ancient Greek, that we can cut through the accumulated wrongness of metaphysics and drink from the pure source. In and through this fragment we can encounter and “experience” the origin of being, the “saying of being.” (Aylesworth, p. 83) Heidegger makes two preliminary moves to cue up his main point. The first of these happens quickly and without comment. The first two words, “out of which” (in the plural), are rendered as “whence” (von woheraus). (See Appendix B) The antecedents of the relative pronoun are thereby effaced, leaving the source entirely featureless. This would be like 15 �taking delivery of mail that was not sent by anyone or even by anything. …Like in a dream. The second preliminary change is Heidegger’s re-translation of the two words for coming-to-be (‛η γένεσις) and passing-away (‛η φθορά). Kant’s translation of these two terms was the traditional “entstehen” (arising) and “vergehen” (perishing) (A 82, B 108). These are two different words for two different processes. Heidegger, undermining Kant’s usage, changes them to “going forth” (Herforgang) and “going away” (Entgängnis). They now have the same root, the same basic source of meaning, the only difference being one of lexical format. It is as if being born and dying were only a matter of syntax, not substance. The crux of Heidegger’s translation of the fragment lies in the twoword phrase “ει̉ς ταυ̃τα.” The Greek means “into these things”—a normal plural demonstrative adjective used as a pronoun. Here Heidegger writes: “Once we have recognized what is supposed to be said, that the former from out of which emergence presences, is just the latter, away into which evading presences, then [watch carefully now] there is no difficulty in finally reading this ταυ̃τα differently from the previous understanding of the text—as ταυ̉τά. Only in this way does the wording first correspond to what the fragment intends to say. 16 �…The ταυ̃τα, “this” in the sense of ταυ̉τά, “the self-same” names … the self-sameness of the egress of emergence and the ingress of elusion. [EA] Yet does not all of this remain indeterminate? What, then, is this Self-Same?” (Aylesworth, p. 91) What indeed? It turns out to be undifferentiated nothingness. The undifferentiated source, the nihil, is the undifferentiated destination--the same nihil. Who knew—we appear at this very moment out of the same nothingness into which, in this same moment, we are receding. This is what some of us might have suspected on certain occasions—that we are indeed both coming and going at the same time—which is what Heidegger calls “presencing.” This is it—ground zero in every sense of the word. The singular eradicates the plural. Sameness overwhelms distinctions. The final phrase of this first clause in the Anaximander fragment, κατὰ τὸ χρεών, meaning “through the necessity of it,” Heidegger tells us cannot be illuminated by citing just any necessity, for example, not by citing the law of cause and effect. It must be understood as “the compelling need” --sheer subjective intensity—being engulfed in pure subjectivity, in selfsameness. The German word is “Eigentlichkeit.” Its accepted translation into English is “authenticity.” (Stambaugh, pp. 42ff, Inwood, pp. 22ff) 17 �Perhaps we should now read this whole first sentence of Heidegger’s translation of the Anaximander fragment: “Whence emergence is for what respectively presences also an eluding into this (as into the Same), emerges accordingly the compelling need; ….” (Aylesworth, p. 81) Aristotle in his small treatise on sophistical arguments includes as the last entries to his list of sophisms 1) changing the meaning of a word by changing its accent, and 2) solecism—using a word un- or antigrammatically. In another venue, we would call this tampering with evidence and intimidating witnesses. ταυ̃τα does not mean “this” or “selfsame.” It means “these things.” Heidegger’s re-write still leaves it meaning “the Sames.” It is the recalcitrance of this plural form in Anaximander’s text that stops Heidegger’s argument in its tracks. Speaking defensively, for us also and not just for himself, Heidegger writes: “We mistrust grammar and stick to the matter.” (Aylesworth, p. 95) (“Aber wir misstrauen der Grammatik und halten uns an die Sache.” Lecture 23 b). He thereby places the matter at hand before the form. This is the origin and essence of lawlessness. Let us call this sin of the intellect “authenticity.” * * * 18 �Aristotle, writing on this same subject in his later treatise On Comingto-Be and Passing-Away (περὶ γενέσεως καὶ φθορα̃ς), and as it would appear, thinking about this exact same fragment, asks a question: “What is the cause of the continuous process of coming-to-be is a perplexing enough problem if it is really true that what passes-away vanishes into “what is not” and “what is not” is nothing; …. Is it, then, because the passing-away of one thing is the coming-to-be of another thing, and the coming-to-be of one thing is the passing away of another thing, that the process of change is necessarily unceasing?” (Bk. I, chapter 3, p. 318a— Loeb, pp. 189-191) The fragment read in this way would mean that a cause does not merely precede its effect, or an antecedent its consequent, as David Hume thought, but that a cause perishes into its effect. There would be a fearful symmetry of “before” and “after”—an ordering of time itself. We would consider the world not as a compelling dreamlike sequence, but to be objectively real …and also unceasing ( ̉άπαυστος, ibid.) Symmetry is not sameness simply. It is sameness and difference. In Anaximander’s fragment the grammar of its indirect statement in the first complex sentence casts “perishing” into the formal objective (i.e. accusative) 19 �case while it functions as a nominative subject in its own clause. This means, grammatically, that “perishing” is different from, not the same as, “emerging” (i.e. coming-to-be), and that it, “perishing,” is required to complete a whole rather than to assert or re-state an identity. For these reasons I would translate the first sentence of Anaximander’s fragment as follows: As out of which (antecedents) is the emergence for existing things, also the perishing (of antecedents) into these (existing) things emerges through the necessity of it: Continuing this way of understanding the fragment into its second sentence: For they (antecedents and existing things) give soundness and acknowledgement to each other of unsoundness through the ordering of time. Here there is symmetry, and where there is symmetry there is a law of conservation. Something is constant. Something is “always.” This particular point—that ultimately there is something rather than nothing—is not just at the heart of the issue. It is the heart of the issue. This is what Heidegger would deny. He writes in this same 1941 lecture that the “always,” the “α̉εί” in Greek, what is continuous through the ordering of time, is the “unfit,” the α̉δικία in the second sentence of Anaximander’s fragment. It must be overcome, “aus der Verwindung,” by what is authentic. 20 �There is, according to Heidegger, only “transition,” (Übergang), which is the pure emerging of the Same. He concludes: “This Same is being itself.” (Aylesworth, p. 103) (“Dieses Selbe ist das Sein selbst.” Lecture 24, part a). Kant meant to achieve a cessation of hostilities vis-à-vis nihilism. Heidegger, after his attempt at trans-millennial ventriloquism, invites us to follow him over and enlist: “It could be,” he writes provocatively, “that we—for a long time now-- have understood the negative too negatively.” (Aylesworth, p. 96). * * * With a concluding allusion to Mr. Toth over there in Australia, we may say that Descartes’ argument about the existence of God cannot see because it is closed to its own logical possibilities. Kant’s argument, intended to be the adamantine foundation upon which the mind reposes, cannot speak because it is deaf to the importance, the rhetorical import, of his own discovery of category tectonics. Heidegger’s “saying of being” cannot lead to action because without grammar there is no action—only happenings, only “Ereignisse.” Desire for certitude, …enthusiasm, …authenticity—these are intellectual sins, sins against logic, rhetoric, and grammar. They are real, and they have real consequences. To them we owe the toxic brew of 21 �contempt, naivety, and fanaticism that has pervaded our public discourse, and that disenables our thinking. The corresponding virtues would be modesty, watchfulness, and gratitude—gratitude toward those who have preceded us, our antecedents, who have made an occasion such as this possible, and gratitude that there are any who will in turn, in some other place at some later time, take up what we offer here and endow it with a better sound and a deeper soundness. 22 �APPENDIX A Kant’s Table of Categories as it appears in both editions of the Critique of Pure Reason (Smith, p. 113): I Of Quantity Unity Plurality II Totality III Of Quality Of Relation Reality Of Inherence and Subsistence Negation (substantia et accidens) Limitation [Einschränkung] Of Causality and Dependence (cause and effect) Of Community (reciprocity IV between agent and patient) Of Modality Possibility—Impossibility Existence [Dasein]—Non-existence [Nichtsein] Necessity—Contingency Kant’s Table of Categories in the Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysics: I As to Quantity Unity (Measure) Plurality (Quantity) Totality (Whole) II As to Quality Reality Negation Limitation [Einschränkung] III As to Relation Substance Cause Community IV As to Modality Possibility Existence [Dasein] Necessity Footnote #29 in the Prolegomena: “…neat observations [artige Anmerkungen]…(1) that the third arises from the first and the second, joined in one concept; (2) that in those of quantity and quality there is merely a progress from unity to totality or from something to nothing (for this purpose the categories of quality must stand thus: reality, limitation, total negation)….” [emphasis added] 23 �APPENDIX B The Anaximander fragment as preserved in Simplicius’ commentary: ̃ ε̉ξ ‛ω̃ν δὲ ‛η γένεσίς ὲστι τοι̃ς ου̉σι, καὶ τὴν φθορὰν ει̉ς ταυ̃τα γίνεσθαι κατὰ τὸ χρεών: διδόναι γὰρ αυ̉τὰ δίκην καὶ τίσιν α̉λλήλοις τη̃ς α̉δικίας κατὰ τὴν του̃ χρόνου τάξιν. The Anaximander fragment as translated by Heidegger: ̃ #1(ε̉ξ ‛ω̃ν) δὲ #2a(‛η γένεσίς) ὲστι τοι̃ς ου̉σι, καὶ #2b(τὴν φθορὰν) #3(ει̉ς ταυ̃τα) γίνεσθαι #4(κατὰ τὸ χρεών): διδόναι γὰρ #5(αυ̉τὰ) δίκην καὶ τίσιν α̉λλήλοις τη̃ς α̉δικίας κατὰ τὴν του̃ χρόνου τάξιν. #1(Von woheraus) aber #2a(der Hervorgang) ist dem jeweilig Anwesenden auch #2b( die Entgängnis) #3( in dieses (als in das Selbe)) geht hervor #4( entsprechend der nötigenden Not); Es gibt nämlich #5( jedes Anwesende selbst (von sich aus)) Fug, und auch Schätzung (Anerkennung) lässt eines dem anderen, (all dies) aus der Verwindung des Unfugs entsprechend der Zuweisung des Zeitigen durch die Zeit. (Lecture 20) Whence emergence is for what respectively presences also an eluding into this (as into the Same), emerges accordingly the compelling need; there is namely what presences itself (from itself), the fit, and each is respected (acknowledged) by the other, (all of this) from overcoming the unfit according to the allotment of temporalizing by time. (Aylesworth, p. 82) A grammatical translation of the Anaximander fragment by the author: As out of which (antecedents) is the emergence for existing things, also the perishing (of antecedents) into these (existing) things emerges through the necessity of it; for they (antecedents and existing things) give soundness and acknowledgement to each other of unsoundness through the ordering of time. 24 �References Aristotle, On Coming-to-Be and Passing-Away, trans. by E.S. Forster, Library, Aristotle vol. III, Harvard University Press, 1955. Loeb Classical Aristotle, On Sophistical Refutations, trans. by E.S. Forster, Loeb Classical Library, Aristotle vol. III, Harvard University Press, 1955. Descartes, Rene, Meditationes de Prima Philosophia , Méditations Métaphysiques, Texte latin [1642] et traduction du Duc de Luynes [1647], Geneviève Rodis-Lewis, ed., Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1970. Descartes, Rene, Meditations, trans. by Laurence J. Lafleur, The Library of the Liberal Arts, Bobbs-Merrill, 1960. Heidegger Martin, Anaximander’s Saying, in Off the Beaten Track, ed. and trans. by Julian Young and Kenneth Haynes, Cambridge University Press, 2002. Heidegger, Martin, Basic Concepts, trans. by Gary Aylesworth, Indiana University Press, 1993. Heidegger, Martin, Being and Time, trans. by Joan Stambaugh, State University of New York Press, 1996. Heidegger, Martin, Grundbegriffe, Gesamtausgabe Band 51, Vittorio Klostermann, 1981. Inwood, Martin, A Heidegger Dictionary, Blackwell, 1999. Kant, Immanuel, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. by Norman Kemp Smith, St. Martin’s Press, 1965, MacMillan, 1929. Kant, Immanuel, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, Zweite Auflage, Kants Werke, Band III, Walter de Gruyter & Co., 1968. Kant, Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft auftreten können, ed. by Karl Vorländer, 1905, Philosophische Bibliothek Band 40, Verlag von Felix Meiner, 1965. Kant, Immanuel, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, trans. by Paul Carus, 1902, revised by James W. Ellington, Hackett, 1977. 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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 LeCuyer, Philip Title A name given to the resource Intellectual sin : three case studies Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-04-12 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on April 12, 2013 by Philip LeCuyer 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 Descartes, René, 1596-1650. Meditationes de prima philosophia. English Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804. Kritik der reinen Vernunft. English Heidegger, Martin, 1889-1976 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 81077 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/39">Audio recording</a> Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/3a737421eef5cf4c742e8e36b013cf0f.mp3 f574e64dcff9ccac09df290c7b0659d6 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:44:31 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav 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 LeCuyer, Philip Title A name given to the resource Intellectual Sin: Three Case Studies Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-04-12 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 12, 2013, by Philip LeCuyer 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 sound Subject The topic of the resource Descartes, René, 1596-1650. Meditationes de prima philosophia. English Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804. Kritik der reinen Vernunft. English Heidegger, Martin, 1889-1976 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_LeCuyer_Philip_2013-04-12 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/40">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ba2bc785b0a995b680980df021d34237.pdf 7c0ab2a96ae4c9b41ec80f642e04f742 PDF Text Text Lucretius on the Nature of Things by Margaret Kirby A lecture given at St. John’s College in Annapolis on the 13th of April 2012. [This title page was supplied by the St. John’s College Catalog Librarian.] �Lucretius on the Nature of Things De rerum natura or On the Nature of Things presents itself as a project to convert a Roman citizen named Memmius from his faith in the civic religion of Rome to the “true reasoning” (vera ratio) embodied in the teachings of the Greek philosopher Epicurus.1 This civic religion, Lucretius maintains, and especially the fears it inculcates in the minds of its adherents, are responsible for the unhappy condition of late Republican Rome: the urgent prayer for peace with which the work opens and its reference to “our country’s time of trouble” locate the poem amidst the civil disturbances and foreign wars of conquest that characterize the last years of the Republic.2 Lucretius fully acknowledges the difficulty of the project: his fundamental tenet that the universe consists of nothing but “body and void,” his central precept of the soul’s mortality, and his ongoing insistence on the utter indifference of the gods to all human affairs, constitute a bold attack on those religious convictions, on which, according to Polybius, the enduring strength of the Roman commonwealth depended.3 The character of Lucretius’ pupil only exacerbates the problem: Memmius is portrayed as a recalcitrant student, likely to reject with disdain any teaching he does not immediately understand,4 and prone to bouts of inattentiveness—although the length of Lucretius’ lecture no doubt invites such lapses. Moreover, Lucretius foresees that Memmius, “overcome by the fear-inspiring words of priests and poets,” will try to cut himself off from Epicurean reasoning and revert to his former beliefs.5 The fears instilled by priests and poets, Lucretius suggests, derive overwhelming power from a deeper and more fundamental human fear, which is rooted deep in the mind itself and in our very sense of causality. The eradication of this primary fear thus becomes key to the conversion of Memmius: 1 �Therefore this terror of mind and these shadows must be dispelled, not by rays of sun or bright shafts of day, but by nature’s aspect and reason.6 Read actively, the phrase nātūrae spĕcĭēs rătĭōque refers to our “looking at and reasoning about nature.” 7 At the same time it invites a less conventional reading, which suggests that it is not so much our observation and reasoning about nature, but nature’s own visible and invisible processes— its “aspect and reason”—that will ultimately dispel the shadows and terror of the mind. Fear is not by any means a human prerogative. Lucretius notes that animals utter distinct sounds of alarm “when they are in fear or pain.”8 Nevertheless, he claims that humans know—or are afflicted by—a peculiar kind of fear, which he calls “terror of mind” (terror animi; 1.146).9 Such fear is unknown, however, to the first humans: “They did not seek the day and the sun all over the land with great outcry, nor wander frightened in the shadows of night…”10 Early man has “cares” (curae; 5.982), but they are of a different—and more immediate—order: “They would flee their rocky shelters at the approach of a foaming boar or mighty lion and at dead of night would yield their leaf-strewn beds in fright to the savage guests.”11 At the same time Lucretius hints that these first humans are not, in fact, distinctly human at all. They pass their days in “the wide-wandering fashion of wild beasts,”12 while their nocturnal ritual of “lay[ing] their wild limbs naked on the ground, [and] rolling themselves in leaves and boughs,” makes them “the equals of bristly hogs.”13 It seems that only in becoming fully human does man become infected with the darker terrors of the mind, or perhaps rather that man becomes truly human precisely by acquiring these dark fears: For when we look up at the celestial regions of the great world, at the ether set with glittering stars, and it comes to our mind [to think] of the paths of the sun and moon, then, into breasts bent down by other evils that care also begins to raise its wakened 2 �head, whether by any chance we have to do with some immeasurable power of the gods, able to make the bright stars revolve…14 The imagery of this passage is telling.15 Into breasts bent down by “other evils” a new kind of care is said to make its restless way: this care is depicted as “erecting” or “raising” a head that has been “wakened” or “made erect.”16 The image of a personified care raising its head and rising from sleep suggests that as soon as humans, in Ovid’s words, “raise erected faces to the stars,” that is, as soon as they begin to stand upright and quite literally raise their heads from the ground, they awake to a new kind of concern.17 Although an animal instinct for survival may initially position humans in the world, Lucretius suggests that it is man’s question about the causes of celestial phenomena that gives rise to the first fully human fear, or again, that such fear is what first gives birth to a distinctly human kind. But what exactly is this fear? The “mind’s terror” has its origin in a fundamental human desire to discern the causes of things: “…they observed how the sky’s array and the various seasons of the year come round in due order, and were not able to discover (cognoscere) by what causes all that came about.”18 We experience things as effects, as caused. We see “many things” and immediately try to see causes of the things we perceive. The problem is that causes generally don’t appear ante oculos, “before our eyes.”19 The absence of any visible cause of the regular motions of the heavens or the recurrent pattern of the seasons thus fills humans with a kind of awe: In this way, certainly, dread holds all mortals in bond, because they behold many things happening on earth and in the sky, the causes of whose workings they can by no means see, and they think them to be done by divine power.20 Thus the celestial phenomena raise questions of causality and, as a result, the notion of a powerful agency comes to form part of man’s very experience of the revolving “moon and day 3 �and night and solemn stars.”21 As a result, the question, “whether by any chance we have to do with some immeasurable power of the gods, able to make the bright stars revolve,” can only be framed as a rhetorical question. Incapable of experiencing the celestial motions except as effects, except as caused, humans immediately posit occult agents: “their refuge was to leave all in the hands of the gods, and to suppose that by their nod all things were done.” 22 Having created gods more or less in their own image, humans also attribute passions resembling their own to the gods, and interpret destructive natural phenomena as effects of divine anger: “Oh unhappy race of mankind, to ascribe such doings to the gods and to attribute to them bitter wrath as well!”23 However regrettable such a response may be, it is, apparently, an altogether human reaction: Whose mind does not shrink with dread of the gods, whose limbs do not crawl with fright, when the scorched earth trembles at the thunderbolt’s terrible blow? […] when the whole earth sways under our feet, and shaken cities fall and threaten to fall as they waver, what wonder if mortals feel contempt for themselves and acknowledge in these things the gods’ great powers and wondrous strength, which govern all things?24 The visceral quaking25 that makes men flee wild boars and lions thus comes to be replaced by less instinctive and more complex fears. The belief that divinities govern the world and the religion to which this belief gives rise are the origin of the deepest fear that “assails” men.26 This is “the sharp fear of death;”27 it is that fear of Acheron…which troubles the life of man from its deepest depths, suffuses all with the blackness of death, and leaves no delight clean and pure.28 This new fear, fueled by the “immortal verse” of poets,29 is not so much a fear of death itself, as the fear of an imagined afterlife and an illusory future beyond death.30 Paradoxically, this fear is associated with a profound failure to grasp the full extent and significance of human 4 �mortality. Men mistakenly imagine that the soul is immortal and in doing so fail to distinguish properly between mortal and immortal: …to join mortal with eternal, and think that they can feel as one and suffer in common is madness. For what can be thought more at variance, or more disjoined in their relation and inconsistent, than what is mortal joined in union with immortal and everlasting, to weather furious storms!31 The same logical error gives rise to the misguided notion that the gods are involved in human affairs. To suppose that immortal beings concern themselves with the doings of mortals is to overlook the essential distinction between temporal and eternal: “for the very nature of divinity must necessarily enjoy immortal life in the deepest peace, far removed and separated from our affairs.”32 Ultimately, then, the fear of death stems from a failure to grasp the essential finitude of all things and a failure to observe “how the power of each [thing] is limited and in what way its boundary stone is deep-fixed.”33 Under the shadow of this new fear of death, humans invent elaborate religious rituals, which, ironically, cause them to turn their eyes away from the celestial motions that first aroused their wonder and “turn towards stones and altars.”34 They abandon their distinctly human, vertical posture and “fall prostrate upon the ground” in worship.35 It is in fact in this attitude that Epicurus is said to have found them: …human life lay groveling on the earth, bent down (oppressa) under the weight of religion, which stretched out its head from the regions of the sky, standing over (super…instans) mortals with terrible aspect…36 Humans have themselves personified the “regions of the sky,” so that these now appear not as the orderly array which first aroused men’s wonder, but as the locus of divine powers; the sky acquires the frightening “aspect” or “look” of gods who must be propitiated.37 5 �Indeed Lucretius observes that his Roman contemporaries seldom raise their heads to the sky at all. Preoccupied as they are with mundane affairs, they are more likely to catch a glimpse of the sky’s reflection in a shallow puddle between the paving stones at their feet, “so that [they] seem to look down on (despicere) clouds and sky,” than they are to gaze up in wonder at the source of this image.38 He asks Memmius to imagine how “wonderful” the “sight” or species of the stars and sky must appear to those seeing them for the first time, although “no one now, wearied with satiety of seeing, deigns to look up (suspicere) at the bright regions of the sky.”39 As humans lose sight of the original cause of the mind’s terror, this terror too loses its focus on externals and becomes a permanent inner condition, characterized as “anxiety of heart.”40 This anxiety expresses itself as a profound restlessness: “each seeks always to change his place, as if he could put down his burden.”41 The more men attain the public success they think will free them care, the more oppressed they in fact become: “so great a mass of ill lies heavy on their breast.”42 For all their sophistication, the citizens of Rome are so bent by onerous cares that, metaphorically at least, their very ability to stand erect is threatened. We have already noted that contemporary Roman religious practices present a more literal threat to man’s ability to stand “erect and tall,” to use Milton’s phrase.43 In contrast to a religion (religio) that only inculcates false fears, Lucretius advocates an attitude of piety (pietas) which he explicitly distinguishes from prevailing Roman notions of piety: It is no piety at all to be seen often with covered head, to turn towards a stone and to approach every altar, nor to fall prostrate upon the ground and to spread palms open before the shrines of the gods, nor to sprinkle altars with the streaming blood of fourfooted animals (quadrupedum), nor to link vow to vow; but rather to be able to look on all with a mind at peace.44 6 �But how is such Lucretian piety, or tranquility of mind, to be attained? How is man to recover his proper attitude? Lucretius suggests that it is, once again, a question of etiology: “He is sick because he does not grasp the cause of his disease; if he could see that well, at once each, his affairs abandoned, would first strive to discover (cognoscere) the nature of things.”45 De rerum natura thus associates the ethical ills and political turmoil of Rome’s “time of trouble” with a profound ignorance about “the nature of things.” Both the fear of death and the civic vices generated by this fear ultimately spring from misconceptions about the nature of body, misconceptions the poem proposes to correct. In addition to presenting the Epicurean teaching that nothing exists apart from body and void, the first book of the poem refutes the views of a number of Greek natural philosophers and, in particular, their accounts of the constitution of bodies. Although the three accounts that are rejected differ significantly from one another, all three are presented as assuming that the constitution of the physical world is more or less faithfully reflected by our experience of that world. According to this view, the first principles or ultimate constituents of the physical world resemble substances with which we are familiar. The physics of De rerum natura, by contrast, emphasizes a radical discontinuity between the world we perceive and the basic composition of that world.46 The phenomena we experience, it turns out, do not simply mirror or mimic an underlying “reality,” but conceal its immutable nature beneath their own ever-shifting “look” or species. There is, in other words, a profound gap between the world of our experience and its underlying principles. Yet although the phenomena are not literal translations of nature’s constitutive principles, Lucretius nevertheless insists—in marked contrast to the early Greek atomists Democritus and Leucippus—that, the phenomena are not simply false or specious,47 and do in fact provide 7 �“traces” by which