1 20 453 https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b633069f0d5f0635203c8ee6df3499e0.mp3 98e68b365986b7705dc4a452a1e5d3af Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 wav Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:50:20 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Horses of Achilles Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 9, 2016 by Robert Charles Abbott, Jr. as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Abbott, Robert Charles, Jr. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2016-09-09 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Abbott_Robert_2016-09-09 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1139">Typescript</a> Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/d54631506289d9a51f59be2922391da5.pdf b8980e4108eb2b058d456bb17fce181b PDF Text Text THE HORSES OF ACHILLES At the end of the Nineteenth Book of the Iliad, Achilles readies himself to avenge the death of Patrocles. He puts on the armor of Hephaestus, mounts the chariot behind his two immortal horses, and calls on them in a terrible voice: Xanthos and Balios, far-famed sons of Podarge! Take care to return your charioteer in another way to the company of the Danaans once we quit the field: do not leave me there dead, as you did Patrocles. The goddess Hera then gives one of the horses a prodigious, an unheard of gift: the power to speak. Xanthos claims he and his brother, Balios, were not to blame for the death of Patrocles, and though they will bring Achilles safely home this time, his death is not far off. The Furies take back Xanthos’ voice as quickly as it was given. Achilles is deeply shaken by this ominous reply to his insult, but states his intention to return to the war, and drives the chariot on. Xanthos never speaks before this, nor does he or any other animal in the Iliad ever do so again. In order to understand the significance of this momentary suspension in the rule of the cosmos we must acquaint ourselves with the nature of those horses who participated in the Trojan War and the deathless horses of Achilles in particular. Not being an expert in horsemanship myself, I will permit a few others to guide us, chief among them Xenophon, the Athenian soldier and friend of Socrates. The lecture is in five parts. Part One: The Horses The horses of the Iliad, unlike the dogs who lurk at its edges, are full participants in the war. Just like human warriors, they are sensitive to boredom, terror, and honor, though they perceive each in their own equine way. When the Trojans have taken the field, and their campfires are scattered across it, innumerable and brilliant as the stars, their horses watch through the endless hours of night for the return of dawn, just as their masters do (VIII.564). Horses, also like men, can be more or less used to war, as when the newly arrived Thracian horses are too frightened to walk on the bodies of their masters. And horses, like men, are capable of overcoming even great weariness and reluctance when persuaded. Antilochus delivers himself of a complicated speech in the midst of the chariot race at the end of the poem, calling on his horses with a rhetorical sophistication we might think appropriate only for human listeners, though he demonstrates thereby the close bond between warriors and horses, and their sensitivity to honor (XXIII.400). A fast horse is life. As it did for Nestor, a chariot can rescue the exhausted hero and carry him to safety (VIII.85). It can also take him where he is needed most. From the height of the chariot a spear can be thrown or a comrade spotted (IV.306). Not to have one’s horses nearby can mean death, as it did for Agastrophos, whom Homer calls a fool for leaving his chariot team with a henchman (XI.340). Dolon, the impetuous Trojan spy, names the horses of Achilles as the high price for his dangerous night raid into the Greek camp (X.320). He does not acquire them, and the book ends with Odysseus and Diomedes �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 stealing the horses of King Rhesus, an ally of the Trojans. This strategically unimportant and morally questionable raid is a symbolic journey into the dark underworld of the battle to steal something as precious as daylight—hope for the successful outcome of the war. It is as if the theft of these snow-white horses secures the sunrise, and the book ends with the bloody, triumphant heroes bathing in the dawn-drenched waters of the sea. The horses of Achilles did not always belong to him. Poseidon gave them to his father, Peleus, and he gave them to Achilles when he sailed for Troy. Their father is Zephyrus—the West Wind, and their mother, Podarge—a harpy (XVI.148). The harpies, or more literally, “Snatchers,” are winged spirits of the storm, blamed for sudden or unexplained disappearances. Zephyrus by contrast, is the obliging wind who comes at Achilles’ request to kindle the funeral pyre of Patrocles. As with many mythological pairings, these progenitors are opposites but akin: Zephyrus generously comes from afar to help hide the body of Patrocles in fire, Podarge makes mortals disappear with ill will. The horses are as swift as their parents, though their names do not reveal this extraordinary inheritance. Xanthos and Balios refer simply to the color of their coats: Bay and Dapple. The chariot of Achilles is also drawn by a third horse, Pedasos, who is mortal. His name is revealing. It is probably derived from the verb πεδάω, to bind with fetters, and Pedasos would mean something like, “Fettered,” or more figuratively, “Trained.” One also hears the verb πηδάω in his name, which means, to leap or bound. Both these meanings are revelatory of his own duel nature: he is bound to the earth by his mortality, but he rises above his natural station to run with the immortal horses. Pedasos is killed by a spear which pierces his shoulder, and Automedon hurriedly cuts him free from the chariot in the chaos of battle. His is a harbinger of Patrocles’ own death, a mortal severed from godlike Achilles. When Pedasos dies, he screams, and just like any of the other heroes in the Iliad, blows his life’s breath from his mouth. No horse can be handled without skill, but the immortal horses require an altogether formidable rider. Just as a great hero like Achilles is jealous of his freedom to act as he sees fit, inflexibly proud of his peerless excellence, and easily offended by discourtesy, there is something correspondingly perilous in the temperaments of Xanthos and Balios. Odysseus and Apollo agree they are, “difficult horses to ride” (X.401, XVII.76). And being difficult is not the same as being wild or unbroken. A certain kind of horse might well refuse to be ridden by an inferior rider, just as a certain kind of person might refuse to be commanded by an inferior king. There are other similarities between Achilles and his horses besides their prideful unwillingness to be led by any but the most excellent guides. Both are accounted in the catalogue of ships to be the best among the Greeks (II.770). When Achilles finally returns to the field of battle, he attains the cosmic proportions this ranking promised: his eyes burn like fire, he shines like the madness-inducing Dog Star, his shield depicts the entire earth, and he is drawn by immortal horses, swift as the wind. By this time in the poem, Pedasos and Patrocles are dead; nothing remains to remind him of his human heritage, only Xanthos’ prophecy of his imminent death. The likeness between Achilles and the immortal horses is in no way better exemplified than at the funerary games. Neither participates. They stand apart and mourn. 2 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 Part Two: The Charioteer The immortal horses are more difficult to ride than any other, though it is not to Achilles their mastery belongs, but rather, to Patrocles (XVII.475). He is their beloved charioteer (ἡνίοχος), a word which applies peculiarly to him, the greatest charioteer for the greatest warrior (XXIII.280). Achilles, while watching the funeral games, remembers him this way: But I stay here at the side, and my single-foot horses stay with me; such is the high glory of the charioteer they have lost, the gentle one, who so many times anointed their manes with soft olive oil, after he had washed them in shining water. As Pandaros says to Aeneas, horses carry better the horseman they know best (V.230). “To know” in this sense entails profound trust and understanding. He goes on to say it is the longed for voice of the charioteer that calms the terror battle brings on, not the rider’s skill with the mechanical apparatus of the chariot. Hector speaks to his own horses with this intent to calm and encourage. He asks they repay in battle all the care his wife, Andromache, gave them in peace (VIII.185). There is a likeness between Hector’s speech and Achilles’ insult: Hector demands his horses repay the special kindness Andromache showed them, just as Achilles accuses his horses of unjustly not repaying the kindness of Patrocles. In both addresses Patrocles and Andromache are the horses’ caretakers whose memory should inspire them to excellence. This is not the only time Patrocles has been implicitly compared to a woman. In Book Nine, Phoenix tells Achilles an only apparently rambling story meant to convince him to return to the battle before the Greeks are driven into the sea. It becomes clear he is not primarily addressing Achilles. Patrocles’ name means “glory of the father,” and the wife of the angry, recalcitrant hero in Phoenix’s story is Kleopatra, its feminine equivalent. In the story, Kleopatra is the only person who can persuade her husband, Meleager, to give up his anger and save the city, just as Patrocles might be the only person who can convince Achilles to save the Greeks. Gentle and masterful charioteer that he is, he might be able to persuade spirited Achilles, just as Kleopatra did her husband. The epithet with which Achilles addresses Patrocles after he has agreed to let him go into battle is ἱπποκέλευθος. This word is used only three times in the Iliad and exclusively to characterize Patrocles. It distinguishes his horsemanship from the Trojans’, who are often referred to as ἱπποδάμοιων, “breakers of horses.” Ἱππόδαμος is derived from the word for horse, ἳππος, and the verb δαμάζω, which means “to break in, tame; (in mid.) to control (horses); to bring into subjection (political or matrimonial); to wear out or exhaust; to curb or restrain; to overcome, overpower, to put an end to, to destroy.” Although the lexicon suggests this wide-ranging word means something like “bring into order” when it refers to horses, in its broader sense it hints at the forceful means by which this is accomplished, as well as the permanent circumstances which ensure the obedience of the horse. The Trojans do have their horses under control, but rather in the way Xerxes controls his army: always under threat of the lash. Patrocles’ epithet, ἱπποκέλευθος on the other hand, has a very different range of meaning. Its root appears to be κέλευθος, which means “way, road, or path,” and so one Homeric lexicon defines ἱπποκέλευθος as “one who fares with horses,” while another suggests, “making the road on a chariot, chariot-fighter.” Lattimore translates it as “rider of 3 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 horses,” and “lord of horses,” the latter of which nicely captures a verbal echo from the verb κελεῦω, which has the primary meaning, “to command persons, order, bid, enjoin, give orders or injunctions.” Secondarily, it means “to bid, exhort, charge, urge, recommend, counsel, invite.” These two resonances in his epithet—κέλευθος and κελεῦω—imply that Patrocles’ relationship to horses is not one of breaking them to his will, but rather, of commanding them, as one might command a fellow warrior capable of understanding and assent. In his horsemanship, the horse is taken to be a thinking being capable of persuasion and with which one can go somewhere together. Patrocles is ἱπποκέλευθος because he follows the way of the horse. In the Trojan epithet, ἱππόδαμος, the horse always remains a potential enemy, defeated, never moving beyond its subjection. I will turn to Xenophon and a few other horse trainers to show that this difference—between force and persuasion—is a fundamental concept in horse training, and that anyone who would fare with horses must make a decision regarding it. The distinction reaches to the depths of the conflict portrayed in the Iliad. While Xenophon recommends many means of training the horse one might call forceful, he is very clear, the final end of horsemanship is for the horse to act always of its own free will. He means this to be true most of all when the horse is asked to do more dangerous things than it would ever do in the wild. This is a simple but difficult thought to accept. How can a rider ride a horse unless it is the rider’s will which rules? Here is Xenophon in his own words: For what a horse does under constraint, […] he does without understanding, and with no more grace than a dancer would show if he was whipped and goaded. Under such treatment horse and man alike will do much more that is ugly than graceful. No, a horse must make the most graceful and brilliant appearance in all respects of his own will with the help of aids. (The Art of Horsemanship XI.4) A more modern inheritor of Xenophon’s tradition writes, “The thing you are trying to help the horse do is to use his own mind. You are trying to present something and then let him figure out how to get there.” That was the trainer Tom Dorrance on horsemanship, or, perhaps, on education generally. Dorrance also talks about those riders who don’t “get in the way of” their horse (p. 17, True Unity: Willing Communication between Horse and Human). According to these teachers, true horsemanship is not forcing the horse to act, but rather, allowing the horse to do what he or she is capable of and wills for itself. “You need to be the horse’s master, but him not the slave, but rather your willing partner.” (p. 51, Dorrance) Dorrance sums up the relationship between horse and rider as a “true unity of willing communication,” and later, to be clear he is not describing a monstrous melding of horse and man, he calls this state of unity, “togetherness.” (p. 11, Dorrance) We can properly estimate the horsemanship of Patrocles by noting what it enables him to do with the horses. It is not always true that actions are revelatory of the powers which enabled them. Mere force, after all, can induce great and terrible effects all on its own. But in this case, the action in question is so extraordinary that we can look to it as a true indication of his skill. In order to understand its significance, we must remember the precarious situation the Greeks find themselves in without Achilles. Nestor proposes a plan to make up for his absence. First, they will gather and bury their dead in a collective funeral pyre. Then they will construct a wall, fronted by a moat, lined with wooden stakes meant to impede and impale the expected Trojan assault. The project will transform the Greeks’ 4 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 piratical encampment into a more permanently defensible fort, but also anchor them even more firmly in their defensive position. The buried warriors are meant to protect them from their enemies just as much as the wall and moat (VII.327). One might recall the body of Oedipus buried at Colonus to defend Athens from invasion, or the Spartan theft of Orestes’ bones to ensure their conquest of Arcadia (Herodotus, Inquiries I.67). The Greek encampment is founded on and preoccupied with the dead, the dark, and past grievances; Troy is the city of life, and the forgetful forgiveness of Paris’ calamitous theft of Helen; it is the city of Apollo. In the twilight between Greek darkness and Trojan light lies the plain of war, the place of heroic action. When Patrocles finally rides out in defense of his comrades, he turns the tide of the battle and drives the Trojan flood back into this plain. Many are crushed in the panicked retreat or trapped in the dust-choked ditch. Patrocles drives the horses straight towards this grisly chasm, heedless of the danger, and vaults it in one death-defying spring (XVI.380). Xenophon says in The Cavalry Commander, if it is true a man should wish to fly, then he should learn to ride a horse, as it is that activity which most closely resembles it (viii.6). This astonishing physical feat is itself only a mark of an even greater spiritual one. The leap of Patrocles affirms that though human life may only be safe behind a barrier founded on the memory of those who have gone before us, it is possible to leap into the living present and act. While the leap shows us what Patrocles and the horses were capable of, their reaction to his death reveals the great love which made it possible. Part Three: The Grave After the horses hear Patrocles has been killed, they stand still as gravestones and weep. The verb (πυθέσθην, from πεύθομαι, XVII.427) emphasizes that they do not simply witness, but hear of and understand what has happened. Patrocles᾽ death is described elliptically. He falls “in the dust,” (ἐν κονίῃσι) and the horses mimic his collapse by trailing the full length of their manes in the muck of the battlefield. Their desecration of themselves anticipates the fate of his dead body, soon to be returned to the earth. The horses bow their heads to the earth, their tears flow to the ground, and they stand fixed (ἔμπεδον) as a gravestone. “Ἔμπεδον” recalls the name, Pedasos, the mortal horse whose name means “fettered,” or as we might hear it now, “earthbound.” Without Patrocles to guide them, the immortal horses are rooted to the earth, like their dead comrade. The horses are compared to a gravestone not only because they are still, but because their immobility means something, in the way a gravestone does. It means they have lost, or are willing to give up, that essential part of themselves—their speed—out of love for Patrocles. Rather than run away from his death, in body or in mind, they remain with him. The word for remain here, μένει, might remind us of the link Socrates makes between “remaining” and “remembering” in the Meno. The heroes of the Iliad long for immortality in the form of undying fame and they fear forgetful oblivion. When the carnage Achilles wreaks is so great the river Scamander rises from his bed in indignation, Achilles fears not only he will drown, but that he will be forgotten in the depths without a fixed grave marker to remember him by (XXI.315). Patrocles will not be so forgotten. Homer’s simile makes the horses’ eloquent immobility his memorial. Homer notes that the grave in the simile is for either a lord or a lady. This seemingly inexplicable addition suggests the horses mourn Patrocles as if he were both man and woman, which is appropriate, given his dual nature. On the one hand, he is the horses’ 5 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 gentle charioteer, he sets the bread on the table when the embassy comes to persuade Achilles, he comforts Briseis when she is first brought to the Greek camp, and he is compared to Andromache and Kleopatra. On the other hand, he is a great warrior, eager for glory, the best of the Myrmidons. He kills more warriors in the field than anyone else in the poem, more than Achilles and Hector combined. The grave of Patrocles is the grave of mankind, without regard for gender. One might think after hearing their careless laughter at the end of Book One the immortals have no cause to mourn, but we see this is not so. Zeus himself weeps tears of blood when his son Sarpedon dies, and the mourning of the horses gives the king of the gods another occasion to contemplate the sorrow of immortality (XVI.459). He asks himself: why did we give you to a mortal man, the most wretched creature on earth? Their mourning shows that the immortal horses were not made to serve mortals unwillingly, as Poseidon and Apollo served King Laomedon in building the walls of Troy (VII.445). Rather, the horses mourn Patrocles for the same reason Zeus mourned Sarpedon: they have lost, he whom they loved. The horses refuse to leave Patrocles’ body. Automedon uses every kind of persuasion: he beats them, he threatens them with a sharp whip, and he pleads with them. Their refusal is both a testament to their love as well as an indication that the bond which permitted the great leap over the barrier does not yet extend to Automedon. The epithet ἱπποκέλευθος implied that the horsemanship of Patrocles depended on persuasion and willing assent. Without it, the horses are not moved by words, either threatening or pleasing, nor can they be forced from their place. Their power cannot be harnessed by a mere breaker of horses. Hector notices the famous team standing by the body of Patrocles and hopes to add them to the spoil of Achilles’ armor. Zeus emphatically denies him this. Rather than force them to return to the ships, however, he puts great strength into their knees so they are themselves able to overcome their grief and rescue Automedon. When Xanthus and his brother later stand accused of desertion, he does not tell Achilles it was Zeus who aided them or that their first reaction to his death was to stay and weep for Patrocles. But we know that the true reason they left the battlefield was because Zeus gave them the strength to, just as we know that the true cause of their staying was their love for Patrocles. Part Four: Justice We are now in a position to appreciate the depth of Achilles’ insult I recounted at the beginning of this lecture. His scornful request that the horses make sure to return him safely back to camp as they did not do for Patrocles insinuates, that when he needed them most, they failed in their trust. It is as if Achilles sees in their desertion a bitter reminder of his own abandonment of the army. Without Patrocles, Achilles does not believe in the willing compliance of the horses, or his power to persuade them. His command is undermined by its irony: if the horses abandoned Patrocles, why should they not abandon him as well? The seriousness of his insult catches the attention of an equally serious power in the cosmos. That it is the queen of the gods who gives Xanthos the power to speak marks this occasion as significant in more than the world of horsemanship. Whenever a god acts in the way Hera does here, their sphere of responsibility has been violated. And a god always and tirelessly protects that for which it is responsible. Hera gives Xanthos the power to speak 6 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 so he can correct Achilles’ unjust insult. Why this should be any of Hera’s concern is made clearer by looking to the sorts of things that move her to anger and to action. Hera is the last word of Book One, just as anger is its first. This is an ominous intimation of her violent and vocal opposition to the will of Zeus. She is the goddess of the “reckless word” (VIII.210, 461), and—like Achilles—is often angry. Unlike Athena, she cannot control her rage, but pours it out in speech. (IV.25) She urges Achilles to call the many-voiced assembly in Book One. She does this not only to save her warriors from the arrows of Apollo, but also because of her care for that aspect of just redress which calls for an accusation to be heard in public. The first and barest aspect of all justice, including its cruder form in vengeance, is the vocalization “No!” The first word of the Iliad is μῆνιν— wrath, but the first sound—and the Iliad is a poem one is meant to hear—the first sound is μή—the negative particle of refusal—no, I will not. The Iliad is replete with negation: Agamemnon says no, I will not return your daughter; Helen says no, I will not go to bed with him yet again; Achilles says no, I will not fight. Without the power to protest what has been said or done, there can be no balanced reconsideration, no appeal to what should have been, and no fair judgment. The Iliad, by beginning with the momentary vocalization, “No!” indicates it is a poem with justice, and the possibility for justice, at its heart. Xanthos’ decisive “no” gives a sharp correction to Achilles’ insult, and although it cannot reestablish that harmony of horse and rider which existed prior to the death of Patrocles, his speech does make clear the parameters within which the horses are acting. Xanthos states that not they but the gods and fate were the causes (ἄιτιοι) of Patrocles’ death, and thereby indicates that one of Patrocles’ killers is the god Apollo and beyond Achilles’ reach. Xanthos also says it was not through slowness or irresponsibility he and his brother failed to return their charioteer; they were both capable and willing. Achilles should not blame the instruments available to him but look to the true causes. Achilles addresses the horses as “famed sons of the harpy Podarge,” but Xanthos boasts that he and his brother could run with the West Wind, their more benevolent father. The supplemented genealogy reminds Achilles that the horses do more than bring death, they can rescue their rider as well. Their speed is an image of their immortality, which they can momentarily share with the charioteer they carry. Immediately after his boast, Xanthos says, but you (αλλά τοι) are destined to be overpowered by a god and a man, as if to say that even swift Achilles will one day be outrun by death. The phrase Homer uses for “overpowered” is ἶφι δαμῆναι, “overmastered by force,” and cannot but recall the epithet ἱππόδαμος, “horse-breaker,” which shares a root, δαμαζω. The horses are too swift to be mastered, but Achilles will fall prey to force and to death. What the content of Xanthos’ speech reveals is that the immortal horses could not have been forced to do anything. Their love for Patrocles was not hampered by indecision, laziness, poor-timing, weakness, ignorance, or any of the vices which usually keep us from living up to our noblest form. And the highest form of horsemanship demands that we believe the horse is in every way capable of and willing to attain the perfection proper to it. Achilles fails to believe this myth. What he assumes, instead, when he insults the horses, is that they did not wish to save Patrocles, that their bond of willing communication was a pretense which shattered at his death. He fails to believe there was anything more than force at work between them, so when the wielder of that force died, the horses deserted him. What the fact of Xanthos’ speech reveals to Achilles is that it was not simply force which guided the horses, but an unbroken, silent communication between horse and charioteer. The horses have always been able to speak, but only to the right listener. It took Hera’s gift 7 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 to make their voices discernible to Achilles, and to us. This is the meaning of her gift: it is not a magical or supernatural event, except in so far as it is the revelation of a deep truth. Hera gives Xanthos the power to speak, but it is the Furies who take it away again just as suddenly. This makes some immediate sense: a speaking animal is outside the bounds of nature. But the Furies are more than guardians of order simply. If we can see what their sphere of responsibility is in the poem, we can explain why they take Xanthos’ voice. But saying they “take” it is misleading. Rather, Hera and the Furies appear on the scene to protect that for which they are responsible, and they work together to repair the damage done by Achilles’ insult. We know three chief characteristics of the Furies. First, in Book Fifteen we learn they side with the elder, even among the gods (XV.205). This includes not only the elder born among siblings, but parents; in other words, they side with who or what came first, or, put in another way, they side with chronological origins, not consequences, often to the detriment of who or what follows from them. Phoenix is punished by the Furies for sleeping with his father’s favorite concubine and thereby dishonoring him (IX.455) and Athena claims the Furies punish Ares for opposing his mother’s will by assisting the Trojans (XXI.410). The Furies also punish those who break oaths, that is, those who act as if their own past promises do not matter in the future (III.278). Finally, we know the special responsibility of the Furies is to avenge the dead, those who by virtue of fully existing only in the past can no longer effect the justice due them in the present (XIX.260). In this way, the Furies are, like Hera, deeply concerned with justice—the way things should be—which can only be achieved by remembering distant origins in the present. The special responsibility of the Furies is the honoring of the past in the present, and they punish those crimes which might disrupt that orderly reverence. The Furies permit Xanthos to speak because the kind of crime he is accused of would, if he were guilty of it, demand their punishment. Achilles’ insult has, as it were, called them up from Hell by claiming that Xanthos and his brother carelessly forgot their bond with Patrocles and left him behind on the battlefield. The truth, rather, is they remained with him in mind and body (μένει), and the essence of their relationship with him in life was an active holding together of origin and consequence, command and response. The horses were mindful of Patrocles, as he was of them. An audible voice is superfluous in such a subtle relationship, so the Furies take it away to return Xanthos to his true nature. Part Five: The Soul In Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates says the soul is like a chariot drawn by two horses— one, beautiful and high-minded, the other, passionate and dark. They are led by a charioteer, whose difficult task it is to put these hostile comrades through their psychic paces. Like Plato, Homer also gives us images of human life constructed out of chariots and horses. It is these images and not their explication we should remember. I have given you one possible explication, and only of a single moment, but the living jewel that is the poem can be turned and seen in a different light. Achilles the warrior, Patrocles the charioteer, immortal Xanthos and Balios, and mortal Pedasos: they make up an image of the mortal and immortal bound in friendship—the single-footed, discontinuous thunder of the horses’ hooves harmonizing with the swift, never-ending revolution of the chariot’s wheels. Like Plato’s, this image evolves. The great leap over the trench becomes the perfect stillness of the mourning horses; the quiet horsemanship of Patrocles gives way to Achilles’ wrathful 8 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 accusation. And the nightmare image of immortal horses dragging a dead human around the walls of a sacred city shows a form of life in which Wrath has triumphed and immortal beings are made to dishonor the shameful weakness of the mortal body. How are we to understand the immortal horses as elements of an image portraying the human condition? In other words, what are they to us? The field of Troy is far away and we no longer hear the voices of the gods whispering over our shoulders, so it may surprise you to learn there are now in your possession, powers very much like the immortal horses of Achilles. They were given to you, in one way, by your parents, and in a more mysterious way, by the gods. They are immortal in the sense that they currently belong to you, but they recur infinitely in other beings, indifferent to your specific quiddity—what makes you you. They have a life of their own which will persist long after you have ceased to be. We do not each possess all of them, though among humans, the inheritance is usually the same for each of us. Over the ages they have taken various forms, been given many names, and been counted in different ways: Vision, Touch, the Powers to Move and to Remain, the Power to Make Another Like Yourself. These are only a few of those who stand in the Pantheon, though Aristotle insisted that for all their apparent diversity they are united by one underlying name and desire—soul. The greatest of all the powers he named νοῦς, or Mind—the power to remake yourself in the image of the world and thereby know it. It is true there is no perfectly convincing reason I can give you to think of these powers as divine gifts—immortal, difficult to master, and not entirely under your control. It would appear, after all, that you can command these willing servants as you like. They can be made to turn this way and that, to carry you out of danger, to take you where you want to go. But perhaps after considering the horsemanship of Patrocles and the mistake of Achilles, you may reconsider your presumption to think of them as mere instruments and see them as powers in their own right. You may also remember that these gifts were not given to you whole and entire, but their use had to be learned through practice, though it is very easy to forget with what care your mother and father taught you to master the art of standing, or the long, dark millennia Nature required to train matter into the intricate shape of an eye. These gifts call for our respect, even our awe, though you may answer that call how you like. Ἱπποκέλευθος Πάτροκλος answered his horses in a particular way and leapt the barrier between life and death. There was a harmony between them which hummed along the web of harness and reins, yoke, bridle, and bit. It was not a conversation you could hear, but it was a physical manifestation of the λόγος. One of the purposes of your education here is to train those powers you have been given. They have a logic of their own which you learn to understand and develop. Seeing, after all, is not as easy as opening your eyes, and thinking may not be simply putting two and two together. One might well grow nervous when someone takes mastery to be an educational touchstone, especially at a college where lectures are by no means the rule. But staying undecided on the role of true authority risks two serious mistakes—and by true authority I mean the kind demonstrated in Patrocles’ horsemanship. The first mistake is simply not to like authority-talk at all. But this is a tacit denial of one of the most fundamental features of human experience: the astonishing way cause leads to effect, as it so evidently does in our universe. Time and again, collision determines trajectory, seed blossoms into flower, and conclusion follows flawlessly upon premise. How do we explain these cosmic concatenations without first acknowledging that one thing leads another? Another way to go wrong in thinking about authority is to go so far as to decide it is such a good in itself 9 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 that the whole purpose of education is to subject all one’s powers to the sovereign self. Sometimes this is mistakenly called freedom. But to what end does the self have all these gifts at its disposal? Authority alone cannot decide what to do with its powers; it must consult the powers themselves for direction. Education enables us to acquaint ourselves with those we possess, to understand their purposes and the way they strengthen or interfere with each other, and to give them rein to act. It may not be immediately clear to you what would be different if you believed that the everyday activities of your existence—eating, looking around, picking things up, tracing the shape of a magnolia leaf, perhaps—were manifestations of immortal powers given into your temporary care. And, of course, I cannot, and would not be interested in convincing you this is necessarily the case. For one thing, the mere shift in your intellectual commitments would not be enough. You would have to live with the myth, forge a bond entirely your own in the intermediate space between you and those immortal powers you’ve been given. That space between is where you cultivate what is uniquely you. Patrocles lives with the myth that the horses are immortal: the cultivation of his unique bond with them is based on it. I call it a myth not to disparage it, but to indicate its power to change your life merely by thinking about it. That is what a myth is: a story you live with, and by letting it repattern your life, a story you live in. As far as he knows, Hector has mortal horses; no one could convince him otherwise. His myth is different, diminished, and because of its limitations, he is unable to do with his horses what Patrocles could. The last word of the Iliad is a now familiar epithet, there used of Hector, ἰππόδαμος. Hector is a supreme breaker of horses, but when his chariot approaches the black maw which separates the Greek camp from the Trojan plain, his horses start back in fear, and even though there are four of them to Patrocles’ three, they are unable to leap its terrifying distance (XII.50). There is no explicit mention in the Iliad of the defeat of Troy by the Trojan horse—it is, after all, an Odyssean ruse which wins the war—but the failure of Hector’s horses to leap the gulf intimates that in spite of their celebrated horsemanship, a horse will be the downfall of the Trojans. Apart from a clever trick, what does the image of the wooden horse tell us about the nature of the Trojan failure? We could say the Trojans were deceived by the Greeks, or, that they did not understand what they were seeing. Their deception was in truth a failure of horsemanship: they did not see those powers Wisdom had hidden within the horse. The excellence of the horses of Achilles is that they need not fear death. They can outrun it or leap over it. But we, in the end, cannot. Like Pedasos, one day we will each take a spear to the shoulder and trade our life away. I believe it is a good thing for mortals to hate death. As a wise person once said, it is by the strength of the soul’s desire for immortality—for deathlessness—that its health is measured. Immortality is just another way of saying, being there for it, always, and perfectly. What would Achilles give to be there in the light of the sun for one more day? —to watch it touch the world, touch the faces of those he loved? We hear in the Odyssey he would give a great deal, perhaps more than he can afford to and still remain himself. The desire to remain in the delineating light of day is not only for the sake of remaining with others, but for remaining our selves. Self-preservation, no matter how coarsely interpreted, is the spirit’s insistence on the integrity of those clear boundaries of flesh and blood which outline animal individuality against the indeterminate many. What are the immortal powers Aristotle enumerates but manifestations of the soul’s desire to become and be forever itself, immortal and ageless? 10 �The Horses of Achilles St. John’s College Robert C. Abbott Jr. September 9th, 2016 So it is good to desire immortality and to shun death. But Socrates suggests in the Phaedo it is wise, though very difficult, to learn the art of dying well; that is, to yoke and then unyoke, when the time comes, the mortal and the immortal parts of us. In a Homeric formulation, we should learn to put the reins of the immortal horses into the hands of Patrocles. One of the immortal gifts given to us is the power to speak, and this is perhaps the most difficult gift to accept, as we often identify our voice as uniquely and always our own. Your voice is what you try to develop in writing or find through political participation. But the opening line of the Iliad reminds us that in its highest form, language speaks through us. Ἄειδε θεά! Sing, Muse! Language is never simply a personal expression; if it were, we would not know what each other was saying or care we were trying to say it. This does not mean Homer or we never say what we mean, only that meaning is difficult to achieve. Your voice is what your breath becomes when you mean something by it, and it takes time and mastery to effect the full transformation from living life to meaning it. The alchemical conversion of your breath into your voice is implicit in the Homeric word ψυχή. Ψυχή is that warm, feather-light quickening at your nose and mouth, a mortal incarnation of the bright, endless air which spills down from Olympus into the mortal world. We say it means life’s-breath or soul. It is what flies out of the mouth or a spear wound at death, never to return. There is, though, a way for it to leave the human body behind without killing it. Speaking transforms the soul—gives it wings—so it may leap safely past that most animal and mortal part of us—the sharp barrier of our teeth—and in some proximate way, as the Voice, experience an immortality and fellowship known only to the gods. 11 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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. 11 pages Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Horses of Achilles Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 9, 2016 by Robert Charles Abbott, Jr. as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Abbott, Robert Charles, Jr. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2016-09-09 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource text Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1078">Audio recording</a> Language A language of the resource English Greek Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Abbott_Robert_2016-09-09_Typescript Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ce0f82dc2f1d45c0048175d2f31da18f.mp3 58e3ccbff00e96ba0f7614ffe2920498 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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.) 01:14:02 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Music: The Representative Liberal Art Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 2, 1988, by Wye Allanbrook and Eva Brann as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Brann, Eva T. H. Allanbrook, Wye Jamison Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-09-02 Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Subject The topic of the resource Education, Humanistic Music Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Allanbrook_Wye_1988-09-02_ac Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/7971">Typescript</a> Deans Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/e188ef7223c15d8d3988569b2b9fd950.pdf cc6524226b152e5ea567b220e54df5dc PDF Text Text Music: The Representative Liberal Art Dean's Lecture, Friday, September 2, 1988 Wendy Allanbrook - Eva Brann I. fn General (Eva Brann) There is an old tradition concerning this, the first lecture of the new year of learning. It is supposed to be dedicated particularly to the freshmen among us. The others, upper-class students and tutors, are not supposed to mind if they hear things not entirely fresh to them. This is an occasion for talking straight and being explicit about what this community, which the freshmen r..ave newly entered, is like. Consider that phrase, "what St. John's is like." It is part of our pride and of our anxiety that this college is not like any other. And yet we intend it to be like something, namely as much as possible like the idea for teaching and learning it embodies, the Program. This program consists almost as much of what we staunchly don't do as of what we do do. So this lecture will be about the Program, about what is in it and what is not. But we have chosen to talk about the program by means of an example. It is what you will soon learn in your Greek tutorial to call a paradigm: how many things work. one pattern which indicates This paradigm is music. However, we want not only to tell but to demonstrate how things are intended to happen here. We hope that as this lecture proceeds it will show, practically, three things: First, that although the program is a firm course of learning, it is also full of live questions and problems which the faculty argues 1 �about. One such current concern is precisely the standing of music and its shadow effect, the absence of the visuai arts. Obviously the program that is will keep you very busy, but it is very likely to rouse in you an occasional interest in the program that isn't and might be. Let me inject a preachment here: Prepare to live a schizophrenic life ("Schizophrenic'' is a Greek word meaning splitminded). On the one hand trust the program to be a thoughtful and experience-laden guide to the studies of your next four years. other hand, hold everybody and everything responsible. On the Ask your tutors now and then--not so often as to become pests who wreck the daily process of learning--why you are doing what you are doing. them respond. Make And reserve the highest respect for those tutors who admit they have no pat answer and begin to think in front of and together with you. As the year goes on you will discover that there is a presence that haunts this campus. It is that of a man called Socrates who said that to carry on in life without asking questions about it is simply insupportable. He will be, as it were, egging you on. The second thing we want to show you is that it is possible to think together. We've all heard a lot of talk about "thinking for oneself," as if anyone could possibly think for us. The miracle is that we can think for ourselves together; it is that strange possibility which makes this school a community of learning.--By the way, I should say right now that such cooperation, too, will become questionable. You will read a text later on this year which will claim that although the friendship of like interests is a wonderful thing, to be totally happy is to be totally wrapped up in thought, 2 �absolutely self-sufficient. But the soul of this school is conversation, which is audible, cooperative thipking. study is not only allowed.--It is encouraged. And common In the question period we can talk--if you like--about the role of competition in this scheme. The third, dependent, effect we want to demonstrate is the really important one. It is that we can approach a subject on very different levels and with very different preparation. I will be talking about music in the widest sense. Mrs. Allanbrook will specify and make concrete some of my broad indications. Moreover, I am a, by now confirmed, amateur of music, while she has a lot of musical learning. My deficit will not, I hope, keep me from making some sense nor will her expertise keep her from reaching some fundamental questions. I am now getting closer to the topic, music, and it is precisely the matter of amateurism which brings me to it. college of amateurs. You have come to a All your tutors will have some expertise, but usually not in the classes in which they are guiding you. In those they will indeed be merely amateurs, which is just French for lovers-lovers of learning, of course. I will tell you what my expertise was, because it will be to the point later on. I was an archaeologist, which is to say, a kind of grass-roots art-historian. I got to sort out sherds of Greek pottery and to reconstruct the pictures on them, often revealing dramatic and sometimes deliciously scandalous goingson. Then I had to put a date to them, which takes close looking. But in music I am an amateur, and thereby hangs a tale important to the program. This program stands under the aegis of an activity called philosophy. In a few weeks you will have learned enough Greek 3 �to know that the word philosophy means "the love of wisdom." Now, the reason it is possible to put a whole school under this aegis is that to engage well in philosophy it is truly sufficient to love the enterprise, just as the first and last entrance requirement for this college is an ardent willingness to be here. There ~. sadly, some people who care very much about philosophical questions and are just not good at talking about them. But they are very rare. Philosophy requires disposition more than talent. It is otherwise with music. It is possible to love music with all one's soul, to live with it and by it and yet to have an uneducated ear, an ear that hears the effects without discerning the elements. Music has this enormous and mysterious power: Whereas one must be literate to love, say, a great novel, it is possible to be entirely enraptured by music and entirely illiterate iri it. It is because music can touch the soul by means of effects which are deeply rational and may yet remain stubbornly unapprehended that music is the hardest part of the Program to teach. Why, then, should it be a part of the Program at all? A good way to begin is with the name. Music is that which belongs to the Muses, nine ancient divinities.--If you transfer to Santa Fe sometime later on you will easily learn their names because the dorms are called after them. These goddesses are in charge of all kinds of human cultivation, epic, lyric, tragic, comic poetry, miming, dancing, even history. astronomy. The grandest of these is Urania, the muse of This fact will figure later on. daughters of Memory. All the Muses are the This fact yields a double inference: arts come to human beings by divine inspiration. 4 First, the And indeed, your �first and second seminar books begin, or very nearly begin, with the words: "Sing, Goddess. . . " and "Tell me, O Muse . . . " arts come to us through tradition or through memory. Note that a third possibility, the one most familiar to us is missing: arts are our own creation. Second, the that the That possibility was not added until the Renaissance, the start of modern times. In the beginning, then, music embraced all the arts. that will preoccupy you in the middle of human cultivation is seen to have two aspects. soul and gymnastics for the body. the place where you go naked. the year, In a book Plato's Republic There is music for the "Gymnasium" is a Greek word meaning So music is for the shapeliness of the soul, and gymnastics is for the candor of the body. However, it turns out in that book, there are even greater things than psychic and physical cultivation. These higher studies are those which later come to be called the liberal arts. They are higher because they do not just cultivate and shape you but because they put you into a relation with the way things are, or, as you will soon learn to say, with Being. One cultivates the arts for pleasure and self-development, but the liberal arts one pursues for the sake of truth. Incidentally, these arts are traditionally called "liberal'' for three reasons. First because they are taught to the free children of politically free parents, second because they liberate these youths from their dogmatic opinion, and third because they are done freely, without money-making in mind. If you look at our college seal you will find there a little ditty on this theme. They are called arts because they are elementary approaches to the elementary subject matters. Today there is much talk about skills vs. subject matter, process vs. product. 