the “keen-scented mind” can “come to know” (cognoscere; 1.403) the truth of things (verum; 1.409). It is important, however, that we first consider this fundamental disparity between the world of our experience and its eternal elements. The realm of human experience is a strange blend of chaos and order, of change and permanence. On the one hand, everything we experience continually alters: “nothing remains like itself; all things move; nature changes all, compels all to alter.”48 Indeed our very perceptions of things arise from their relentless disintegration, as all sensation depends on the incessant streaming of matter from things: “from all things each thing is carried off in a stream […], and no delay or respite is granted in this flux, since we have sensation unceasingly.”49 On the other hand, Lucretius is adamant that this fluidity is not the end of the matter and sharply criticizes the Heracliteans for failing to see that “something must remain safe and sound in those fires of theirs.”50 Things also exhibit remarkable regularity: “all things are so constant that from generation to generation all the variegated birds display on their bodies the markings of their kind.”51 Our very notion of a thing involves membership in a kind: “no thing (res nulla) is single (una)… so as not to belong to some kind and to be one of many like it.”52 Thus, although no one kind is permanent, generic identity belongs to our experience of things. Our ability to perceive kinds, to see pigeons and peacocks,53 is the result of certain unchanging “ordinances of nature (foedera naturae).”54 These governing principles are not the work of a provident legislator, but are embedded in the unchanging structure of matter itself.55 Because it belongs to the very nature of a thing to exhibit generic constancy, such constancy must somehow be a constitutive part of things themselves: “they must also have beyond a doubt a body of immutable matter.”56 This insight underlies Lucretius’ central claim that both the things we 8 �experience and the principles that constitute those things must be corporeal: “Bodies are partly the primordia of things, partly those which are formed by the union of primordia.”57 At the same time Lucretius draws a sharp distinction between the world we experience and the immutable first principles that underlie this world. A thing is always a possible object of experience, while the unchanging first principles, on which the existence of things depends, are never themselves objects of sensation or experience. There are, then, two very distinct sorts of bodies. The “bodies” which constitute the elements or primordia of things are not the bodies of our experience; primordia are not things but rather “beginnings” or “first bodies” of things. Although both the primordia and the unions of primordia are bodies or corpora, the primordia are not things or res. 58 Indeed, Memmius is instructed particularly to keep in mind that a thing cannot consist of a single kind of atom: “Of things whose nature is plainly seen, there is none that consists of only one kind of element, nothing that does not consist of thoroughly mixed seed.”59 While everything we perceive is an unstable composite of matter and void, of primordia and empty space, the primordia themselves constitute the “immortal foundations” of this world. Every edifice constructed of matter and void lacks stability—every compound is by nature transient—but the building stones themselves are indestructible. Unlike the prime matter of Aristotelian physics, which eludes our knowledge as it hovers between being and non-being,60 the Lucretian primordia, solid, simple, and “strong by their eternal simplicity,”61 are clearly distinguished from non-being, which presents itself alongside them as void. Unfortunately, the very immutability that gives the atoms such an ontological advantage calls their epistemic status into question. Although it is a central tenet of Epicurean philosophy 9 �that all knowledge is grounded in sensation,62 the primordia are never objects of sensation. Like Epicurus, Lucretius stresses the necessary primacy of sense perception: …unless our belief (fides) in sensation is first firmly founded and strong, there will be no principle of appeal in hidden matters, according to which we may make anything firm by reasoning of the mind.63 Sense-certainty seems axiomatic; we cannot, for example, deny our perception of body: “for that body in itself exists, sensation, common to all, declares.”64 Indeed, to demand grounds for the certainty of sense perception is simply misguided: “For to what shall we appeal? What can we find more certain than the senses themselves, with which we can distinguish true things from false ones?”65 Sense-certainty, however, is founded on “belief” rather than knowledge.66 While this might lead us to conclude that sense-perception is a doubtful starting point for one who seeks “to know the nature of things,” we are strongly cautioned against falling into such skepticism: For not only would all reasoning fall to ruin; our life and safety too would immediately collapse, unless you dare to trust the senses… 67 Yet despite insisting on the authority of sensation and asserting that the concept of truth is itself empirical in origin, Lucretius repeatedly affirms that the atoms are imperceptible: “the primordia cannot be discerned with the eyes”; they “cannot be seen.” 68 At times it seems as if the problem is simply that the primordia are too small for our senses to detect: “the primordia are so far below our senses and so much smaller than the point at which our eyes begin not to be able to see.”69 Nonetheless, although the primordia are certainly far smaller than anything our eyes can discern, our inability to perceive them does not stem, or at least does not stem primarily, from the weakness of our vision. Rather, invisibility belongs to the very nature of the primordia: 10 �The primordia ought in begetting things to bring with them a nature hidden and unseen, that nothing stand out which might fight against and bar whatever is being made from existing with its own proper being. 70 The claim that the primordia must have a hidden nature forms the core of Lucretius’ criticism of Empedocles and Anaxagoras. If the primordia have sensible natures, he argues, they will not unite as things, but simply mix in “variegated heap[s]”: If by chance you think that the body of fire and the body of earth and the breezes of the air and the dewy moisture so combine, that in union no one of them changes its nature, you will see that no thing can be created out of them, no, not a living thing, nor one with lifeless body [...]. Each element in the mingling of this variegated heap will show its own nature, and air will be seen mixed together with earth, heat abiding with moisture.71 The reality and integrity of composite bodies can only be secured if we begin by distinguishing clearly between things and their underlying principles. Memmius must understand that the primordia are necessarily devoid of all accidental qualities: Come then, listen to words sought with sweet labor, lest by chance you suppose these white things which you see bright before your eyes to be made of white beginnings, or those that are black to be born of seed that is black, or that they are imbued with any other color you will because the bodies of matter are dyed with like color. For there is no color at all in the bodies of matter, neither like [the color of] things nor again unlike.72 Because the things we perceive are both relatively stable (as genera or kinds) and mutable (as particulars), they must be composites of primary and secondary qualities. Yet this stability (and the truth of our experience) can only be guaranteed if things are constituted of elements completely distinct from the particular objects of our experience. To constitute fire, air, water, and earth as the elements of things, as Empedocles did, is to fail to grasp the need for such a distinction.73 Anaxagoras falls into a similar but even more egregious error in proposing principles that simply mimic things themselves: 11 �…he clearly holds that bones are made of very small and minute bones, flesh of very small and minute particles of flesh, and that blood is composed by the coming together of many drops of blood, and he thinks gold can consist of tiny bits of gold, that earth grows together from little earths, that fire is made of fires, water of waters; he fancies and imagines the rest in the same way.74 In other words, Anaxagoras “imagines” first principles that are essentially derivative and thus simply too weak—too mutable—to sustain the structure of our experience: Add that he imagines primordia which are too weak, if indeed those are primordia which are endowed with a nature similar to the things themselves, and equally suffer and pass away...75 Lucretius notes that although his own argument focuses on the sense of sight, we are to understand that the primordia equally elude our other senses: …the primordia of things must not contribute any odor of their own to the making of things, nor any sound, since they can emit nothing from themselves, and similarly no taste at all, nor cold, nor heat again and moderate warmth, and the rest: all these […] must be kept apart from the beginnings, if we wish to lay an imperishable foundation for things upon which the sum of existence may rest. 76 The relation of the primordia to our sense of touch, however, is somewhat more ambiguous. Tangibility is identified an inseparable property of body itself: “An inseparable property (coniunctum) is that which without destructive dissolution can never be disjoined and disengaged (seque gregari), as weight is to stone, heat to fire, liquidity to water, touch to all bodies, intangibility to void.” 77 At the same time, tangibility is the basis of all sense perception: “For touch, so help me the holy power of the gods, it is touch that is the bodily sense…” 78 Although, as we’ve seen, Lucretius emphatically rejects the pre-Socratic endeavor to associate the first principles with any objects of sense experience, we’ve also seen that his first principles do nevertheless bear an important resemblance to the things we experience: the primordia are bodies.79 On the one hand, then, as part of his effort to distinguish the primordia from the 12 �particular, mutable objects we experience, Lucretius devotes considerable time and effort to demonstrating that the primordia are devoid of all secondary qualities. On the other hand, to ensure that they can adequately account for our experience of the physical world, he insists that the primordia must possess the essential properties of body and ascribes to them size, shape, and weight, in addition to duration, unity, and impermeability. To some extent, then, the primordia do resemble the bodies we experience. Nonetheless, despite having posited tangibility as an essential attribute of body, Lucretius contends that the primordia themselves do not affect our sense of touch. They are, first of all, simply too small to affect our sense of touch: the particles that constitute the soul or anima are said to be too far apart to be moved by bodies as minute as the primordia.80 Yet the intangibility of the primordia does not seem to be simply an effect of size. In rejecting the Heraclitean theory that fire is the primary substance, Lucretius expressly states that the “first bodies” are not like anything “that is able to send bodies to our senses and by throwing something toward it to touch our touch.”81 Moreover, qualities that seem fundamental to our sense of touch—heat and cold—are expressly listed as accidental qualities that cannot be predicated of the “first bodies:” “they are also altogether destitute of warmth and cold and strong heat...”82 Thus the primordia elude even our sense of touch. While the constant streaming of primordia from composite bodies creates a kind of field effect which causes sensation, the primordia are never themselves objects of perception. The perception of things depends entirely on the motion of the primordia. The claim that the constitutive principles of things are not simply minute sensible bodies promises to grant compound bodies an integrity they lack in the pre-Socratic accounts Lucretius criticizes. Paradoxically, however, this difference between composite bodies and their 13 �constituent elements threatens the very existence of compound bodies. It does not seem possible to claim both that the primordia are self-subsisting realities and that compound bodies are real substances, rather than mere mixtures or even illusory appearances. As Aristotle puts it, “A substance cannot consist of substances present in it in complete reality; for things that are thus in complete reality two are never in complete reality one.”83 Unless we can demonstrate how independent atomic substances unite to form real substances rather than mere mixtures, we seem to face yet again precisely the problem atomism aimed to address. The primordia are, after all, completely devoid of any relation to one another—there are neither attractive nor repulsive forces in a Lucretian cosmos. Although it is said to be a basic property of all bodies, a “duty” (officium) of body, as Lucretius puts it, to “press down,” this motion is not the result of attractive forces.84 Moreover, while the primordia relentlessly carry out this task, it is not at all clear what all this activity means. By asserting that the primordia have weight in addition to size and shape, Lucretius proposes that motion belongs to the very nature of the primordia: “For first the primordia of things move of themselves.”85 This would seem to contradict his earlier insistence on the utter immutability of the primordia—change of place is, after all, a change—but it turns out that this innate primordial motion does not in fact constitute change: it is, as it were, an unmoving motion. Anticipating Galileo, Lucretius maintains that the primordia all fall at the same speed: “through the motionless void they must, with weights not equal, all be carried with equal motion.”86 We are invited to envision a sort of primal rain, as the primordia fall through the void in parallel lines at constant and equal speeds.87 As far as their innate downward tendency is concerned, the primordia have no motion whatsoever in relation to one another. Thus weight can never account for collisions, let 14 �alone conjunctions, of atoms. The infinity of space guarantees their rectilinear motion throughout infinite time—“remember that there is no bottom in the sum of things and the first bodies have nowhere to rest, since space is without end or limit.”88 Nor do the primordia move in relation to the whole: no matter how far they travel, the primordia cannot change location with respect to the infinite “sum of things.” Such motion, in other words, differs little from rest and hardly explains how things arise from their atomic foundations. Given eternal primordia moved by weight alone, Lucretius acknowledges, “nature would never have produced anything.”89 This difficulty gives rise to the famous—or indeed infamous—doctrine of the swerve. In light of the poem’s emphasis on nature’s rationality and intrinsic lawfulness, it is startling suddenly to discover that nature in fact brings things into being90 by means of what one might call a principle of uncertainty: While the first bodies are being carried downwards by their own weights in a straight line through the void, at some quite indefinite time and in indefinite places, they swerve (depellere) a little from their course, just so much as you might call a change of motion.91 There simply seems to be no rational explanation that can “save the appearances.” The primordia can only unite and function as causes of things if they are allowed to deviate invisibly and ever so slightly from their eternal immutability—“just so much as you might call a change of motion.” No matter how foreign it may at first seem to “definite reasoning (certa ratio)” and to our understanding of Euclid’s fifth postulate, the “reason of nature” (naturae ratio) seems to include a kind of esprit de finesse that circumvents the esprit de géométrie to which strict logic would confine it.92 The perpetual downward tendency of the primordia cannot by itself adequately account for things, which are unions (concilia) of atoms. Yet the notion that things 15 �ultimately arise from and depend on random and completely invisible atomic digressions undermines the very “ordinances of nature” on which Lucretius promised to build his structure; the swerve seems to belong neither to the “aspect” nor to the “reason of nature.” Insofar as our world of things depends entirely on this unaccountable ability of the primordia to sidestep the paths ordained by their weights, it seems that we cannot really give an account of this world—“for this we see to be plain and evident, that weights, as far as in them lies, cannot travel obliquely.”93 We seem to have overthrown the tyranny of divine masters only to replace it by the dictates of an inexplicable “inclination” or swerve, to have been freed from the dominion of capricious deities only to come under the governance of a random swerve. Lucretius prefaces his presentation of the swerve by urging Memmius to envision the primordia as pugnacious dust motes, “struggling, fighting, battling in troops without any pause.”94 He exhorts Memmius to “turn [his] mind” particularly to this example.95 If Memmius will but consider the endless “meetings and partings” of these dusty squadrons, he will be able “to conjecture from this what it is for the primordia always to be thrown about in the great void.”96 Here, as so often, Lucretius engages, or perhaps indulges, in a revealing word-play. He frequently uses the verb conicere—“conjecture”—in its literal sense of “throw together.”97 His use of a cognate form of the verb iacere—“to throw”—in this sentence clearly recalls this literal meaning. If Memmius—or the reader—is sufficiently attentive, he will grasp that the mental action involved in drawing analogies between dust motes, military squadrons, and primordia has much in common with the oblique motions that cause dust motes to collide. The movement of reason in drawing such analogies—and it is by means of such correspondences that we have access to the imperceptible primordia—seems to involve a kind of mental swerve 16 �that deviates from the rectilinear paths strict logic demands. Not only, then, does the reason of nature (naturae ratio) demand that nature’s constituent particles constantly be “thrown together,” but the nature of our reason likewise involves “throwing together” notions that would not otherwise meet. Reason itself, that is, occasionally employs unpredictable and unorthodox motions. It is important to remember that most collisions are no more productive than the comings and goings of so many dust motes. The swerve (coupled with the infinite supply of primordia) ensures that some atoms will collide, but collision alone does not account for the genesis of things. Whether or not the colliding primordia cohere depends on fixed laws of nature: It must not be thought that all can be conjoined in all ways, for then you would commonly see monstrosities come into being […] But that none of these things happen is manifest, since we see that all things bred from definite seeds by a definite mother are able to conserve their kind as they grow. Assuredly this must come about by a definite reason.98 A thing is not merely a mix, but above all an arrangement or configuration that depends on the shapes and motions of its constituent parts: “when the combinations of matter, when its motions, order, position, shapes are changed, the thing also must be changed.”99 Things can only incorporate those atomic particles that, in addition to having conformable shapes, are also able to coordinate their motions with the motions of the other constituent particles. The principles of compatible shape and motion constitute the fundamental laws that govern both living and non-living things: “But do not by chance think that living things alone are held by these laws, for the same reason limits all things.”100 17 �Although they form the ground of our changing phenomenal world and have all the conceptual rudiments of body, the primordia, as we have seen, are not phenomena in their own right. The primordia do possess size, shape, and weight. They also possess some sort of resistance: body is said to have a “duty” not only to press downward, but also to “work against and obstruct”—it is essentially tangible, although, as we’ve seen, a primordium is never itself the object of our sense of touch.101 Finally, if we follow the arguments about the “extreme points” of the primordia, in turns out that they even have parts of a sort, albeit inseparable parts.102 At the same time, the primordia remain as remote from the phenomena of our experience as immortal from mortal, as solid from soluble, as simple from complex. Are we not then back with just the problem we began with, namely the problem of occult causes? If so, there would seem to be little to recommend Epicurean lectures over priestly pronouncements. Anticipating this objection, Lucretius insists that imperceptible as they are, the primordia are nevertheless objects of thought: But if by chance you think that the mind cannot project itself into these bodies, you are wandering far astray. For since those born blind, who have never perceived the sun’s light, nevertheless come to know (cognoscant) by touch bodies which they have not associated with any color since the day of their birth, you may be sure that bodies not painted about with any hue can be turned into a concept (notitia) of our mind.103 You may be sure that certain things exist as much deprived of color as without any smell and empty of sound, and that the keen mind can come to know (cognoscere) these no less than it can conceive (notare) things that are devoid of other qualities.104 It is not through sensation, but through “the reason of mind” (ratio animi) that we have access to the primordia: “eyes cannot recognize the nature of things.”105 The “first bodies” are thus intelligible, rather than sensible bodies; we cannot conceive of body without size, shape, and 18 �weight, nor, as Leibniz so clearly saw, without a power of resistance or impenetrability.106 But this mental concept (menti notitia) of body is not itself an object of sensation. It has been suggested that “the fundamental difficulty of the whole Epicurean position” is that it demands, on the one hand, an “absolute trust in the evidence of the senses as the primary criterion of truth,” while insisting, on the other hand, that the physical foundation of things consists of imperceptible primordia.107 Although Lucretius draws the sharpest of distinctions between the eternal primordia and the transient things of our experience, he must nevertheless bridge the gap between the two realms, if his project of conversion is to succeed. The government of divine “masters” can only be overthrown,108 and the atomic foundations of things only secured, if these invisible foundations are made objects of sense experience. In other words, unless the Epicurean doctrine of the atoms is translated into a more visible idiom, it must remain literally obscure, or shrouded in darkness. The corporeality of the primordia can be guaranteed only by bringing them “out into the shining borders of light”—to use a Latin idiom Lucretius is fond of. 109 Again and again Lucretius represents his work as an endeavor to make things visible. He describes it as an attempt to “illuminate with Latin verses the dark discoveries of the Greeks”110 and portrays his entire project as one of enabling Memmius to see the inner workings of things: Your merit and the expected delight of your sweet friendship, […] induces me to stay awake in quiet nights, seeking by what words and what poetry I can at last display before your mind bright lights, by which you may be able to see into the very depths of hidden things.111 One way of spanning the gap between the imperceptible primordia and the visible world is through language, especially through various forms of figurative language. It is surely significant that language itself features as a dominant image in De rerum natura. Again and 19 �again the poem compares the structure of language to the structure of the world: as variations in the order of letters or sounds give rise to a great variety of words and verses, so too, variations in the “conjunctions, motions, order, position, and shape” of the primordia give rise to the even greater variety of things. Moreover, the poem makes this analogy between letters and atoms a fundamental feature of its own language: arguing, for example, that Anaxagoras should have seen that wood is not flammable because it contains fire particles, but because both wood—lignis (in the ablative plural)—and fire—ignis—contain many of the same letters or elements.112 Figurative speech is so deeply imbedded in De rerum natura that it is not possible to separate philosophical terminology from poetic vocabulary. Consider, for example, the Latin rendering of the Epicurean term άτομοι, atoms or, literally, “uncuttables.” Lucretius never uses the technical term ătŏmus, which his contemporary Cicero does use.113 Nor does he substitute a single Latin term for the Greek word άτομος.114 He uses instead a variety of names that present the atoms as generative bodies of things. Some of these words are clearly metaphorical in character. Explicitly biological terms such as “seeds of things” and “generative bodies” have a rhetorical function, inviting Memmius to regard the atomic particles as familiar objects of experience, especially when these expressions are used, as they are early in book 1, in the context of agricultural examples.115 Even language that seems literal, however, terms like principia, corpora prima, and prima elementa, by evoking the notion of a beginning, present eternal entities in terms of a temporal metaphor.116 The text itself, ever alert to etymologies, reminds us that the predominant term primordium refers literally to a “first-rising”: “in the earth there are primordia of things, which we, when we turn fruitful clods with the plough […], 20 �bring to a rising (ortus).”117 Thus this word too suggests a beginning. Of course, as becomes abundantly clear in Book 3, the “first-bodies” are equally “last bodies,” but the vocabulary of De rerum natura carefully avoids this association. Furthermore, although the term corpus or “body” accurately translates the Greek—and Epicurean—term σωμα, we have already seen that the poem’s “first bodies” or “generative bodies” are not bodies in the conventional sense; they are not the “mortal bodies” or “visible bodies” of everyday experience, but “eternal” and “invisible” bodies.118 Finally, the word materia or “‘matter’ in the collective sense,”119 which may sound more technical to our modern English ears, is deprived of its technical sense by means of a series of puns that serve to remind us that materia is derived from mater or ‘mother.’120 Here the metaphorical reading turns out to be the literal reading: etymologically, at least, matter is a “mother” of things. Similarly, verbal play draws attention to the fact that natura is cognate with the verb nascor “to be born,” so that a literal reading of the word natura produces a metaphor of nature itself as mother.121 The primordia are presented not only in distinctly temporal and biological terms, but also in distinctly human terms. This personification frequently takes the form of military metaphors: “So, in the balanced strife of the beginnings, war waged from time everlasting is carried on.”122 We may recall here the image of the battling dust motes: you will see many minute motes mingling in many ways through the void […] and, as it were, in everlasting strife, struggling, fighting, battling in troops without any pause, driven about with frequent meetings and partings.123 Here the heavy-handed alliterative effects Lucretius is so fond of—multă mĭnūtă mŏdīs mūltīs […] miscēri—neatly illustrate, both audibly and visibly, how one tiny particle, in this case the letter m, “mingles” with others “in many ways.” Moreover, the primordia exhibit not only a 21 �“propensity to military action,” but also a marked inclination to political life: they join in “councils,” “assemblies,” “meetings,” and “contracts” (concilia, congressūs, coetūs, nexūs); they are governed by “treaties” and “laws” (foedera and leges).”124 Once again, it is neither possible, nor particularly helpful, to distinguish clearly between a technical language and a poetic language. Insofar as Lucretius himself repeatedly remarks on what he calls “the poverty of [his] native tongue,” he invites his audience to hear the metaphors simply as translations of established Greek philosophical terms. Nonetheless, such frequent, if veiled, personifications of the primordia may gradually persuade Memmius to regard human affairs from a new—and very distant—vantage. From this viewpoint the battles and struggles of great armies are seen to be no more than the contentions of dust motes; the great deliberations and treaties of state no more than temporary and accidental combinations of atoms. The very metaphors that bring the primordia directly before our eyes, out of obscurity into the bright light of day, also compel us to “see” the things that formerly occupied our sight and seemed most real as distant and inconsequential. Phenomena formerly perceived as significant—the motions of the sun and stars, great storms, and perhaps even terrible plagues—become insignificant, insofar as they too are little more than the concurrences of dust motes. Things that previously seemed substantial—city walls, gold and silver vessels, our own bodies—are seen, from this new vantage, in all their penetrability: “nothing [nil] exists that is not a texture with porous body.”125 In many ways the conversion of Memmius seems complete at this point. The aspect of nature—its species—is radically altered as he focuses his sight on the invisible primordia and the things he formerly regarded as substantial recede into a distant haze. A more radical project, however, remains to be effected if “the dominion of gods”126 is truly to be overthrown 22 �and a more republican—or more human—view of things is to be reinstated. The ignorance of causes,127 which first induced us to throw ourselves at the feet of tyrannical deities, turns out to be a more radical tyranny than we realized. Our very notion of causality involves a kind of tyranny of the one over the many. For which of these causes it is in this world is difficult to determine; but what is possible and may come to be through the whole universe in diverse worlds diversely (varia ratione) fashioned, that is what I teach, and I proceed to set forth several causes which may exist for the movements of the stars throughout the whole; one of which, however, must be that which gives force to the movement of the signs in this world too; but which of these it is, is by no means his to lay down who treads forward step by step.128 Particularly in the case of phenomena, “whose causes we can by no means see,”129 there is a danger that not only in the absence of an explanation, but also in the presence of competing accounts, we will “revert again to old religions and adopt harsh masters.”130 Such relapses occur when we are “driven astray by blind reasoning”131 and are as much a result of a failure to understand the nature of reason, as of a failure to perceive the reason of nature. In our endeavors to explain natural phenomena we often mistakenly assume that it is sufficient “to indicate a single cause.”132 Lucretius interrupts his explanation of Etna’s eruptions and the flooding of the Nile to offer a rather curious illustration of his own etiological principles: Just as if you should yourself see some man’s body lying lifeless at a distance, you may perhaps think proper to name all the causes of death in order that the one true cause of the man’s death may be named. For you could not prove that steel or cold had been the death of him, or disease, or it may be poison, but we know that what has happened to him is something of this sort. Even so in many cases we have the like to say.133 If we would truly liberate nature—and ourselves—from the oppressive might of “overweening masters”134 and recognize nature’s capacity for self-governance,135 we must above all, it is suggested, free ourselves from a misguided attachment to singularity. Habituated as we are to the sight of a single sun, a single moon, one earth, one sky, we mistakenly suppose that such 23 �singleness belongs to the nature of things. This parochial worldview affects—or infects, to borrow Lucretius’ own vocabulary of disease—all aspects of human existence. In this we resemble nothing so much as the lover who sighs foolishly for the sole object of his affections, ignoring the fact that “to be sure there are other women; to be sure [he] has lived so far without this one”136 and failing to recognize that his attachment is merely the effect of habit: It is habit that produces love; for that which is frequently struck by a blow, however light, is still vanquished in the long run and totters. Do you not see that even drops of water falling upon a stone in the long run beat a way through the stone?137 We have likewise grown attached to simple notions of causality, which blind us not only to the reality of infinite atoms in an infinite void, but also to the ontological consequences of this reality: “nothing is single, nothing born unique and growing unique and alone.” 138 In this we may even resemble the inhabitants of the diseased city of Athens, who in their city’s “time of trouble” cling so fiercely to what they imagine to be their own, “often brawling with much blood”139 to secure a funeral pyre for “those of their own blood,”140 “rather than that the bodies be deserted.” Although Memmius may well have lost interest by now, the reader who has attended to the poem’s teaching may notice that its last line—rīxantes pŏtĭus quam corpŏră dēsĕrĕrentur—conceals yet another play on meaning. The last phrase, which, if we read it in the customary way, means “rather than abandon the bodies,” invites the reader to recollect that “bodies are partly the primordia of things, partly those which are formed by the union of primordia.” (1.483) We may also recollect that the primary sense of the verb dēsĕro is “untie” or “sever” and notice that it appears here in the passive voice. Thus we may hear, in addition to the more obvious sense of the phrase, something like, “rather than that the primordia be severed.”141 We may also hear in the participle rixantes, “brawling,” its roots in the verb 24 �“ringo”—“bare the teeth” or “snarl,” and thus the suggestion that a failure to recognize the inevitable dissolution of all things is somehow less than human. In the battle of the gods and giants, the friends of the primordia occupy a curious position.142 Their assault on Olympus aims to drag all things down to earth: heaven is reduced to a reflection in a puddle, while Jove’s thunder—the quintessential symbol of divinity— becomes no more than the flapping of laundry on a clothesline, the fluttering of papers in a breeze, the bursting of a bladder of air. At the same time, however, the friends of the primordia suggest that in our attachment to the ground beneath our feet we have in fact lost sight of the nature of material things, supposing that this nature is illuminated by the “rays of the sun and bright shafts of day” rather than by “nature’s aspect and reason.” They ask that we rethink our understanding of materiality, distinguishing clearly between the phenomena or composite things and the principles constitutive of those things. These principles are not, as we have seen, bodily in the conventional sense of the term: the primordia will forever elude the hands of the giants, although a poet may persuade them to think that the “first bodies” are within easy reach, and so entice them to abandon their fealty to “the rule and kingship of gods.” 143 To this extent, perhaps even Memmius may be persuaded to look at the world with new eyes. 1 On the Nature of Things (cited hereafter as DRN), 1.51. “Memmius” was traditionally identified as Caius Memmius, son of Lucius, who was praetor in 58 BC. This Memmius stood for the consulship in 54 BC, but went into exile in Athens after being prosecuted for bribery. See Cyril Bailey, ed., Titi Lucreti Cari De Rerum Natura (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1947 [rpt.1998]), 597-8, note on 1.26. In recent years, as a result of questions concerning the traditional dating of De Rerum Natura to 54 BC, this identification has been called into question. See G.O. Hutchinson, “The Date of De Rerum Natura,” The Classical Quarterly, 51.1 (2001), 158-9 and, more recently, Katharina Volk, “Lucretius’ Prayer for Peace and the Date of De Rerum Natura,” The Classical Quarterly 60.1 (2010), 127-131. 2 There has been much speculation about what precisely is meant by the expression, “in our country’s time of trouble (hoc patriai tempore iniquo)” (1.41). Among the poem’s various references to civil bloodshed see, for 25 �example, 3.70: “men amass property by civil bloodshed” (homines… /sanguine civili rem conflant). For an allusion to foreign wars of expansion see the image of a Roman fetial hurling his spear over the enemy’s border in declaration of war at 1.968-973. See also Monica Gale, Virgil on the Nature of Things: the Georgics, Lucretius and the Didactic Tradition (Cambridge: CUP, 2000), 238: “the phrase patriai tempus iniquum […] in v.41 presumably refers to the series of civil wars which raged intermittently throughout Lucretius’ lifetime, but no real distinction is drawn between civil and foreign wars.” 3 E.g., nam corpora sunt et inane(1.420); nil est quod possis dicere ab omni corpore seiunctum secretumque esse ab inani (1.430-1); praeter inane et corpora, tertia per se/ nulla potest rerum in numero natura relinqui (1.445-6). See Polybius, Histories 6.56: “But the most important difference for the better which the Roman commonwealth seems to me to display is in their religious beliefs. For it seems to me that what in other nations is looked upon as a reproach, I mean a scrupulous fear of the gods (την δεισιδαιμονίαν), is the very thing which keeps the Roman commonwealth together.” Polybius explains that such “invisible terrors” are politically expedient and concludes, “I think, not that the ancients acted rashly and at haphazard in introducing among the people notions concerning the gods and beliefs in the terrors of hell, but that the moderns are most rash and foolish in banishing such beliefs.” 4 Already at 1.52-53, Lucretius voices a concern that his verses will be “contemptuously discarded before they have been apprehended (intellecta prius quam sint, contempta relinquas).” At 2.1041 Lucretius suggests that “frightened by the very novelty” of the Epicurean teachings Memmius may “spew out reason from [his] mind”; at 4. 914 he worries that Memmius may simply “depart with a breast that repels words of truth.” See Katharina Volk, The Poetics of Latin Didactic: Lucretius, Vergil, Ovid, Manilius (Oxford: OUP, 2002), 80: “The way in which [Lucretius] presents his student is rather interesting and, perhaps, somewhat surprising… Memmius appears remarkably unsympathetic, unwilling to learn, and even plain stupid. The speaker continually anticipates his addressee’s lagging attention and utterly misguided views.” 5 vatum/ terriloquis victus dictis, desciscere quaeres, 1.102-3 6 Hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necessest/ non radii solis neque lucida tela diei/ discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque. (1.146-148; 2.59-61; 3.91-3; 6.39-41) 7 David Sedley, Lucretius and the Transformation of Greek Wisdom (Cambridge: CUP, 1998), 37 8 cum metus aut dolor est (5.1061) 9 = 2.59, 3.91, and 6.39. At 3.16 it appears in the plural (animi terrores). 3.152-160 offers an analysis of the physical effects of mental terror: “we often see men fall to the ground for mental terror” (concidere ex animi terrore videmus/ saepe homines; 3.157-8) 10 nec plangore diem magno solemque per agros/ quaerebant pavidi palantes noctis in umbris (5.973-5) 11 fugiebant saxea tecta/ spumigeri suis adventu validique leonis,/ atque intempesta cedebant nocte paventes/ hospitibus saevis instrata cubilia fronde (5.984-987) 12 volgivago more ferarum (5.932) 13 saetigerisque pares subus silvestria membra/ nuda dabant terrae nocturne tempore capti,/ circum se foliis ac frondibus involventes. (5.970-2) 14 Nam cum suspicimus magni caelestia mundi/ templa super stellisque micantibus aethera fixum,/ tunc aliis oppressa malis in pectora cura/ illa quoque expergefactum caput erigere infit…(5.1204-1208) Or: “that care, as yet bent down (oppressa fem. sing. modifying cura rather than neut.pl. modifying pectora) by other evils” 15 See Bailey, p.1517, note on ll.1207-8: “a strange picture, but not impossible, if the imagery is not pressed too literally.” It seems, however, that the image becomes revealing precisely when pressed literally. For more general studies of the uses of personification in DRN see Myrto Garani, Empedocles redivivus: Poetry and Analogy in Lucretius (London and New York: Routledge, 2007, chapter 1, and Monica Gale, Myth and Poetry in Lucretius (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp.39-45 and 122f. 26 �16 Both the participle expergefactum—“wakened”—and the verb erigere—“raise” or “straighten out”—share the root rego--from Greek ορεγω = “reach”—which has as its basic meaning the notion of making (or keeping) something straight. (erigo, erexi, erectum = ex+rego; expergo = ex+pergo, and pergo, perrexi, perrectum = per+rego; see Lewis and Short) 17 caelumque videre/ iussit et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus: see Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.84-88: “he granted man a raised face and commanded him to look at the sky and to raise erected faces to the stars.” Ovid’s account is in turn echoed by Milton in Paradise Lost, 4.288-90: “Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,/ Godlike erect, with native honor clad/ In naked majesty seemed lords of all.” 18 Praeterea caeli rationes ordine certo/ et varia annorum cernebant tempora verti,/ nec poterant quibus id fieret cognoscere causis. (5.1183-5) 19 E.g. 1.62; 1.342; 1.998; 2.732; 3.185; 3.995. See Bailey, p.608, note on 1.62. 20 Quippe ita formido mortalis continent omnis,/ quod multa in terris fieri caeloque tuentur/ quorum operum causas nulla ratione videre/ possunt, ac fieri divino numine rentur. (1.151-154) Lewis and Short: formido is from the same Sanskrit root (dhar-) as the word firmus and means “properly the fear that makes rigid.” Lewis and Short claims the word also has the sense “awe, reverence” and refers to Virgil’s famous description of “the twin gates of war”: “There are twin gates of war (so they are named), sanctified by religion and by the dread of fierce Mars” (Sunt geminae belli portae (sic nomine dicunt)/ religione sacrae et saevi formidine Martis; Aeneid, 7.607-8 21 “and they placed the gods’ habitation and abode in the sky, because through the sky the night and the moon are seen to revolve, moon, day, and night and the solemn stars of night, heaven’s night-wandering torches and flying flames, clouds, sun, rains, snow, winds, lightnings, hail, and rapid roarings and mighty menacing rumblings.” in caeloque deum sedes et templa locarunt,/ per caelum volvi quia nox et luna videtur,/ luna dies et nox et noctis signa severa/ noctivagaeque faces caeli flammaeque volantes,/ nubile sol imbres nix venti fulmina grando/ et rapidi fremitus et murmura magna minarum. (5.1188-93) 22 ergo perfugium sibi habebant omnia divis/ tradere et illorum nutu facere omnia flecti. (5.1186-7) 23 O genus infelix humanum, talia divis/ cum tribuit facta atque iras adiunxit acerbas! (5.1194-5) 24 cui non animus formidine divum/ contrahitur, cui non correpunt membra pavore,/ fulminis horribili cum plaga torrida tellus/ contremit…? denique sub pedibus tellus cum tota vacillat/ concussaeque cadunt urbes dubiaeque minantur/ quid mirum si se temnunt mortalia saecla/ atque potestates magnas mirasque relinquunt/ in rebus viris divum, quae cuncta gubernent? (5.1218-1221 and 1236-1240) 25 The primary meaning of the verb paveo is “to be struck with fear or terror, to tremble or quake with fear.” (Lewis and Short) 26 incesserat (6.1212) 27 mortis mĕtŭs … ācer (6.1212) 28 metus ille … Acheruntis…,/ funditus humanam qui vitam turbat ab imo/ omnia suffundens mortis nigrore neque ullam/ esse voluptatem liquidam puramque relinquit. (3.37-40) Lewis and Short suggest that metus, at least in its verbal form metuo, refers especially to fear “as the effect of the idea of threatening evil (whereas timor usually denotes the effect of some external cause of terror) [my italics].” On Lucretius’ use of metus see Monica Gale, Virgil on the Nature of Things: the Georgics, Lucretius, and the Didactic Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), chapter 5: “Labor improbus.” It should be remembered, however, that on one occasion, Lucretius uses the word metus to refer to the fear an animal experiences—see note viii above. 29 “Ennius sets forth in the discourse of his immortal verse that there is besides a realm of Acheron, where neither our souls nor bodies endure, but as it were images pale in wondrous wise (etsi praeterea tamen esse Acherusia templa/ Ennius aeternis exponit versibus edens,/ quo neque permaneant animae neque corpora nostra,/ sed quaedam simulacra modis pallentia miris)” (1.120-123) 27 �30 It is worth noting that fear (metus)—along with care and toil—is one of the “demonic personifications which haunt the entrance to the underworld” in Book 6 of Virgil’s Aeneid. Monica Gale, Virgil on the Nature of Things, 146 31 Quippe etenim mortale aeterno iungere et una/ consentire putare et fungi mutual posse/ desiperest; quid enim diversius esse putandumst/ aut magis inter se disiunctum discrepitansque,/ quam mortale quod est inmortali atque perenni/ iunctum in concilio saevas tolerare procellas? (3.800-805)See Bailey, 1128, note on 3.803: “mortal and immortal in a concilium could not harmonize or really form one thing.” 32 omnis enim per se divom natura necessest/ inmortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur/ semota ab nostris rebus seiunctaque longe; 1.44-6 = 2.646-8) 33 finita potestas denique cuique/ quanam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens (1.76-7). The lines are repeated at 1.595-6, 5.89-90, and 6.65-66. Cp. also 2.1087: “there is a deepset limit of life equally awaiting them [‘sky, earth, sun, moon, sea and all else that exists’] (vitae depactus terminus alte tam manet haec).” 34 vertier ad lapidem atque omnis accedere ad aras (5.1199) 35 procumbere humi prostratum (5.1200) See Bailey, p.1516, note on 5.1200: “the attitude of worship in prostration after prayer.” 36 Humana ante oculos foede cum vita iaceret/ in terris oppressa gravi sub religione,/ quae caput a caeli regionibus ostendebat/ horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans (1.62-5) 37 Nor is the sky inhabited by gods alone: when dark thunderclouds mass overhead, humans imagine that all the shades of the infernal caverns loom above them, turning horrific faces toward the living, “to such a degree […] does the face of black terror hang over us.” (usque adeo taetra nimborum nocte coorta/ inpendent atrae formidinis ora superne; 6.253-4) 38 nubila despicere et caelum ut videare (4.418) 39 Ita haec species miranda fuisset./ quam tibi iam nemo, fessus satiate videndi,/ suspicere in caeli dignatur lucida templa! (2.1037-1039) 40 Reading anxia cordi (6.14). The emendation anxia corda has the same sense. 41 quaerere semper/ commutare locum, quasi onus deponere possit (3. 1058-9) 42 tanta mali tamquam moles in pectore constet (3.1056) See also 3.1054: “there is a weight on their minds which wearies with its oppression” (pondus inesse animo quod se gravitate fatiget) 43 Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,/ Godlike erect, with native Honour clad/ In naked Majestie seemd Lords of all (Milton, Paradise Lost, 4.288-90) 44 Nec pietas ullast velatum saepe videri/ vertier ad lapidem atque omnis accedere ad aras,/ nec procumbere humi prostratum et pandere palmas/ ante deum delubra, nec aras sanguine multo/ ( spargere quadrupedum, nec votis nectere vota,/ sed mage placata posse omnia mente tueri. (5. 1198-1203) 45 …morbi quia causam non tenet aeger;/ quam bene si videat, iam rebus quisque relictis/ naturam primum studeat cognoscere rerum (3.1070-72) Or, in the words of Virgil’s famous homage to Lucretius, “Happy is he who was able to know the causes of things, and cast all fears and inexorable fate under his feet, and the roaring of greedy Acheron.”(felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,/ atque metus omnis et inexorabile fatum/subiecit pedibus strepitumque Acherontis avari.” Virgil,Georgics 2.490-492) Virgil is here echoing Lucretius’ own eulogy of Epicurus, on account of whose philosophical heroism and “virtue of mind” (animi virtutem; 2.70), “religion in turn is cast down under [our] feet and trampled, and we by the victory are made level with heaven.” (quare religio pedibus subiecta vicissim/ obteritur, nos exaequat victoria caelo; 1.78-9) 46 See Robert Wardy, “Lucretius on What Atoms Are Not,” Classical Philology, 83.2 (1988), 112-128 28 �47 Pierre-Marie Morel, “Epicurean Atomism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism (Cambridge: CUP, 2009), 65-83, claims that the wish “to ensure the cohesion of composite bodies and, in this way, [to] retain the phenomena” represents a fundamental difference between Epicurean atomism and early Greek atomism. 48 nec manet ulla sui similis res: omnia migrant, omnia commutat natura et vertere cogit (5.830-1) See also 5.828835: “For time changes the nature of the whole world and one state of things must pass into another, and nothing remains as it was: all things move, all are changed by nature and compelled to alter. For one thing crumbles and grow faint and weak with age; another grows up and comes forth from contempt. So therefore time changes the nature of the whole world, and one state of the earth gives place to another,…” 49 usque adeo omnibus ab rebus res quaeque fluenter/ fertur […]/ nec mora nec requies interdatur ulla fluendi,/ perpetuo quoniam sentimus, […] (4.225-228) 50 aliquid supereare necesse est incolumne ollis (1.672) 51 omnia constant/ usque adeo variae volucres ut in ordine cunctae/ ostendant maculas generalis corpore inesse (1.588-590) 52 res nulla sit una,/ […]/ quin aliquoiu siet saecli permultaque eodem/ sint genere. (2. 1077-80) 53 The two species are mentioned in connection with the phenomenon of iridescence in 2.799-809. 54 1.586. The phrase occurs a number of times; see, for example, 2.302; 5.310; 5.924; 6.906. 55 See Alessandro Schiesaro, “Lucretius and Roman Politics and History,” in The Cambridge Companion to Lucretius, 48: “Lucretius’ laws of nature do not exist outside and above the physicality of atoms, do not answer an inscrutable teleological project and have not been promoted by a provident lawgiver.” 56 inmutabili’ materiae quoque corpus habere/ debent nimirum (1.591-2) Newton, a careful reader of Lucretius, summarizes this argument at the end of the second edition of the Optics: “While the Particles continue entire, they may compose Bodies of one and the same Nature and Texture in all Ages; But should they wear away or break in pieces, the Nature of Things depending on them would be changed.” Optics (1718), query 31. The connection is noted by Bailey, 698 and by Monte Johnson and Catherine Wilson, “Lucretius and the History of Science,” in The Cambridge Companion to Lucretius, 140-141. 57 Corpora sunt porro partim primordia rerum,/ partim concilio quae constant principiorum. (1.483) See Epicurus, Letter to Herodotus, 40-41: “And truly, of bodies some are compounds (συνκρίσεις), and others those of which compounds are made (πεποιήται).” 58 See Bailey, note on 1.21 (p.596): “res in Lucr. are strictly speaking compound things, made of the mixture of atoms and void.” 59 Nil esse, in promptu quorum natura videtur,/ quod genere ex uno consistat principiorum,/ nec quicquam quod non permixto semine constet. (2.583-5) Lucretius clearly lays considerable weight on this teaching; he prefaces it by cautioning Memmius to “guard it sealed and treasured in the mind’s memory” (obsignatum […] habere/ […] et memori mandatum mente tenere; 2.581-2) 60 See for example, Metaphysics 1050a15: “matter exists in a potential state.” As pure potentiality, matter itself is never an object of knowledge: “matter is unknowable in itself” (Metaphysics 1036a9). In book one of the Physics, Aristotle allows, however, that matter can be an object of knowledge by way of analogy: “For as the bronze is to the statue, the wood to the bed, or the matter and the formless before receiving form to anything which has form, so is the underlying nature to substance, i.e. the ‘this’ or existent.” (Physics 191a8-12) 61 “therefore the primordia exist by a solid singleness” (sunt igitur solida primordia simplicitate; 1.609); “strong rather by their eternal singleness” (magis aeterna pollentia simplicitate: 1.612). At 2.87 Lucretius also claims that the primordia are “perfectly hard” (durissima). 62 “We must keep all our investigations in accord with our sensations” (έτι τε κατα τας αισθησεις δει πάντα τηρειν; Epicurus, Letter to Herodotus, 38); “in accordance with the evidence of sense we must of necessity judge of the 29 �imperceptible by reasoning” (καθ’ ην αναγκαιον το άδηλον τωι λογισμωι τεκμαίρεσθαι; Letter to Herodotus, 39) 63 […]nisi prima fides fundata valebit,/ haud erit occultis de rebus quo referentes/ confirmare animi quicquam ratione queamus (1.423-5) see also 4. 478-79: “You will find that it is from the senses in the first instance that the concept of truth has come, and that the senses cannot be refuted.” (invenies primis ab sensibus esse creatam/ notitiem veri neque sensus posse refelli.) 64 corpus enim per se communis dedicat esse/ sensus (1.422-3) Epicurus, Letter to Herodotus, 39: “for that bodies exist, sensation itself, common to all, bears witness (σωματα μεν γαρ ως εστιν, αυτη η αισθσις επι παντων μαρτυρει) In the context of the passage, as well as in light of Lucretius’ general usage of per se to mean “selfsubsistent,” it seems better to take per se with corpus than with sensus. Cp. also Aristotle, Physics I.2, 185a12: “We physicists, on the other hand, must take for granted that the things that exist by nature are, either all or some of them, in motion—which is indeed made plain by induction.” 65 quo referemus enim? Quid nobis certius ipsis/ sensibus esse potest, qui vera ac falsa notemus? (1. 699-700) 66 See for example 4.478-481: “You will find that it is from the senses in the first instance that the concept of truth has come, and that the senses cannot be refuted. For some standard must be found of greater credit (maiore fide), which can of itself (sponte sua) refute false things by true. What, moreover, must be held to be of greater credit (maiore fide) than the senses?” 67 non modo enim ratio ruat omnis, vita quoque ipsa/ concidat extemplo, nisis credere sensibus ausis (4.507-508) 68 neqeunt oculis rerum primordia cerni,/ accipe praeterea quae corpora tute necessest/ confiteare esse in rebus nec posse videri. (1.269-270) 69 primordia tantum/ sunt infra nostros sensus tantoque minora/ quam quae primum oculi coeptant non posse tueri (4.111-113) See also 2.312-3: “all the nature of first-bodies lies far from our senses, below them (omnis enim longe nostris ab sensibus infra/ primorum natura iacet). In yet another passage Lucretius refers to the primordium as “that body which our senses are no longer able to perceive.” (corp[us] ill[ud] quod nostri cernere sensus/ iam nequeunt; 1.600) 70 at primordia gignundis in rebus oportet/ naturam clandestinam caecamque adhibere,/ emineat nequid quod contra pugnet et obstet/ quominus esse queat proprie quodcumque creatur(1.778-81). For the same phrase and argument applied specifically to the question whether the primordia have color, see 2.794, quoted below. 71 sin ita forte putas ignis terraeque coire/ corpus et aerias auras roremque liquoris,/ nil in concilio naturam ut mutet eorum,/ nulla tibi ex illis poterit res esse creata,/ non animans, non exanimo cum corpore, ut arbos;/ quippe suam quidque in coetu variantis acervi/ naturam ostendet mixtusque videbitur aer/ cum terra simul atque ardor cum rore manere (1.770-777). At 2.920, Lucretius employs the same logic to make his case that sentient beings must be composed of non-sentient atoms: “it cannot be that parts have independent sensation […] supposing they did, yet by combination and union they will produce nothing but a throng and crowd (vulgum turbamque) of living things, exactly as men, cattle, and wild beasts could not produce anything (ullam rem) amongst themselves by coming together.” (2.910 and 920-923) 72 Nunc age dicta meo dulci quaesita labore/ percipe, ne forte haec albis ex alba rearis/ principiis esse, ante oculos quae candida cernis,/ aut ea quae nigrant nigro de semine nata;/ nive alium quemvis quae sunt imbuta colorem,/ propterea gerere hunc credas, quod materiae/ corpora consimili sint eius tincta colore./ nullus enim color est omnino materiai/ corporibus, neque par rebus neque denique dispar.(2.730-738) At 2.755-6 Lucretius again cautions Memmius directly on this point: “Take care not to steep in color the seeds of things, lest for you all things altogether pass away to nought (colore cave contingas semina rerum/ ne tibi res redeant ad nilum funditus omnes).” 73 There has been considerable debate about Lucretius’ relation to Empedocles, and especially about is meant by the praeclara reperta attributed to Empedocles at DRN 1.736. See, for example, David Sedley, “Lucretius and the New Empedocles,” Leeds International Classical Studies 2.4 (2003), 1-12: “In Book 1, Lucretius criticizes Empedocles’ theory of the four elements, but in the same breath concedes that Empedocles did make some great 30 �discoveries (praeclara reperta, 1.736). An important question to pursue is: what discoveries? I remain resistant to one particular proposal, that the Empedoclean features in Lucretius’ proem signal his recognition of Empedocles as a major philosophical forerunner. In response, I have argued that the debt acknowledged here is a literary one, to the founder of his genre, and that Lucretius would not want to allow Empedocles much credit on the two central philosophical issues that have been suggested as common ground: the need to posit enduring elements, and the denial of natural teleology.” (p.2) The opposite view is articulated very clearly by David Furley: “Lucretius had every reason to pay tribute to Empedocles as the inventor of elements, even though he could not accept the Empedoclean theory in detail.” David Furley, Cosmic Problems: Essays on Greek and Roman Philosophy of Nature, (Cambridge: CUP, 1989), 178. 