5 In the liberal arts there is �no such distinction: Studying the subject and learning the skill are almost completely one. Traditionally these arts, of which there are seven, have been divided into two sets. The lower, and basic, set of three is called the trivium or "three-way." speech: These trivial arts are the arts of grammar, logic, rhetoric. of "trivial" in this school is: Therefore the proper understanding of absolutely fundamental importance. The second set, the quadrivium, or "four-way," contains the arts of reason in nature. The Republic, the work I mentioned above, sets out what these are and how they are to be studied. The four arts-- they happen to be sciences, but sciences liberally learned happen in turn to be arts--are these: arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and a fourth I will mention in a moment. I need not tell you that you have come to a liberal arts college, indeed one of the few in the world where the liberal arts tradition is taken quite literally. Let me show you how much we mean it, how much your day will be dominated by these arts: Morning: Here is the schedule: Trivium, done in the Language Tutorial. Lower Quadrivium in the Mathematics tutorial. Late morning and early afternoon: Upper Quadrivium, done largely in the Laboratory. Late afternoon: Cultivation of the body, done largely in the Gymnasium. Evening: -Let me backtrack here. The Republic not only describes the quadrivium but tells how to study it, namely liberally, philosophically, not for practical purposes nor even as performances, but for the sake of 6 �reflection and insight. there is philosophy. Evening: Beyond the liberal arts and all through them So let me continue: Conversation about books that reflect on the nature of things, done in the Seminar. Night: Continued conversation. On Fridays, a Lecture. Possibly some sleep. And once a week you will come together to sing in Chorus. Now is the moment to come back to the topmost liberal art, in Plato's book, the one I had omitted just now. It is called harmony. The word itself means a fitting-together, a system, and in the narrower sense those fitted tonal structures out of which music is made. For these are a paradigmatic system. So we have come to music as the coping stone of the liberal arts. Why should this Greek author have put music, of all the arts, at the top, with and above the study of the heavens? reasons. I can think of four The first is complementary to the reason why the Greeks assigned a muse, the aforementioned Urania, to astronomy. It is that they thought that the stationary heavens, being organized on the model of a musical scale, were not only a rational but a beautiful system, as they said, a "cosmos," meaning an ornament. The second is that they thought that each moving planet (the Greek word planet means ''wanderer") in its orbit sounds forth a lovely note as it revolves and that all together these make a ravishing harmony. The third has to do with the fact I mentioned earlier on; that the conscious apprehension of music involves the study of number, as the production of musical instruments involves the study of geometry. Leibniz, a philosopher you will study as Juniors, says, that music is the soul's counting. One might say that it is also the ear's measuring. 7 Indeed as you will �d~s~over, there are certain ever-fascinating problems in mathematics to which we pay great attention, and which are spectacularly well exemplified in music. music. The whole quadrivium appears to be assembled in In fact, in a moment I shall claim that it coopts the trivium too. The fourth reason is closely bound to the third: Music is not only a kind of mathematics, but also a wonderfully peculiar kind. might call it "qualitative mathematics." Here is what I mean: One In number theory one does not, on the whole, want to say that some number relations are more agreeable than others. some, very definite, number relations They are called consonances. In music it turns out that ~more agreeable than others. Others make you shudder. For example, the tone that sits exactly between the two C's of our major scale, F# sounds so dreadful when sounded together with C that it is said to belong to the devil. Behind it there lies a simple but scandalous mathematical fact, the fact of so-called irrationality. I mean by qualitative mathematics. mathematics. That is what You could even call it miracle And that is also why we think that something is necessary for studying music that we expect for no other tutorial: some common prior experience. It is . for this reason that you will be going to Chorus in the year before the music tutorial--to have the specific common experience of this rational magic. But now I have committed a sin against logic. I have explained why music is the topmost liberal art without saying how this activity, so specially named after the goddesses of the cultivating arts, comes to be a liberal art at all. and ask rather: Let me attack this question in new terms Why is music traditionally a liberal art when the equally ingenious visual arts are not? 8 I can think of three answers-- �and a fourth, which is more a wonderful problem than an answer. First there is simply more hard music theory than there is art theory. There is, for instance, a physics of music as there has never been a physics of aesthetic color. There is, to be sure, a science of structured space which is analogous to the number theory of wellfi tted notes, namely perspective. But perspective came late into the visual arts and left soon.--It is not as n~cessary to painting as structured numbers are to music (though in fact we used to have in the Program a lovely sequence on perspective as a preliminary to the study of optics). I do not really know why there is more teachable theory of music than there are principles of visual arts. It must be something like the same reason why there are many respectable Sunday painters and very few bearable Sunday composers. Moreover, space has vastly more possibilities of being filled than does time, so that the spatial arts are correspondingly less easily developed from basic elements. This is one of those great questions which I leave dangling before you. Secondly, music has always been known to have a potent influence on bearing and character. You will read several books this year, the Republic among them, which will claim that music--and the dancing that goes with it--is crucial in the shaping of citizens. The ancients do not think, as we tend to do, that music primarily expresses our souls, but rather that it impresses them, stamps them with character. Imagine an unlikely event which will drive the point home: Suppose all children in our democracy were to learn to dance the minuet in kindergarten, to move every day for a year to a slow and stately music in modestly connected couples. Wouldn't America be a different 9 �country? I cannot think of any visual work that would have such an effect--if only because one can close one's eyes but not one's ears. There is also another reason why the visual arts do not impress themselves as directly on the soul as does music which I leave to last. I do, however, except architecture. • Architecture was, incidentally, the one visual art which was at certain times a candidate for being counted among the _liberal arts. Third, music has just the reverse relation to words than have the visual arts. We rightly wince just a little at those people who can't look at a painting in a museum until they have run to look at its title. But we think that is is a part of musical discernment to listen as carefully to the words of a Passion or an Opera as to the music. Pictures displace words, but words and music are meant to go together. Now thinking takes place in words. Consequently the meaning of music must be somehow closer to our thought than the meaning of a painting. How music and words have meaning separately and together is a confounding and enchanting question which you will hear more about tonight. Following my own advice to you earlier on, let me stop here to tell you forthrightly what I think about the presence of music and the absence of the visual arts from the . program. I think that the Greeks, who produced works of visual art, especially of sculpture and architecture, which once very palpably pierced my soul, had deep reasons for including music among the liberal arts while excluding these visual glories. And we in turn have good reason to stay with the liberal arts and, in preserving our integrity, to exclude something very wonderful--exclude it from the Program, I mean, of course, not from the campus. On the campus we should have, and do 10 �have, a lot of opportunities to do and see such art. But even in the Program itself there is sporadic room, for example, in Seminars, Lectures, Study Groups and Preceptorials on the visual arts. Particularly those Preceptorials, the small semi-elective study groups which you will join in your last two years,• are a good place for tutors to offer such studies. the following title: "Greek Temples, Gothic Cathedrals and Mid- Western Grain Elevators." of their own. preaching: I myself would like one day to offer These last have a certain utilitarian glory Here, incidentally, is the moment for yet another Come to the question period! For there you will hear with what passion and reason the contrary argument can be made. And there you yourselves can join in this perennial conversation. Finally, then, there is that fourth distinction between music and the visual arts which I have left to the last because it is the trickiest, most fascinating yet. representative. The visual arts are by and large They re-present , or imitate, a visible object. They convey a likeness, a similarity, an imitation, in such a way that one can find some sort of rough geometric relation--it is of the kind called projective--between, say, a portrait and its sitter or a landscape painting and its natural scene. It is the representative nature of the visual arts that accounts for · the effect I just mentioned, that these arts go to the soul less directly than does music: They require an intermediate recognition. I must tell you that the hottest and most crucial issue in modern esthetic theory is the "representationality" of all the arts in general and the imitative nature of painting in particular. There are people who claim that a cat in one painting and a cathedral in another are more like each 11 �other than a painted cat is like a live cat or a painted cathedral is like a stone cathedral. They think that imitation (or as you will soon learn to say, mimesis) is no factor in what makes a painting a painting. I mention this to show how fascinatingly extreme the arguments about representative art have become. Music, however, appears to have no such diverting problem; on the face of it, music hardly appears to be representational in the projectivai way of paintings. Take your favorite symphonic movement and ask yourself and your new roommate what it represents. surmise. It's an invitation to wild And yet music seems to show so much and mean so much. Here lies a captivating problem, and so begins the specific demonstration . Is music really in no way representational? We will see how we can think about particular pieces of music in the light of this large questions. I have talked about music as a liberal art, and now we will be drawn into its actual and specific pursuit. 12 �II. In Particular (Wendy Allanbrook) If I were again a student, seated in the audience tonight, the question I would be askingis "Why should one want to say that music is representational? Isn't it precisely its non-representational quality that gives music its glory?" This was surely my opinion when I was in college; I remember clearly the day I discovered a learn~d treatise that corroborated it, and spent hours in the stacks of the college library fiercely underlining pregnant passages. I have since lost my original copy of the treatise, a work by an eminent nineteenth-century music critic, Eduard Hanslick, entitled The Beautiful in Music, but I have no difficulty guessing the formulations that pleased me so: for instance, "The ideas which a composer expresses are mainly and primarily of a purely musical nature." [23] or "[Music's] nature is specifically musical .... [Its] beauty is not contingent upon nor in need of any subject introduced from without but ... it consists wholly of sounds artistically combined." [47] It is no longer clear why this notion of musical autonomy was so important to me then, against what heresy I was defending the sweet art. When, later on in my education, I came up against those who would argue the other way, I fought bitterly, and then fell. Often one becomes most passionately interested in pursuing the notions of which one once thought the opposite; I appear before you tonight with the enthusiasm of the converted. I shouldn't play quite so dumb, of course; there is an obvious enemy in question. For example, music that attempts a one-to-one correspondence with natural phenomena we often find ludicrous, and often indeed it is meant to be gently comic; there is something 13 �delightfully fey about those sixteenth-century madrigals that imitate cuckoos, and it is even more fun when, as was intended, you are singing them yourself. Another connection that gives musical repre- sentation a bad name is the one Hanslick seems principally to have been inveighing against: the noti~n of "self-expression," which leads to the vice of musical biography: in this passage Beethoven rails against his deafness, here Mozart mourns his father's passing. These claims are unsupportable, if only because so often our biographical expectations are frustrated. Mozart wrote some of his most sunny and popular music in the period just after the death of his father. Do we accuse him of lack of feeling on this account (some have), or dismiss the connection altogether? There seems to be a common agreement that music exists in another world than the fine arts and those that have to do with speech. One of your tutors, Mr. White, recently gave a lecture in which he discussed ways in which the fine arts and the poetic arts can be said to imitate. His point of departure was a well-known comparison, by the eighteenth-century German critic, G. E. Lessing, between a Greek statue and a passage in Vergil's Aeneid. Both depict the violent death of the Trojan priest Laokoon in the coils of a sea serpent, the one work in stone and the other in metrical speech. The statue, because it must choose only one moment in time for its representation, avoids the harrowing death cry of the priest and depicts a more restrained moment, prior to that of the greatest agony, in order not to become merely ugly or grotesque. The poetry, because it moves through time, can describe the terrible bellow of the priest, the desperate distortion of his features, because one by one it can leave 14 �them all behind. Music, too, is a temporal art, but can you imagine any way of making it the third in this comparison? no commonality at all. man? There seems to be Where do you make out the monster, where the How can we even specify what moment the composer has chosen? Unless the music is explained by a companion text--and this is really a special case--I see no way of talking about the three with the same analytic language. Unlike poems and paintings, the subject of a musical composition cannot be translated into a meaningful proposition. But what do we gain by severing all the connections the art bears to the human sphere? In fact, it was only in the nineteenth century that those who think about music decided to cast her thus adrift. And that came about largely as a development of that novel notion Miss Brann mentioned, that the arts are our own creation. If they are, it is not a giant step to the conviction that they are created anew by every artist, that every work is a personal statement of a private seeing--or hearing--that the audience is privileged to share. Music becomes pure feeling--the art of self-expression, the inner mysteriously made outer, and although this has its attractions, it is not an aesthetic that is supportable for long. No wonder Hanslick was in revolt; one begins to have some fellow-feeling for him. As a result of this legacy, modern philosophers make an extraordinarily vexed question of expression in music. That they use the word "expression'' is in itself indicative, for I suspect that were they to free themselves from the notion of feelings as the sole proper subject matter for music, they might not be so squeamish in their discussions. As one critic recently remarked, we go through 15 �such tortured arguments, and all we get is the freedom to attach the predicate ''sad" to the slow movement of a Beeth6ven Symphony. But other formulations had guided thinking about music for the previous millenia, formulations that more successfully made the connection between human beings and the art of shaping sound in time. Miss Brann mentioned the ancients' belief that music can impress our souls, give them shape. Aristotle, in remarks in the Politics about the importance of music to the education of a citizen, makes specific claims for the depictive qualities of music in its relation to the human soul: Rhythms and melodies especially contain to the true natures of anger and likenesses gentleness, and further of courage and temperance, and of all their opposites, this and of the other moral qualities is clear from its effects, for when we (and hear these things we are changed in our soul.) Aristotle's claim is that music makes "likenesses" of human passions and qualities, to which we naturally respond. Elsewhere, in the Poetics, he calls the poetic and musical arts all "modes of imitation" (mimesis in the Greek)--modes of imitation of human beings in act. Imitation is another degraded word today, for it implies origi- nals out there, of which the artist simply takes a copy, and it is more modern to consider the artist both the origin and the original. But if the original is the ways of human beings in the world, is the whole of God's cosmos, and there are infinitely many ways of taking that copy (I'll call these variations "style"), then the task of imitation seems not degraded, but endless, various, and noble. 16 �The crucial question then becomes, how do we make these musical copies? The answer lies in the qualitative mathematics of which Miss Brann spoke earlier. How does the soul count, the There are two principal ways, I would maintain: ~ measure? the way that number • shapes time--we call that rhythm--and the way that number informs pitch--it's harder to come up with a generic name for that. I hope not to be too provocatively simple when I say that in this counting only two numbers count, namely 2 and 3 (some Renaissance theorists counted to 6, and we could do that too, but for our purposes this evening it isn't necessary). I'll tell you briefly what those numbers mean, and then move to exemplify them. About rhythm I'll be most brief, for you probably know that the available rhythms reduce to counts of 2 and 3, or some combination thereof. Think of 2, or duple, as a march or simple alternation of left foot and right. 3, or triple, insert a hop on every left. With There are more elegant ways of adorning a walk to get a triple; the minuet Miss Brann mentioned goes to the count of 3. But more of this later. The 2's and 3's of pitch are rather more concealed, to the extent that we commonly call by the name "5" what really ought to be called "3." Yet the phenomena are sufficiently important and dazz- ling to have been credited to a discoverer, Pythagoras, and surrounded with their due mead of apochryphal stories about the circumstances of the discovery. The note we designate as 5 in the string of organized pitches we call a "scale" actually stands third in the order of generation. Take a string, and divide it in two equal parts. Pluck either half, and the resulting pitch will reduplicate the original, but higher--that interval we call the octave, which orders 17 �tonal space by its regular recurrence over the entire series of pitches. It puts the cap on our eight-note scale, which will sound all too familiar to anyone who has ever had a piano lesson: [Ex. 1] . Next in this soul's counting divide the string in thirds, and you have the fifth, so called from its position as number 5 in the ascending scale. It provides an intermediate resting-place in the / octave's span, dividing it almost, but not quite - (and this is crucial) in half. You'll recognize it from the sound of this perennial five-finger exercise: reverse: [Ex. 2]. By the way, the process works in if I want to divide a taut string into perfect halves, all I have to do is find the octave--our ear is indeed the measurer. While the octave is other, it is still somehow the same as our primal pitch, so the fifth is the first independent other; the octave is the encloser, the fifth the first enclosed. We will honor the order of experience by calling this pitch 5, and the interval it forms with our starting-place the fifth. Never forget, however, that it stands proudly third in order of generation, and that its generating number is 3. You will go more deeply into these miracles of embodied number in the music tutorial sophomore year, counting at least as far as 6, but for now this is all the theory you need to know. I shall try to put these various 2's and 3's to the work of imitation. ways. And I shall claim that they do this work in two important It's hard to find proper names for them; we've learned to be wary of the time-honored distinction between form and content in almost all its applications, and in a temporal art like music I think there is almost no defense for it. I find myself, however, stuck with modern names like "reference" and "process," or perhaps "reference" and "syntax" (I can't decide). 