74 ossa videlicet e pauxillis atque minutis/ ossibus hic et de pauxillis atque minutis/ visceribus viscus gigni sanguenque creari/ sanguinis inter se multis coeuntibu’ guttis/ ex aurique putat micis consistere posse/ aurum et de terris terram concrescere parvis,/ ignibus ex ignis, umorem umoribus esse, cetera consimili fingit ratione putatque.(1.835-842) At 1.915-920, Lucretius resorts to ridicule: “Lastly, if you think that whatever you see amongst visible things cannot be brought about without imagining (fingas) that the elements of matter are endowed with a like nature, on this reasoning there is an end of your first-beginnings of things: it will follow that they guffaw shaken with quivering laughter, and bedew face and cheeks with salt tears.” 75 adde quod inbecilla nimis primordia fingit,/ si primordia sunt, simili quae praedita constant/ natura atque ipsae res sunt, aequeque laborant/ et pereunt (1.847-850) 76 debent primordia rerum/ non adhibere suum gignundis rebus odorem/ nec sonitum, quoniam nil ab se mittere possunt,/ nec simili ratione saporem denique quemquam/ nec frigus neque item calidum tepidumque vaporem,/ cetera; quae […] omnia sint a principiis seiuncta necessest,/ inmortalia si volumus subiungere rebus/fundamenta quibus nitatur summa salutis (2. 854-863). Among the objections to the Epicurean account that are voiced in Cicero’s De natura deorum, is an objection to the Epicurean claim that “out of particles of matter not endowed with heat, nor with any ‘quality’ (that which the Greeks call ποιότητα)…the world has emerged complete…” (Cicero, De natura deorum, 2.37) 77 coniunctum est id quod nusquam sine permitiali/ discidio potis est seiungi seque gregari,/ pondus uti saxis, calor igni, liquor aquai,/ tactus corporibus cunctis, intactus inani (1.451-454). On the illustrative role of the tmesis in the phrase seque gregari, see Stephen Hinds, “Language at the Breaking Point: Lucretius 1.452,” The Classical Quarterly, 37.2 (1987), 451: “”If segregari suffers the threatened loss of its conjoined se, it will become a mutilated, senseless fragment. segregari, aggregari and congregari all mean something; but as a simple verb gregari is utterly without existence in the lexicon of republican Latin.” At 1.334, void is in fact distinguished from body precisely as the intangible from the tangible: “Therefore there is intangible space, void, emptiness (quapropter locus est intactus inane vacansque).” 78 tactus enim , tactus, pro divum numina sancta,/ corporis est sensus (2.434-5) 79 Lucretius refers to the primordia as “generative bodies” (genitalia corpora; e.g. 1.58), “first bodies” (corpora prima (e.g. 1.61) and “bodies of matter” (materiae corpora, e.g. 2.142f.). 80 “You may safely say that the first-beginnings of spirit lie at such intervals apart as equal the smallest things which falling upon us are able to awaken sense-bringing motions in our body.” dumtaxat ut hoc promittere possis,/ quantula prima queant nobis iniecta ciere/ corpora sensiferos motus in corpore, tanta intervalla tenere exordia prima animai. (3.377-380) 81 …quae corpora mittere possit/ sensibus et nostros adiectu tangere tactus.(1.684-689) 82 sed ne forte putes solo spoliata colore/ corpora prima manere, etiam secreta teporis/ sunt ac frigoris omnino calidique vaporis,/ et sonitu sterila et suco ieiuna feruntur, nec iaciunt ullum proprium de corpore odorem. (2.842846) ἀδύνατον γὰρ οὐσίαν ἐξ οὐσιῶν εἶναι ἐνυπαρχουσῶν ὡς ἐντελεχείᾳ: τὰ γὰρ δύο [5] οὕτως ἐντελεχείᾳ οὐδέποτε ἓν ἐντελεχείᾳ (Metaphysics, 1039a2-5) 83 31 �84 See Morel, “Epicurean atomism,” 75: “The existence of movement is an axiom in the whole atomist tradition: the reality of motion is an immediate given.” 85 prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum (2.133) 86 Or: “equally moved.” Omnia quapropter debent per inane quietum/ aeque ponderibus non aequis concita ferri. (2.238-9) 87 “like drops of rain” imbris uti guttae (2.222) 88 reminiscere totius imum/ nil esse in summa, neque habere ubi corpora prima/consistant, quoniam spatium sine fine modoquest (2.90-92) 89 ita nil umquam natura creasset; 2.224) 90 natura gerat res (2.242) 91 corpora cum deorsum rectum per inane feruntur/ ponderibus propriis, incerto tempore ferme/ incertisque locis spatio depellere paulum,/ tantum quod momen mutatum dicere possis. (2.217-220) 92 On the notion of l’esprit de finesse, see Pascal, Pensées, trans. A.J.Krailsheimer (Penguin Books, 1966), 211, #512: “The thing must be seen all at once, at a glance, and not as a result of progressive reasoning, at least up to a point.” It is worth noting that Pascal does regard l’esprit de finesse as a rational faculty; he refers, for example, to “this kind of reasoning.” See also Nicholas Hammond, The Cambridge Companion to Pascal (Cambridge: CUP, 2003), 246: “He goes to great lengths to distinguish between these two ‘minds,’ both of which are related to reasoning, but in very different ways.” 93 namque hoc in promptu manifestumque esse videmus,/ pondera, quantum in sest, non posse oblique meare (2.246-7) 94 certamine proelia pugnas/ edere turmatim certantia nec dare pausam,/ conciliis et discidiis exercita crebris (2.116-120) 95 animum te advertere (2.125) 96 conicere ut possis ex hoc, primordia rerum/ quale sit in magno iactari semper inani (2.121-2) E.g., 2.1061; 2.1073-4 97 98 Nec tamen omnimodis conecti posse putandum est/ omnia; nam volgo fieri portent videres,/ […]/quorum nil fiere manifestum est, omnia quando/ seminibus certis certa genetrice creata/ conservare genus crescentia posse videmus./ scilicet id certa fieri ratione necessust. (2.700-710) 99 materiai/ concursus motus ordo positura figurae cum permutantur, mutari res quoque debent (2.1019-1022) See also 1.685-687: “there are certain bodies which by their concurrences, motions, order, positions, shapes, produce fire, and which when their order is changed, change the nature of the thing” and 2.725-727: “Since the seeds are different, different must be their intervals, passages, connections, weights, blows, meetings, motions…” 100 sed ne forte putes animalia sola teneri/ legibus hisce, eadem ratio disterminat omnia.(2.718-9) Lucretius uses both the terms lex and foedus in reference to nature’s laws. See Bailey, 699, note on 1.586: “it must be remembered that the meaning is different from that of the modern expression. Lucretius is not thinking of an observed uniformity in nature, but rather of the limits which nature imposes on the growth, life, powers, etc., of things.” 101 102 officium quod corporis exstat,/ officere atque obstare (1.336-7) On the notion of the cacumen, see 1.599-614. 103 in quae corpora si nullus tibi forte videtur/ posse animi iniectus fieri, procul avius erras./ nam cum caecigeni, solis qui lumina numquam/ dispexere, tamen cognoscant corpora tactu/ ex ineunte aevo nullo coniuncta colore,/ scire licet nostrae quoque menti corpora posse/ vorti in notitiam nullo circumlita fuco. (2.739-745) 32 �104 scire licet quaedam tam constare orba colore/ quam sine odore ullo quaedam sonituque remota,/ nec minus haec animum cognoscere posse sagacem/ quam quae sunt aliis rebus private notare. (2.837-841) 105 hoc animi demum ratio discernere debet,/ nec possunt oculi naturam noscere rerum; 4.384-5) 106 See Leibniz’ essay “On Body and Force, Against the Cartesians,” Philosophical Essays, trans. Roger Ariew and Daniel Garber (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1989), 250: “against Descartes, I think that there is something passive in body over and above extension, namely, that by which body resists penetration.” For the phrases animi ratio and mentis ratio see for example 1.425, 1.448, 2.381, 2.677, and 4. 384. 107 Bailey, 644 (introduction to 1.265-328) 108 At 2.1091, the gods are referred to as domini superbi and at 6.63 as domini acres. 109 1.22-3: “without you nothing comes forth into the shining borders of light” (nec sine te quicquam dias in luminis oras/ exoritur). Bailey, 597, note on 1.22, points out that the phrase luminis oras was already used by Ennius, but is clearly a favorite with Lucretius, who uses it nine times, and probably understands it literally, “luminis oras being the borderline between the light of life and previous darkness.” See also 1.179: “the lively earth safely brings out things young and tender into the borders of light For a more general discussion of Lucretius’ employment of images of light (and dark) see D. West, The Imagery and Poetry of Lucretius (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1969), chapter 7, “Light and Fire and Fluidity of Imagery,” 79-93. 110 Graiorum obscura reperta/[…] inlustrare Latinis versibus (1.136-7) 111 sed tua me virtus tamen et sperata voluptas/ suavis amicitiae quemvis efferre laborem / suadet, et inducit noctes vigilare serenas/ quaerentem dictis quibus et quo carmine demum/ clara tuae possim praepandere lumina menti,/ res quibus occultas penitus convisere possis.res quibus occultas penitus convisere possis. (1.140-145) See also the closing lines of book 1: “nor will blind night rob snatch the path away from you and prevent you from seeing through to the ultimate [recesses] of nature: thus things will kindle lights for things” (nec tibi caeca/ nox iter eripiet quin ultima naturai/ pervideas: ita res accendent lumina rebus; 1.1115-1117). 112 Lucretius makes use of the fact that the Latin noun elementa refers both to letters and to physical elements. 113 See especially De natura deorum, 1.24 (65): “you make great play with the lawless dominion of the atoms” (abuteris ad omnia atomorum regno et licentia) 114 See Bailey, 606, note on 1.55: “primordia is Lucr.’s favourite word for the ‘atoms’, … it occurs 72 times in the poem… principia corresponds to Epicurus’ αρχαί; primordia does not exactly represent any word in Epicurus’ terminology, and conversely his technical term άτομοι is not reproduced by Lucretius.” 115 semina rerum (e.g., 1.59); genitalia corpora (e.g., 1.58). P.H. Schrijvers, “Seeing the Invisible: a Study of Lucretius’ Use of Analogy in De rerum natura,” in Oxford Readings in Classical Studies, 258, proposes that the term “first bodies” (corpora prima) ranks among “the neutral or semi-technical terms […] belonging to the domain of the illustrandum,” whereas terms such as “generative bodies” (genitalia corpora) and “seeds of things” (semina rerum) “are derived instead from the specific field of biology” and function as analogies. On the other hand Duncan Kennedy, “Making a Text of the Universe,” in Oxford Readings, 386, suggests that the very use of the term corpus in this context is already metaphorical: it “pictures them in anthropomorphic terms (they are ‘bodies’, corpora).” 116 principia (e.g., 1.198); corpora prima (e.g., 1.61); prima elementa (e.g., 6.1009). Kennedy, 386, points out that even the apparently neutral phrase rerum primordia has rhetorical implications: it “emphasizes the notion of beginning,” whereas the “atoms individually are eternal.” 117 esse videlicet in terris primordia rerum/ quae nos, fecundas vertentes vomere glebas […], cimus ad ortus (1.210212 118 mortalia corpora (1.232); aperta corpora (1.297); aeterna corpora (1.242); corpora caeca (1.277) 119 Bailey, 607. 120 E.g., 1.168 and 171 33 �121 E.g., 1.112-3: ignoratur enim quae sit natura animai,/ nata sit an contra nascentibus insinuetur (“for there is ignorance what is the nature of soul, whether it be born or on the contrary inserted into those being born”) 122 sic aequo geritur certamine principiorum/ ex infinito contractum tempore bellum. (2. 573) 123 multa minuta modis multis per inane videbis/ […]/ et velut aeterno certamine proelia pugnas/ edere turmatim certantia nec dare pausam,/ conciliis et discidiis exercita crebris (2.116-120) 124 Monica Gale, Myth and Poetry in Lucretius, 123 125 nil est nisi raro corpore nexum (6. 958). See also the beginning of this paragraph: “Now I will recollect once more of how porous a body all things are.” (nunc omnis repetam quam raro corpore sint res/ commemorare; 6.936-7) 126 deorum … imperium (6.54-5). See note 126 below. 127 ignorantia causarum (6.54) 128 nam quid in hoc mundo sit eorum ponere certum/ difficile est; sed quid possit fiatque per omne/ in variis mundis varia ratione creatis,/ id doceo, plurisque sequor disponere causas/ motibus astrorum quae possint esse per omne;/ e quibus una tamen siet hic quoque causa necessest/ quae vegeat motum signis; sed quae sit earum/ praecipere haudquaquamst pedetemptim progredientis. (5.526-533) Cp. Epicurus, “Letter to Herodotus,” §§79-80; “Letter to Pythocles,” §§85-88. See Bailey, 1398: “Lucretius makes the important addition, to which he frequently recurs, that if any one of the supposed causes does not hold good in our world, yet it will in some other world.” 129 quorum […] causas nulla ratione videre (1.153-4 is repeated both at 6.56-57 and at 6.90-91.) 130 rursus in antiquas referuntur religiones,/ et dominos acris adsciscunt (5.86-87 and again at 6. 62-63) 131 errantes caeca ratione (6.67) 132 ūnam dīcere causam (6.704) 133 corpus ut exanimum siquod procul ipse iacere/ conspicias hominis, fit ut omnis dicere causas/ conveniat leti, dicatur ut illius una;/ nam neque eum ferro nec frigore vincere possis/ interiisse neque a morbo neque forte veneno,/ verum aliquid genere esse ex hoc quod contigit ei/ scimus. item in multis hoc rebus dicere habemus.(6. 705-711) 134 dominis…superbis (2.1091) 135 ipsă suā per se sponte omnia dis agere expers (2. 1092) 136 nempe aliae quoque sunt; nempe hac sine viximus ante (4.1173) 137 consuetudo concinnat amorem;/ nam leviter quamvis quod crebro tunditur ictu,/ vincitur in longo spatio tamen atque labascit./ nonne vides etiam guttas in saxa cadentis/ umoris longo in spatio pertundere saxa? (4.1283-1287) 138 2.1077-78. Note the growing rhetoric of singularity in these lines: “una, unica…unica solaque” Cp. also 2. 10531060: “Now since there is illimitable space empty in every direction, and since seeds innumerable in number in the unfathomable universe are flying about in many ways driven in everlasting movement, it cannot by any means be thought likely that this is the only round earth and sky that has been made…especially since this world was made by nature, and the seeds of things themselves of their own accord, knocking together by chance, clashed in all sorts of ways, darkly, aimlessly, without intention…” 139 multo cum sanguine saepe/ rixantes (6.1285-6) 140 suos consanguineous (6.1283) 141 I wish to thank my colleague Brendon Lasell for pointing out the possible verbal play on corpora. The Gigantomachy is referred to at 5.110-25 as well as at 4.136-42. Although Epicurus is associated with the Giants (the clause “those who with their reasoning [ratione sua] shake the walls of the world,” 5.119 echoes the 142 34 �encomium of Epicurus at 1.73), it is important to note that this identification is said to occur in the minds of those who “bitted and bridled by superstition […] think that earth and sun and sky, sea, stars, and moon are of divine body.” (5.114-6) Such individuals can see only a crass materialism in the doctrine of the primordia. I have tried to show, however, that it is an oversimplification to suppose, as Monica Gale does, that Lucretius subscribes to a simple division between Epicurean materialism and Platonic idealism. See Gale, Myth and Poetry in Lucretius, 44, note 162: “the Epicureans would be on the side of the materialist ‘Giants’ against the ‘friends of the Forms.’” 143 deorum […] imperium […] regnum(6.54-55) 35 � 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. 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Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Kirby, Margaret Anne, 1956- Title A name given to the resource Lucretius on the Nature of Things Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2012-04-13 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on April 13, 2012, by Margaret Kirby 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 Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80130 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/60">Audio recording</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/378de7b9cf80df72b9f0fb75824710da.pdf ad664b77ed52bf3f6228423121a7ed5d PDF Text Text The Musical Universe and Mozart's Magic Flute Peter Kalkavage Homecoming lecture for St. John's College, Annapolis 28 September 2012 "Feelings are 'vectors'; for they feel what is there and transform it into a here." Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality Let me begin by saying to our alumni: Welcome home! My lecture is :intended to be its own kind of homecoming, since I plan to take you back in time-back to the sophomore music tutorial. It was there that you took up the study of musical elements: tone, :interval, scale, mode, rhythm, structure, as well as the fundamental rules of counterpoint and harmony. You may recall some of the big questions that came up in your classes. What makes a melody a whole rather than a mere sequence of tones? What light do ratios and the overtone series shed on the phenomenon of music? What is time :in music? What does it mean for tones to have meaning? What is the connection between words and tones in song? What does it mean for human beings to be musical? I shall not attempt to answer any of these questions tonight. My goal is humbler, though still daunting. It is to recapture the spirit and substance of the music tutorial by attempting the musical equivalent of a close reading of a text. My ''text" is an aria from ' Mozart's Magic Flute: "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubemd schon," "This image is enchantingly beautiful." One of the most exquisite love-songs ever written, it occurs early :in the opera and is sung by Prince Tamino as he gazes upon a likeness of Pamina, daughter of the Queen of the Night and Tamino's destined Other. �The Magic Flute has been called Mozart's "Masonic opera," and so it is. Mozart was a serious Freemason. So was his librettist, Emanuel Schikaneder, at whose Viennese theatre the work was first produced and who was the first to play the birdman, Papageno. The opera-or rather Singspiel, "play with songs"-is filled with Masonic ideals, symbols, terms, rituals, and numerology. 1 The mystic Three is especially prominent: three flats in the key signature, Three Ladies, Three Boys, Three Temples, and, of course, three tones in the major triad, which Mozart highlights in various ways throughout the opera, notably in the middle section of the Overture. I say all this now because the Masonic influence, though pervasive, will not be my concern. I want to focus instead on the power and precision of Mozart's music. We love music because of how it makes us feel. We listen to some works more than others because we want to experience the feelings they stir in us. But feeling is not primary in music, nor is it always the reason why we listen. Most of the time we listen to a piece of music because, well, we want to hear it. We take pleasure in the hearing. But the pleasure is not in the pleasure, as though music were a drug used only to produce a "rush." The pleasure is in what we are hearing, in the distinctive aistheton or object of perception. Sometimes we listen to a musical work because we wish to hear a quality or perfection that is present in it. We listen for the sake of an active, even strenuous, contemplation in which we participate in, are one with, the life and shape of the musical object. To be sure, feelings are aroused, but these are grounded in, and prompted by, what we perceive in the tones, in what is there in the phenomenon we call music. We might 1 For an exhaustive study of the Masonic.elements in Mozart's opera, see Jacques Chailley, The Magic Flute, Masonic Opera, trans. Herbert Weinstock (New York: Knopf, 1971). Chailley finds Masonic meaning even in the number of notes used in individual phrases. His analysis makes the plot more coherent but ultimately distracts us from Mozart's music. 2 �say that in responding to music we perceive feelingly and feel perceptively. But in saying this, we must bear in mind that perception is primary. We do not, except incidentally, hear musical sounds and associate them with various feelings, images, or experiences. On the contrary, we perceive what is there and take on the condition that rhythms and tones communicate to us. 2 There is a wonderful passage by Paul Valery on ''the musical universe," the phrase that inspired the title of my talk. It occurs in his lecture, "Poetry and Abstract Thought." The passage makes clear the primacy of musical perception: The musician is ... in possession of a perfect system of well-defined means which exactly match sensations with acts. From this it results that music has formed a domain absolutely its own. The world of the art of music, a world of sounds, is distinct from the world of noises. Whereas a noise merely rouses in us some isolated event-a dog, a door, a motor car-a sound evokes, of itself, the musical universe. If, in this hall, where I am speaking to you and where you hear the noise of my voice, a tuning fork or a well-tempered instrument began to vibrate, you would at once, as soon as you were affected by this pure and exceptional noise that cannot be confused with others, have the sensation of a beginning, the beginning of a world; a quite different atmosphere would immediately be created, a new order would arise, and you yourselves would unconsciously organize yourselves to receive it. 3 Let us observe that the beings that populate Valery' s musical universe are tones pure and simple. If words are to gain entrance to this world, they do so by the grace, as it were, of tones. The tones are primary. This is crucial in the essay in which the passage occurs, since Valery wishes to contrast the musical universe with the "poetic universe." The musical universe is an autonomous realm that contains objects perfectly suited to the art of music, whereas the poetic universe is forced ''to borrow language-the voice of the 2 See Victor Zuckerkandl, "Words and Tones in Song," Chapter 3 of Man, the Musician, Bollin gen Series, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973, pp. 31-43. 3 The lecture can be found in Paul Valery, An Anthology, Bollingen Series, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977,pp.136-165. 3 �public, that collection of traditional and irrational terms and rules, oddly created and transformed, oddly codified, and very variedly understood and pronounced." Let us now enter the musical universe ofTamino's aria. The aria is inspired, as I mentioned earlier, by an image of Pamina. The portrait is given to Tamino by the Three Ladies, who serve the Queen of the Night. The Queen, as we discover, means to use Tamino's love for Pamina to seduce the hero into saving Pamina from Sarastro, the ''villain" who has abducted Pamina. Given the young hero's fervent devotional response to what he sees, we might call this image an icon. It is said to be magical, but surely it needs no magic beyond Pamina' s likeness to enchant the young prince, who sings as if caught up in. a dream. The words to his song are as follows: 1bis image is enchantingly beautiful, such as no eye has ever seen! I feel it, I feel it, how this divine portrait Fills my heart with new emotions. I cannot name this, yet I feel it here burning like fire; Could the feeling be love? Yes, yes, it is love alone, love, it is love alone! 0, if only I could find her! 0, if she were already standing before me! I would, would, warm and pure ... what would I? Enraptured I would press her to this burning breast, And forever would she then be mine. Tamino's fire-filled words trace out a progression in three stages: first, he marvels at a divine image; second, he asks whether the feeling it inspires in him, and which at first he cannot name, is love but then affirms that it must be love; and third, he wonders what he would do if the beloved were standing before him, concluding that he would press her to his breast, and she would be his forever. Tamino is doing more in this song than expressing his feelings. He beholds his inner state and makes it an object of reflection. He marvels at the power of the magical object 4 �that he perceives and at his passionate response to it. He does not immediately identify his new emotion with love but rather reaches that conclusion through inner dialogue and questioning. Mozart's music perfectly captures the stages of Tamino's awakening, the meaning of his words, and the motions of his soul. Let us hear how the words of the aria sound when they are lifted into the universe of tones. I begin with the observation that the aria is a precisely formed, perfectly balanced whole. Tamino is agitated and confused. But his music, though passionate, is restrained, stately, and inward sounding. It embodies, as I noted earlier, not merely his feeling but his awareness. The music critic and writer of tales E.T. A. Hoffmann once said that Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven all had the musical virtue of "Besonnenheit. "4 The word means something like rational awareness, sensibleness, being in one's right mind. Tamino's aria, in its concision and restraint, is a superb example ofthis virtue. The song is in E-flat major-the solemn, heroic key of the opera-and has a moderately slow two-beat measure. It is scored for strings, clarinets, bassoons, and French horns (no flutes or oboes). Their sound is like a warm glow emanating from Tamino's heart, or rather the sound of the new world in which Tamino finds himself. The aria is in a truncated version of sonata form. It follows the usual tripartite structureexposition, development, and recapitulation-and its key-area plan goes from tonic I to dominant V and then back to the tonic, but there is no repeat of the opening theme, as is customary in the sonata. This allows for greater compression and dramatic urgency. The aria opens with a tender statement of the E-flat major triad-the sound of an awakening-spelled out in dotted rhythms and played by the strings, which give Tamino 4 "Beethoven's Instrumental Music," in E.T. A. Hojfmann's Musical Writings, edited by David Charlton, translated by Martyn Clarke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 98. 5 �his cue. Clearly, the singer we are about to hear-unlike Papageno, with his bouncy birdcatcher song-is noble. Tamino's first utterance is a leap on the words "Dies Bilclnis," "This image"-a rising major sixth from scale degree 5 in the E-flat major scale up to scale degree 3 (B-flat to G). The leap is an event in Tamino's soul, the sudden wonder inspired by Pamina' s likeness. When his sentence is spoken in German, the accent is on "schon," "beautiful"-"Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schon." But the tones accent the word "Bildnis," "image," leaving no doubt th.at for Tamino the focus is initially on what he sees, on the source and cause of his surging passion. After the inspired leap from 5 to 3, the melody gently descends by steps, pausing on degree 4 (A-flat), an unstable degree that tends downward toward 3. The musical phrase corresponds to the first phrase of the sentence: "This image is enchantingly beautiful." As Tamino moves to the second part of his sentence--"as no eye has ever seen"-he sings a second rising sixth-from 4 up to 2, A-flat to F. He th.en descends by steps to 3, the tone to which his earlier 4 was pointing. Whereas the first phrase landed on a tone th.at was unstable and ''wanted" to move, the second complements the first and brings it to rest. Thanks to the postponement of the move from 4 to 3, the two phrases form a single phrase-not two sets of tones but one coherent movement composed of two submovements. The entire phrase is bounded by an octave th.at extends from the high 3, to which Tamino leaps, to the low 3, to which he descends by step. Mozart's musical language is th.at of tonal harmony. This means that the music is firmly grounded in a tonal center, the tone to which all the other tones point, and has a background or underpinning in the movement of what we call "chords." We sometimes call this chordal movement an accompaniment to the melody. But it is more precise to 6 �say that the harmony is the structured movement that interprets the melody and reveals its depth. Harmony is present in the two-part phrase we have just examined. The harmonic movement is from the I chord or tonic to the V7 chord or dominant seventh and back again to the tonic or I-a musical oscillation. This works because the V7 chord, thanks to the tritone, points in a precise direction: to the I chord, in this case the E-flat major triad. We can therefore say that Mozart's opening two-part phrase is the unity of two kinds of tension that beget movement: the melodic tension of individual tones and the harmonic tension of chords. Zuckerkandl argues, persuasively I think, that these directed tensions and their various relations to one another are the primary object of musical perception, that to listento music, at least in the tradition of tonal harmony, is to perceive not pitches but force&--dynamic qualities that manifest themselves in and through pitches and hold the piece together. 5 After the opening phrase, which goes harmonically from I to V and back again, the tones open up and move forward. This is due largely to the harmony, which, having so far confined itself to I-V7-I, now moves briefly to the IV or subdominant chord over a continued E-flat in the bass, then returns to I.6 The IV chord signals the "away" move in a harmonic journey and produces a lessening of harmonic tension. Tamino here moves from the picture to his inner state: "I feel it, I feel it, how this divine portrait fills my heart with new emotions." As he says "I feel it, I feel it," he sings appoggiaturas on "feel"-Bnatural to C, then A-natural to B-flat. Appoggiaturas are leaning tones, unstable tones on 5 Dynamic qualities may be thought of as the supersensuous within the sensuous. To listen to music, therefore, is to hear the sensuous world transcending itself. This striking thesis appears in all three of Zuckerkandl's books: Sound q.nd Symbol: Music and the External World (1956), The Sense of Music (1959), and Man, the Musician (1973). 6 The continued E-flat puts the IV chord in its second inversion: the least stable position of the triad. The effect is to make the move from I to IV into a mild departure from the E-flat triad, more of an inflection than a chord-change. 7 �strong beats, which briefly delay the arrival of a main tone in the melody. Here the leaning tone is an affect perfectly suited to the word "feel." The accompaniment echoes this affect. As Tamino leans into his feeling, the strings lean in sympathy with him. Right after his appoggiaturas, Tamino speaks of his heart and the new emotions that Pamina's image has aroused in it. His outburst on "Gotterbild," "divine portrait," occurs at the exact center of his opening 13-measure period. Tamino here sings his second dramatic leap, from B-flat up to A-flat, the highest tone of his song. The interval, a minor seventh, is an even bigger leap than his opening sixth. It is a sudden flaring up of the passion that the "divine portrait" inspires. The melody on "Gotterbild" outlines part of the V7 or dominant-seventh chord. The music does not resolve this tense chord, which points to E-flat, but rather stresses it and lingers on it. When the tonic chord does arrive, it is not the end of the previous phrase but the beginning of a new one. Now past the flare-up on "GOtterbild," Tamino retreats to a more inwardly focused mood as he completes his sentence: "fills my heart with new emotions." The accompaniment is measured and lovely, like the gentle strumming of a guitar: bass note, chord I bass note, chord. The harmony takes us on a little musical journey, as the melody begins and ends on an E-flat or degree 1. The sequence of chords here arouses the expectation that the tense V7 chord will resolve O?- the tonic, which would fit the E- flat or 1 in the melody. But this does not happen. When Tamino sings his 1 on ":fiillt," "fills" (which in German closely resembles "filhlt," "feels"), the harmony subverts the expected closure. It interprets Tamino's E-flat as part of a dissonant diminished-seventh chord based on A-natural. This tense passionate chord, which consists of two interlocking tritones, appears four times in the course of the aria. On each occasion it functions as an 8 �audible "heat element" that captures a surge of the love-embers burning within Tamino's breast. With the sudden appearance of the diminished-seventh chord in place of the expected tonic, the tones seem to have gone off course. We have here a deceptive cadence: the cadence formula leads us to expect an end, but the harmony takes a detour at the last minute and puts instability-in this case, extreme instability-in place of stability. This produces tension and the need for continued movement. The diminished-seventh chord here functions as an applied dominant (or secondary dominant). This is a chord that tenses toward a chord other than the tonic, in this case, to the V7 ofE-tlat: a B-flat dominant seventh chord. To sum up, three kinds of musical tension unite in a single chord on the word "fills": deceptive cadence, applied dominant, diminished-seventh chord. Tamino's unassuming E-flat in the melody does not reveal the full meaning of the word he sings or the "heat" it embodies. This revelation falls to harmony, which here interprets Tamino's E-flat by releasing in it an unexpected potential. The deceptive diminished chord is the harmonic interior and soul ofTamino' s melodic tone. The inner, soul-like aspect of harmony recalls what Wagner once said: that harmony is ''the first thing that fully persuades the feeling as to the emotional content of [the] melody, which otherwise would leave to it something undetermined."7 Right after the deceptive cadence, the first violins, as if inspired by Tamino, sing rising phrases that form a gentle two-part wave: up and down, up and down. Their tones outline the degrees of the B-flat7 chord, to which the diminished-seventh chord was pointing. With this move, the tones regain their direction. 7 Wagner on Music and Drama, selected and arranged by A. Goldman and E. Sprinchom (New York: Da Capo Press, 1964), 214. 9 �The dominant seventh chord spelled out by the first violins gently leads Tamino to repeat his sentence, this time with musical closure. Again he sings his rising sixth from B-flat to G on the words "mein Herz," "my heart," and then goes even higher-to his Aflat. He ends his phrase with a smooth 3-2-1. The harmony here traverses a complete cycle, at the end aligning itself, non-deceptively, with Tamino's E-flat. A gentle rhythmic emphasis on the E-flat triad marks the end ofTamino's opening 13-measure period. Tam.inc then pauses, as clarinets in gentle thirds take us into a new section of the exposition. Here the music changes key from E-flat to B-flat, from I to V. The circle of fifths makes this standard move for a sonata-form piece in a major key perfectly natural. But observe how easily E-flat is dislodged and B-flat established as the new tonic. The upper clarinet goes from G to F, 3 to 2 in E-flat, and then repeats the F. Had it gone from G to F and on to E-flat, the former key would have been maintained: 3-2-1. It is the emphasis on 2 that subtly begins to move the tonal center from 1 to 5. It blocks the move to E-flat as scale degree 1, and begins to set up Fas degree 5 of our new key, B-flat. The appearance of A-natural, degree 7 in the B-flat scale, solidifies this move. Earlier, Tam.inc sang his leaning tones and the orchestra followed. Now the reverse happens. The upper clarinet introduces a new musical strain, which Tamino follows, as if inspired by it "I cannot name this," he sings, ''yet I feel it here burning like fire" ("Dies Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen; <loch :fiihl ich's hier wie Feuer brennen"). In imitation of the clarinet, Tamino begins on his high G (now degree 6) and descends stepwise. His gently undulating phrase ends with a leaning tone (C-sharp to D) on "nennen," "name." He then repeats the phrase, with a sli&ht variation: ''yet I feel it here burning like fire." The harmony is a simple oscillation between the tonic (B-flat) and the dominant (F). 10 �A brief transition in dotted rhythms, played by clarinets and bassoons, takes us to Tamino's first question, which he stresses by singing it twice: "Could the feeling be love?" ("Soll die Empfindung Liebe sein?") Both phrases end on tense chords: the first on an applied dominant (the V7 ofV), the second on the dominant ofB-flat (an F major triad). This harmonic tension-this upward interrogative gesture--is reflected in the melody. Tamino's frrst utterance of his question outlines the B-flat triad and ends on an E-natural, a tone foreign to B-flat. This E-natural is highlighted by the preceding F, which serves as a leaning tone. Tamino's second utterance begins with a downward leap from G to B-flat (the reverse of his opening sixth) and ends on the unstable degree, 2. The E-natural with which Tamino ends the first utterance of his question is especially beautiful: "Could this feeling be love ("Liebe sein")?" This chromatic E-natural on "love," the applied dominant of which it is a part (C7), and the florid notes of the first violin all sound as though a light was beginning to dawn, as though the question "Could this be love?" was more than just a question. The anticipation of the answer is heightened by the brief interlude played by the clarinets. Their rising phrases in dotted rhythms gently nudge Tamino and give him his cue. His "Ja, ja!" completes the sequence of upward melodic gestures. alone, love, it is love alone." He Tamino answers his question: "Yes, yes, it is love _ sings the word "Liebe," "love," four times in all, three times with an expressive leaning tone and once with a climactic flourish called a ''turn." At the end of his first phrase (right after "Ja, ja!"), Tamino sings a straightforward 3-2-1 (D-C-B-flat) on the word "allein," "alone" or "only." But the h<;tID1ony once more undercuts the stability of his melodic 1 with a deceptive cadence. Instead of harmonic V-I, we get V-VI, where VI 11 �is a minor chord. Musically, this is a subtle way of extending the phrase and producing the need to move on. Also, the minor VI adds a gently dark inflection and warmth to the word "allein." As Tamino repeats his sentence ("It is love alone"), he dwells on "Liebe" and makes it into its own musical phrase in three parts: first a leap that gently descends by a step, then this same phrase repeated, and finally an embellished ascent to a high G. The chord on this G is a dramatic diminished-seventh chord that points to the F major triad, the V of Bflat. Both melody and harmony are at this point up in the air, begging for resolution. The eighth-note rest that follows heightens the suspense. After the rest, tension is released, as Tamino completes his sentence: he drops more than an octave to an F and proceeds by step to B-flat, our new 1, this time supported rather than undercut by the accompanying harmony. The cadence, embellished by a turn played by the first violins, brings the section to a close. It completes the musical ''thought" that the preceding deceptive cadence had postponed. We now enter the middle section of the aria I think you will agree that although not much time has passed, much as happened. That the tones are embarking on a new large section of the piece is signalled by two whole measures in which the orchestra shifts to quicker rhythms that give the song more forward momentum. It is as if the embers in Tamino's soul had greater force and impetus. The strings play sixteenth- and thirtysecond notes, as the winds enter with a recurring pattern of syncopations or offbeat rhythms. The first violins surge upward in thirty-second-notes grouped in quick pairs, then play a rapid succession of appoggiaturas, as the second violins play a lovely countermelody in contrary motion. The appoggiaturas then take over and become the first 12 �violins' principal theme. They are little flutters of the heart born of heightened expectation. Beneath this dense rhythmic complex, the bass viols provide support with a persistent B-flat in sixteenth-notes-the quickened pulse and heartbeat of this part of Tamino's music. All these rhythms together form a complex musical image of the passion that leads Tamino to his second question: "O, if only I could find her! 0, if she were already standing before me! I would, would, warm and pure ... what would I?" Tamino's melody on these words begins as a passionate stepwise swell on his two A exclamations. The ascent begins on B-flat or 1 and reaches its peak on the high A-flat. . t the end of each phrase (on "konnte" and "stande"), Tamino sings the same tones he sang earlier on the word "Gotterbild"-A-flat, F, and D, which are part of the dominant chord that points to E-flat. But the harmony does not go there. The tones seem to be caught in a region of harmonic indeterminacy. As Tamino now moves beyond his two exclamations, he breaks the pattern and sings a calm perfect fourth from C up to F on "ich wiirde" ("I would"), then another perfect fourth from B-flat up to E-flat on ''wlirde" repeated. The repetition suggests that Tamino is suspended in mid-thought by the indeterminacy of his feelings and intentions: he does not know how to complete his sentence. The sense of indeterminacy is evident in the accompaniment, which plays mysterious, dusky sounding measures with a flurry of chromatic appoggiaturas. When Tamino sings "warm and pure," he uses a warm-sounding G-flat, as the little heart flutters played by the first violins outline the same diminished-seventh chord on A-natural that we heard in the exposition. This chord points to the B-flat major triad that immediately follows. The tones seem to have found their direction, their tonal center or 1. But as Tamino utters his second question ("what would I?"), he ends his phrase by falling a major sixth from F 13 �down to the A-flat an octave below the A-flat we heard earlier. The gesture is an anticlimax, coming as it does after Tamino's three dramatic ascents: two to an A-flat and one to G-flat. It suggests a momentary deflation-rising confidence that is suddenly at a loss. The low A-flat blocks the reassertion ofB-flat as key. It is part of a B-flat7 chord, the dominant seventh ofE-flat major, our home key. Tamino's "What would I?''-a deflating fall from F to A-flat-finds a fitting harmonic correlate in the unresolved V7 chord that leaves this entire section of the aria hanging. The intense anticipation that has built up in the course of this middle section of the aria, and which seems to stall on the V7 chord, is emphasized by the full measure of rest that follows ..This is the longest, most dramatic pause in a song full of pauses and withheld resolutions. The soundless measure prolongs and heightens the tension of the preceding V7 chord-the harmonic image ofTamino's aporia. It is a dynamic, charged silence. The measure is a superb example of how silence is part of the musical universe, how silence in music is not void but order. That is to say, musical silence has, or is, a form. No doubt we are to imagine that Tamino's soul, during this measure, is gathering itself for a further revelation, for an answer to the question "What would I?" Indeed, he finds an answer, but not through words, not through questioning. The answer, or rather the inner experience that leads to the answer, wells up in him wordlessly during the silence. He is listening for the promptings of his heart and the music of his soul. These promptings will show him the way and will soon become articulate in song. The music continues, not after the measure of silence but from it. The silence has become a source. The strings re-establish momentum with an oscillating, so-called Alberti bass played by the violas and persistent sixteenth-notes on a low E-flat played by 14 �the bass viols. They combine the quickened pace of Tamino's newfound resolve with the tenderness that characterizes the whole aria. The oscillation played by the violas is a straightforward I-V7-I in E-flat major. This confirms that we have returned to the home key and that the recapitulation has begun. In this final section of his song, Tamino, with rising self-confidence, answers his second question: "I would press her to this burning breast, and forever would she then be mine." Tamino takes his cue from the first violins, which play a gently rising phrase that becomes a countermelody: singer and violins engage in amusical conversation. The melody is straightforward: first, a little melodic wave that starts on a B-flat and rises to Eflat through an appoggiatura on F ("I would her''}--then the same melodic phrase repeated ("enraptured"). The next phrase, which begins similarly, introduces a pattern of skips and ends on a warm-sounding chromatic D-flat ("press to this burning or heated breast"). The phrasing exploits German word order in a gradual revelation of meaning: "I would her," "enraptured," "to this burning breast," and finally the crucial infinitive "driicken," "press," which completes the earlier sentence Tamino could not finish. The Eflat to D-flat on "driicken" captures the very act of pressing. This chromatic tone tenses forward. It conspires with the tones in the accompaniment to form a 17 chord, that is, the E-flat major triad with the D-flat as the de-stabilizing seventh. The 17, which interprets and deepens Tamino's D-flat, is an applied or passing dominant that pushes into the final phrase of the song: "and forever would she then be mine." In her upcoming aria, the Queen will echo these words in a cunning effort to bedazzle and seduce the unwitting Tamino. 8 8 "And if I come to see you as victor [by saving Pamina], then she is yours forever." The Queen's mind-numbing tone-witchery occurs, significantly, on the tantalizing word "then," "dann." 15 �Tamino repeats the phrase ''und ewig ware sie dann mein," "and forever would she then be mine," five times in all, three times with the upbeat ''und" ("and") and twice without. The phrases without the ''und" have greater urgency and are allowed to begin on the crucial word "ewig," "forever." The 17 chord on "driicken" tends toward an A-flat triad, the IV chord or subdominant in E-flat major. But as Tamino moves to his first "and forever would she be mine," Mozart substitutes the ii6 chord: the first inversion of the F minor triad. This chord plays the same role as IV in the harmonic cycle-the moment of stepping away and preparing for the dominant. Why the substitution? No doubt because the ii chord, being minor, has greater warmth. On this ii6 chord, which lasts an entire measure, Tamino sings a smooth measured ascent to his high A-flat. He then drops to D, degree 7 in E-flat, by way of a leaning tone. The first violins join him in this gently ascending phrase. The Dis part of the chord played by the strings: the V7 ofE-flat. The music pauses on this tense dominant chord. Then, as Tamino sings "and forever would she then be mine," we hear the calm measured phrase from the exposition, where Tamino sang "fills my heart with new emotions." The frrst appearance of the earlier phrase ended, you recall, with a deceptive cadence on a diminished-seventh chord. Mozart repeats that cadence here. But whereas in the exposition Tamino ended his second phrase seren_ely on scale degree 1, here, at the corresponding moment, he bypasses the E-flat and leaps to his high G on "mein." It is in this measure that phrases with ''und" switch to phrases without. The shift quickens the momentum of the song. It also produces a happy elision on the tones G, E-flat, and C that allows Tamino to combine "mine" an~ ''forever" in one phrase to form the unit "mine forever." 16 �Tamino goes on to stress the degrees of the E-flat major triad in a smoothly flowing phrase that seems destined to land on a low E-flat or 1. But at the last minute, he leaps from low F (scale degree 2) to the Ga ninth above on the word "mein," and then overtops the G with an A-flat on "ewig." This is the most dramatic moment in the aria, as Tamino intensifies his previous elision-his musicalized, heat-filled dream of eternally possessing the beloved. Tamino sounds very heroic and confident here. He sings his signature Ga lot, as though this single tone, scale degree 3, embodied the whole of his passion. When he gets to the last utterance of his phrase, his melody again emphasizes the tones of the E-flat major triad. He leaps, one last time, to his signature G-this time, significantly;· on the word "sie," "her." This G, however, is not a stable degree of a chord but an appoggiatura tending toward F, 2. Tamino, in other words, does not merely stress the pronoun that refers to Pamina with a high note; he puts his whole heart into the word and leans heroically toward the beloved. Having reached high G, the tones now descend to E-flat, scale degree 1, by step, with the assistance ofD, scale degree 7: 3-2-1- 7-1 ("sie dann mein"). A straightforward cadence affirms closure. The foll orchestra ends the piece with a brief coda composed of two complementary phrases. The phrases capture the two complementary sides ofTamino's nature: the first heroic and forte, the second tender and piano, a recollection of the fervent E-flat chords with which the song began. It is important that the song end in a hush. What Tamino ultimately desires is not continued arousal, or heroism for its own sake, but rest-the blissful repose and heart's ease that comes from lasting union with the beloved. 9 So ends my journey through T~o's aria. I have tried to be faithful in speech to 9 Papageno's wistful G-major aria also ended with the desire for rest-with the image of a wife who would sleep by his side "like a child" ("wie ein Kind"). 17 �what is there in the tones. I have not, of course, captured all that is there. No one could. Mozart's music, like all great music, is inexhaustible, and every act of listening brings new discoveries. I have tried to present the aria as a tonal time-structure that comes to us as a gift from the musical universe and is welcomed by our musically receptive souls. The time-structure "speaks to" our passion and our perception, just as the divine portrait, a visual or spatial form, "speaks to" and inspires the soul ofTamino. And just as his world is transformed by what he experiences, so too perhaps is ours by the magic of Mozart's incomparable music. I have placed special emphasis on directed tension as the ground of coherence in tonal music. This wholeness through tension is evident in the song's overall form. The first section is an ordered accumulation of tension. The second heightens that tension. It is, as we have seen, Tamino' s point of maximum anticipation and perplexity. The third reaffirms E-flat as key, recalls part of the music from the exposition, and brings the whole time-structure to perfect balance and resolution. It does all this by accumulating ordered tensions of its own, with which the tones move swiftly to a satisfying close. To listen perceptively to the aria, to hear what is there, is demanding. It takes effort and study. Following the thought of Heinrich Schenker, I would like to suggest that behind all the complexities, a simple scheme prevails_. The melody, as you know, begins with a rising sixth to a G, the 3 ofE-flat major. The entire piece may be heard, and certainly most simply conceived, as the attempt by 3 to reach 1 through the extended intermediation of2: G-F-E-flat 10 Recall that the first key change came about because the first clarinet played 3-2-2 rather than 3-2-1. This facilitated the transformation 10 For Schenker, the movement 3-2-1 constitutes what he calls the "Urlinie" or "primordial line." See his Free Composition, translated by Ernst Oster (New York: Longman, 1979), 3-9. 18 �of degree 2 in E-flat into degree 5 in B-flat. The rest of the piece-key changes and allexploits and further develops this move to 2. In other words, 2 (F) is not just an element of the E-flat major scale; it is also a principle of the unfolding time-structure. To be persuaded of this fact, one has only to observe the crucial role that 2 plays throughout the piece. The completion of the move 3-2-1 in the overarching scheme takes place only at the end, only after the recapitulation has affirmed E-flat, not merely as the key of the final section but as the governing tone of the entire piece. Only at the end of the journey do we really have, and know, the beginning. My account ofTamino's aria would be incomplete if I did not say something about Pamina, the enchanting object ofTamino's love. Pamina, I believe, is the focal point of the opera. Of all the "good" characters, she endures the greatest and most prolonged sufferings: her mother's absence, the stem tutelage of Sarastro, the violent advances and blackmail of Monostatos, and the revelation of the mother she loves as a demon bent on a murder Pamina herself is ordered to commit. Finally, she suffers despair over what she thinks is lost love, and is almost driven to suicide. Pamina is also an exalted figure in the opera. It is she who most embodies what is new about the new, previously all-male Order, which now, through the "noble pair," as Tamino and Pamina are called, will overcome the primordial opposition presented in the opera between Male and Female. It is Pamina, a virtuous woman, who gives the lie to all the negative things said about women in the opera. It is she who, at a crucial moment of the drama, reveals the strange origin of the flute made by her magus-father. In the Finale of Act One Sarastro tells Pamina that _ man must guide her heart. This is true: Tamino a gives Pamina's heart its proper object and bearing. But in the last two trials that Tamino 19 �must undergo, it is Pamina who guides Tamino, as love guides her. Finally, it is Pamina who reveals that the magical vocation of music is not to gain power over others, or merely to amuse ·oneself, but to ward off the fear of death. When Pamina joins Tamino for the final trials near the end of the opera, the two face each other in more than the obvious sense. They now see each other clearly for the first time. There is mutual recognition. This recognition is evident in the complementary phrases the lovers use to sing each other's names: "Tamino mein! 0 welch ein Gluck!" "Pamina mein! 0 welch ein Gluck!" "Tamino mine! 0 what a stroke of good fortune!" "Pamina mine! 0 what a stroke of good fortune!" The phrases they sing are two halves of a little musical circle in F major-a wedding ceremony in tones. When Pamina sings Tamino's name, she does so with a rising major sixth (Cup to A)-the same interval with which Tamino' s soul rose up in response to Pamina' s image. 11 But this is not mere repetition. Tamino's sixth was the sound of passion that aspired but did not know itself. It had shadows and heat. Pamina's sixth is different. It is pure, luminous, and rationally aware. It has "Besonnenheit," and in more than the strictly musical sense. Pamina' s sixth is the perfection ofTamino's. It is the sublime moment in which passion, now perceptive, finds its purpose. 11 The rising sixth functions as a leitmotif in the opera. Its - ther crucial appearance is in the o Finale of Act I, in the interchange between Pamina and Sarastro. Pamina sings the interval twice in referring to the tender feelings she has for her mother: "The sound of my mother's name is sweet to me. It is she, it is she ... " The first sixth is from F up to D, the second from B-flat up to G (the tones of Tamino's opening sixth). No doubt Pamina wants to say: "It is she who gave birth to me, nurtured me, loved me ." But Sarastro completes her sentence in his own way: "And a proud woman! A man must lead your heart, for without him every woman will walk outside her proper sphere." On the words "without him [a man] ," Sarastro, in his low range, repeats Pamina's sixth from F to D, as if to transfer the chord's tenderness to its proper object. At this very moment, Monostatos drags in Tamino, the sight of whom prompts Pamina to sing: "It is he!" (Tamino responds in kind: "It is she!") The drama of sixths in the exchange between Pamina and Sarastro, coupled with Pamina's shift from the feminine to the masculine pronoun once Tamino arrives, paves the way for the meeting of the two lovers in the Finale of Act Il . 20 �When Tamino first responded to the magic that was Parnin~ his love was mediated by an image. He asked himself what he would do if the beloved were standing in front of him. That moment has arrived, for here stands Parnin~ not as image but as solid reality. Tamino's first rush of love was itself a kind of image and dream. It was the first step in his journey from erotic striving and heroic aspiration, through painful disillusionment and trials, to the moment of enlightenment, when images are seen for what they are, and when the lover, having transcended mere feeling, now grasps love as act. Pamina is the Other, in and through whom Tamino can know himself as the man who loves Parnin~ not as a possession but as a partner in the trials of life. He can see who he is in the eyes of the beloved because the sound of her rising sixth, as she sings his name, shows him how. Her sixth, her love in musical form, is his unfailing guide. Pamina is more than Tamino's beloved, more than a symbol of virtuous womanhood (her mother in redeemed form), more even than the first woman to gain priestly status within the sacred Order. She is Tamino's wisdom-and the true magic of Mozart's Magic Flute. My focus on T amino's aria prevented me from addressing other characters in the opera: the loveable child of nature, Papageno, the sometimes disturbing Sarastro, the psychologically complex Monostatos, and, of course, that titanic Mommie Dearest, the Queen of the Night Perhaps we can discuss these characters in the question period. Let me end where I began and say once more to our alumni: Welcome home! 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/. 