18 These duos take more explana- �tion, but they don't halt and freeze the persistent motion of the tones the way "form and content" do. If we wanted to be trendy, I could point out that we are on the cutting edge of modernity here, for our categories could be formalized into the modern pursuits of semiotics, or the study of signs, and narratology, which is nothing more than the study of beginnings, middles, and ends. Actually, that is - not such a bad description of what I want to talk about. I shall present you with three musical examples to illustrate these modes of imitation. In them the 2's and 3's of rhythm will intersect with the 2's and 3's of pitch to make dazzling imitative configurations. Given the embarassment of riches in music history, I can only be suggestive, not inclusive; I shall also be decidedly anti-chronological. I shall begin where those who know my preoccupations could well have predicted--with the music of Mozart. It was the music of Mozart that I most wanted, early on, to defend as pure, and precisely the same music I later found to be most delightfully contaminated with reflections of human activities. Furthermore, this particular work of Mozart's, the piano sonata .in F major, K. 332, a favorite example of mine, is precisely the kind of music the purists would argue is the most autonomous music your money can buy--instrumental music. Here there intrudes no voice uttering sounds that are signs of other presences, and thus forcing a translation to mundane can such music point beyond itself? porary with Mozart gives me~ning. How A French writer roughly contem- us a hint of how this might be: Michel Gui de Chabanon, actually an advocate of music's integrity, perhaps despite himself articulated one crucial way in which music can represent: Imitation in music is not truly sensed unless its 19 �object is music. imitate In songs one can warlike fanfares, melodies, etc. It hunting successfully airs, rustic is only a question of giving one song the character of another. Art, in that case, does not suffer violence. I'll translate this to our own purposes. Once music has a history, it can hardly fail to make reference to this past, - to provide its own vocabulary of expression. Miss Brann mentioned the educative value of minuets, and that is apposite here. Much of the art music you know, the music played in symphony halls and on good-music stations, pieces itself together from the more mundane music we use to accompany daily activities. The tempting world of human motion is out there to imitate, and some of our greatest composers have taken advantage of it. Love songs, lullabies, dances and marches, hymns, when are lifted from their usual environment and placed in the frame of a symphony or sonata, cannot help but point us back to the particular occasion that produced that humble popular gesture. One of the most prominent identifying characteristics of these gestures is rhythm. The music of the minuet, a noble dance, is there to assist the dancer in maintaining a noble posture--restraint, control, refinement. dignity. Practicing it, we may over time learn grace and Hearing it, we cannot help but think of these mobile vir- tues; our body strains to move with them. This smooth even count of three is character-building and character-evoking--truly "qualitative mathematics." To help you count that three, let me play a minuet part way into the first movement of the Mozart sonata. It comes at a crucial point in the piece, when a base has to be touched, a sense of arrival created--not home plate, but, to use a further spatial meta20 �phor, diagonally opposite. motion. Sense the dignity and tranquility of the When you hear what precedes it, you will feel it all the more by contrast: [Ex. 3]. This movement has a profusion of gestures; it might be described by the question "How many qualities has 3?" For it shows us 3 in many lights, often reminding me of one of those magic sugar eggs with the hole at one end, into which you look to marvel at the perfection of the detail observed in its miniature world. First we hear a singer, her breast swelling as she reaches for her high note. ber, this is all conveyed to us on the piano: [Ex. 4] Remem- She should continue, but instead her utterance is answered by two voices, not so clearly vocal anymore, one following the other at a brief interval and singing the same melody--imitative counterpoint is its proper name, and to Mozart's audience it had a rather old-fashioned ring-pompous and over-serious: [Ex. 5]. Another length, a simple unit of minuet, moves to the close, so that our first "sentence'' has three parts or clauses, of equal time but not necessarily equal weight. The next sentence is devoted to the rhythms of a hybrid minuet--a minuet crossed with hunting horns. We recognize the horns because the characteristic pitches of their calls in the field are imitated: [Ex. 6] . After a satisfying and discrete paragraph of this hunting minuet, the movement "turns on a dime" to a dark, passionate music often called "Storm and Stress," after the Romantic temper that affected it. Whole pieces were written in this style, but here it becomes just one affect among many. In its restlessness, however, it serves the subversive function of undermining home base, and moving us to that new place we must reach if we are to have any sense of 21 �having moved at all. And--as you have guessed--at the end of this so-called travelling music, we arrive at the well-shaped minuet you heard before: [Ex. 7]. The new arrival place marks the end of the beginning and the beginning of the middle, and quite naturally this new place is identified with 5 (3). The drama of the r~st of the piece will be the return to 1 via some cunningly shaped paths. The image of some sort of narrative does not seem to me to be far wrong, much more apt than the formalist analysis. Our delight in this imitation is the delight in the reflections of the many-wayed won- ders of a close and ordered world, disposed to form the crucial nodes of a well-wrought narration. What is peculiarly musical about it is that there is no real story in the sense we expect one, no proposition, no picture of Laocoon. Yet in this passage-through-time we sense an order, intuit a deep intent, and are deeply satisfied. This Mozart example is an example of imitation in the most direct and evocative fashion; I could show you many others. like to offer an example of a different sort: But now I would first off, vocal music (music with a text), sacred, not secular, and grand and special rather than playful and habitual. It is a piece those of you who have completed the music tutorial will know well, the culminating aria of Bach's St. Matthew Passion, "Mache dich, mein Herze, rein." It occurs after the Crucifixion, immediately following the moment when Joseph of Arimathea claims Jesus' body from Pontius Pilate. This scene follows the procedure of others in the Passion: a passage from the Gospel of Matthew narrating the scriptural event is set in the simplest speech song, and then commented on by an observer outside the time of the narrative, in verses by an eighteenth-century 22 �poet. The commentary itself usually has two parts--a discursive passage in a free declamatory style, sometimes called arioso, and a more summary, epigrammatic statement, set in the full panoply of . an aria, a closed musical form. This particular scene takes place in the evening, and the arioso text ponders the theological meaning of eventide: In the cool of the evening, Adam's fall was manifest. In the evening the Saviour casts him down. In the evening the dove returned, and brought the olive branch in its beak. o beautiful time! O Eventide! The covenant of peace is now made with God, for Jesus has completed his cross. His body comes to rest. Oh! dear soul, ask, go, and let the dead Jesus be given to you. O salutory, o precious keepsake! In this poetry the peace of the evening and the covenant of peace become one: Adam and Noah are fulfilled in Jesus, who has paid the most memorable price for the sins of all. Eventide becomes a sym- bol--and I think I use that difficult word correctly--for the peace of God that passes all understanding. Symbols are the theological way--the cross is paradigmatic--and the text of the Passion is suffused with them. So is the music, sometimes in an abstract and impalpable way, such as the reach up to B flat on the word "blood" (German Blut) in the scene of the Last Supper. Others, like the aria that follows this arioso, move us directly--musically--at the same time that they undergo this translation to a deeper Christian mean23 �ing. At the end of the arioso the singer (a male, a bass) addresses his own soul, telling it to go receive the dead Jesus, and then, in the most tender and moving aria in the Passion, enjoins his heart to prepare itself for the corning of Christ. Make yourself pure, my heart. I want to bury Jesus himself. The poetry of a second section, the music of which we will not examine, amplifies the symbolism: For he is henceforth to have his rest in me forever and ever. World, get out, let Jesus in! Bach suits actions to words. That's a conventional phrase most analysts like to fudge with, and given the text the composer has to set here, that must seem to you exactly what I am doing. not particularly fertile in musical ideas. The text is How do you draw a musical picture of a heart purifying itself? of a believer burying Jesus in himself (as the second part of the text suggests)? The task seems preposterous, perhaps even blasphemous. I'll suggest an absurdly simple answer. You write a cradle song, a lullaby. Cradle songs from time immemorial have used rhythmic 3's in groups of 2; that is, each 3 is a rock of the cradle, with the extra odd beat catching the pause of the cradle at the extreme of its swing, poised for return. These 3's are then grouped in 2's: the cradle rocks back and forth. Let's hear the instrumental introduction to the aria, to concentrate on the effect of the rhythm. Notice that the bass sets up the rhythm briefly before the melodic voices enter; th~ about it that the singer merely shares: [Ex. 24 motion has an eternality 8] . �Perhaps I should explain further why I find this device so wonderfully appropriate. On the surface it would seem to satisfy neither purification nor burial, the dual requirements of the text. But remember that the arioso text made death into sleep, an image that is important throughout the Passion. The believer--our last example was Joseph of Arimathea--holds the blessedly resting Jesus in his arms; this- male figure universalizes the pieta, the figure of the weeping mother holding Jesus in her arms after the descent from the cross. Mary holds a full-grown son who is beyond the solace of rocking, but the symbolic believer is allowed a maternal lullaby. It is thus, the aria argues, that believers should receive the Christ. In fact, the aria is an injunction to the believer to accept in full serenity the final agony of Christ as the bringer of peace to the world. Thus to bury Him is to rock Him to sleep with a mother's lullaby. There is some final musical detail I cannot omit describing before you actually hear the singer's voice. I have tried to show how Bach, in setting this seemingly unsuggestive piece of text, manages to explode it into deeper meaning using a musical gesture that becomes symbolic, moving the believer both physically and cognitively to a deeper Christianity. Strikingly, Bach sacrifices the text to the hypnosis of the eternal. Syntax, prosody, all those things that suggest human meanings in human time, are suspended, and even that element that makes musical syntax, the 5 (our 3), disappears to some extent. Musically the 1, the center of gravity, is instead held up on top, and a scale descends against it with each rock of the cradle: [Ex. 9]. The singer's line is wholly unvocal; it imitates a characteristic Baroque instrumental line where one instru25 �ment plays the parts of two, first high, then low. further apart so you can hear the two: [Ex. 10]. I'll split them A further distortion of our natural expectations is the actual setting of the text, rhythmically and melodically. "I want to bury Jesus myself"-- "Ich will Jesum selbst begraben"--"Ich will Je-- sum selbst begra-ben." Je- and gra- are stressed unnaturally by the move to a melodic peak on an offbeat: this extraordinarily awkward vocal line does violence to both melody and text in the service of the hypnotic cradle song. Singer, song, and syntax are dissolved in the cosmic lullaby that is the rocking of Jesus to the sleep of sin. All human history focusses on the descent from the cross; that moment of time must stand for eternity. When syntax must reassert itself, at the end of this musical section, we are wholly prepared for the vocal awkwardness on the final "begraben"--"bury"--the deep leap down from the 2 to the 1, the octave to the prime, precisely the kind of musical tone-painting we have grown to scorn this evening. Bach has habituated us in the course of this aria to music become meaning; we accept a musical barbarism as a convincing theological symbol: [Ex. 11] . There is other music I should have talked about, were there time, for example, the repertoire of many-voiced sacred Renaissance vocal compositions. There dance is absent, and composers eschew any obvious translation of textual images into musical ones. Yet the theorists of this music are most emphatic about its imitative quality. The object of imitation is nothing less than "wondrous Nature," as their prime spokesman, Gioseffo Zarlino, a sixteenth-century composer and writer, states. "Every composer ought to follow the beau26 �tiful order of nature, and he will be considered excellent in proportion to the resemblance of his procedures to those of nature." Zar- lino's "wondrous Nature" is a world informed by number, by our 2's and 3's. One of his cardinal principles is unity in variety, fol- lowing nature, which, he says "does not produce identical individuals in a species, but always somehow varied." "Numbers and proportion invite us to variety, for in them we do not find two similar proportions following one another." Here he is speaking about the harmonic proportion, a important number relation named after its embodiment in music. We have already heard the simplest form of that relation, in lowest whole numbers--the dovetailing of the 2 and the 3, or the octave and the fifth. [PLAY] · Harmodzein, the Greek word for the dovetailing of joints in carpentry (it also can mean to "set in order," or "govern," and also to "betroth") describes the way the octave and fifth lie harmoniously together, a concordance of dissimilar elements, giving their name to a number relation you will meet elsewhere in the program. To Zar~ino this relation comes closest of all musical relations to the sound of perfection, and so it must end every composition; for, in his words, "Perfection is characteristic of the end and not of the beginning of a thing." [EXAMPLE 8] A latet music that calls itself harmony (the examples we have been listening to this evening) will add another element to this dovetailing to fill it in, to make it less perfect and hence more sensuous (one eccentric modern theorist calls the fifth the "pre-sexual'' interval); this more homogeneous entity we call a "chord." But still the guiding relation remains the same--the harmonic proportion, the miraculous blending of the 2 and the 3. 27 �I have somewhat perversely tonight been giving you a music history in reverse, and it would be remiss of me not to add a postlude that takes it back to origins, so to speak. We have been dealing all evening with compounds--more than one line at a time--and now we will turn to simples. But only in the sense that we are no longer combining two pitches at a time; any implication that this one-line music is simple in the se-nse of "primitive" is wholly alien to my intention. I have heard it said of the repertoire of Gregorian chant that it is abstract, ethereal, above the world and its relations, out of time in its simple temporality. I don't believe that any example of this most human of arts can be like that, nor do I think that we endow it with any greater dignity or spirituality in so asserting. The goal is to let a sacred text speak out as simply and eloquently as possible, and again the 2's and 3's do the work. The text of the Latin hymn I have chosen, in unrhymed Latin verses, is from the Easter Mass, and it is a meditation on the miracle of the Resurrection. Let It reads, in part: Christians off er their thankful praises to the Paschal Victim. The Lamb hath ransomed the sheep: the sinless Christ reconcileth sinners to the Father .... Tell us, Mary; what did you see in your wayfaring? I saw the tomb of the living Christ, and the from the glory of Him rising .... We know that Christ has truly risen dead; have mercy on us, Victor King. Amen. At the center of this text is an act of human witness, at the conclu- 28 �sion one of human celebration. At no time does the chant call atten- tion to a particular phrase--it never makes "word pictures"--but the whole is animated with human pulses and human breaths. The rhythm of the poetry is primarily trochaic--a stress on the first, third, syllable, etc--and the musical rhythm by and large follows this grouping into 2's: "Victi~ paschali laudes irnrnolent Christi~ni." The 2's and 3's of pitch- order the ebb and flow of the melody. The octave is the limit of rest, the fifth (our 3, remember) the limit of tension. These seemingly narrow melodic limits set the theater for a narration without a story, for a dramatic mimesis of the condition of the human soul. When we hear the third phrase begin on the 5 and rise up to the octave above, our chests swell, our pulses race, at this brave effort against the center of gravity, the 1. On the return we compose ourselves, fold our hands, reflect, always in sympathy with the passion objectified in the music. We haven't here the histrionic swelling breast of the operatic soprano, but the effect is only dissimilar in its restraint. Above all chant is singing: is breath and how long one can hold it, the tightening of the vocal chords in order to attain a higher pitch: [Ex. 12] . posed this music is, and ordered, but inhuman it is not. Corn- For it is never without passion, if passion can be defined as the suffering or tolerating of the physical and emotional effects that devolve from the exertion of our human equipment. Hanslick, in his efforts to make mock of musical imitation, turns one memorable phrase that might seem in its sarcasm to put an end to the question altogether. "The animal to which music is most indebted," he says, "is not the nightingale but the sheep." 29 The song �of the sheep is, of course, that of the gut, the taut string, and we are being reminded to turn our attention away from frivolous thoughts of connections between music and nature to the sober practicalities of the making of pure musical sound. But, as I've tried to say tonight, I think his example contains in it the very image that is • his undoing, for it is the physics of the taut string that makes Aristotla say the There musical makes following~ seems to be tunings some also in the Politics: in us a sort of (harmoniai) and kinship rhythms, philosophers say that the soul to which is a tuning, others, that it possesses tuning. I submit that this music is an imitation of "wondrous Nature," our nature, as it uses musical number in the act of prayerful praise. further submit that very little music is not like this in some way, if we but look and listen. 30 I �., Allanbrook Example- t> ~ Example- 2 ~-a ,, ? 0 - -0- 0 0 t I. -e- 0 0 () 6 Ii II ea Exampl~s -e-· ~ ~0 l) 11 0 .g.. Examplt3 -· . " . A ~~- ? I a :oi).._ - r I ~' I I - Exanrple 4 C~n 1:::1:: 1:;; I Exampk 5 . -~ - I . -....... ~ I I --..-.. I I .....- .. - - Example Exan1ple 6 '~ r..r r . I 7 - - �Examplt 8 · ~Aria - (Chorus I) Exampl~ , 9 L A .... I ..... - I l m.2 --. ·, ., 1- I ' Example to m.2 ., II ~ m.3 .-. m.+ m.'1 �Examp~ II 00 Basso Cc:Jion• n B..~~~~~~~~~ Ma. - che dich,mein Her - ze, ben, _ ma-Che dicb,meinHeJ1.ze,rein,icb_ will Je- IWD selbat_ be- gra-ben, ich willJe-sum aelbst be- gra.-ben. �Example- 12 Victimae paschali laudes Sequence for the Solemn Mass of Easter Day .. I _. 7;· ~,i.~~..~~...~.~~,,~~.5.~.~~-~~·~·~.~~·~i-~.~-~11 5 Vic·ti·mae pa.·sch..li Lau·des •im·mo-lent Ch:i·sti • a·ni. -& • 4 • -- ~ • • 4 I • 0 • • • 4 • . .. .. II re-<on-ci ·Ii· a·Yit pec·c:a·to·res. • - • • • • It • - .. 2. A-gnus red··e·mit .c-Yes: Chri·stus in·no-cns Pa·tri J. Monet vi· ta du·eho con· ru · xe· re mi ·ran-do: dux Yi-tae mor-tu·us. re-gnat Yi·vus. 4.Dic S.An ~y .. • " no . bis . se . • " • . Ii ... Ma cos .. • •:=:; . ri . •• te - stes, • quid SU .·I f [6. • jl Cre • den • dum est 1. s..; · mua Qui • stum § ;a . Yi da . . 4 • 0 ma • gis 511r • iz • " Ii so • xis • se ""'* "w •a; • Ms • .. ~ re • sur • gen • tis: ·OS • . • vi . a? . Ye • stes. in et • • • • o:::Z =• pne·ce • det su .. • • . sti . um, di ri • • • • " glo • ri • am Yi • Yen • tis, et a Se-~ul·c:rum Oni • sti Sm- n= • xit Cui • stus spes me • a: &~ • d . in Ga· Ii · Lae • am. • ri ff mor ·tu Iii-;; • . ve . is • ii ra Ye . . " ci re: • Al - le • lu • ia. II �Victimae paschali 1. Victimae paschali laudes . laudes immolent Christiani. ~angs 1. Ta the Paschal Victim let Christians offer cf praise. 2. Agnus redemit oves: pe•=•=atares. 2. The Lamb has redeemed the sheep. reconciled sinners to the Father. 3. Mars et vita duelo conflixere miranda: regnat vi \ILts. 3. Death and life have en~aged in miraculous combat. of life is slain, <ye"t") liv.ing he reigns. 4. nob is Mari a.,. quid vidisti in via? Die vi vent.is, et gloriam vi di resLU-genti s: 4. Tell LlS, Mary, what YOLl saw on the way? I saw the sepul 1.:hre of the living Christ and the glory of his rising. Christus innocens Patri 5. Angelicas testes, sudarium; et vestes. mea: praecedet sues in Galilae~m. 5. Tt1e angel is risen. 6. i·= reconciliavit Sinless has Christ dux vitae mortuus, The leader Christi Sepulc:rum Surrexit Christus spes '"'i tni::s:;;e ·: ~~ th(;: ·= hr-cud and v·e·'5tur•::. Christ ;ny He will gc before his own into Galilee. C1'-edend1_tm est mag .l. s ·:;cJl i Mari ae ve1·-ac i qua1u .J1_1dae·~n..1m l · ;;:Jp~ ti_tt-b.::<.e fallac:i.• 6. Mary alone is more ta be deceitful crowd cf Jews. 7. S·=im1_:s Cl1ri ·: ;tum ·: ;urr···::?;<i ·:; ·:;i:-? a 111c1~t1_1i ·:; V•::?r•::?: F:i?>: , mi st:ir· ere. -r I ~·~e know that Chr i ·;t has tr1_1l y r-i ·:;en f ram conqueror and king, have mercy en us. o believed th;? than vi ct;~r - the Je:ad. 1..\Ji pi::J •::f Bur-,dund\' Celeve~~h c~ntur y) � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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. 35 pages Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Music: The Representative Liberal Art Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 2, 1988, by Wye Allanbrook and Eva Brann as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Brann, Eva T. H. Allanbrook, Wye Jamison Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1988-09-02 Type The nature or genre of the resource text Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Subject The topic of the resource Education, Humanistic Music Relation A related resource <a href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/7970">Recording</a> Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context lec Allanbrook 1988-09-02 Deans Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/a6bd816dd6d27c9fe8dc893b608baf1b.mp3 bfe59ea6511231a8a9630d8a1f7895b3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 wav Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:56:06 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Hegel on Reason in History Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered by Mark Alznauer, Associate Professor of Philosophy, Northwestern University, on September 20, 2019 as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Alznauer describes his lecture topic as follows: "Hegel says that the only presupposition that the philosopher brings to history is the simple thought of reason, that reason rules the world. In this lecture, I will compare Hegel’s philosophical histories (of the state, art, religion, and philosophy) to more empirical approaches, paying particular attention to the conceptual form of Hegel’s histories." Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Alznauer, Mark Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2019-09-20 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library and to make an audio recording of my lecture available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Subject The topic of the resource Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 1770-1831 History--Philosophy Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Alznauer_Mark_2019-09-20 Alumni Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/92e264d3fff03026d492ca413b8efa22.mp4 0796ba533b1f4b628b3db67aaedbdf1c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 Moving Image A series of visual representations imparting an impression of motion when shown in succession. Examples include animations, movies, television programs, videos, zoetropes, or visual output from a simulation. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Zoom video conference Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:50:36 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/. Title A name given to the resource Poverty in America Description An account of the resource Video recording of a lecture delivered by Chris Arnade, Ph.D. on October 30, 2020, as part of the Formal Lecture Series. <br /><br />Dr. Arnade describes his lecture: "What costs do current political and economic forces impose on the worst off among us? We often hear of a divide between 'elites' and 'ordinary people,' but in what does this divide consist? Who are the leaders, and what guides their thinking? Who is left behind, and how do they describe their circumstances? Do ambition and achievement also leave behind certain forms of meaning and dignity? How are the current states of inequality created and preserved, and how are they harmful? How can and should voices from 'the back row' affect us?" <br /><br />Dr. Arnade left his career on Wall Street in 2008 and spent several years traveling in order to interview, photograph, and listen to poor communities around the US. He now works as a writer and photographer covering addiction and poverty in America. He is also the author of <em>Dignity: Seeking Respect in Back Row America</em>.<br /><br />The lecture is introduced by Joe Macfarland. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Arnade, Chris Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2020-10-30 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource moving image Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp4 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Arnade_2020-10-30 Subject The topic of the resource Poverty--United States Drug abuse Documentary photography Homelessness--United States Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Macfarland, Joseph C. Friday night lecture Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 Hyperlink A link, or reference, to another resource on the Internet. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data mov Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:43:39 URL https://youtu.be/zaOtM2cdiGQ?si=-IbDPGZmi-uNCcNw Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource <a href="https://youtu.be/zaOtM2cdiGQ?si=-IbDPGZmi-uNCcNw">The Power of Solitude in Sophocles’ <em>Philoctetes</em></a> Description An account of the resource Video recording of a lecture delivered on March 28, 2025, by Dr. Emily Austin as part of the Formal Lecture Series.<br /><br />Dr. Austin is an Associate Professor of Classics and the College at the University of Chicago, with research interests in Greek literature, especially Homer and depictions of solitude in ancient Greece. Her first book, <em>Grief and the Hero: the Futility of Longing in the Iliad</em>, explores the nexus of grief, longing and anger in the Iliad. She is currently working on a second book, <em>Solitude and its Powers in Ancient Greece</em>, which identifies surprising moments when ancient Greek poetry conceives of solitude as a good thing. <br /><br />Dr. Austin offers this introduction to her lecture: "Sophocles’ <em>Philoctetes</em> presents its lonely hero as incomparably wretched. Yet this suffering figure also claims that his isolated survival is something uniquely heroic. This lecture explores the tension between debasement and nobility in Sophocles’ play, taking seriously Philoctetes’ claims to heroism, which are unparalleled in the poetic discourse of his time." Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Austin, Emily P. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2025-03-28 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In copyright. Type The nature or genre of the resource moving image Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource YouTube video Subject The topic of the resource Sophocles. Philoctetes Solitude in literature Heroes in literature Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Austin_Emily_2025-03-28_ac Alumni Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/8328da4088ea650921343f9d358b9b13.pdf 16029ff8fa292404c2559956e1b15f94 PDF Text Text Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   Dante  and  the  Hero’s  Quest  for  Healing     I  want  to  talk  about  a  very  old  kind  of  story.  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  the  only  kind  of  story  – the  hero’s  quest.  Tonight  we  will  discuss  the  hero’s  quest  in  ancient  and  modern  literature   using  examples  from  mythology,  Homer’s  Odyssey,  Virgil’s  Aeneid,  Dante’s  Inferno,  and   finally  my  own  novel,  The  End  of  Healing.  My  lecture  will  consider  how  each  of  these   stories—and  for  that  matter  every  good  story—involves  a  process  of  healing,  both  for  the   broken  world  in  which  the  hero  finds  himself  and  for  the  hero  personally.  These  stories  all   resonate  for  us  because  we  all  identify  with  the  hero  and  we  are  all  on  a  quest  for  healing.     By  way  of  apology,  first  let  me  first  make  clear  that  throughout  this  lecture,  despite  my  use   of  mostly  masculine  examples  of  heroes,  I  use  the  word  hero  without  reference  to  gender.     Although  some  hero  archetypes  are  most  commonly  associated  with  male  gender  and  some   with  female  gender—the  Oedipus  complex  has  its  corollary  in  the  Electra  complex—all  of   the  hero  archetypes  we  will  discuss  tonight  can  manifest  in  either  gender.       Second,  let  me  acknowledge  that  my  observations  today  are  derivative.  I  give  thanks  to  my   tutors  of  ancient  and  modern  times  who  have  authored  me  and  my  work.  Among  my   authors  I  particularly  give  thanks  to  the  departed  St.  John’s  College  tutors  Chaninah   Maschler  who  gave  me  her  love  of  biology  and  the  old  testament,  Michael  Littleton  whose   Purgatorio  preceptorial  I  attended  over  30  years  ago,  and  Jacob  Klein;  to  the  very  present   Joe  Sachs,  whose  Don  Quixote  preceptorial  was  one  of  the  best  of  all  time;  to  all  my  great   tutors  at  St.  John’s  College,  especially  Jon  Tuck,  Marilyn  Higuera,  John  White,  Peter   Kalkavage,  Elliott  Zuckerman,  Jon  Lenkowski,  Eva  Brann,  Ed  Sparrow,  and  Winfree  Smith;   and  to  all  the  authors  of  the  great  books  we  will  discuss  tonight  that  still  serve  as  some  of   our  greatest  guides  through  the  world’s  darkness.  Thank  you  for  giving  me  the  opportunity   to  talk  with  you  about  some  of  my  favorite  stories.     This  lecture  will  have  4  main  parts.    First,  I  will  give  an  overview  of  the  framework  for  the   archetypal  hero’s  journey  as  described  by  Joseph  Campbell,  Carl  Jung,  and  others.  Second,  I   will  apply  that  framework  to  Dante’s  Commedia  to  help  us  understand  how  the  hero’s   journey  involves  a  process  of  healing.  Third,  we  will  delve  deeper  into  the  past  to  examine   some  of  the  earlier  hero  myths  that  influenced  Dante’s  work,  focusing  especially  on  the   Odyssey  and  Aeneid,  to  see  what  these  works  tell  us  about  the  hero’s  healing  journey.  Lastly,   we  will  move  to  the  future  to  examine  what  all  this  has  to  do  with  health  care  and  the  quest   for  healing  in  today’s  world.     Part  1:  The  Hero’s  Journey     The  ancient  pattern  of  the  hero’s  quest  was  well  described  by  Joseph  Campbell  in  his   seminal  work  The  Hero  with  a  Thousand  Faces  in  1949.1  He  revealed  that  this  ancient  story   pattern  resonates  because  it  draws  on  ancient  unconscious  archetypes  described  by  Carl   Jung  and  others.    Campbell  and  Jung  described  how  the  outward  journey  of  the  hero   reflects  a  parallel  inner  journey.  In  great  stories,  both  the  outward  and  inward  journeys   occur  simultaneously  and  complement  and  reinforce  one  another.  The  diagram  below                                                                                                                   1  Joseph  Campbell,  The  Hero  with  a  Thousand  Faces,  Pantheon  Books,  1949     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   provides  an  overview  of  the  typical  components  and  order  of  a  hero’s  journey  story.    In  a   famous  memo  to  executives  at  Walt  Disney  Pictures  in  1985,  Christopher  Vogler  described   how  this  classical  hero  myth  lies  behind  all  great  stories,  screenplays  and  movies.           Christopher  Vogler,  http://www.thewritersjourney.com/hero's_journey.htm     By  way  of  example,  let’s  briefly  consider  one  of  my  favorite  woman-­‐child  heroes,  Dorothy   in  The  Wizard  of  Oz.  Dorothy  begins  her  story  in  the  ordinary  world.  She  is  called  to   adventure  when  Miss  Gulch  attempts  to  kidnap  her  beloved  Toto.  But  when  she  meets   Professor  Marvel  she  begins  to  realize  that  the  ordinary  world  may  not  be  exactly  as  it   appears.  Even  though  Professor  Marvel  serves  as  a  good  mentor  to  Dorothy,  in  the   beginning  we  are  left  to  wonder  whether  he  is  a  true  healer,  or  is  he,  as  she  later  claims,   just  “…a  very  bad  man!”  She  attempts  to  refuse  the  call  and  run  back  to  her  Auntie  Em’s   house  in  Kansas  but  ends  up  crossing  the  threshold  into  another  world  where  she   encounters  difficult  tests,  discovers  three  wonderful  allies,  and  faces  dangerous  enemies.   Then  Dorothy  faces  the  seemingly  impossible  task  of  killing  the  Wicked  Witch  of  the  West.   She  and  her  friends  approach  the  Witch’s  castle,  the  place  they  most  dread,  and  she   undergoes  an  agonizing  ordeal  in  which  she  is  captured  and  condemned  to  death,  only  to   be  saved  in  the  very  last  instant  before  the  hourglass  runs  out.  She  then  seizes  the  sword,     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   or  in  this  case  a  bucket  of  water,  kills  the  witch  and  then  begins  on  the  road  back  to  Kansas.   When  she  finally  reawakens  there  she  has  a  new  perspective  and  power  that  allows  her  to   truly  see  and  understand  the  ordinary  world  in  a  way  she  never  could  have  imagined   before.     That  in  a  nutshell  is  a  description  of  the  hero’s  journey  and  it  has  been  well  described.  What   has  been  less  well  described  is  how  this  classic  hero’s  myth  always  involves  a  process  of   healing  or  movement  toward  wholeness  for  both  the  hero  and  the  broken  world  he   inhabits.  This  is  what  we  are  going  to  talk  about  today,  and  we  will  use  as  our  primary   guide,  Dante  Alighieri,  and  his  divine  hero  myth,  La  Commedia.     Part  2:    La  Divina  Commedia     If  hero  journey  stories  are  the  stories  that  resonate  most  with  humans,  it  goes  to  follow  that   these  stories  portray  the  most  important  spiritual  steps  for  humans  in  their  path  to   wholeness,  in  their  work  to  grow.    These  stories  teach  us  that  the  greatest  growth  for   humans  comes  from  discovering  a  healing  path  through  agony  and  despair.     So  it  is  fitting  that  Dante’s  comedy  begins  in  a  dark  wood.     Nel  mezzo  del  cammin  di  nostra  vita   Mi  ritrovai  per  una  selva  oscura,   ché  la  diritta  via  era  smarrita.   Inferno,  I,  1-­‐3     “In  the  middle  of  the  journey  of  our  life,  I  found  myself  in  a  dark  wood  where  the  straight   way  was  lost.”       In  the  Commedia,  we  are  not  told  how  Dante  became  lost,  yet  every  one  of  his  readers  in  his   time  knew  his  story.  Dante’s  early  dream  was  to  play  a  major  role  in  the  government  of  his   city-­‐state  of  Florence,  at  that  time,  perhaps  the  greatest  republic  in  world.    In  fact,  strong   lines  of  evidence  suggest  that  he  became  a  physician  and  member  of  the  “Arte  dei  medici  e   speziali"  (The  Guild  of  Physicians  and  Apothecaries)  in  Florence  in  1296  because  of   Florentine  law  requiring  enrollment  in  one  of  the  guilds  as  a  prerequisite  for  election  to   local  government  office.  From  Dante’s  early  writings  we  know  that  he  dreamed  of  helping   to  create  in  Florence  a  new  Jerusalem.  And  in  1301,  700  years  ago,  his  dream  appeared  to   be  realized.  He  was  elected  as  one  of  the  six  magistrates,  the  highest  office,  of  his  beloved   city  of  Florence.  He  had  already  served  his  fair  city  for  some  five  years  as  a  devoted   statesman,  and  had  finally  reached  what  he  thought  was  the  pinnacle  of  his  career.  As  a  city   magistrate  he  had  the  opportunity  to  make  a  real  difference  for  good,  to  foster  peace  and   justice,  and  support  a  Renaissance  in  Florence  such  as  the  world  had  never  known.    But  he   became  embroiled  in  unforeseen  political  intrigue.  After  only  a  year  as  magistrate,  he  was   exiled  from  his  home,  never  to  return  again.  At  age  37,  he  suddenly  found  himself  despised   and  homeless,  notwithstanding  his  devotion  to  the  city  of  Florence  and  his  non-­‐partisan   efforts  on  its  behalf.    And  that  is  where  the  Divine  Comedy  begins–in  his  unfathomable   despair.    His  dark  wood  is  the  ordinary  world  and  the  entire  Commedia  is  devoted  to  his   finding  his  way  out.       �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015     For  that  he  requires  a  mentor  and  guide  and  everyone  knows  that  Dante  is  led  by  Virgil,   just  as  Virgil  was  guided  by  Homer;  as  Aeneas  was  guided  by  Venus  the  goddess  of  love;  as   Homer’s  Odysseus  was  guided  by  Pallas  Athena.  When  Virgil  first  introduces  himself  to   Dante  he  immediately  challenges  him  with  a  call  to  adventure.     Poeta  fui,  e  cantai  di  quell  giusto   figliuol  d’Anchise  che  venne  di  Troia,   poi  che  ‘l  superbo  Ilïón  fu  combusto. Ma  tu  perché  ritorni  a  tanta  noia?   Inferno,  I,  73-­‐76     He  says:  “Poet  I  was,  and  I  sang  of  the  just  son  of  Anchises  that  came  from  Troy,  after  proud   Ilium  was  burnt  to  the  ground.  But  why  are  you  turning  back  to  all  that  misery  [or   boredom]?”  Virgil  appears,  as  all  mentors  do,  in  just  the  right  moment  to  guide  Dante  not   back  into  the  misery,  the  “dark  wood,”  of  the  ordinary  world,  but  rather  to  guide  him  into   an  extraordinary  world  of  forms  and  meaning  that  undergird  and  ultimately  can  help   restore  the  ordinary  world.  Dante  is  overwhelmed  by  this  meeting,  and  responds:     O  de  li  altri  poeti  onore  e  lume,   Vagliami  ‘l  lungo  studio  e  ‘l  grande  amore   Che  m’ha  fatto  cercar  lo  luo  volume. Tu  se’  lo  mio  maestro  e  ‘l  mio  autore,   Inferno,  I,  82-­‐85     “O  of  the  other  poets  our  honor  and  light,  value  my  long  study  and  the  great  love  that  has   made  me  search  your  volume.  You  are  my  teacher  and  my  author.”  Regarding  the  meeting   of  Dante  with  the  author  of  The  Aeneid  let  me  state  the  obvious.  The  reason  that  Virgil  is   able  to  serve  as  Dante’s  guide  is  because  he  has  been  there  before.  Virgil  has  seen  and   understands  every  type  of  sin  or  misstep  that  Dante  will  encounter  in  the  Inferno.  For  he   has  taken  his  Aeneas  there  before  and  provides  the  description  of  the  underworld  that  is   the  foundation  of  Dante  the  author’s  description.  Furthermore,  Dante  recognizes  Virgil  as   his  author—that  Virgil  made  him  what  he  is.  Dante  recognizes  that  his  love  of  Virgil’s  work   has  also  made  him  an  author  and  has  prepared  him  to  tell  his  own  story.  And  Dante’s   protagonist  must  be  guided  by  Virgil  because  Virgil’s  Aeneid  was  Dante’s  guide  to  the   underworld.  What  Dante  has  come  to  understand  about  the  underworld,  has  largely  come   through  Virgil’s  instruction.     Still,  Dante  must  screw  up  his  courage  when  it  is  his  turn  to  crossing  the  threshold  into  hell.     This  most  famous  of  all  cantos  begins  with  the  famous  words:       “Per  me  si  va  ne  la  città  dolente,   per  me  si  va  ne  l'etterno  dolore,   per  me  si  va  tra  la  perduta  gente.   Giustizia  mosse  il  mio  alto  fattore;   fecemi  la  divina  podestate,   la  somma  sapïenza  e  'l  primo  amore.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   Dinanzi  a  me  non  fuor  cose  create   se  non  etterne,  e  io  etterno  duro.   Lasciate  ogne  speranza,  voi  ch'intrate."     THROUGH  ME  THE  WAY  TO  THE  CITY  OF  WOE,  THROUGH  ME  THE  WAY  TO  EVERLASTING   PAIN,  THROUGH  ME  THE  WAY  AMONG  THE  LOST.  JUSTICE  MOVED  MY  MAKER  ON  HIGH.   DIVINE  POWER  MADE  ME,  WISDOM  SUPREME,  AND  PRIMAL  LOVE.  BEFORE  ME  NOTHING   WAS  BUT  THINGS  ETERNAL,  AND  ETERNAL  I  ENDURE.  ABANDON  ALL  HOPE,  YOU  WHO   ENTER  HERE.     Inferno,  3,  1-­‐9     These  are  the  horrifying  words  Dante  sees  inscribed  over  the  entrance  to  hell.  Of  note,  he  is   one  of  the  few,  including  Jesus  of  Nazareth  whose  hero  myth  is  well  known  to  all,  who  is   able  to  pass  through  this  gate  without  abandoning  all  hope.     After  passing  through  the  gates  of  hell,  Dante’s  instruction  begins  in  earnest.  He  explores   every  inch  of  the  nine  levels  of  hell  that  Virgil  describes  only  in  passing  in  his  Aeneid.  In   Dante’s  hell,  just  as  in  Virgil’s  Tartarus,  every  punishment  is  perfectly  suited  to  the  crime.   For  Dante,  exploring  the  levels  of  hell  involves  a  process  of  diagnosis.  He  is  able  to  fully   understand  the  reasons  for  the  brokenness  of  the  world  by  uncovering  the  sources  of   human  suffering  and  understanding  the  nature  and  types  of  human  missteps,  or  sins,  that   have  led  to  this  brokenness.     As  shown  in  the  schematic  of  Dante’s  hell  by  Mandelbaum  below,  he  places  mistakes  of   over-­‐indulgence  at  the  highest  levels,  errors  of  violence  in  the  middle,  and  fraud  in  the   bottom.  Dante  saw  the  misuse  of  the  intellect  or  the  mind  to  deceive  others  as  the  very   worst  kind  of  human  error.  At  the  bottom  of  his  hell  he  places  treachery—first  treason   against  family,  then  country,  and  last  of  all  treason  against  our  natural  lord  and  master,   against  God.     In  Dante’s  Inferno  all  the  types  of  human  missteps  are  catalogued—every  single  one.  His   catalogue  of  sin  is  comprehensive.  Every  type  of  mistake  or  temptation  is  considered,  so  at   some  level,  there  is  no  completely  new  story  that  can  be  told  after  the  Commedia.  Every   story  deals  with  one  or  another  of  these  human  mistakes  or  near  mistakes.  For  Dante,   encountering  each  type  of  mistake  and  seeing  its  consequence  is  a  harsh  and  bitter   reminder  of  his  own  missteps  and  the  consequences  of  those  missteps  for  others.  So,  his   descent  is  an  ever  worsening  trial  of  pain  and  suffering  as  Dante  discovers  the   consequences  of  misguided  action  in  the  afterlife.  Like  much  of  the  first  half  of  the  Odyssey   and  of  the  Aeneid,  much  of  the  Inferno  is  filled  with  the  protagonist’s  tears  and  internal   suffering.    For  Dante,  this  process  is  one  of  diagnosis  (understanding  the  condition)  that  is   his  first  step  toward  healing.  Let  me  also  note,  that  after  his  exile  from  his  beloved   homeland,  it  does  his  heart  good  to  see  many  of  his  worst  enemies  in  life,  finally  paying  for   their  crimes.  For  him,  seeing  justice  done  in  the  afterlife  begins  the  process  of  healing.       �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   Mandelbaum  Diagram  of  the  Inferno2       Dante’s  rebirth  occurs  when  he  passes  through  the  very  bottom  of  hell,  the  poles  of  the   world  are  reversed,  and  Dante  thinks  “they  are  heading  back  to  hell”  (Inferno  34,  81).  It  is   only  then  that  he  and  his  beloved  guide  Virgil  are  able  to  “ascend...to  see  again  the  stars”   (Inferno  34,  136-­‐139).                                                                                                                     2  From  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY  OF  DANTE  ALIGHIERI:  INFERNO  by  Allen  Mandelbaum,  ,   Illustration  by  Barry  Moser,  copyright  ©  1980  by  Allen  Mandelbaum,  Bantam  Books,  a   division  of  Random  House,  Inc.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   So  you  notice  that  Dante  in  the  Inferno  has  not  yet  “seized  the  sword.”  Indeed,  he  has  only   barely  passed  through  his  own  rebirth  when  the  first  story  ends.  Of  course  the  story  does   not  end  here.  Dante’s  healing  is  just  begun.  When  Purgatorio  begins  diagnosis  is  no  longer   the  focus,  but  rather  purification.       Once  hell  is  abandoned,  the  Purgatorio  lays  out  the  disciplined  path  that  Dante  suggests   that  our  souls  require  for  healing.    As  Dante  and  Virgil  climb  the  mountain  of  purgatory,   Dante  learns  how  practice  of  good  habits  can  lead  to  virtue  and  health.    On  each  level  of   purgatory  the  same  errors  encountered  in  hell  are  met  one  by  one.    The  only  difference  is   that  the  people  in  purgatory  work  to  overcome  them.    In  purgatory,  Dante  is  to  undergo  a   stepwise  process  of  purification  and  rebirth  when  he  arrives  at  the  top  of  mount  purgatory   in  the  earthly  paradise  or  Eden.    Near  the  bottom  of  purgatory,  seven  “P”s  are  traced  on   Dante’s  forehead,  standing  for  the  deadly  peccata  [sins]  that  weigh  him  down  and  keep  him   from  paradise.    As  Dante  struggles  up  the  mountain,  the  marks  are  cleansed  from  his   forehead  one  by  one.    The  following  texts  from  the  Purgatorio  describe  this  cleansing   process  as  a  kind  of  healing.     “Seek  only  that  the  five  wounds  healed   by  being  painful  soon  may  be  closed  up,     as  the  other  two  already  are.”  (XV,  79-­‐81)     “But,  to  soothe  you  and  to  grant  your  wish,   here  is  Statius.  I  call  on  him,  I  beg  him,     to  be  the  healer  of  your  wounds.”  (XXV,  28-­‐30)     “With  such  treatment  and  with  just  such  diet   must  the  last  of  all  the  wounds  be  healed.”  (XXV,  138-­‐139)     “Keep  your  munificence  alive  in  me,  so  that     my  soul,  which  you  have  healed,   may  please  you  when  it  leaves  its  mortal  frame.”  (XXXI,  88-­‐90)     As  a  result  of  this  process  of  being  freed  from  the  burden  of  these  wounds,  Dante  “feels  so   light  as  to  be  able  to  soar  into  the  heavens.”    In  his  last  words  of  the  Purgatorio  he  exclaims:     “I  came  forth…renovated,   even  as  new  trees  renewed  with  new  foliage,   pure  and  ready  to  rise  to  the  stars.”  (XXXIII,  143-­‐145)     Dante’s  conclusion  to  the  Purgatorio  reminds  us  that  the  ancient  Greek  word  “phusis”,  from   which  the  word  physician  is  derived,  means  growth.    The  true  physician  is  the  one  who   stimulates  growth.    And  in  purgatory  growth  is  stimulated  through  the  practice  of  healthy   habits,  confronting  and  overcoming  the  temptations  and  errors  of  our  lives.    It  seems   natural  to  ask  at  this  point  whether  Dante’s  poetry  doesn’t  stimulate  growth  in  precisely   the  way  of  a  good  physician.    Surely  this  is  Dante’s  aim.         �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   Part  3:    Resonance  of  the  Inferno  with  earlier  hero  stories       Let  me  now  turn  to  the  earlier  hero  myths  that  influenced  Dante’s  work,  focusing  especially   on  the  Odyssey  and  Aeneid,  to  see  what  these  works  tell  us  about  the  hero’s  healing  journey.   These  hero  stories  particularly  resonate  with  Dante  and  show  some  of  the  many  ways  to   tell  the  story  of  the  hero’s  quest.  The  Aeneid  is  an  homage  to  the  Odyssey  as  La  Commedia  is   an  homage  to  The  Aeneid.  Both  stories  feature  a  journey  to  the  underworld  in  their  centers   and  each  hero  has  a  sibyl  guide,  and  in  the  underworld  each  hero  seeks  to  come  to  terms   with  their  past  and  gain  vision  of  their  path  into  the  future.  As  it  is  for  Dante  in  the   Commedia,  rebirth  and  enlightenment  occur  for  both  Odysseus  and  Aeneas  in  the   underworld,  in  the  most  desperate  place  of  all.  Healing  occurs  through  their  contact  with   the  hidden  Cthonic  underworld,  and  both  involve  a  seer,  Sibyl,  oracle  helper,  who  serves  as   a  guide  to  the  navel  of  the  world,  the  place  of  their  rebirth.  For  both  Odysseus  and  Aeneas,   like  Dante,  the  ordinary  world  is  a  broken  world  from  which  they  would  prefer  to  hide  and   escape.     Both  Odysseus  and  Aeneas  seek  to  escape  their  broken  world,  Odysseus  with  the  divine   Kalypso,  and  Aeneas  with  his  beloved  Dido,  but  both  find  themselves  unable  to  forget  their   past  and  fated  future.  Like  the  Athenians  in  the  time  of  Theseus  who  didn’t  want  to  admit   that  it  was  wrong  for  their  children  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  Minotaur,  none  of  our  heroes   want  to  face  the  horror  embedded  in  the  ordinary  world,  but  they  are  compelled  to  do  so.   All  of  three  of  these  hero  myths  involve  reluctant  heroes  who  are  forced  to  confront  the   pain  in  their  ordinary  world.  Dante  is  accused  of  graft  and  exiled  from  his  beloved  world  of   Florence  forever.  Odysseus,  the  wounded  warrior,  must  confront  and  recover  from  the   horrors  of  war  and  his  guilt  over  abandoning  his  family  and  losing  all  of  his  crew  one  by   one.  Aeneas’  ordinary  world  is  burnt  to  the  ground  and  destroyed  forever.  So  we  can   rightly  wonder  on  this  day  of  9–11  as  we  ponder  the  place  where  the  twin  towers  once   stood.  How  can  such  wastelands  provide  grounds  for  healing  and  lead  to  rebirth?     Dante  clearly  has  more  regard  for  pious  Aeneas,  led  by  the  goddess  of  love  Venus  who   serves  as  his  mentor,  than  he  has  for  Odysseus,  whom  he  punishes  as  a  smooth-­‐tongued   false  counselor  or  rhetorician  in  the  realm  of  fraud.  Yet  even  though  Virgil’s  Aeneid  is  more   directly  related  to  Dante’s  story,  please  give  me  leave  to  reverse  courses  and  turn  to  the   older  story  of  Odysseus  first,  as  it  will  help  us  better  interpret  The  Aeneid.     Odysseus’  homecoming  story  begins  not  with  Odysseus—we  are  only  are  told  that  he  is   stranded  on  Kalypso’s  isle,  despondent,  unfit,  and  without  hope  of  ever  returning  home   again.  The  Odyssey  begins  with  Athena’s  plan  to  save  him,  and  the  call  to  adventure  of  his   son  Telemachus.  Athena  recognizes  Odysseus’  critical  need  for  his  family  to  help  him   achieve  his  homecoming.  And  it  is  Pallas  Athena,  the  goddess  of  wisdom  who  serves  as   Odysseus’  mentor.  For  the  first  four  books  of  the  Odyssey  Odysseus  himself  is  strangely   absent.  Instead  we  are  occupied  with  Athena  disguising  herself  as  Odysseus’  wise  old  friend   Mentor  and  the  early  books  primarily  deal  with  her  serving  as  a  guide  and  mentor  to  his   son,  not  to  Odysseus  himself.  Meanwhile  Odysseus’  ordinary  world  is  living  with  the   immortal  Kalypso  in  indolence  and  pleasure.  And  yet  we  learn  that  he  spends  most  of  his   days  in  mourning,  homesickness,  and  grief.  His  world  on  a  fantasy  island  with  Kalypso  is  a   perfect  world,  but  it  is  a  world  he  cannot  accept.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015     Finally  in  Book  V,  Odysseus  leaves  the  island  of  Kalypso  where  he  has  lived  8  years  in  the   company  of  the  immortal  goddess.  After  18  days  at  sea  on  his  raft  he  is  finally  within  sight   of  Phaiákian  land.  But  Poseidon  conjurs  a  storm  that  completely  destroys  his  raft.  The   storm  strips  him  of  his  clothes  and  for  two  days  and  nights  he  is  cast  about  the  sea  holding   on  to  the  single  beam  remaining  from  his  raft.  On  the  dawn  of  the  third  day  the  sea  calms   and  he  swims  for  the  shore.  With  the  help  of  the  gods  avoids  the  crashing  breakers  of  the   rocky  coast  of  the  island  of  Skeria  and  finds  a  river  inlet  where  he  can  make  his  way  ashore.   He  drags  himself  between  twin  bushes  of  olive  from  one  stem—one  wild  and  one   cultivated—where  he  falls  into  an  exhausted  sleep.  As  Kathryn  Davis  notes,3  the  twin  olive   bush  has  two  meanings.  First,  it  serves  as  a  sign  of  Athena,  evoking  the  myth  that  she   brought  the  cultivated  olive  to  Greece  but  that  it  had  to  be  grafted  onto  wild  stock  to  thrive.   Second,  the  olive  prefigures  Odysseus’  homecoming  (for  both  him  and  us)  and  it  allows  him   the  opportunity  to  remake  his  olive  tree  bed  as  part  of  his  work  of  recovery.       The  next  day,  the  naked  Odysseus  is  discovered  by  the  king’s  daughter  Nausikaa  who  has   gone  to  the  river  with  her  handmaids  to  wash  clothes.  There  on  the  shore,  Odysseus   appears  reborn  like  a  naked  babe  and  he  is  clothed  and  fed  and  brought  back  to  the   Phaiákian  king  and  queen.  Thus,  within  the  first  story  of  the  Odyssey,  Odysseus  experiences   his  rebirth  on  the  shores  of  the  land  of  the  Phaiákians.  But  closer  reading  suggests  that  his   death  and  rebirth  begin,  are  centered  on,  and  derive  from  his  experience  in  the   underworld.     Odysseus’  journey  to  the  underworld  is  told  as  a  story  within  a  story,  in  his  Homeric  telling   of  his  own  story  to  the  Phaiákian  people.  He  tells  the  story  of  his  death  soon  after  his   rebirth  on  the  beach,  after  he  has  barely  survived  another  near  death  experience,  his  near   drowning  on  his  desperate  attempt  to  return  home.  With  the  Phaiákian’s  he  becomes  a   storyteller  and  his  healing,  recovery,  growth  (Gr.  Phusis)  rapidly  progresses.  The  middle   half  of  the  Odyssey  consists  not  of  an  impartial  story  of  Odysseus’  return,  but  rather  of   Odysseus’  telling  of  his  own  story.  Odysseus  –must  tell  his  story  to  heal.  This  is  reminiscent   of  the  primary  healing  modality  employed  by  the  wounded  warrior’s  project  for  American   soldiers  with  post-­‐traumatic  stress  disorder  (PTSD)  returning  from  the  Middle  East.  For   those  who  can  heal,  sharing  their  story  is  a  key  part  of  healing  for  those  returning  home   from  the  horrors  of  war.  Odysseus  is  able  to  return  to  the  ordinary  world  by  helping  to   change  it,  by  sharing  his  accumulated  wisdom,  by  telling  his  story.  The  reader  has  to   wonder,  along  with  the  king  and  queen,  whether  or  not  he  is  a  reliable  historian,  or   whether  he  is  simply  pitching  the  story  for  his  own  gain.  Regardless,  there  can  be  no  doubt   that  it  is  in  telling  his  story  that  Odysseus  begins  to  regain  his  health.     Within  this  story  within  the  story  of  the  Odyssey,  in  the  very  center  and  crux  of  the  poem,   his  death  and  the  beginning  of  his  rebirth  is  revealed.  His  journey  to  the  underworld  occurs   some  10  years  after  Odysseus  has  left  home,  when  he  is  most  desperate  to  return.  The   witch-­‐healer  or  goddess  φαρμακεία  (Gr.)  Kirke  finally  gives  him  leave,  but  informs  him  that                                                                                                                   3  Kathryn Davis, The Olive Tree and “the idea of order” in the Odyssey, Accessed July 8, 2015 at http://www.udallas.edu/documents/pdf/braniff/kathryndavis.pdf.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   he  first  must  perform  one  more  task.  Here  is  their  conversation,  as  related  by  Odysseus,   when  he  begs  to  leave  and  receives  the  darkest  news  imaginable:     “Son  of  Laertes  and  the  gods  of  old,   Odysseus,  master  mariner  and  soldier,    you  shall  not  stay  here  longer  in  my  house  against  your  will;     but  home  you  may  not  go   unless  you  take  a  strange  way  round  and  come   to  the  cold  bones  of  Death  and  pale  Persephone.   You  shall  hear  prophecy  from  the  rapt  shade   of  blind  Teiresias  of  Thebes,  forever   charged  with  reason  even  among  the  dead…”     At  this  I  felt  a  weight  like  a  stone  within  me,   and  moaning,  pressed  my  length  against  the  bed,   with  no  desire  to  see  the  daylight  more.   But  when  I  had  wept  and  tossed  and  had  my  fill   of  despair,  at  last  I  answered  her:    “Kirke,  who  pilots  me  on  this  journey?   No  man  has  ever  sailed  to  the  land  of  Death.”   Odyssey,  Book  X     Her  answer  is  that  the  spirit  of  Teiresias  will  be  his  guide.  And  thus,  following  Kirke’s   instructions  he  is  met  by  Teiresias  in  Hades  who  gives  him  a  dark  prophecy  regarding  his   most  difficult  return.  Odysseus  is  told  that  “anguish  lies  ahead”  and  that  he  can  only  hope   for  a  rapid  return  through  “denial  of  yourself,  restraint  of  shipmates.”  And  of  course  in  this   latter  goal  we  know  that  Odysseus  fails  and  as  prophesied  all  his  shipmates  are  then  lost.     Then  in  the  depths  of  Hades  Odysseus  sees  his  mother  who  has  died  in  his  absence  .  She   asks  him  painful  questions  about  his  absence  and  all  that  he  has  left  behind,  and  then   finally  she  tells  him  the  cause  of  her  own  death  while  he  was  gone:     “So  I  too  pined  away,  so  doom  befell  me,…   not  that  illness  overtook  me–no  true  illness   wasting  the  body  to  undo  the  spirit;   only  my  loneliness  for  you,  Odysseus,   for  your  kind  heart  and  counsel,  gentle  Odysseus,   took  my  life  away.”     This  is  when  he  seeks  to  embrace  her,  three  times,  and  is  unable,  her  shadow  sifting   through  his  hands.  Not  only  is  he  responsible  for  her  death,  she  evokes  a  past  that  he  can   never  recover.  And  at  this  point  he  doubts  that  he  can  ever  recover  his  past  kindness  and   gentleness  that  only  his  mother  seems  to  remember.  This  recognition  of  the  depth  of  his   loss  is  both  his  greatest  point  of  pain  and  the  true  beginning  of  his  rebirth  and  his  process   of  healing.       �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   Let  me  now  turn  briefly  to  Aeneas.  As  we  discussed,  Aeneas’  mentor  is  Venus,  the  goddess   of  love,  and  he  also  has  a  very  similar  excursion  into  the  underworld  in  the  very  center  of   The  Aeneid.  Similarly,  this  journey  to  the  underworld  serves  as  perhaps  the  most  moving   part  of  his  story.  Like  Odysseus,  he  is  similarly  guided  by  a  seer,  the  Cumaean  Sibyl.       In  Hades  Aeneas  also  seeks  to  embrace  his  ancestor  three  times,  but  in  this  case  it  is  his   father,  Anchises  that  he  seeks  to  embrace.  As  Jacob  Klein  notes,  the  story  runs  both  reverse   and  inverse—father,  not  mother,  guided  by  love,  not  wisdom—yet  still  it  is  at  heart  a  hero’s   quest,  and  follows  the  basic  pattern  we  previously  described.  Here  Virgil  describes  their   emotional  meeting:     “And  have  you  come  at  last,  and  has  the  pious   love  that  your  father  waited  for  defeated   the  difficulty  of  the  journey?  Son,   can  I  look  at  your  face,  hear,  and  return   familiar  accents?...”     Then  he:  “My  father,  it  was  your  sad  image,   so  often  come,  that  urged  me  to  these  thresholds.   My  ships  are  moored  on  the  Tyrrhenian.   O  father,  let  me  hold  your  right  hand  fast,   do  not  withdraw  from  my  embrace.”  His  face   was  wet  with  weeping  as  he  spoke.  Three  times   he  tried  to  throw  his  arms  around  Anchises’   neck;  and  three  times  the  Shade  escaped  from  that   vain  clasp—like  light  winds,  or  most  like  swift  dreams.   The  Aeneid,  Book  VI,  908-­‐927     He  similarly  has  to  let  go  of  his  past,  and  toward  that  end,  his  father  shows  him  not  the   heroes  of  the  past  in  Hades,  but  rather  his  hero  warrior  descendants  of  the  future  who  will   found  the  city  of  Rome.  With  this  bright  but  difficult  future  in  mind,  Aeneas  leaves  Hades   with  a  new  hope  for  a  path  to  a  better  future.    And  many  of  you  will  remember,  after  seeing   this  vision  of  the  future,  he  and  the  Sibyl  pass  through  the  polished  ivory  gate  of  Sleep   which  Virgil  calls  the  “way  the  Spirits  send  false  dreams”—the  same  gate  of  “dreams  of   glimmering  illusion,  [and]  fantasies”  (Odyssey,  Book  19,  532-­‐533)  from  which  Penelope   suspected  her  dream  of  Odysseus’  return  most  likely  came.  Virgil  leaves  all  to  wonder   whether  Aeneas’  hope  for  a  great  and  just  Rome  is  a  false  hope  that  will  never  come  to  pass.     As  Jacob  Klein  the  late  Annapolis  tutor  and  Dean  so  elegantly  has  shown  in  his  essay  “The   Myth  of  Virgil’s  Aeneid,4  Virgil’s  story  of  Aeneas  is  a  retelling  of  The  Odyssey,  written  as  the   reverse  and  inverse  of  Homer’s  story  of  Odysseus.  The  Aeneid  mirrors  The  Iliad  and  The   Odyssey  together,  told  in  reverse.  Like  The  Odyssey,  The  Aeneid  is  a  homecoming/recovery   story,  but  it  ends  with  the  wrath  of  Aeneas  just  as  The  Iliad  begins  with  the  wrath  of   Achilles.    As  Jacob  Klein  points  out,  The  Aeneid  ends  with  a  Trojan  war  raging  in  reverse                                                                                                                   4  Jacob  Klein,  The  Myth  of  Virgil’s  Aeneid,  from  Jacob  Klein:  Lectures  and  Essays,  Ed.  R   Williamson  and  E.  Zuckerman,  St.  John’s  College  Press,  Annapolis,  MD:  1985     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   order  and  “This  time  it  will  end  with  the  victory  of  Aeneas,  the  new  Hector,  over  Turnus,   the  new  Achilles.”  And  after  this  victory  there  will  be  a  final  reconciliation  between  the   Trojans  and  Latins  and  all  the  warring  gods  that  represent  them.  Thus,  The  Aeneid  ends   with  the  dawn  of  a  new  golden  age  in  which  Rome  is  born  and  through  war  brings  the   dream  of  new  golden  age  of  peace.  Aeneas  story  is  a  story  of  the  recovery  of  Aeneas  and  the   restoration  of  his  world,  of  a  better  and  just  world,  of  Troy  reborn  as  Rome.     Part  4:    9–11  and  “The  Waste  Land”  of  modern  healthcare     So  what  does  all  this  have  to  do  with  healthcare  and  our  modern  quest  for  healing?     Through  these  stories  we  have  seen  that  the  hero’s  quest  always  begins  with  the  discovery   by  the  hero  that  the  world  is  upside  down  and  needs  to  be  restored.       So  my  novel,  The  End  of  Healing,  begins  with  its  protagonist,  the  young  Dr.  Don  Newman,   discovering  himself  in  a  very  dark  place.  In  the  first  part  of  our  new  millennium,  precisely   700  years  after  Dante  Alighieri  painful  awakening,  Dr.  Newman  finds  himself  in  a  broken   world.  The  End  of  Healing  begins  when  Dr.  Newman  is  awoken  in  the  middle  of  a  night  on   call  to  put  an  intravenous  line  in  the  neck  of  a  dying  woman  who  can’t  talk  because  a  recent   massive  stroke  from  which  she  will  never  recover.  He  knows  his  patient  doesn’t  want  an   intravenous  line  and  that  it  won’t  really  help  her  get  better.  Here  is  a  bit  of  their  encounter   after  Dr.  Newman  has  prepped  and  draped  Mrs.  Bellamy  before  putting  in  the  unwanted  IV:     For  a  quiet  moment  she  was  just  a  neck.  He  numbed  the  skin  with  a  bee  sting  of   lidocaine,  studied  the  anatomical  landmarks  to  find  the  right  spot,  and  stabbed  her   neck  with  the  three-­‐inch  needle.  She  screamed  beneath  the  drape.  Dark  blood  shot   from  the  hub  of  the  hypodermic.  He  passed  a  long  stiff  wire  through  the  needle  into   the  jugular  vein  and  deep  into  her  body.   The  pager  started  screeching  again  but  he  couldn’t  reach  under  his  gown  to  turn   it  off.  A  voice  in  his  head  whispered  the  oath  he  had  taken  at  the  beginning  and  again   at  the  end  of  medical  school:  and  at  least  I  will  do  no  harm.  Bullshit!  Harm  is  my   business.  How  could  any  good  ever  come  out  of  what  I’m  doing  here  to  Sibyl   Bellamy?   His  bloody  gloved  fingers  worked  to  thread  the  Silastic  tubing  over  the  wire,   through  her  soft  skin,  and  down  to  the  first  chamber  of  her  heart.  Sibyl  Bellamy   began  to  whimper.   Out  of  nowhere,  water  filled  his  eyes  and  blurred  his  vision.  What  was  this?  It   wasn’t  like  him  to  become  emotional  while  dealing  with  a  patient,  and  he  bristled   with  irritation  at  the  sudden  unprofessional  display.  He  blinked  hard,  hoping  the   nurse  didn’t  notice  the  single  drop  that  spilled  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  and  trailed   across  his  cheek  and  around  his  mouth  to  balance  on  the  tip  of  his  chin.   Mrs.  Bellamy  had  once  been  a  beautiful  woman.  Something  about  her  reminded   him  of  his  own  mother.  Momma  was  gone  now,  and  he  had  done  nothing  to  help  her,   either.  As  he  struggled  to  suture  the  line  into  place,  the  tear  dropped  off  his  chin.  It   landed  on  the  sterile  blue  drape  and  spread  into  a  dark  circle  over  Sibyl  Bellamy’s   heart.   The  End  of  Healing,  Chapter  1,  The  Dark  Ward       �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   A  patient  helps  him  to  see  to  his  horror  that  far  from  following  his  oath  to  “at  least  do  no   harm”  that  “harm  has  become  his  business.”  This  is  a  near  universal  experience  among   young  would-­‐be  healers,  that  at  some  point  early  in  their  career  they  realize  that  they  have   entered  a  powerful  industry  that  does  not  always  place  the  interest  of  the  patient  first,  and   that  they  themselves  have  participated  in  the  business  of  harm.     Then  he  meets  his  mentor,  Dr.  Gil  Sampson,  who  encourages  him  to  cross  a  threshold,  to   forsake  plans  for  a  lucrative  career  in  cardiology,  and  instead  embark  on  a  dubious  quest  to   “Follow  the  money”  to  better  understand  the  true  ends  of  the  healthcare  industry  today.  Dr.   Sampson  and  Dr.  Newman’s  fellow  students  in  his  Oxford  style  graduate  program  in  Health   System  change  assist  him  in  this  quest  and  force  him  to  see  things  he  finds  horrifying  and   which  challenge  his  cherished  identity  as  a  healer.  Soon  after  beginning  his  Ivy  League   graduate  program  he  is  sorely  tested.  On  September  11,  2001  Don  and  his  fellow  students   are  sitting  in  their  college’s  coffee  shop,  a  place  that  looks  a  lot  like  the  St.  John’s  College   coffee  shop  beneath  McDowell  Hall,  when  the  planes  hit:     Don  had  been  drinking  coffee  in  The  Down  Under,  one  eye  on  the  morning  news   and  the  other  on  his  seminar  reading,  when  the  television  showed  the  first  plane   slamming  into  the  side  of  the  South  Tower.  He  assumed  the  pilot  had  veered  off   course  or  had  mechanical  problems—a  terrible  freak  accident—and  went  back  to   his  reading.   Just  after  nine  o’clock,  a  student  in  the  coffee  shop  screamed,  “Oh,  my  God!”  The   panic  in  her  voice  caused  Don  to  look  at  the  screen  just  as  a  second  jet  slammed  into   the  North  Tower.  Boiling  orange  flames  exploded  from  all  four  sides  of  several   floors.  Glittering  glass  and  metal  showered  the  streets  below,  and  billowing  black   smoke  poured  out  of  the  jagged,  gaping  holes  in  the  gleaming  towers.     Everything  changed  in  that  moment.  The  concern  in  the  room  turned  to  palpable   fear  and  everyone  was  now  riveted  to  the  news.  Some  were  crying;  others  were   desperately  dialing  their  cell  phones….The  South  Tower  crumbled  first,  just  before   ten  o’clock.  The  giant  building  collapsed  in  slow  motion.  It  started  with  a  barely   noticeable  shudder  and  a  slight  sagging  that  warped  the  skyscraper’s  straight  lines.   The  people  up  on  the  roof  hoping  in  vain  for  a  helicopter  rescue  must  have  felt  the   steel  beams  give  up  beneath  them  as  the  floors  began  to  collapse,  accelerating  to  a   machine  gun  staccato.  Puffs  of  smoke  shot  out  from  between  the  floors  with  each   percussion,  and  gray-­‐brown  clouds  of  dust  began  to  rise  and  swell.  The  interminable   fall  ended  with  a  huge  belch  as  the  floors  slammed  to  the  ground.  The  building   exhaled  its  last  breath—a  thick,  rolling  cloud  of  dust  and  debris  that  advanced  from   the  heap  and  engulfed  everything  in  its  path.   The  fall  of  the  North  Tower  thirty  minutes  later  was  predictable  and  right  on   time.  In  spite  of  that,  a  steady  stream  of  fearless  firemen  filed  into  the  building  right   up  to  the  very  end.   The  End  of  Healing,  Chapter  7,  The  Waste  Land     He  quickly  discovers  what  anyone  who  has  eyes  to  see,  can  see—that  as  horrible  as  the   attack  on  the  Twin  Towers  was—the  world  of  modern  healthcare  is  far  worse.  To  his   dismay  he  learns  that  over  100,000  Americans  are  killed  by  medical  mistakes  in  hospitals   every  year—  the  equivalent  of  a  jumbo  jet  crashing  every  day!  That  makes  healthcare  far     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   and  away  the  number  one  cause  of  accidental  death  in  the  U.S.    And  he  discovers  that   healthcare  providers  generally  get  paid  more  when  they  make  mistakes.  That  some  100   million  people  worldwide  are  killed,  maimed,  or  seriously  injured  by  medical  mistakes   every  10  years,  more  than  have  ever  been  killed  in  any  war  in  the  history  of  time  in  a   similar  period.     And  as  he  “follows  the  money”  with  his  professor’s  guidance,  he  realizes  that  the  costs  of   the  American  high-­‐tech,  hospital-­‐focused  healthcare  approach  are  unsupportable.    He  sees   that  healthcare  is  already  consuming  20%  of  the  American  economy  and  it  is  hungry  for   more.    Even  when  the  novel  is  set,  in  2001,  he  sees  that  the  average  family  of  four  is   spending  (or  is  having  spent  on  their  behalf)  over  $20,000  per  year  and  the  average   Medicare  age  family  of  two  is  spending  over  $40,000  per  year,  amounts  that  most  American   families  can  ill  afford.  As  he  searches  to  understand  how  and  why  this  untenable   situation—this  broken  world—has  developed,  he  discovers,  beneath  the  surface  of  his   ordinary  medical  world,  a  powerful  healthcare  industrial  complex  seemingly  bent  on   trading  people’s  health  for  profit.  Don  and  his  fellow  students  begin  a  comprehensive   investigation  of  each  of  the  major  healthcare  industries  and  the  organizations  and   individuals  that  collude  with  them  in  the  quest  for  profit.     As  young  Dr.  Newman  struggles  to  find  a  framework  to  help  him  understand  the  broken   world  of  modern  healthcare  he  turns  to  Dante.  As  Virgil  look  to  Homer  and  Dante  looked  to   Virgil,  so  Dr.  Newman  looks  to  Dante  for  guidance.  His  Italian  mother  had  introduced  him   to  La  Divina  Commedia  as  a  boy  and  he  inherited  her  treasured  antique  copy.  He  turns  to   that  book  as  a  graduate  student  in  his  search  for  answers.    And  his  inherited  facsimile   edition  of  the  Commedia  contains  the  earliest  known  illustrations  of  the  Comedy  drawn  by   the  famous  Renaissance  artist  Botticelli.    Here  is  Botticelli’s  depiction  of  the  levels  of   Dante’s  Inferno.       �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015     In  The  End  of  Healing,  Dr.  Newman  discovers  that  Dante’s  representation  of  the  moral   organization  of  the  universe  is  a  perfect  ethical  framework  for  understanding  modern   medicine.  In  a  flash  of  inspiration,  Don  realizes  that  the  levels  of  healthcare  hell  he  has  been   exploring  with  Dr.  Sampson  in  their  seminar  correspond  perfectly  with  the  levels  in  Dante’s   Inferno.  He  discovers  that  for  every  ethical  misstep,  mistake,  or  error  that  Dante  catalogued   there  is  a  corresponding  mistake  in  modern  healthcare.  He  discovers  that  the  way  humans   can  go  wrong  really  have  not  changed  that  much  in  the  last  700  years.     So  like  Dante,  he  begins  to  catalog  the  errors  in  modern  healthcare  and  to  use  Botticelli’s   drawing  as  his  guide.    He  realizes  that  these  errors  in  health  system  organization  have   consequences  in  terms  of  money  spent,  lives  saved,  and  lives  lost  and  he  begins  to  record   these  consequences  in  his  own  version  of  Botticelli’s  diagram  in  his  journal.    He  works   night  after  night  reviewing  the  literature,  calculating  and  filling  in  the  money  spent,  lives   saved  and  lives  lost  in  every  sector  of  the  healthcare  industry.  And  here  is  what  he   discovers.   Diagram  of  Healthcare  Hell5                                                                                                                       5  From  The  End  of  Healing  by  Jim  Bailey,  Illustration  by  Joel  Hilgenberg,  copyright  ©  2014   by  The  Healthy  City.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015   In  his  journey  into  the  hell  of  the  ordinary  medical  world  Don  discovers  that  the  priorities   of  our  healthcare  system  are  completely  upside  down–and  that  this  has  horrible   consequences  for  the  people  who  depend  on  and  need  good  health  care  for  themselves  and   their  families.    In  The  End  of  Healing,  Don  and  his  colleagues  see  the  victims  of  disorganized   healthcare  up  close,  they  share  the  stories  of  the  unnecessary  suffering  they  have   witnessed,  and  they  understand  the  reasons  for  the  diseases  and  premature  deaths  of  these   innocent  people.     What  Don  discovers  through  his  journey  is  that  where  Americans  spend  the  most—on   hyped  care,  procedures,  and  hospital  care—they  get  the  least,  the  fewest  lives  are  saved,   and  the  most  lives  are  lost  from  medical  errors,  adverse  events,  and  complications.  And   where  Americans  spend  the  least  is  where  the  true  high-­‐value  care  lies,  care  that  has  the   potential  to  not  only  save  far  more  lives  but  also  to  help  bring  abundant  life  to  the  people  of   America.  This  is  the  reality  of  modern  medicine  in  the  United  States,  where  it  is  currently   estimated  that  $800  billion  or  one-­‐third  of  the  total  $2.4  trillion  U.S.  healthcare  budget  is   wasted  on  potentially  harmful  activities  activities  that  do  little  or  nothing  to  promote   health.6,7     So  tonight  I  have  shared  the  beginning  of  the  story  of  a  new  hero  who  perhaps  can  help  us   confront  one  of  the  greatest  social  ills  of  our  time,  the  unconscionable  waste  of  lives  and   resources  on  a  broken  healthcare  system.  Perhaps  Dr.  Don  Newman’s  search,  like  Dante’s,   Aeneas’,  and  Odysseus’  before  him  can  guide  us  to  the  nature  of  true  healing  and  help  us   discover  true  healing  for  ourselves  and  our  families.     His  work  and  our  work  is  simple—to  reclaim  and  restore  our  upside-­‐down  healthcare   system.    All  we  have  to  do  is  to  turn  the  system  right-­‐side  up—right-­‐side  health  care  and   reclaim  the  well.  All  that  is  required  is  to  move  the  money  from  wasteful  sectors  and   industries  where  it  does  harm  to  where  it  can  do  good  through  primary  care  and   prevention.  This  task  would  be  easy  if  only  every  bit  of  that  waste  were  not  someone’s   profit.  So  this  process  of  transformation  will  require  heroes.     Through  Dr.  Newman’s  story  we  learn  that  high-­‐value  health  care  starts  with  each  of  us  and   our  values.  Before  we  can  hope  to  demand  high-­‐value  health  care  we  have  to  know  what   high-­‐value  health  care  is  and  how  we  can  find  it.  We  must  ask  ourselves  what  health  care  is   truly  most  valuable  and  discern  the  answer.  Through  The  End  of  Healing  the  reader  can   accompany  Dr.  Don  Newman  and  participate  in  that  process  of  painful  discernment.  That  is   the  healing  journey  that  young  Dr.  Don  Newman  bids  us  to  join  in—a  quest  to  seek  the  path   through  our  broken  healthcare  system  to  reclaim  the  well  and  the  narrow  path  to  true   healing.                                                                                                                       