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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 Kalkavage, Peter Title A name given to the resource The musical universe and Mozart's Magic Flute Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2012-09-28 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 28, 2012 by Peter Kalkavage 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 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Zauberflöte. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80673 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/36">Audio recording</a> Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9680de4542c924269bf06fcaca648b8e.mp3 770b328d79adf99f8909e96b95f0d096 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 01:57:03 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 Kalkavage, Peter Title A name given to the resource The Musical Universe and Mozart's Magic Flute Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2012-09-28 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 September 28, 2012, by Peter Kalkavage 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 sound Subject The topic of the resource Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Zauberflöte. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Kalkavage_Peter_2012-09-28_ac Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/37">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ff8c6af26bbe7a19d847f5e099b194f7.mp3 39188cd9ad0ee5b6a98350d0e2a811bc 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 01:09:43 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 Kalkavage, Peter Title A name given to the resource Principles of Motion and the Motion of Principles: Hegel's Inverted World Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2010-10-15 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 15, 2010, by Peter Kalkavage 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 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 1770-1831. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 79789 Relation A related resource <a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3842" title="Typescript">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1debf710854d43e59813d644681a4c20.pdf d6eee7f8f46a4d8fdca13fd6938de92d PDF Text Text Does Music Move? Daniel Harrell Friday Night Lecture St. John's College, Annapolis, MD February 15, 2013* Does music move? Well, yes-if by "music", we meant the vibrations of sound that allow us to hear what a musician plays: from instrument to air to ear. Or yes again-if by "move" , we meant the way we can be moved by music: from table-taps to tangos to tears. But the question is harder to answer, if we ask it of music's movement in a more elementary sense. -The sense in which we might say, of a rhythm, that it quickens and slows; or of a melody, that it rises and falls ; or of a harmony, that it departs and returns. And suppose we say all this about the first movement of a symphony, not thinking twice about calling this a "movement". For we talk as if we hear just that in the symphony- movement- and as if any piece of music moves itself in moving us . Our talking this way has a point. For if we didn't hear music move, would we hear it at all? Without movement , music would seem no more than a series of sounds.1 But there is a problem with our talking this way, despite its point. And this is the problem I discuss in my lecture tonight . In its first part, I explain what I take the problem to be. In its second part, I explain why I take the problem to be important. In its final part, I offer two solutions to the problem, in the attempt to deepen our sense of it. I The nature of the problem. So what is the problem with our talking as if music moved? The problem, in a word, is space: the space in which we hear music move. -The space that allows it to quicken and slow, rise and fall, depart and return. For this space *The formatting and notes of this copy are dated February 17, 2013. I thank Gabriela Hopkins for helping me improve the lecture with comments and conversation about earlier drafts . I also thank participants in the Question Period for further thoughts, some of which appear in the footnotes of this copy. 1 For further discussion of this, see Chapter VII, "The Paradox of Tonal Motion", in Victor Zuckerkandl's Sound and Symbol: Music and the External World ; and the section "Movement" of Chapter 2, "Tone" , irt Roger Scruton's The Aesthetics of Music. 1 �2 Does Music Move? makes something close to complete sense on the one hand, yet something closer to nonsense on the other. 2 To see the sense it makes, we can start by comparing the movement we hear in music, with the variation we hear in sounds more generally. Consider, for example, the difference between a melody and a siren. Both involve a change in pitch over time. And we might say, in that respect, that both rise and fall. But unlike the siren, the melody does this in a kind of articulated space, usually conceived as a scale. And this space gives us the impression of movement, from one place to the next. We sense a change of place, in other words, within the melody's change in pitch, as if having caused it. As illustration, suppose we hear the beginning of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" on middle-C, where C is followed by the G a fifth above. Within this change in pitch, we hear a change of place-from the first degree of a melodic scale to the fifth; or otherwise put, from the i to the 5.3 And this change of place gives us the impression of a movement having caused the change in pitch: in this case, of a leap from the i to the 5, causing C to be followed by G. Now suppose we hear the siren rise from C to G. We don't hear this rise happen in the articulated space of a scale; and the continuity of the rise would seem to preclude it, since the places in a scale are discrete. But this means we are given no impression of movement by the siren's change in pitch, from one place to the next. It's as if the siren rises only in time, not in space. True, we can see, or at least infer, a change of place behind the siren's change in pitch, in the fire engine, say, that produced it. But we don't hear any change of place within the change in pitch, that might replace the fire engine as cause, and turn what we hear as a signal into what we could hear as a melody. Of course, we may not know about a musical scale, to account for the change of place we hear in the melody. But this ignorance is only more evidence for the sense made by the space of music's movement, in its own terms. And it reflects a striking fact about what it means to understand music. For we can develop an altogether discerning musical ear, while remaining all but illiterate about what we hear. And becoming literate, by studying music theory, underlines the sense music makes even without this theory. For the topography of this theory-such as the melodic scale-is more discovered than invented, and in the discovery, more inhabited than observed. One sign of this is the way we are moved by music; for we are thus moved inwardly, in the space we inhabit as selves. But I will now try to show this more explicitly. And my conclusion 2 For a defense of the necessity of thinking that music moves in space, but that the space in question is metaphorical, see Chapter 4, "Movement", in Roger Scruton's Understanding Music. 3 Strictly speaking, I refer here to the melody of "Twinkle, Twinkle .. . ", which predates the words by some forty years in a French song called "Ah! vous dirai-je, Maman". In a more important strictness, what I call the beginning of "Twinkle, Twinkle .. . " is really the second "event" in the melody. The first is a repeating of middle-C, within which we hear the repeating of the i. But is this first event a movement? Does it involve a change of place? I thank John Verdi for drawing my attention to this question after the lecture. I think this is a movement, and can even be said to involve a change of place, but one that shows why the melody is temporal rather than spatial. I say more about this in subsequent notes. �I. The nature of the problem. 3 will be that it is because we inhabit what we hear, in hearing music move, that the space of this movement makes complete sense. The completeness in this sense has to do with the experience of inhabitance. To begin to see this, recall the terms I used for the melody "Twinkle, Twinkle." I identified its first two pitches by not~middle-C and the Ga fifth above. This identification depends on two topographical facts in our perception of notes, even outside a musical context. The first such fact is that we hear a difference in pitch, whereby one note is distinguished from another, as a difference in relative place: one note sounding higher, the other note lower. This perception is also transitive: if one note sounds higher than a second, and the second higher than a third, then the first will also sound higher than the third. Our perception of pitch difference so gives every note its own position along an axis of height. Hence my talk of the G a fifth above middle-C, to distinguish it, say, from the G a fourth below. Then there is my reference just now to the two G's on either side of middleC, along with my reference to middle-C itself, in order to distinguish that C from every other C there is. This repetition of note letters reflects the second topographical fact in our perception of notes: the phenomenon of the octave. For while we distinguish notes by their difference in pitch, this difference reaches a kind of limit at the interval called the "octave", where the notes sound the same, despite their difference in pitch, and are thus given the same letter as name. Exactly why we hear this sameness is hard to say: Aristotle ascribed it to a perception of the whole number ratio two-to-one; while Victor Zuckerkandl calls it a miracle. 4 But however it happens, the sameness we hear in notes, once their difference in pitch reaches the octave, in effect contains that difference. If we pass beyond it, we don't encounter new notes, but only new instances, higher or lower, of old notes. The octave thus turns the axis of height, along which notes are arranged by pitch, into a kind of circumference, which continues to trace their increase or decrease in pitch without end, but always to the same place again. Yet this image, of notes now arranged into a circumference by the octave, is not yet an image of the space in which music moves. For it only comprehends the change in pitch involved, as we might conceive this change to carry us along the circumference. But in hearing a melody, we again hear a change of place within the change in pitch, such as the leap from the i to the 5 at the start of "Twinkle, Twinkle . .. " . And this description reflects another pair of topographical facts in our perception of notes, once we hear these notes in a musical context. The first such fact is that we hear movement from note to note, without having to hear any notes between. So in "Twinkle, Twinkle . .. ", we hear a leap from the i to the 5, without having to hear the 2, 3, and 4 first. And to hear them first would not complete the leap, as if to fill it in, but rather transform the leap into a climb. Why this is a fact of musical perception may 4 Aristotle attributes the cause of the octave to the ratio 2: 1 in Book II, Chapter 3, of his Physics, 194b28-29. Zuckerkandl calls it a miracle in his discussion of the octave in the section "Scale" of Chapter VIII, "The Thue Motion of Tones", in Sound and Symbol. �4 Does Music Move? be as hard to explain as the octave. But as a phenomenon, it seems to involve a sense of being oriented in the movement we hear from note to note. It's as if we faced the note we were moving to, and reached it as a goal, heedless of any notes on the way. 5 The sense of being oriented among notes is even clearer in the second topographical fact, which involves our perception of notes in musical contexts we call tonal. It is this fact that forced me to shift from letters to numbers, when identifying the leap in "Twinkle, Twinkle .. . " from the i to the 5. For in tonal musical contexts-and the name "tonal" is derived from this fact-we will hear one note as a kind of center, which orients us with respect to the other notes we hear, as if to provide a place from which to face them. The central note is so assigned the number 1 in analysis , and the other notes assigned other numbers in reference to 1. Again, why we can hear a certain note as central is hard to say. But the phenomenon, as Zuckerkandl would remind us, is dynamic, in an orientation more felt than seen. We hear the central note as central, that is, by sensing a stability in it relative to the other notes, as if it provided a place to face them as a center of gravity. This second topographical fact so informs the first : for we then move from note to note as if under the influence of a gravitational pull, requiring effort to overcome, and supplying momentum in success, in a deepened sense of having faced the note being moved to, and reaching that note as a goal. We can accommodate these facts of musical perception into the ear lier image of a circumference of notes, arranged by pitch and bounded by the octave. For once we hear one note in the melody as central, especially if we hear it as a center of gravity, it's as if we were projected with that note inside the circumference. And this projection allows us to move from note to note not simply along the circumference, through every note between, but now across the circumference, guided by the one note inside it as a center of orientation. This image so gives a geometric form to the complete sense made by the space in which music moves. For this is the sense in which we inhabit that space. To be sure, the development of this sense, as shown by the specifically tonal context in which we hear one note of a melody as central, depends on the like development of a specific form of musical art-the art of tonality, to which we owe the music of the West. But there would be no such art to develop, unless the result made a difference to what we could hear; and in this case, to what we could inhabit in what we hear. And much of tonal music's development can be explained as a deduction from the features of a place we inhabit. I spell this thought out briefly, in one example, for those familiar with this 5 It could also be noted here, in light of a previous note, that we hear the repeating of the i at the start of "Twinkle, Twinkle . . . " in the same way: as a movement from origin to goal, even though the origin and goal in this case are the same. This already suggests there is something fundamentally temporal about our orientation in the perception of notes in a musical context. For we would simply stay in the same place (on the i) except for the repetition allowed by time, which distinguishes the place at one moment from the place at a subsequent moment, and allows the staying to be the result of movement (in this case from the i to the i). �I. The nature of the problem. 5 development. If we inhabited the space of music's movement, it seems we should not simply be fixed at a single center of orientation. We should rather be able move that center, carrying it with us from place to place. And move it we can-once tonal music developed the device of modulation, to carry us from key to key. We might also expect the movement of that center to happen along an axis of depth, away-and-back, not just to distinguish it from the upand-down movement between notes along an axis of height, but also from a sense of perspective, which implicitly belongs to our sense of orientation when we inhabit a place. And so we do move away and back-once tonal music developed the harmony out of polyphony that modulation relies upon. We might further expect the movement of the center to clarify our sense, as I described this above, of the gravity felt at work in such a space. And clarified it is-once the use of modulation effectively reduced the modes of chant to the major-minor scale. We might finally expect the movement of the center to deepen our sense that we inhabit one space, which contains the places moved between, rather than many spaces distinguished and divided by those places. And deepened it is--once the use of modulation forced upon the tuning of a scale the leveling of equal temperament. For this restricts the notes of any key to the notes in every key. And as Roger Scruton has strikingly described the result, equal temperament thus "places the whole of tonal space within reach of its every occupant." 6 Along with this deduction comes a plausible measure of the greatness in a musical work. The greater it is, the deeper it carries us into the space of music's movement. And by that measure of inhabitance, the best demonstration of the complete sense this space can make, is found not in my account, but rather in those masterpieces of music-such as Beethoven's Eroica-where this space is explored to a kind of limit, in the conquest of it. 7 But as I said, the space of music's movement also makes a kind of nonsense. To see this, we can start by now comparing the movement we hear in music, with motion as we observe this more generally. Consider, for example, the difference between the movement of a melody, like "Twinkle, Twinkle ... " again, and the motion of our hand in following that melody, as if to conduct it. We could say that both rise and fall, and do so not just in time but in space, through a discernible change of place. But there is a difference. For as I mentioned earlier, we hear the change of place in the melody, such as the leap from the i to the 5 in "Twinkle, Twinkle ... ", without having to hear any places between. The movement happens discretely. By contrast, we see the hand's change of place happen continuously, from place to place through all the places between. And this continuity would seem a necessary feature of its 6 Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of Music, p. 244. also suspect that the space we are carried into so clearly and compellingly by tonal music is what makes atonal music so off-putting for first-time listeners; it doesn't carry us (at least at first) into any space. There is also a question, then, about what allows atonal music to make sense once a listener does grow accustomed to it. If atonal music can carry us into a space in which we hear it move, then is this a different space from tonal music or not? I thank Sam Weinberg for bringing this issue up in the question period. 71 �6 Does Music Move? motion. For if our hand got from place to place discretely, like the melody did, skipping places along the way, then it would look to us as if our hand reached each place not by motion, but rather by magic. Or at least we'd be tempted to think there was something in the space where the motion occurred, beyond just space, that was interrupting the motion, disrupting the continuity it would otherwise have. But this is one reason, then, to think there isn't really a space for the melody to move in. For if there were, then it would allow the melody to move in it continuously rather than discretely. But this reflects another difference-involving identity rather than continuity-between the movement of the melody and the motion of our hand in following it. For the melody is composed of the notes it moves between, while our hand is not composed of the places it moves between. And this explains at once why the melody has to move discretely. For it has to become what it is. And this means passing through only those notes that compose it, and that distinguish it, thus composed, from any other melody. But then the melody can only be what it is by becoming so, over an interval of time. And in this sense, the melody is temporal rather than spatial, with an identity in time rather than space. 8 But this is then another reason to think that there isn't really a space for the melody to move in. For if there were, then it would allow the melody to possess an identity in space; that is, it would allow the melody to be what it is in space without having to become so, and to remain what it is, unchanged, through every change of place. But here is perhaps a stronger way to put the nonsense: If there really were a space for the melody to move in, then there would be a melody to hear, in the space where we hear it move. But there isn't. We hear the leap in "Twinkle, Twinkle" , for example, without hearing anything making the leap. For we hear this leap being made between unleaping notes, but nothing further to which we might attribute the leap. And this is true for music in general-a fact reflected in the unmoving notes on a musical score. Once the score is performed, we hear a movement being made between the unmoving notes, but nothing further to which we might attribute the movement. So we hear movement, but nothing making the movement. Yet how, in that case, could there be any movement to hear? And what could be making it? Yet this is only the start of the nonsense. And the end of it implicates our very inhabitance of the space in question. We can see this through an objection to the analysis I just gave. True, the objection runs, we have a sense of the space in which motion ordinarily occurs, that we cannot apply to the movement of music. For applying it makes nonsense of the movement, by depriving this movement of any object to which it might be attributed. But what follows from this? Perhaps only that the space in which music moves, is not ordinary, 8 As I mentioned in an earlier note, another mark of the temporal identity of a melody is the fact that a note can be repeated in it (like at the beginning of "Twinkle, Twinkle . . . "), and we hear a movement in this repetition even though the place remains the same (making the staying-in-place of the melody event-like rather than inertia-like). This implies that the places in a melody are not just defined by the articulated space we know as a scale, but also by the articulated time we know as beat, meter, and rhythm. �I. The nature of the problem. 7 but extraordinary. And this is one way to understand my earlier defense of the sense-the complete sense-made by this space. For this was not an observed sense of space, but rather an inhabited sense of space. The sense, for example, in which we face the note being moved to, and reach it as a goal. So if there is a space for music to move in, which makes sense of the movement, then this space will have to be conceived from within, as a matter of inhabitance, rather than from without, as a matter of observation. The objection has a point. But it makes the nonsense even clearer. For what is it, finally, that makes an inhabited sense of space extraordinary? Here is one answer. An inhabited sense of space is extraordinary, in not stopping short of totality. That is, our inhabited sense of space implicitly includes everything there is, known or unknown; anything captured in the word "Being". For it is beings, finally, that we take ourselves to be surrounded by, and our own being that provides the place from which to face them. This is why, despite our sometimes talking as if there were more than one world, and even more than one world we might inhabit, we can also talk intelligibly of the world, as if there were only one. And it is our being-in-one-world, on this answer, that grounds our inhabited sense of space. But what happens, then, when our inhabited sense of space is divided? - For example, between sleeping and dreaming, where it seems we inhabit two spaces at once? We resolve the division, evidently, by conferring worldhood on only one such space, taking it to contain the other such space. That is, we credit only one space with the totality, and thus the reality, of inhabitance, and regard the other space as merely part of this totality. The credit we give to its own totality, then, is the credit we give to a dream. We still inhabit the dream-and more alertly than we inhabit the bedroom in which we dream, often with a sense that everything is put at stake in the dream, in a matter of life or death. But in waking from the dream, we prove it part of a larger space of inhabitance. And this gives the dream's apparent totality the status of mere appearance; and our inhabitance of it, the form of an illusion. To our relief, or perhaps our regret, what happened to us in the dream, didn't really happen after all. But if this is so, then it gives us reason to suspect the very same thing of the space we inhabit when hearing music move. The space may well be illusory, making all the sense- but also all the nonsense-of a dream. And in that case, the greater the work of music, the deeper it carries us into the dream. We hear the sound of Beethoven's Eroica surge forth in a concert hall, seeming to make the whole world shake. Yet the musicians barely move by comparison, while the notes they play move not at all. And we concert-goers stay glued to our seats-entranced. And once the work is finished, in a triumph of conclusiveness, we are released from the trance in a daze-and the desire, perhaps, to have remained. For we leave the concert hall likely finding the world we truly inhabit unchanged by what we heard, and nothing comparable to its conclusiveness in the life we have to live. This, then, is what I take to be the problem with our talking as if music moved. Talking that way fails to distinguish our experience of music from a �Does Music Move? 8 dream, in which nothing we experience really happens. II The importance of the problem. I also take this problem to be important. To explain why, I discuss this problem again, but now as a problem not simply with our experience of music, but more generally, with our experience of the world. For we talk not just as if music moved, but as if anything moved. Yet this too involves a kind of nonsense, known since the time of Parmenides. And it proves to be the same kind of nonsense we encountered in the movement of music. To see this, recall my earlier analysis of why there really isn't a space for a melody to move in. For the melody, in this respect, is temporal rather than spatial. It is composed of the places it moves between, and can only be what it is by becoming so. So there isn't a space, strictly speaking, for the melody to move in, with the continuity or identity of truly spatial things, like our hand in following that melody. But while our hand may be spatial in this respect, the motion of our hand is temporal, just like the melody. In a sense, it too is composed of the places moved between, and can only be what it is by becoming so. But this implies, on the earlier analysis, that there isn't really a space for our hand to move in, or for anything to move in. There is only a space for it to be contained in, and to occupy, over the course of its motion, at every place composing that motion. Space, in other words, contains only the path of the motion, not the motion itself. But here again is perhaps a stronger way to put the nonsense. If there really were a space for our hand to move in, then there would be a hand to see, in the space where we see it move. But there isn't. All we see is the motion being made from place to unmoving place, by something that occupies each such place. We see nothing further, to which we might attribute the motion between places, rather than just the occupancy of those places. So we see motion, but nothing making the motion. Yet how, in that case, could there be any motion to see? And what could be making it? One answer, the kind Zeno might give, is that there isn't any motion to see.9 When we think we see something move, all we really see is that it occupies different places at different times. And the appearance of motion in this, is something like the appearance of motion on a movie screen, or in a flip book, from a succession of images, each of a single place and time, that happens too rapidly for us to detect. But this first answer leads to a second answer, found for example in calculus, where there is a motion to see.10 When we see something move on this answer, all we see, again, is that something occupies 9 For further discussion of Zeno's arguments VI , Chapters 2 and 9, and Book VIII, Chapter Considered Historically," in Bertrand Russell's 1 °For a further discussion of this answer, see Lecture VII, "The Positive Theory of Infinity,'' World. against motion, see Aristotle 's Physics Book 8; and Lecture VI, "The Problem of Infinity Our Knowledge of the External World. Lecture V, "The Theory of Continuity,'' and in Russell's Our Knowledge of the External �II. The importance of the problem. 9 different places at different times. Still, it can be proved that there are more such places than we could ever arrange from one to the next. The places are many enough, that is, to form a real continuum, beyond the mere appearance of one. And this makes for a real continuity in the motion we see, giving it all the reality it needs. There is a sense, however, in which this second answer misses the point. For the continuity in question belongs to the motion's path rather than to the motion itself. And the way this path is proved continuous-for example, in Dedekind-is by analogy to a line, undivided by time, where every place upon it is present at once. 11 But the proper analogy for the motion itself would seem to be a line divided by time, where only one place upon it is ever present at once-the point right now, so to speak. But how could such a line prove continuous, if it is made of only one point at a time? The second answer so leads to a third answer, more philosophical than mathematical, and found, for example, in Bergson. 