6  Orzag  PR,  Statement  to  the  Committee  on  the  Budget,  U.S.  House  of  Representatives,   Increasing  the  Value  of  Federal  Spending  on  Health  Care,  July  16,  2008.  Available  at:   https://www.cbo.gov/publication/41717;  Accessed  9/10/15.   7  Kelly  R,  Where  can  $700  billion  in  waste  be  cut  annually  from  the  U.S.  healthcare  system?     Thomson  Reuters,  October  2009,  Available  at:   http://www.ncrponline.org/PDFs/2009/Thomson_Reuters_White_Paper_on_Healthcare_ Waste.pdf;  Accessed  9/10/15.     �Jim  Bailey   St.  John’s  College,  Annapolis,  MD   Friday  Night  Lecture,  September  11,  2015     This  call  to  adventure  issued  by  The  End  of  Healing  is  not  unlike  the  call  issued  by  Dante   through  his  Divine  Comedy  to  examine  our  ordinary  world  and  reclaim  it,  or  the  call  of   Virgil  through  his  Aeneid  to  look  for  and  help  build  a  true  and  just  Pax  Romana.  Nor  is  it  far   from  Homer’s  call  to  Odysseus  to  remember  what  is  truly  important  and  to  strive  for  a  new   homecoming  and  restore  his  broken  household.  Let  us  look  for  Odysseus’s  reclaimed   homeland,  Aeneas’  reborn  Trojan  empire,  Dante’s  hoped  for  new  Jerusalem,  and  accept  the   call  to  adventure  to  go  with  young  Dr.  Newman  and  find  the  path  to  the  healthy  city  of  our   dreams.  And  perhaps  in  the  process,  like  Odysseus,  Aeneas,  and  Dante  before  us,  we  can   pass  through  the  darkness  and  be  reborn,  reclaim  the  well,  and  resurrect  our  better  selves.     � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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. 16 pages Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Dante and the hero's quest for healing Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 11, 2015 by Jim Bailey as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bailey, James E. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2015-09-11 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource text Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 82891 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/0ff4e11f50a4c8136675f252f3d28f8b.mp3 81aa8f11a197d4cc9124dfdbf841c807 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 audiotape (Tape 52, Vol. 1) Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 01:31:12 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The beginning of the St. John's program Description An account of the resource Audio recording of part one of a lecture delivered in July 1972 by Stringfellow Barr entitled "The beginning of the St. John's program". Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1972-07 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online. Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Relation A related resource <a title="Part Two" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3714">Part Two</a> <a title="Photographs" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/search?query=%2B%22The+Beginning+of+the+St.+John%27s+Program%22&amp;query_type=boolean&amp;record_types%5B%5D=Item&amp;submit_search=Search">Photographs from the lecture</a> Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context lec Barr 1972-07 (part 1) https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/abf8d3a833817fa6e4ca33d97641f296.mp3 0c6de2ed6e62258cfbb1082214339128 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 audiotape (Tape 52, Vol. 2) Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 01:02:26 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The beginning of the St. John's program Description An account of the resource Audio recording of part two of a lecture delivered in July 1972 by Stringfellow Barr entitled "The beginning of the St. John's program". Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1972-07 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online. Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Relation A related resource <a title="Part One" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/3713">Part One</a> <a title="Photographs" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/search?query=%2B%22The+Beginning+of+the+St.+John%27s+Program%22&amp;query_type=boolean&amp;record_types%5B%5D=Item&amp;submit_search=Search">Photographs from the lecture</a> Language A language of the resource English https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/02c2060d67ead06fb17bb4cfc0ad2ea2.mp3 b5a5c005ba2e44f484ee925bc2de0385 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 compact disc Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:39:58 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The habit of violence Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on January 10, 1959 by Stringfellow Barr as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Barr, Stringfellow, 1897-1982 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1959-01-10 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College owns the rights to this recording. Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context lec Barr 1959-01-10 Friday night lecture Presidents https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/5dc058c6cfef0128419bc15f29965c81.mp3 9b63842d0917bebd51394ff605511fc0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 wav Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:57:42 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Beall_James_2015-12-04_ac Title A name given to the resource Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-Locality in Quantum Mechanics Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on December 4, 2015, by James Beall as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Beall, J. H. (James Howard), 1945- Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2015-12-04 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/319">Typescript</a> Subject The topic of the resource Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von, 1646-1716 Quantum theory Bell's theorem Language A language of the resource English Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/bf94435e925d7dfea916df54baf5f55f.pdf b3bf5b245bf7f902f20d5ed703221a39 PDF Text Text Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-locality in Quantum Mechanics. by J.H. Beall St. John's College Annapolis, Maryland Abstract: One of the most troubling aspects of our understanding of modern physics, generally, and quantum mechanics, specifically, is the concept of “non-locality.” Non-locality appears in an entire class of experiments, including the so-called “two-slit” experiment. In these, particles and “quanta” of light can be emitted and absorbed individually. Yet in the way these particles or quanta traverse the space and time between emission and absorption, they appear to behave not as point particles, but as though they were distributed throughout the entire spatial volume and temporal extent of the experiment. That the phenomenon of non-locality has recently been corroborated over macroscopic distances of the order of 10 kilometers makes these effects all the more remarkable. In this lecture, I shall review the experiments and arguments that have led to an acceptance of nonlocality in modern physics, and will suggest that the concept of space and time that this understanding implies is consistent with Leibniz's Monadology, wherein our ideas of space and time are fundamentally different from those given to us by our intuitions. �Outline of Lecture: 1. Leibniz's Monadology Principle of sufficient reason Leibniz-Clark Correspondence Leibniz and Newton 2. Quantum Mechanics: An Eternal, Golden Braid Einstein's paper on the photoelectric effect Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, and Heisenberg: an eternal golden braid The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle Einstein, Padolski, and Rosen's response to Heisenberg and Bohr 3. Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality) Bell's work at CERN a synopsis of Bell's inequality via entangled particles Bell's untimely death Henry Pierce Stapp's paper on Bell's Theorem and it's implications three reasonable demands: locality, causality, and individuality must abandon one of the three best option: abandon locality Experimental foundation: Stern-Gerlach correlation experiments and more recent experiments with quanta of light Professor Carol Alley's indignation What is the Speed of Quantum Information?” 18 km, 10,000 times speed of light. “ 4. Like shadows on a Cave Wall: Leibniz's ideas of “space” as a kind of answer to the problem of nonlocality 5. Concluding remarks The coherence of mind—The Emporer's New Mind: Roger Penrose on the unity of cognition The commonality of experience The problem and promise of entanglement �1. Leibniz's Monadology Principle of sufficient reason Leibniz-Clark Correspondence Leibniz and Newton Leibniz's writings on the philosophical, mathematical, and natural sciences represent a coherent, if somewhat surprising whole. Nowhere is this more clearly illustrated than in the Monadology, the Discourse of Metaphysics, and the Leibniz-Clark correspondence. Leibniz begins with the view of God as a maker, a being who makes the world the best possible. Part and parcel with this view of the world is Leibniz's Principle of Sufficient Reason. It goes something like this: one monad can only be different from another because of its different character or qualities. I'll use a modern idea of a monad to illustrate this: an elementary particle like an electron. I hope my choice will become plausible a bit later when we start the discussion of quantum mechanics. Is one electron the same as another? If so, if there is NO difference between “this electron” and “that electron”, then they would be the same, since by the Principle of Sufficient Reason they cannot be distinguished. But my simply pointing to them is an indication of the differences. “This electron” IS different from that one, because it has an explicitly different representation that is indicated by my pointing at them. If I were to insist on a Cartesian representation of this difference, I can make a threedimensional coordinate system with a particular origin and three orthogonal axes, labeled x, y, and z. Numbering these axes, I can locate “this” electron and distinguish it from “that” electron by the use of three numbers, x1, y1, and z1, and x2, y2, and z2. I can then say that I have a representation of each of these two electrons as different, given these two sets of three numbers. I can even represent their separation of this electron from that electron by a three-dimensional version of the Pythagorean theorem. Leibniz makes this explicit several places in his works. For example, in the essay, “On Nature Itself (pp 164 – 165), he states in arguing against Descartes' reliance on geometry in physics. Given such an identity or similarity between objects, … not even an angel could find any difference between its states at different times, nor have any evidence for discerning whether the enclosed sphere is at rest or revolves, and what law of motion it follows....Even if those who have not penetrated these matters deeply enough may not have noticed this, it ought to be accepted as certain that such consequences are alien to the nature and order of things, and that nowhere are there things perfectly similar (which is among my [Leibniz's] new and important axioms). (Leibniz's essay, On Nature Itself, paragraph 13) Of course, electrons have other properties as well: charge, mass, angular momentum (they seem to spin like tops), magnetic moment (they act like tiny bar-magnets), velocity, momentum, and kinetic energy, among other things. Each of these qualities or characteristics can also be represented by a series of numbers or “coordinate expression.” I've always fancied that in a very formal sense an electron or any other elementary particle (had Leibniz known about them) could be represented as an aggregation of numbers (or coordinate expressions) related to another monad. This other monad could also be represented in a similar way. By the Principle of Sufficient Reason, some of these coordinate expressions are different from the coordinate expressions of all other monads. The other thing to mention about monads is their unity. They are “simple.” They do not have parts. �According to Leibniz, they represent a unity of different properties, much like a geometric point that is the nexus of many geometric lines. Leibniz states that: Everything is full in nature... And since everything is connected because of the plenitude of the world, and since each body acts on every other body, more or less, in proportion to its distance, and is itself affected by the other through reaction, it follows that each monad is a living mirror or a mirror endowed with internal action, which represents the universe from its own point of view and is as ordered as the universe itself. Leibniz, Principles of Nature and Grace, Based on Reason, paragraph 3. Some even have the property of being “be-souled.” So look around you. According to Leibniz, you are sitting among a reasonably large group of monads, each of which is capable of noticing you and regarding you as separate, individual “beings.” There is one final thing about monads (among their many interesting properties) that bears on our discussion of quantum mechanics. As Leibniz says, tt another point, in the Monadology: The monads have no windows through which something can enter or leave. (Monadology, paragraph 7) Monads have no “windows.” Yet each monad is a representation to a greater or lesser extent of everything else in the Universe because it is linked to all other monads by means of its relation to God. That is, each monad is a reflection of the entire Universe precisely because it is in some way a projection of a part of God. The debt Leibniz owes to Plato's Republic for this concept (note that I did not say image) is nowhere directly acknowledged by Leibniz, but it is manifest. The one quarrel Leibniz would have with my associating him with the image of the Cave in the Socratic dialog is simply that it is an image as opposed to something that dwells in the understanding. For Leibniz's God is, at least to my thinking, a Mathematician, and He, like Dedekind, holds that mathematics has no need of geometry. In this conception, then, there is a profound similarity between all of our connections with one another and with the physical, social, and moral world. It seems clear, therefore, that Leibniz does not think that space has an actual existence. As he states explicitly, As for my own opinion, I have said more than once that I hold space to be something relative, as time is, that I hold it to be an order of coexistences, as time is an order of successions. (Letters to Clark, Leibniz's Third Paper, Paragraph 4) This is radically at odds with Newton's Principia, wherein Newton seems to deduce the existence of absolute space from the existence of absolute (i.e, accelerated) motion. For Newton, space is the “sensorium of God.” Let us ponder this for a moment. For Newton, space has an existence. We can look out into the space before us and hold it in our minds as something, even though we can (as Kant does) in our imaginations remove all of its contents from the space that holds it. What is left over is space, be it a cubic centimeter in front of us or volume 100,000 parsecs on a side. �When Leibniz sees this emptiness, he views it as an actual metaphysical void, something that not even God can relate to. As such, it is an abomination. Leibniz cannot accept a thing that God cannot act upon, and the idea of an actual void is such a thing. Since God must be able to act on all creation, a genuine metaphysical void cannot exist. This is one of the reasons why the Leibniz-Clark correspondence (Clark was taking Newton's part) makes little headway to change the authors' minds. The grounds of the conversation are radically different. It is a worthy anecdote to relate that Leibniz and Newton never acknowledged the other's invention of the differential and integral calculus. And it is helpful to note that Newton's development of the calculus relies on geometrical constructions, while Leibniz's relies on an evolution of Descartes' algebra. Is it true that Leibniz uses sketches of curves and lines for his derivations, in part because we are visual creatures, but Leibniz's derivations do seem to be less reliant on images of extension. Thus, for Leibniz, extension has no actual existence. What we interpret as extension, as space, is a representation given to us by God. It is very likely that the same is true for time in Leibniz's metaphysics. This separation is like a three-dimensional Pythagorean theorem whose terms are given to us. What we interpret as a spatial extension is a coordinate interval that we call space, just as temporal separation is a coordinate expression that we call time. What separates us, what we interpret as distance, is just a shadow on a Cave wall caused by our origin within a common light. What separates us from the amber light of ages past is an equivalent coordinate expression whose regularity is provided by God. I cannot resist at this point recalling for you the yarn in the Odyssey when the hero is among the Phaeacians, and Homer brings us back from the story Odysseus is telling into Alkinoos and Arete's palace hall with it's feast and polished stone floors and torchlight. The momentum of that telescoping does not stop there, but places us back firmly into the present where we realize that we are reading words two thousand years old about a story that is a thousand years distant even from that remote past. Like Leibniz's God, Homer has linked us to the ages, and three millennia are as nought. One other element of Leibniz's philosophy will prove useful later: Leibniz directly addresses the problem of a Deity that weaves out our destiny to construct the best of all possible worlds. This Deity knows everything we are capable of doing, knows all of our potentialities, and further, knows all of our past. And since every present state of a simple substance is a natural consequence of its preceding state, the present is pregnant with the future (Monadology, paragraph 22). Thus, the “Demon” in Laplace's Essay on a Theory of Probability takes its tack from Leibniz. Laplace says explicitly: We ought then to regard the present state of the universe as the effect of its anterior state and as the cause of the one which is to follow. Given for one instant an intelligence which could comprehend all the forces by which nature is animated and the respective situation of the beings who compose it -- an intelligence sufficiently vast to submit these data to analysis-it would embrace in the same formula the movements of the greatest bodies of the universe and those of the lightest atom; for it, nothing would be uncertain and the future, as the past, would be present to its eyes. (Laplace, A Philosophical Essay on Probabilities, ch II) Leibniz seems to recognize the determinism of such a God, but sidesteps the troublesome argument of �the lack of free will by claiming that God knows all possible predicates of our being, and so chooses the path which we would follow anyway! I regard the foregoing comments about Leibniz's Monadology as a preamble to our discussion of the problem of non-locality in quantum mechanics, especially as the concept of non-locality has been articulated by interpretations of the work of John Bell, an elementary particle theorist who worked at CERN before his untimely death in the Fall of 1990. But first, I shall try to provide some background on the landscape in which Bell developed his certifiably famous theorem. 2. An Eternal, Golden Braid: Quantum Mechanics in Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, Heisenberg, and Einstein Einstein's paper on the photoelectric effect Rutherford, Bohr, de Broglie, and Heisenberg: an eternal golden braid The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle Einstein, Padolski, and Rosen's response to Heisenberg and Bohr It is surprising at first gloss that of the four papers Einstein published in 1905, the one for which he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics was not one of the following: The one on Special Relativity, entitled “On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies”. Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 891-921; nor the one entitled “Does the Inertia of a Body Depend upon its Energy Content?” (the famous E=mc2 paper), in Annalen der Physik 18 (1905); nor the one on Brownian motion, entitled “On the Movement of Small Particles Suspended in Stationary Liquids Required by the Molecular-Kinetic Theory of Heat.” in Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 549-560. As an aside, it is worthy of note that this is the 100th anniversary of the publication of the 1915 paper on General Relativity, and the 150th anniversary of Maxwell's publication of his theory of light as electromagnetic waves. The actual phrasing from the Nobel Prize Committee was “for his services to Theoretical Physics, and especially for his discovery of the law of the photoelectric effect." The so-called “photoelectric effect” paper has a curious title: “Concerning an Heuristic Point of View Toward the Emission and Transformation of Light.” It was also published in Annalen der Physik 17 (1905): 132-148. It was one which marked the beginnings of what is now called Quantum Mechanics. In the paper, Einstein characterizes the wave theory of light in the following manner: ...the energy of a beam of light from a point source (according to Maxwell's theory of light or, more generally, according to any wave theory) is continuously spread over an ever increasing volume. In the next paragraph, Einstein notes that The wave theory of light, which operates with continuous spatial functions, has worked well in the representation of purely optical phenomena and will probably never be replaced by any other theory. �But in the next paragraph, he states that It seems to me that the observations associated with blackbody radiation, fluorescence, the production of cathode rays by ultraviolet light, and other related phenomena connected with the emission and transformation of light … are more readily understood if one assumes that the energy of light is discontinuously distributed in space. In accordance with the assumption to be considered here, the energy of a light ray spreading out from a point source is not continuously distributed over increasing space but consists of a finite number of energy quanta which are localized at points in space, which move without dividing, and which can only be produced and absorbed as complete units. On the one hand, Einstein allows for a “wave theory” like Maxwell's waves in a luminiferous aether wherein the light it transmitted, reflected, and refracted. He “heuristically” considers light to be a particle during light's emission from and absorption into material bodies. It is perhaps ironic that Einstein was never able to reconcile his conception of the dual nature of light with the equivalent, dual character of particles as both material bodies and waves, a solution posed by de Broglie to provide an explanation of Bohr's model for the energy levels of the hydrogen atom. Of course, this entire “braid” began with efforts to apply models from classical physics that explain everything from cannonballs to asteroids to planets to the very small structures within matter such as atoms and elementary particles via Galileo, Thomson, Millikan, and Rutherford. By way of a truncated outline of the argument, Bohr used the existence of hydrogen spectral lines and the contemporary work by Planck to explain so-called Blackbody radiation. Planck made the hypothesis that discrete oscillators in matter had only certain fundamental modes with which they could vibrate. He asserted that these oscillators were in equilibrium with the thermal radiation from matter with a particular temperature, and thus explained blackbody radiation. Bohr wondered what the “Planck oscillators” could be, since the classical picture of an orbiting charge holds that it should radiate continuously. He hypothesized that his atom settled into quasi-stationary states and emitted and absorbed radiation during transitions from one energy level to another. It is likely that everyone in the audience is familiar with Bohr's model from high school science classes and many popular lectures and books on the subject of science. You Seniors are in the process of completing this sequence of papers. In fact, the Bohr model has become a commonplace picture of the atom. But such familiarity hides the utter strangeness of the concept. The atom is stable for a while, and then is excited or de-excited by the absorption or emission of light at a specific frequency. These energy levels are Bohr's answer to why the spectra of light from certain gases contains only certain frequencies. If you sprinkle salt onto the logs in your fireplace, the resultant light is a brilliant yellow. That yellow light contains only certain frequencies, frequencies that are as much an indication of the presence of the sodium in salt as your finger prints are of you as an individual person. We know the constitution of stars precisely because of this line-spectrum identification of elements, stars that can be hundreds or thousands of light years