12 This answer is distinguished from the first answer in taking the motion we see to be real, and from the second answer in taking this reality to involve more than just the continuity of the motion's path. But the promise of this answer comes at a price: for it embraces the nonsense that makes the problem a problem. On this answer, that is, there is nothing to see, in the space where we see anything move. And this is because the space where we see anything move, is the space where the motion belongs to us, rather than to anything we might see outside us. So there is a motion to see, when we are the ones making it. On this answer, in other words, motion occurs in the space we inhabit, rather than in the space we observe. In the space we observe, we see only the continuous path of a motion, occupied at every place by the thing that moves. But in the space we inhabit, we see the motion itself, which is not simply continuous, but indivisible. The motion in this indivisible sense stretches from the beginning of its path to the end in a single bound, as if the entire path were a single place for the moving thing to occupy. And we know this indivisibility when moving ourselves. For in that case, we face the end of our motion at the beginning of it, and reach the end as a goal, heedless of any places on the way-just like in the movement of a melody. And the path we trace in reaching that goal can be divided only by our changing the goal, in a motion now different from what it was, but again indivisible. This too is like the movement in a melody; for only further notes can divide the distance from note to note, but thereby produce a new melody out of the old one, showing the movement between notes in any one melody to be indivisible. But what should we make of this answer? It makes the same appeal to our inhabited sense of space that we encountered before in making sense of 11 Dedekind draws the analogy in Chapters II and III of his Continuity and Irrational Numbers. 12 See, for example, Bergson's lecture "The P erception of Change" in the collection The Creative Mind. There Bergson even connects his account of motion generally to the movement in a melody. Zuckerkandl follows Bergson's lead in his own account of music 's movement in Sound and Symbol. �10 Does Music Move? the movement in music, only now to make sense of motion as such. But does it have the same problem? That is, can we show, or know, that we aren't dreaming when we see anything move? The question put this generally might seem absurd. After all, to suppose we were dreaming when seeing anything move, would mean suspecting something illusory about our inhabitance of the world. But there is reason for this suspicion. And it explains why a question like "Are we dreaming right now?" has been raised in the history of thought-for example, by Descartes. 13 For while we might not be dreaming right now, there is arguably nothing in our inhabitance of the world to prove it. And we lack this proof, so the argument goes, because we inhabit the world. If we had the proof, we would no longer inhabit it, but merely observe it. To see why this argument is worth taking seriously, consider, first , a striking fact about optical illusions, such as the look of a stick half-plunged in water, and seemingly half-bent by it. Our knowing the stick stays straight does nothing to dispel the illusion. But why? One answer is that there is nothing in the illusion to tell us it's an illusion, and if there were, then the illusion wouldn't be an illusion. We so remain in the illusion, or inhabit it, as a matter of perception, even if we stand outside the illusion, or merely observe it, as a matter of knowledge. This could also be said of dreams, taking "dreams" in the ordinary sense. For our dreams so often contain implausible or even impossible events, not to mention the sense in which all its events, once we wake up, prove unreal. So why did they seem so real in the dream? Again, one answer is that there is nothing in the dream, no matter how implausible or impossible, to tell us we are dreaming, and if there were, then we wouldn't be dreaming. Not being able to tell is what it means to inhabit the dream. And it is only when something in the dream wakes us up from it, and puts us outside the dream to observe it, that we can know it for the dream that it is. We can give this same answer to the question of why our experience of music would still seem so real, even if we were convinced-say, by my lecture tonight-that it was only a dream. For there is nothing in the music to tell us so, even if there is some account of the music to tell us so. And this is what it means to inhabit the music, past the point of any account we might give of it. This answer, then, points to perhaps the most decisive, if negative, feature of our inhabitance of the world. There is nothing we might encounter in the world-motion, for example-to tell us the encounter is illusory. For if there were, then we wouldn't be having the encounter. So for all we know, we might be dreaming. Arguing against this prospect, perhaps, is our sense that this is the world, not just some world. But this sense can never be decisive. For the cost of inhabiting the world, on this answer, is to be past the point of telling whether it involves any illusions. 13 Descartes raises this question in his First Meditation. It is also discussed in Plato's Theaetetus, 158b-d; and mentioned, but also dismissed, in Aristotle's M etaphysics, 10lla6. · �III. Two solutions to the problem. 11 This, then, is what I take to be the importance of the problem with our talking as if music moved. For it illustrates a more general problem, with our talking as if anything moved. Talking that way fails to distinguish our experience of the world from a dream, in which nothing we experience really happens. III Two solutions to the problem. I conclude my lecture with two solutions to this problem, in the attempt to deepen our sense of it. They are incompatible solutions, since they give contrary answers, in effect , to the question "Are we dreaming right now?" In the first solution, the answer to this question is yes, we are dreaming right now. And the solution, then, is to make no appeal to the dream, when we try to understand the world. We try to understand the world, in other words, by making no appeal to the sense it makes only from a place of inhabitance-or even better, by challenging that sense. Thus described, the solution may sound unpromising; for how can we avoid this appeal? Still, this is one way to characterize how we have tried to understand the world since Descartes. And we might call this first solution the solution of science. A central example of it is the way we try to understand motion, by means of calculus rather than introspection. But more generally, the terms in which we explain the world, as a matter of observation, are not the terms in which we encounter the world, as a matter of inhabitance-and in many cases, such as quantum physics, could never be the terms of such an encounter. Yet we take this discrepancy as a sign that the world has been explained rather than erased. And we look for an explanation of our encounter with music, not in Beethoven's Eroica, but rather in the mathematician's account of numerical ratios, or the physicist's account of wave phenomena, or the neuroscientist's account of brain patterns, or the biologist's account of evolutionary adaptations, or even the Nietzschean's account of a sickness in the soul. Despite the fact we don't encounter music as music in such terms, we credit these accounts as attempts to explain that encounter. Which suggests that we find nothing self-justifying in the encounter itself; nothing there to tell us what's really going on- as if the encounter were just a dream. -Or, according to this first solution to that problem, as if the encounter were what required explanation, rather than what provided explanation. This brings me to the second solution. My sketch of it will remind many of you of Heidegger. 14 But I call it the solution of philosophy. For it embraces our inhabitance of the world in a way that I suspect always distinguishes a philosophic understanding of the world from a scientific one. In this solution, then, the answer to the question "Are we dreaming right now?" is no. There may be nothing to tell us this- true-but this doesn't mean we might be dreaming; it rather means we aren't . 14 For a further account of Heidegger's actual answer, see Part One, Division One, Chapters II and III of his Being and Tim e. �12 Does Music Move? This solution may already sound unprorrusmg. After all, there may be nothing in a dream to tell us we are dreaming, but we are. On this solution, however, it turns out we aren't, at least as a matter of inhabitance. For any space of inhabitance is real, because it can be inhabited. And this means we are always surrounded by beings, and always face them from a being of our own, whether we find ourselves in a dream, in a symphony, or in the world that contains them. True, we have reason to think otherwise, in thinking that these smaller spaces are contained in a larger space that proves their own totality to be illusory. But this assumes that any space of inhabitance lies in space. Yet it is only a space of observation, on this solution, that lies in space. Any space of inhabitance lies instead in time. Perhaps this solution now sounds even more unpromising. For how can there be any room in time for a space of inhabitance, when the only part of time that ever exists is 'right now ', that instant between the no-longer and notyet at the seeming size of a point? Still, this very fact about time's evanescence turns the illusion of motion into an object of wonder, if not astonishment. For according to our earlier analysis, motion is what it is, only in time. But if time exists only at a point, then how could we ever encounter a temporal whole like motion---even in the form of an illusion? How could we even dream that we hear the rise and fall of a melody, or see the rise and fall of our hand in following it? It is in offering an answer to this question, that the solution starts to look more promising. And the answer is this. 'Right now' may be no larger than a point. But this is still room enough to establish a space of inhabitance, in providing a center of orientation. And this is the center from which the not-yet lies ahead of us, the no-longer lies behind us, and the right-now is always with us. And in being always at this center, we are always in the world, even when we find ourselves in a dream, or a symphony. We inhabit even these smaller spaces from the same center of orientation, where the not-yet is ahead of us as a matter of expectation, the no-longer is behind us as a matter of memory, and the right-now is always with us as a matter of attention. And in these terms, temporal terms, any space of observation becomes a place of inhabitance. It is also in these temporal terms that any place of inhabitance is real rather than illusory. For this center of orientation, despite being a mere point in time, comprehends a totality of time for each of us: from a beginning in birth that no one else can share, to an end in death that no one else can know, in a span of time without remainder. This is the center, then, from which the not-yet ahead of us is a future to face ; the no-longer behind us is a past to bear; and the right-now always with us is a present at stake. So in being always at this center, at a point of totality, we are always in a world that is real, even when we find ourselves in a dream or symphony. We inhabit even these smaller spaces from the same center of orientation, with a future to face, a past to bear, and a present at stake. This is why we can be released from their spell, without having recovered from it. In this sense, again temporal rather than spatial, we are not carried from the world by a dream or symphony, but concentrated in it. And if our inhabitance of the world is temporal rather than spatial, then �III. Two solutions to the problem. 13 we are surrounded by events rather than things, to which we are open rather than closed, making dreams and symphonies possible, not impossible. Or to summarize this second solution to the problem in conclusion: we can only talk as if anything moved, much less as if music moved , insofar as the space we inhabit in talking that way, makes complete sense of what we say, without any room for nonsense. And this is the space we inhabit right now: the space made possible by time. � 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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 Harrell, Daniel Title A name given to the resource Does music move? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-02-15 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on February 15, 2013 by Daniel Harrell 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 Music. Philosophy and aesthetics. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80674 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/33">Audio recording</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/7f3f18fe603c706bdf460bd4471a898d.mp3 6c381fcaca0ba8d9cde4c644a9f1c4af 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:50:56 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav 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 Harrell, Daniel Title A name given to the resource Does Music Move? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-02-15 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 February 15, 2013, by Daniel Harrell 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 sound Subject The topic of the resource Music, Philosophy and aesthetics Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80723 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/34">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/7131cd1c598e575bf7c091d4787d7d78.mp3 fab0e14c864c8044863ecb5b58777399 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 00:50:00 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 Harrell, Daniel Title A name given to the resource Does Beauty Have a Place in Liberal Education? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2010-09-03 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 September 3, 2010, by Daniel Harrell 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 Education, Humanistic Aesthetics Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Harrell_Daniel_2010-09-03 Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/821b18be9d022677f56e15fdbee7ac5b.mp3 8b9e04ca635fafce166f99a4bcc184eb 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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. Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:47:20 Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data wav 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 Harman, Graham, 1968- Title A name given to the resource Dante's Ontology: What the Florentine Poet Can Teach Contemporary Philosophers Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014-02-21 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 February 21, 2014, by Graham Harman 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 sound Subject The topic of the resource Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321. Philosophy Methodology Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 81420 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c122c40a15791636b8fafab4cd0f42fd.mp3 73bc0af60004b5469695cf03bad0ae47 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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.) 00:59:31 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 Hanning, Barbara Russano, 1940- Title A name given to the resource How Opera Began: And Why It Began in Florence Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2011-03-25 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 March 25, 2011, by Barbara Hanning 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 Opera. Italy. Florence. History and criticism. Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Hanning_Barbara_2011-03-25 Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/7695" title="Typescript">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/6171391c274812c5059f802de70a0351.pdf 5e9528fe8de7bb3a235a70b32cb69f70 PDF Text Text What Will Heaven Be Like? Michael W. Grenke You cannot take all luggage with you on all journeys. C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (p.viii). A lecture prepared for presentation at St. John's College, Annapolis. January 18, 2013 �I am not a prophet. I am not here to report to you the facts about Heaven. To the best of my awareness, I am not in possession of any private revelation that would grant me a sure understanding of Heavenly matters. What I am is a reader of books, one who, I hope, reasons while he reads. And what I want to share with you this evening is some of my reasoning about the idea of Heaven as I believe that idea to emerge in a couple of texts. The texts I have in mind are likely not known to all of you, and so I will have to tell you about them. The frrst text, the text that provoked me to attempt this lecture is Anton Chekhov's short story "In Exile." Heaven: dark, cold, bare, hollow, and grumbling "In Exile" is set in Siberia, a place where human beings go after they have been judged. At the beginning of the story two men are sitting on a riverbank near a campfrre. The older In;an is called Semyon and the younger man is merely referred to as the Tartar. Semyon also has a nickname, "Preacher," and he is called by both names throughout the story. Thus we have two men, one with two names and one with none. Preacher is old (around sixty), lean, toothless, but still healthy-looking. He is drunk, and he is only staying awake, and outside of the nearby hut, because he is afraid the men inside the hut will ask him to share his bottle of vodka. The Tartar is young (around twenty-five). He is pale and sick and he looks like a boy. Although he is weary and ill, he is awake for a different reason. He is talking about how nice it was back in his home province and how beautiful and clever the wife he left behind is. 1 �The Tartar does not like it in Siberia, and yet what I will try to show is that this Siberia is an image of Heaven. My interpretation is made immediately more difficult, but I hope not rendered null or, worse, perverse by Semyon's response to the Tartar's talk of back home. "To be sure, it is not paradise here ... You can see for yourself, the water, the bare banks, clay, and nothing else .... " (Chekhov, p.90). One could take this denial as decisive, but I do not. First off, why say this Siberia is "not paradise"? Who would be tempted to think that it was? And yet if I proclaimed that this auditorium is not Heaven, the very proclamation would point to the idea of Heaven, and the next natural step for thinking would be to explain how the auditorium differs from the idea I have of Heaven. And so ifl consider Semyon's whole initial statement, the matter goes like this. The Tartar is talking about another place that is nice and has beautiful and clever wives; it is a place where he would rather be. Semyon responds by saying this place we both are in is not Heaven, which presumably would be a place the Tartar should prefer, even to Simbirsk province. The reason this place, this Siberia, is not Heaven is said to be something "you can see for yourself," with your own natural senses. And what you can see here is water, bare banks, clay (I will say mud hereafter), and nothing else. Now what is wrong with these things, such that their presence tells our eyes that this is not Heaven? Will there be no water in Heaven? This water we can see here is partially frozen due to the season, but ten paces away it is flowing. The narration tells us in the next paragraph that this river is dark and cold and that it is making grumbling noises. If it were bright and warm and burbling would the situation be any different? Perhaps any water is not good enough for Heaven. Its taste is bland; its transparency does not delight or beckon the eye. It does not please our senses very much. The 2 �wetness perhaps also does not please, especially associated with the cold. Perhaps water does not figure heavily in the dreams of happiness of any human beings other than the desert dwelling. The bareness of the banks does not give pleasure if we think of the eyes as things that long to see something, for which the banks are a kind of nothing. Perhaps this is why the banks are called hollow in their next narrative description. We are meant to think of what is not there on the banks. Our eyes when they see the banks as bare are seeking something. A power of vision that adds adjectives to nouns is already modifying the world. The likeliest thing that our eyes are missing when they see the banks as bare is vegetation. There is water bounded by soil, but there is no greening life as a natural consequence. Whether our eyes expect this consequence or merely wish for it, the absence still renders the banks bare, hollow to our vision. Next comes the clay. I am mainly inclined to think ofthis detail as equivalent to mud, but it does occur to me that clay is notoriously not a kind of soil that is good for growing most plants. With this in mind the water, bare banks, and clay all work together to give an image of lifelessness. The water raises the expectation of thriving life; it is one of the preconditions. But this expectation is dashed by the bad soil, hence the bare banks. But the clay bespeaks lifelessness at an even deeper level, and this is what makes me want to treat the clay as just mud, not some special kind of mud. Dirt, dust, mud is what everything solid breaks down into. Mud is an image of decay, an image of corruptibility. Do our eyes see this too? Do our eyes see in mud a history of something that used to be there, something higher, something nicer, something beautiful, something that promised happiness? Do our eyes also see the threat of something yet to come, a breaking down, a 3 �passing away? We should perhaps recall the trouble that young Socrates seemed to have with mud. He did not want to say that there is a form of mud (see Parmenides 130d). Perhaps the sight of mud implies a threat to all such Platonic theories of forms? 'Our young Tartar responds to Semyon's invitation to look around in a simple and characteristic fashion. He looks at this Siberia and proclaims "It's bad! it's bad!" (Chekhov, p.90). The Tartar is not an ethnic Russian, and it should be noted his Russian is not good. That may make his expressions simpler than they otherwise would be, but it may also make him less open to the Heavenly qualities of this Siberia. Perhaps Siberia is a Russian kind of Heaven. After the Tartar's outburst we are given a little more description of the land about this ferry site. It seems strongly significant that Semyon the Preacher is a ferryman. In fact, the narrative later reveals that Semyon is the only member of the ferry crew who stays and works at this site all year round. Semyon is the ferryman for this afterlife. We are told in the narrative that at this moment the people on the other side of the river are burning last year's grass. This may be a simple agricultural procedure, but it gives the appearance that the land on the other side of the river is writhing with burning snakes. So Semyon is the ferryman from where to where? This side of the river is Siberia, it is Heaven. The other side is Russia proper, it is Earth, but it is also a field of writhing flame. In this image Earth and Hell look the same. Welcome to Heaven, You'll Get Used to It 4 �After that Hellish image, the Tartar looks around some more, especially at the Siberian sky. Though it is a sky like any sky, full of just as many stars, they are different stars, and the Tartar finds it lacking. He proclaims again, "It's bad! it's bad!" In response · to this second proclamation, Semyon announces his wisdom about Heaven. "You will get used to it," he says. He is old and has been here for a long time, twenty-two years. He knows this place; the Tartar is just in inexperienced newcomer. Semyon was not always like this. He was the son of a deacon. He lived in Kursk. He used to wear frock coats. Now he says he can "sleep naked on the ground and eat grass." So speaking from his own experience, Semyon says "the time will come when you will say to yourself: 'I wish no one a better life than mine."' (Chekhov, p.91 ). How good is Semyon's life? When the seasons change all the other ferrymen move on. They are said to wander about Siberia begging. Semyon stays put and operates .the ferry. His going from bank to bank is a kind of image of change within unchangingness. He compares his life to that ofthe fishes in the river. "The pike and the salmon are under the water while I am on the water." Is this supposed to make his life look like it occupies a kind of natural place? And how does Semyon understand the motions ofthe fishes? Does he think they too just swim back and forth? Or does he just think of their moving as constituting a kind of life that is in the place where it wants to be? Fish want to be in the water. They are not wishing for something better. So too, Semyon is where he wants to be. He says, "And thank God for it. I want nothing. God give everyone such a life." (Chekhov, p.91). Want Nothing 5 �In this last statement, Semyon reveals how one comes to see Siberia as a kind of Heaven. His movement from bare bank to bare bank is a movement from nothing to nothing. Training oneself to want nothing makes one fit for Siberia, for Siberia, to speak broadly, has nothing in it that one could want. Wanting nothing might also be appropriate for Heaven if Heaven is to turn out to be a necessary idea. By necessary idea I mean two things that are not the same but are not wholly unrelated. In the first sense, I mean by a necessary idea an idea that emerges out of the working through of the logic of other ideas. In the case of Chekhov' s Semyon, Heaven is the idea of a place of happiness, and happiness seems to require one to stop wanting things. Thus Heaven might have to be a place like Siberia that has none of the things human beings want. In the second sense, by a necessary idea I mean an idea that one needs in order to think something that cannot be thought by means of other ideas. A Heaven that is radically different from the Earth might be such a necessary idea. By way of illustration ofthis second sense of necessary idea, consider Semyon's life as sketched so far. One might be tempted to think of his life as a kind of Stoicism; some commentators on the story have done just that. But Stoicism does not require an idea of Heaven that is truly different from an idea of this world and its natural possibilities. The freedom of the Stoic is really just the employment of one of nature's capacities, the life of the mind, in order to avoid the vicissitudes of the rest of nature's capacities. If one's idea of Heaven is just some perfection of the possibilities present in this world, then it is not really differe~t from an idea of this world. I am not inclined to think Semyon is a Stoic, however, because he repeatedly talks about his life as one for which he ''thanks God," 6 �and he refers to lives lived otherwise as giving way to the Devil. However, it may be that a Stoic, if he wants to live a life of the mind that gives him freedom, must seek thoughts like that ofSemyon's Heaven, thoughts that don't lead him to want things. In the world we live in, the very sight of things may give rise to our wanting them. If Heaven is really to be free from want it may have to be free from worldly senses or sensibles. Our young Tartar wants things. He wants his mother and his wife to come out to him in Siberia. In response to this, Semyon says, "It's the Devil confounding you, damn his soul! Don't you listen to him, the cursed one." Semyon classes the Tartar's desire for mother and wife into the one category of "women" and also introduces the idea of freedom. The Tartar thinks of these things as desirable natural goods. Because of his different loves for his mother and his wife respectively he wishes them to come to him and fill up the empty nothingness of Siberia. In a way, he wants freedom even more. The freedom he wants is a species of justice, for he was wrongly convicted for the crimes of others. Those crimes were committed by members of his own family, and his wrongful conviction was also perhaps orchestrated by a member of his own family. Semyon tries to convince the Tartar that each thing that people want carries with it an evil that cannot be escaped. If you try, selectively to fill up the Siberian emptiness with only the good things from back in Russia you will necessarily also bring in the Russian evils. Each of the things that we are capable of desiring is also a vehicle of evil, an imoad for the Devil. Semyon lists many things that he does not want. "I want nothing, neither father nor mother, nor wife, nor freedom, nor post, nor paddock" (Chekhov, p.91). The list seems to articulate just a few examples. The first clause is decisive, "I want nothing." 7 �That is, Semyon's broad implied claim is that everything that we want in this world and that we think will bring good and happiness into our lives will also bring evil into our lives and ruin our happiness. Semyon allows no exceptions to this broad claim, for "if anyone gives way to the Devil and listens to him, if but once, he is lost, there is no salvation for him" (Chekhov, p.91). Semyon presents his own strict policy of wanting nothing as the best there is. "And I wish no one a better life. I want nothing and I am afraid of nobody, and the way I look at it is that there is nobody richer and freer than I am" (Chekhov, p.91). In this context, Semyon makes a claim that "here you see I live well, and I don't complain" (Chekhov, p.91). What he means by "live" in this sentence is different from he means later throughout the story where the question of whether one can "live" in Siberia is at stake. Living in Siberia Semyon does not offer here a theoretical defense of his claim that all the things of this world that we think of as naturally desirable goods also bring evils into our world. Instead Semyon tells the tale of a fellow exile whom he has known and watched for many years. That man, Vassily Sergeyich, is not a foolish peasant like the Tartar; rather he is a gentleman. But he is still a man who wants things and who tries disastrously to bring only the good things to Siberia. That man came to Siberia fifteen years ago, and he began his time rather auspiciously according to Semyon. Vassily tried to abandon his former life as a gentleman to embrace a new life as a settler. He bought a house and land (apparently this did not upset Semyon), and he determined to live by his 8 �own work "in the sweat ofhis own brow." This looked promising. Vassily was leaving Russia behind him and making a life based upon what Siberia offered. Only "from the very first"·Vassily took to riding out and checking the post from back home. This is where the trouble started. Perhaps it should also mean that Heaven should receive no mail from the earth. That is to say, even the interest of Heavenly beings in the lives of the living may be a problem for Heaven. The problem with checking up on the news back home may seem a small thing. It may look innocuous to bring information into Siberia, but Vassily' s checking of the post either reveals itself to be or transforms itself into a concern with money. When being· ferried back from his journeys to the town that gets the post (the post is not in Heaven proper), Vassily begins complaining that the people back home are not sending him money. Semyon tries to dissuade Vassily and to nip the problem in the bud. "You don't want money... What use is it to you? You cast away the past, and forget it as though it had never been at all, as though it had been a dream, and begin to live anew... Now you want money ... but in a very little while you'll be wanting something else, and then more and more" (Chekhov, p.92). Seeming to prove Semyon correct, two years later Vassily has his wife and small daughter brought out to him in Siberia. When they arrive, V assily seems extremely happy. His wife is beautiful and Vassily cannot take his eyes off of her. He proclaims to Semyon, "Yes, brother Semyon, even in Siberia people can live!" (Chekhov, p.92). This claim, that one can live even in Siberia remains a bone of contention between V assily and Semyon. Life, if one thinks of it as being happy while wanting and pursuing the natural goods of this world, is what Semyon silently claims cannot be done in Siberia. 9 �With the introduCtion ofhis wife into his Siberian life, Vassily undergoes a rapid downward spiral. His wife starts losing her looks. Age and hardship will do that. Of course we are all mud. He constantly feels the need for more and more money to compensate his wife for her hardships with comforts and then with luxuries. He is sending back to Russia more and more frequently for more and more money. Vassily also takes to throwing lavish parties full of persons of status but also of dubious character, such as politicians, in order to make life in Siberia "livelier" for his wife. Of course, the predictable happens and Vassily's wife runs offwith another man across the ferry back to Russia. Women will do such things. It is bound up in their natures. Vassily wanted his wife with him in Siberia because he loves her. He loves her as a good thing. She is beautiful and she is also the mother of his child. But beauty attracts attention and interest and will draw other men. In fact just by being a woman, that is a being of a particular gender, she will be an object of sexual interest. And by being a mother, that is, a procreative being, she will have an interest in sex. And so the evil that befell his life, looks to be the consequence of the good he tried to bring into his life. Vassily chases after his wife and her lover back in Russia for days, with no success. When he returns to be ferried back to Siberia, he flings himself upon the floor of the ferry and beats his head upon its boards. Semyon laughs at Vassily's misery and. reminds him of the phrase "people can live even in Siberia" (Chekhov, p.93). The evil that Vassily brought into the Siberian paradise continues to go on in this story for another eight years. In fact more evils keep streaming in. Vassily begins to pursue securing his own freedom so that he can continue his pursuit of his wife. He 10 �wastes great sums of money pursuing his release from exile. He also grows old and ruins his health. His happiness leaves his eyes as he walks about in tears. Then a hopeful element enters the story. Vassily's daughter matures and this restores cheer to his life. She becomes the "apple of his eye." Vassily is so taken up with his daughter that he goes all over singing her praises. And because of her presence in his life, Vassily returns to saying people can live even in Siberia, adding the sentence "Even in Siberia there is happiness" (Chekhov, p.93). When this is happening, Semyon admits that Vassily's daughter has good qualities: she is good-looking and lively. But he thinks to himself, she is "young, her blood is dancing, she wants to live, and there is no life here" (Chekhov, p.93). Semyon seems to be saying that young women have a nature we can know about that leads on to evils that will follow them wherever they are. In a later passage, after the official telling of the story ofVassily is over, Semyon says something about the daughter that looks like a comment about all women. "They want petting and ha-ha-ha! And ho-ho-ho! And scent and pomade" (Chekhov, p.94). There is a lot in this ha-ha-ha and ho-ho-ho. The Tartar's own wife is young and beautiful. Vassily's wife was beautiful, and she went the way of the other man. But as Semyon's story goes on, it turns out Vassily' s daughter gets sick instead, she gets consumption. It seems she did not succumb to the particular evil that Semyon thinks attends feminine nature; rather she succumbed to the universal evil that attends all living things. Her very disease is named consumption, as all transient beings are consumed by the passage of time. Sooner or later being corruptible means one will become corrupted. This is the way of all flesh. It is the wayofmud. 11 �Now Semyon tries to imply that her feminine nature is responsible even for the young lady's decline in health. After saying that the young girl wanted to live where life cannot be, Semyon simply adds, "And she did begin to pine, my lad" followed by a long ellipsis. This pining is then by implication supposed to be the cause of the consumption. And the pining occurs because the feminine nature is suppressed in circumstances where is cannot pursue its natural course. Thus the thwarted feminine nature brings on the disease. When female nature cannot bring on the evil that belongs properly to it, that nature thwarted and frustrated brings on the evil that belongs universally to all living beings; they do not last. Vassily's daughter's illness, like his wife's infidelity, causes him to rush about the world with a sense of urgency. This time he goes from doctor to doctor seeking some cure for his daughter. When he hears of any new doctor Vassily rushes off to seek his help. He even does the same when he hears of any sorcerer that might help. This sense of urgency seems to belong to the nature of caring about beings that do not last forever. If the object of our interest were eternal perhaps the interest would not involve us in any sense of urgency. In a later episode when some men from the other side of the river call for the ferry, Semyon responds very slowly. Ferrying is his life's work, it is his place in the divine order, and yet he moves like "a man convinced that there was no necessity in this world to hurry" (Chekhov, p.96). Semyon concludes the telling of the story of Vassily by asserting that all the rushing about will not save the girl. She will die. Even if the consumption were to be cured, eventually she would die. And Semyon says that her death will be the ruination of her father's life. 12 �One Hour of Happiness After hearing this whole story, our young Tartar responds by saying "Good, good." He does not seem to take from the story the lesson that Preacher intended. The Tartar elaborates that having the things we want, such as Vassily's wife and daughter, even if only for a limited time is good. "You say, want nothing. But 'nothing' is bad! His wife lived with him three years- that was a gift from God. 'Nothing' is bad, but three years is good" (Chekhov, p.94). The Tartar goes on to say "that if his wife came to him for one day, even for one hour, that for such happiness he would be ready to bear any suffering and to thank God. Better one day of happiness than nothing" (Chekhov, p.94). With his response the Tartar raises a challenge to the notion that transience is an evil. And this is important because transience may be the only natural consequence that attends each and every one of the things of this world. He seems to be defending the notion that the good things are good even if they do not last. Semyon does not stay to dispute the matter. Instead, because of an instance of transience, his vodka has run out, Semyon goes into the hut to go to sleep. Left alone with his thoughts, the Tartar begins to imagine his wife coming to Siberia. Here we see that Semyon' s story has had some of its intended effects. One of the first thoughts the Tartar has seems to be about the way of mud. He thinks despairingly about how his life will be able to live in Siberia where there is no food. Then his thoughts turn to the way of women. He thinks how his beautiful, young wife, whom he also thinks of now as spoiled and shy, will ever be capable of wandering about Siberia begging for alms. This 13 �thought is too terrible. Finally the Tartar drifts off into a sleep in which he dreams that this Siberian Heaven is only a bad dream and he is really back home in Simbirsk. The Tartar's sleep and his dream is broken up by another assertion of this-worldly transience. Men on the other side of the bank are shouting urgently for the ferry. The men repeatedly shout for the ferry to make haste, but the ferry takes its time. When the ferry reaches the other side it is revealed that the reason for haste is Vassily Sergeyich. His daughter's health has taken a turn for the worse and there is a new doctor that he needs to rush and try. Semyon can be seen to be smiling now. He taunts Vassily even at such an ugly moment. He throws Vassily's own words back at him. He stretches out the word "live" and breaks it into two syllables. "Even in Siberia people can live- can liive" (Chekhov, p.96). This is a moment of triumph for Semyon, and he pours it on. Is this a kind of cruelty on his part or is it merely a necessary harshness that belongs to the strict either/or demanded by the way of Heaven? Semyon tells Vassily out loud, to his face, "It is muddy driving now... You should have put off going for another fortnight. .. and it's always been no use" (Chekhov, pp.96-97). This harsh treatment drives Vassily off, or perhaps it is just the urgent need to get on with seeking out the new doctor. After Vassily leaves, the Tartar in his halting broken Russian condemns Semyon and praises Vassily. "He is good ... good; but you are bad! You are bad! The gentleman is a good soul, excellent, and you are a beast, bad! The gentleman is alive, but you are a dead carcass .... God created man to be alive, and to have joy and grief and sorrow; but you want nothing, so you are not alive, you are stone, clay! A stone wants nothing and you want nothing. You are a stone, and God does not love you, but He loves the gentleman!" (Chekhov, p.97). 14 �This prolonged outburst would seem to be a challenge that must be answered, but no one takes it that way. All the others just laugh at the Tartar and go back to the hut to go back to sleep. All they mention and seem concerned about is that it is cold. The wind ' has blown the door of the hut open and no one gets up to close it because "it was. too much trouble." If cold is a kind of absence, it is a kind of nothing. Does it then belong to a Siberian Heaven to be cold. In response to the others' complaints about the cold, Semyon announces that "I am all right." Perhaps this is also a response to the Tartar's accusation. When the Tartar who remains outside starts crying like a howling dog, all Semyon says is "He'll get u-used to it!" The word "used" is broken and drawn out here too, as the word "live" was earlier. In this case it may be a yawn that draws the word out and breaks it. Then Semyon goes to sleep followed by the others. The last words of the story are "The door remained unclosed." A Divorce For the moment let us set aside the judgment that seems to be called for by the ending ofChekhov's story and take a look at another fictional depiction of Heaven. Here I am on firmer ground, for C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce is explicitly a depiction of Heaven. This is a work of fiction, a dream. It is not meant to give the facts about Heaven, nor is it intended "to arouse factual curiosity about the details of the after-world" (Lewis, p.x). Still the work has a very serious purpose and that is to fight against the perpetual attempts of one sort or another to mingle the things of Heaven and Hell, to marry them. Lewis writes that such attempts are "based on the belief that reality never 15 �presents us with an absolutely unavoidable 'either-or'; that, granted skill and patience and (above all) time enough, some way of embracing both alternatives can always be found; that mere development or adjustment or refinement will somehow tum evil into good without our being called on for a final and total rejection of anything we should like to retain" (Lewis, p.vii). This depiction by Lewis highlights one of the strengths of Semyon's idea of Heaven; it is an absolute either-or. It demands that you say yes or no to Heaven, not yes, but. . . Like Semyon, Lewis seems to think one cannot expect Heaven just to be a place where all the good things of this world are present and cleansed of the evils that seem always to attend them in this world. Lewis depicts the attempt to embrace the side of evil as well as that of good as similar to trying to make the inclusion of mathematical errors useful to the true calculation of sums. He says "A sum can be put right: but only by going back till you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot 'develop' into good" (Lewis, p.viii). As Lewis depicts it in The Great Divorce, Hell is untruth an unreality and it cannot remain what it is and dwell lastingly in the truth and reality that is Heaven. Thus if we want the things of Hell (or the things of Earth) as they are, we are not ready to live in Heaven. The Great Divorce is a total divorce. The epigraph for Lewis's book is a quotation from a sermon entitle "The Last Farthing" by George Macdonald, the Scottish minister and fantasist. It reads as follows: "No there is no escape. There is no heaven with a little of hell in it- no plan to retain this or that of the devil in our hearts or our pockets. Our Satan must go, every hair and feather." 16 �A Bus Tour of Heaven Most of what I have quoted above from The Great Divorce is from the author's preface where he speaks in his own voice. In the text itself of The Great Divorce C. S. Lewis appears a character. He is the first person narrator of the story, but he is also depicted as a deceased spirit, a ghost. Lewis and a group .of other ghosts are down in Hell, although they do not all recognize Hell as Hell. They catch a bus ride up to Heaven and each is met by a Bright Spirit particularly suited to help them to let go of Hell and come stay in Heaven. This Heaven seems to be a very inhospitable and dangerous place for the visiting ghosts. The greater reality of this Heaven is,portrayed by all the objects and beings having much greater hardness and density than their co~terparts on Earth or in Hell. Thus, for instance, Heavenly blades of grass do not bend and give way to the insubstantial and light footsteps of the visiting ghosts. Thus walking in this Heaven is agony and the ghosts must fear lest a rainstorm tear them to shreds with devastatingly heavy and hard raindrops. One of the visiting ghosts is told "it will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened" (Lewis, p. 39). Lewis himself"did not entirely like it" (Lewis, p.24). A ghost called the Hard-Bitten Ghost points out just how unaccommodating this Heaven is to beings used to living as they did on Earth. "You can't eat the fruit and you can't drink the water and it takes you all your time to walk on the grass. A human being couldn't live here" (Lewis, p.52). As if in answer to Semyon's claim that you'll get used to it, the Hard-Bitten Ghost offers the following example: "What would you say if you . went to a hotel where the eggs were all bad and when you complained to the Boss, 17 �instead of apologizing and changing his dairy man, he just told you that if you tried you'd get to like bad eggs in time?'' (Lewis, p.55). This encounter made Lewis's ghost "question the essential goodness of their country" (Lewis, p.57). How could Lewis not question the goodness of such a Heaven? The things that we want and the things that we think we want which seem to define our understanding of what is good. And yet those things are not present in Semyon' s empty Siberian Heaven and they are not accessible to us in Lewis's hardened Heaven. Many of the visiting ghosts that came up on the bus reject this Heaven and choose to go back down to Hell. A ghost called the Big Ghost is outraged by the Bright Spirit sent to meet, for it is the spirit of a man who murdered one of the Big Ghost's acquaintances. The Big Ghost claims he wants justice. "I only want my rights. I'm not asking for anybody's bleeding charity" (Lewis, p.28). But the Big Ghost is advised by his Bright Spirit, who, although a murderer, is one of the saved, to ask precisely for bleeding charity. Justice, at least initially, looks like a principle that can be understood. The contrasting principle here, charity or mercy does not look to be intelligible. If we understand by justice giving to each that which is fitting (which is the one definition of justice in the Republic that is not refuted by Socrates) then justice would seem to be an adequate principle. George Macdonald endorses this principle in his sermon "The Last Farthing"- "Righteousness is just fairness- from God to man, from man to God and to man; it is giving everyone his due." There may remain great practical difficulties in determining what the fitting is in each case, but the principle of justice is not in need of some other principle to supplement or correct it. Mercy is not here a principle that corrects justice, mercy is an alternative principle. The Big Ghost is told he does not 18 �deserve Heaven based on the principle of justice, because "You weren't a decent man and you didn't do your best. We none of us were and none of us did" (Lewis, p.29). Thus justice, a principle that could be rationally intelligible based upon the principle of the fitting is not a part of Heaven. And mercy which might very well resist being made intelligible is a part of Heaven. An Episcopal Ghost whose Bright Spirit turns out to be one of his friends from his school days is gravely disappointed to find that there is no place for intellectual inquiry in Heaven. His Bright Spirit tells him, "I will bring you to the land not of questions but of answers, and you shall see the face of God" (Lewis, p.40). The Episcopal Ghost wants to hold on to the free play of inquiry, and he fears that the achieved truth of Heaven "puts an end to intellectual activity" (Lewis, p. 41 ). The Bright Spirit tries to address this by saying, "Once you were a child. Once you knew what inquiry was for. There was a time when you asked questions because you wanted answers" (Lewis, p.41). But the Episcopal Ghost cannot see in such final answers as offered by Heaven anything that he wants. Instead he chooses to return to Hell where he has a little Theological reading group going and where "there is plenty of intellectual life" (Lewis, p.43). Beyond justice and inquiry this Heaven seems to be lacking many other things, activities, and relationships that belong to what human beings tend to regard as making up the good things in earthly life. There is no place in this Heaven for poetry and music and painting. As one of the Bright Spirits explains, "Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there," to create images pointing to a higher, truer reality, in the Heaven that is that reality the creative arts are just "dangerous stimulants" (Lewis, p.85). Even parental love as it might like to assert itself as being the surest and truest good is not 19 �allowed in Heaven. A female ghost comes up to Heaven to see her son who is one of the saved. But she is not allowed to see him. She is met by the Bright Spirit of her brother who explains to her that even the "highest and holiest feeling in human nature" does not have the right of authority in Heaven. In the course of the conversation it is even implied that God took the life of her son in part to try to make her relinquish her claims about the height and priority of mother-love. In the course the interview with this mother ghost, her Bright Spirit explains something that pertains generally to all feelings, all the wants that belong to human nature, that is earthly human nature. He says, "no natural feelings are high or low, holy or unholy in themselves. They are all holy when God's hand is on the rein. They all go bad when they set up on their own" (Lewis, p.lOO). Nature, earthly, human nature then has no standing on its own in Heaven. This mother's problem consisted in putting forth her own love for her child as the highest thing and leaving God out of the consideration. Her brother explains that getting used to this Heaven involves a kind of thickening process that will make one more real by giving God priority and centrality in all one's relations to things. The brother says "the whole thickening treatment consists in learning to want God for His own sake" (Lewis, p.99). Seeing what is wrong in this mother ghost who puts her own love before love of god is key to seeing the faults that keep all the damned from going to Heaven. George Macdonald, who appears in The Great Divorce as Lewis's Bright Spirit and Teacher, explains the one reason why the damned are damned. "Milton was right. ... The choice of every lost soul can be expressed in the words 'Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.' There is always something they insist on keeping even at the price of misery" 20 �(Lewis, p. 71 ). Holding on to something that can be thought of as belonging wholly to themselves, which means holding onto something belonging merely to human nature or to the naturally earthy realm, is what keeps human beings out of Heaven. Working towards letting go of the kind of things you can claim are all yours is what it means to get used to the kind of Heaven that Lewis depicts in The Great Divorce. In this depiction of the thickening process that makes a spirit suitable for Heaven there is a final stage after a long, difficult walk to the heavenly mountains. In those mountains there is a fountain and drinking from that fountain cleanses away the last of one's earthly sickriess. "When you have drunk of it you forget forever all proprietorship in your own works" (Lewis, p.85). The Value and Intelligibility of the Idea of Heaven Both of the ideas of Heaven that we encounter in these works of fiction suggest that Heaven requires us to give something up; it is no small thing. What we might say we are asked to give up is our human nature. For Semyon's Siberian Heaven we must abandon all the wants that we have in this world. For Lewis's Heaven we must abandon our sense that things are our own. For Macdonald a man must give every last farthing until his personal resources are nothing. After this thorough giving up of our nature we then begin anew, we can start afresh, we can be transformed into beings of a different sort, suited to life in Heaven. That new life will belong not to natural beings but to supernatural beings. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of these images of Heaven, they drive us to think about the supernatural. One of Lewis's Bright Spirits tells the Episcopal Ghost that 21 �this is the question, "The one question on which all turned: whether after all the Supernatural might not in fact occur?" (Lewis, p.37). What is the value and the intelligibility of the idea of the supernatural? The supernatural cannot just be another phusis above or alongside the one with which we are already familiar. That would tum out just to be the idea of our world extended to other senses and capacities. Heaven could thought of as such a place outside of the range of our powers of access, operating according to a nature or set of natures different from those we know. Such a Heaven would be an unknown for us. We could not want it. But conceptually it would just be another realm of nature waiting to be discovered and revealed. Perhaps a more adequate idea of the supernatural is to think of it as the breaking or abolishing of nature and natures. (One might recall here the breaking of words in Chekhov's story). A supernatural Heaven thought of as a place without natures could seem on the surface to be familiar to us. We may be capable of being aware of things, but withoutnatures could we have senses that add adjectives to things such as a sense of vision that sees a bare or hollow bank? The things of such a supernatural situation might have individual names, but could they belong to intelligible classes? But do we need intelligible classes in order to act and to live? We might need such things if we tried to live by the guidance of our human capacities alone. But what if we were given guidance, orders, from something beyond the human? At the beginning of George Macdonald's sermon, "The Last Farthing," Macdonald says, "There is a thing wonderful and admirable in the parables, not readily grasped, but specially indicated by the Lord himself- their unintelligibility to the mere intellect. They are addressed to the conscience and not to the 22 �intellect, to the will and not to the imagination. They are strong and direct but not definite. They are not meant to explain anything, but to rouse a man to the feeling, 'I am not what I ought to be, I do not the thing I ought to do!'" Perhaps the idea of heaven is like this too. As such it is not exactly friendly to the intellect. It denies authority to the intellect to judge and it resists the attempt even to be apprehended by the intellect. In reading these fictional accounts I have been driven to seek an idea of Heaven that is genuinely an idea of the supernatural. The difficulty of achieving such an idea might be illustrated by the difficulty of assessing the ending of Chekhov's "In Exile." The door to the hut is blown open by the wind. Is this wind a humdrum aspect of the natural world, not deserving any special interest? Or is this wind a symbol or a message from the unseen and unseeable supernatural forces that prevail in the world? Is the failure to get up and close the door a proper, albeit unexpectedly proper, heavenly repose? Is it an acceptance, to our surprise, of the empty cold that belongs to Heaven? Or is it a sad pointer to the defeated and depleted lassitude that is the human truth behind Semyon's want nothing attitude? Is there a clue in the Chekhov's negative phrasing of the last word? He does not write that the door remained open, he writes that it remained "unclosed." 23 � 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. For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a>. Click on <a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection. A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple 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 Grenke, Michael W. Title A name given to the resource What will heaven be like? Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2013-01-18 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on January 18, 2013 by Michael Grenke 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 Heaven in literature Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 80676 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/28">Audio recording</a> Friday night lecture Tutors