distant. The strangeness of the idea of the Bohr atom bothered de Broglie, who reasoned by a kind of symmetry derived from Einstein's photoelectric effect paper (wherein light can have a particulate nature, as well as a wave-like nature) that particles could perhaps have both a discrete nature and also a wave-like nature. In an immensely clever argument (he won the Nobel Prize for it), de Broglie argued that one �can calculate the “wavelength” of a particle by assigning it a specific momentum, which implies that it has an energy. That energy can be used to calculate a characteristic wavelength, E = hν = hc/λ. It is a stunning triumph for so simple an argument that the wavelengths thus calculated for an electron in the Bohr orbits for hydrogen is exactly the circumference of the quasi-stationary orbits for electrons in the hydrogen atom. So the electrons are not exactly particles when they are inside the atom. They also have wave-like qualities. Schroedinger was a young assistant professor when de Broglie published his astonishing idea. I have it on good authority that Schroedinger was assigned the task of giving the journal club lecture at his university the next week. It's a bit like these Friday night lectures, but less formal and typically they are on a week-day afternoon. The assignment was something like, “Take a look at de Broglie's paper and give us a synopsis of it at the journal club next Tuesday.” Schroedinger had a ski trip planned for that weekend (Friday through Sunday, apparently). Being the persistent soul that he was, he took a copy of de Broglie's paper and a book on solutions to differential equations in various coordinate systems (rectilinear, cylindrical, and spherical) with him on the ski trip. The short version of the story is that he didn't get much skiing done, but he came back well on the way of inventing wave mechanics, an explanation for the energy levels of atoms as kind of standing waves in space. His “eureka” moment came when he said to his bewildered ski companions, “I have just fit the energy levels of the hydrogen atom in a way you would not believe!” The standing waves were similar to the three-dimensional oscillations of sound waves in a concert hall. But standing waves of what? I believe Schroedinger originally thought of the standing waves as waves of charge density. The electron has wave-like qualities à la de Broglie, and it has charge, so it would make sense as an extension of de Broglie's hypothesis. But electrons have discrete charges when they are measured by Millikan in his famous oil-drop experiment. How come we never see fractional charges? Schroedinger's description of electrons (or any elementary particle, for that matter) was that they are aggregations of waves that reinforce in a certain region and cancel out everywhere else. This makes sense in explaining the energy levels of a hydrogen atom, but causes other conceptual problems. First slide (the Cat – on title page) Schroedinger's description of a particle as an aggregation of waves of some sort caused Heisenberg to analyze the behavior of such particles when we try to measure them. If we try to localize the particle as we do in the act of measurement, we confine it to a narrower region in space. That means we add up more and more waves. Each wave has a slightly different speed. Schroedinger needed these different speeds for different wavelengths in order to get the “wave-packet” to behave like a particle. But that means that the momentum of the particle becomes less certain over time, since, in order to localize the particle, we need to add more wavelengths, and adding more wavelengths means the velocity (and therefore the momentum) become more uncertain. �Slide 2: Slide of wave addition to produce wave-packet goes here There is actually a calculable limit to the uncertainty in the momentum times the uncertainty in the position of a particle. It is greater than or equal to Planck's constant. This is of course the Heisenberg Uncertainty Relation. It says that there is a fundamental, and not simply an experimental, limit to our knowledge of the location of a particle and its momentum. Slide 3: Slide of single slit diffraction and its relation to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle �A particularly helpful illustration of the Heisenberg derivation (and one that will be useful to us later in this lecture can be had by looking at single-slit diffraction of a plane wave. The wave can be a wave of light, an elementary particle like an electron, or even a water wave. If it originates from a far-distant source, the wave is essentially a series of parallel troughs and peaks with its propagation direction perpendicular to those troughs and peaks. When we allow it to approach a screen so that the peaks and troughs (as seen from above) are parallel to the screen, we can watch the interaction of the barrier with the oncoming waves. If there is an opening in the barrier that is of the same order as the wavelength of the waves, a fraction of the waves can pass the barrier. When this happens, a part of the wave front gets through the barrier, but for some fraction of the waves, the direction of the waves is changed because of the wavesfront's interference with itself. This interference produces a dispersion of the wave front that gives its velocity a vertical component. It is important to note what has happened here. We have limited the wavefront in the vertical direction to a x that is essentially the width of the slit. It has produced a dispersion in the velocity of the wave in the vertical direction, a v. In Schroedinger's terms, this dispersion in the velocity of the wave in the vertical direction (that is, in the same direction as the opening of the slit) is an uncertainty in the velocity. If we consider the wave as representing the motion of a particle, then the localization of the particle within a delta x produces an uncertainty in the momentum of the particle of order delta p. This illustration is not entirely fanciful. In fact, Heisenberg uses it as one of his derivations of the Heisenberg Uncertainty relation. Furthermore, the smaller the slit, that is, the smaller the uncertainty in position, the greater the uncertainty in the momentum. This has led to no end of problems in interpretation. One example of this is the fact that elementary particles (be they electrons, protons, or photons), when emitted from a source and directed toward a screen or grid whose spacings are the same size as the wavelengths of the elementary particles, will show a diffraction pattern on a screen downstream from slits. For the sake of clarity, we will consider only photons, although the discussion could as well apply to any elementary particle, including neutrons, protons, electrons, etc. Let a stream of photons set forth across the chaotic gulf toward a screen. Imagine this as like a scene from Milton's Paradise Lost as Satan launches himself across the chasm between hell and paradise. These photons are transmitted and diffracted as though they are electromagnetic waves. When they reach two slits in the screen, the waves interfere with one another so that there is a very specific pattern of light and dark lines on the screen downstream from the slits called a “two-slit” pattern. �Slide 4: Slide on single-slit vs. double-slit pattern here Suppose we turn down the intensity of the light. Let us make the light exceedingly dim, so that when we look at the screen or detector, we find only one cell on the screen illuminated or exposed (you remember photographic film, I trust?) at a time. Slide 5: Low Light/Flux level slide goes here What happens next is remarkable. This figure shows the buildup over time of electrons in a two slit experiment at very low flux levels. We see one quantum at a time arriving . As we watch, the �diffraction pattern begins to develop. We see the characteristic two-slit pattern. But we have allowed only one quantum (in this case, electrons) to be emitted at a time. How can we possibly get a two-slit pattern. Such an experimental apparatus exists. The results from it behave exactly as I have said. Apparently, the individual light or particle quantum goes through both slits at once. It is spread out over the entire space of the experimental screen (or more properly, the experimental volume) and then excites only one element of the detector. If this seems quixotic to you, it is. It is known as “the problem of measurement” in the vernacular of Shady Bend. The wave function (remember all those waves adding up to produce the wave packet) is spread out even for a single particle or quantum of light. The moment before it hits the detector screen, it is everywhere on the screen. At the next instant, it collapses into a single point. This is known as the “collapse of the wave function.” The collapse is apparently instantaneous. If these are material particles or quanta of light, they sort themselves into a single area on the screen instantaneously. There were many objections to this explanation, not the least of which was that it violates causality. The wave-packet description of the two-slit experiment requires that the waves instantly collapse to a single point, after having, a moment in time before, occupied the whole of the experiment. Bohr and Heisenberg made noble efforts to resolve this apparent contradiction by supposing that the wave function description of elementary particles was merely a calculation of likelihood or probability. Since probability is only a likelihood, the collapse of the wave function is merely the result of a measurement. And like any measurement, once it occurs, the answer is always, “Yes. That's what happened!” Einstein would have none of it. His famous quote, “God does not play dice!”, about the so-called Copenhagen Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics was an indication of his objection to the probability interpretation of the Psi-function. In his view, there was an underlying causal relation between the elements of the experiments and their outcomes that was not represented by quantum mechanics (QM). Yet QM is a remarkably successful theoretical method. In a paper in response to the probability interpretation of QM, Einstein, Podolski and Rosen (EPR) tried to show that the uncertainty relation developed by Heisenberg was flawed, and that some variations of the single or two slit experiment would give an inroad into figuring out precisely what the momentum and position of the particle would be. One of the thought experiments proposed to measure the momentum transferred to the screen by the impact of the particle, This (by conservation of momentum) would allow the particle momentum to be measured exactly, while the position would be localized to the region within the slit. But when one took into account the uncertainty in the position of the screen, the Heisenberg Uncertainty limit returned. A variant of one of the thought experiments used two particles that interacted prior to the slit, and then had one transfer its momentum to one screen while another's position was determined independently. Again, by conservation of momentum the second particle's momentum and its position were to be determined beyond the Heisenberg limit. Each response to EPR by Heisenberg and Bohr led EPR to a further amplifications of the experimental apparatus. While the correspondence in the scientific literature led many to accept the Copenhagen Interpretation and the Heisenberg Uncertainty limit, Einstein was never able to believe the probabilistic nature of Bohr and Heisenberg's interpretation. Yet the alternative to a probabilistic interpretation was an instantaneous collapse of a physical wave function. This instantaneous collapse would clearly exceed the speed of light, and thus render it �difficult to accept, since the limiting speed of the transfer of information in Special Relativity is the velocity of light. This is one of the fundamental hypotheses of Special Relativity. This led John Bell to a further analysis of the two slit experiment, and the theoretical development of Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality), which has allowed many experimental test of locality, causality, and the predictions of quantum mechanics. It appears to contradict Einstein's hopes for a “hidden variable” theory, wherein true causality would be returned to the world. Apparently, this is not to be realized. �3. Bell's Theorem (or Bell's Inequality) Bell's work at CERN a synopsis of Bell's inequality via entangled particles Bell's untimely death Henry Pierce Stapp's paper on Bell's Theorem and it's implications three reasonable demands: locality, causality, and individuality must abandon one of the three best option: abandon locality Experimental foundation: Stern-Gerlach correlation experiments and more recent experiments with quanta of light Professor Carol Alley's indignation But how does this happen? Bell's theorem is essentially a test of whether or not two particles, once they interact, can be separated enough so that their states do not influence one another. Remarkably, it is posed in such a way that it can be implemented as an experimental test. Schroedinger called this phenomenon, wherein the wave function of two particles becomes joined by their interaction, an “entanglement” of the wave functions of the particles. And you recall that all particles have a wave function description that guides or governs their behavior. This hypothesis bears on EPR's paper. To reiterate, if two particles interact, then the momentum of one could be determined by inference due to measuring the momentum of the other, since the momentum of the pair has to be conserved. At the same time, the position of the first particle, for which we inferred the momentum, could be accurately measured for its position as long as the pair were sufficiently far apart. Thus, the momentum and position of a particle could be measured at a precision which violated the Heisenberg uncertainty limit. At this point, EPR could claim that the Heisenberg Uncertainty relation was merely a practical limit, and that there was some underlying, governing relation which we simply needed to find, some sort of “hidden variable” that really determined the evolution of the system. J.S. Bell was sympathetic to EPR's view. His theorem (called variously Bell's Theorem or Bell's Inequality) was an attempt to establish whether or not EPR's hypothesis could be tested experimentally. The experimental setup is remarkably simple, but not trivial. Two particles would be allowed to interact, to become “entangled,” and then would separate and go off in opposite directions. After a time, the particles would each be measured to determine their properties. As with the EPR paper, the hypothesis that their states could no longer interact would produce one result, whereas the hypothesis that their states were still entangled when they were measured would produce another result. The next figure shows the results of one of the experimental tests of Bell's Theorem, in this case the orientation of the polarization of photons measured by two separated systems. The red (straight) line shows the limit of a “local, realistic” hypothesis, that is, that the results are uncorrelated. Any experimental result below the diagonal red line indicates a correlation (that is, an entanglement) between distant particles and their experimental apparatuses. Perhaps most important, the results predicted by QM show a very close agreement with the data! In some later experimental tests, groups have tried to estimate the speed of the transmission of the correlations by changing slightly the timing of the setting of the measuring apparatuses. In a groundbreaking paper entitled “What is the Speed of Quantum Information,” the result of a measurement �conducted at CERN is that the correlations happen at a velocity at least 10,000 times the speed of light over a distance of 18 kilometers. I say “at least” because the electronics of the experimental setup could not measure a faster correlation. So for all intents and purposes, this speed is a lower limit. The correlations occur effectively instantaneously. What are we to make of such results? Henry Pierce Stapp's paper, entitled “The S-Matrix Interpretation of Quantum Theory”, provides a highly recommended discussion of Bell's Theorem, despite the imposing title. But by way of a friendly warning, it's best to read Section X, Ontological Problems, and Appendix B, World View, first to get a bit of orientation. To give you some idea of Stapp's take on Bell's Theorem, I quote from his paper at a point just after he shows a concise proof of that theorem. A conclusion that can be drawn from this theorem is that the demands of causality, locality, and individuality cannot be simultaneously maintained in the description of nature. Causality demands contingent predictions; locality demands local causes of localized results; individuality demands specification of individual results, not merely their probabilities. For a more readable proof of the theorem, Nick Herbert's article, “Quantum Reality” and his account at http://quantumtantra.com/bell2.html, and in N. Herbert, Am Jour Phys 43, 315 (1975) and in N. Herbert, New Scientist 111, 41 (1986). �Slide 6: Bell's Theorem results. As Stapp puts it: I can see only three ways out of the problem posed by Bell's theorem. 1. The first is to accept, with Everett, the idea that human observers are cognizant only of individual branches of the full reality of the world: The full physical world would contain a superposition of a myriad of interconnected physical worlds of the kind we know. An individual observer would be personally aware of only one response of a macroscopic measuring device, but a full account of reality would include all the other possible outcomes on an equal footing, though perhaps with unequal “weights.” �2. The second way out is to accept that nature is basically highly nonlocal, in the sense that correlations exist that violently contradict – even at the macroscopic level – the usual ideas of the space-time propagation of information. The intuitive idea of the physical distinctness of physically well-separated macroscopic objects then becomes open to question. And the intuitive idea of space itself is placed in jeopardy. For space is intimately connected to the space-time relationships that are naturally expressed in terms of it. If there are, between farapart microscopic events, large instantaneous connections that do not respect spatial separation, then the significance of space would seem to arise only from the statistical relationships that do respect it. 3. The third way out is to deny that measurements that “could have been performed, but were not,” would have had definite results if they had been performed. This way out seems, at first, to be closest to the spirit of the Copenhagen interpretation. However, it seems to contradict the idea of indeterminism, which is also an important element of the spirit of the Copenhagen interpretation. (Henry Pierce Stapp, 1971, Physics Review D, Vol. 3, no. 6, pp 1303-1320). Some comments are clearly in order here. The third option Stapp articulates bears remarkable similarities to Laplace's Demon or Leibniz's God as architects of the best of all possible worlds. In that instantiation of reality, what we choose is exactly what we will. But what we will as a predicate of our being is completely known by the Deity and determined by it. The first option is known as Stapp's “many-worlds” interpretation. That option is often mentioned in the same breath as Schroedinger's Cat. Slide 7: Picture of Schroedinger's Cat here: In that interpretation, as Stapp says, the cat is both alive and dead in the multiply unfolding universe of outcomes. Each point where the quantum hits the screen represents a starting point for a separate future. As an interesting aside, we have some hopes of conducting Bell's Theorem type experiments here at St. John's in a room in the basement appropriately called the Quantum Lab. But of course, no cats will be allowed therein. Most people find the second option, non-locality, most “appealing,” if that is the right phrase. �In the case of the first experimental measurements, conducted with two low-energy neutrons colliding; then recoiling down separate arms of a vacuum line; and finally having their angular momenta determined by a Stern-Gerlach apparatus (I will spare you the details), there were (some thirty or forty years ago) five measurements, four of which agreed with Bell's inequality. Since then, all of the experimental tests of Bell's theorem have confirmed it. To emphasize how surprising this has been, I recall a conversation I had with Professor Carol Alley at the University of Maryland when I was a graduate student there. He is a famous experimental physicist, one who used a laser to measure the distance to the Moon from a site near Goddard Space Flight Center during one of the Apollo Lunar Landing missions. As we talked about Bell's theorem, and it's apparent experimental corroboration, standing in the hallway in the Physics Building at the University of Maryland, he was clearly quite perplexed that there was any corroboration of the inequality. As we spoke, his voice was getting louder and louder. Finally, I said to him, “Professor Alley, you realize that you are shouting at me?” He laughed and said, “Well, it's certainly not you that I'm shouting at, Jim. It's the idea of this result!” Left with the options Stapp articulated, which would you abandon: causality, locality, or individuality. You cannot have all three! Most people, faced with these options, give up locality. 4. Like shadows on a Cave Wall: Leibniz's ideas of “space” as a kind of answer to the problem of non-locality It is time to recall one of the things I am attempting in this lecture: to use Leibniz's conceptions of space and time in the Monadology as a metaphysical foundation for the idea of no-locality in quantum mechanics. Let us reiterate the properties of monads. Monads are singular. That is, they have many properties, but no parts. They have no windows. All their impressions and reflections of the Cosmos come through their reflection and articulation of the Deity, which they represent in a small part. Finally, it is likely, based on the experimental results of Bell's Theorem, that our intuitions of space and time are far removed from the way the Universe actually is. 5. Concluding remarks The coherence of mind - The Emporer's New Mind: Roger Penrose on the unity of cognition The commonality of experience The problem and promise of entanglement I conclude this lecture with two principal points and some speculations. First, it was many years ago that Roger Penrose in a book called The Emporer's New Mind, tried to explain the coherence of mind by the physical effects of non-locality on a relatively small scale – the electrochemical and quantum mechanical processes in the human brain (cats, also, most likely, since Penrose is fond of cats). This coherence would require entanglement of the prior physical states of these electrochemical wave fronts, but this does not seem terribly surprising. Second, entanglement does not depend simply or perhaps even necessarily on proximity. At a fairly formal level, entanglement depends on interaction. The entanglement of cognitive processes with the �experiential world might be sufficient to explain the commonality of experience, a term which I coin here in this essay, especially given that the correlations persist over manifestly macroscopic differences. This bears, quite generally, on our ideas of culture, also. As an example, think of how easy or difficult it can be to change ones entire conception of the world via a single conversation. I thank Mr. William Braithwaite for the suggestion. The concept of non-locality thus articulated can extend far beyond the possibility of common experience to the possibility of kindredness with our common weal. We might not, actually, be separate spheres, hoping to connect, hoping to touch and know the World. Like shadows on a Cave Wall, both we as individuals and the rest of the sensible world could actually be sprung from a common light. Finally, and this is a bit more speculative, but hardly original, the entire evolution of the history of the Cosmos has involved some pretty heavy entanglement. We now call it the Big Bang. This brings us to a further point regarding Leibniz's Deity. God might not have simply said, “Let there be Light.” God might have actually been that light. Thank you. Jim Beall St. John's College Annapolis December 4th, 2015 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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. 19 pages Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Leibniz's Monadology and the Philosophical Foundations of Non-Locality in Quantum Mechanics Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on December 4, 2015, by James Beall as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Beall, J. H. (James Howard), 1945- Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2015-12-04 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource text Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 83339 Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/258">Audio recording</a> Subject The topic of the resource Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von, 1646-1716 Quantum theory Bell's theorem Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c1dd9dc27d89edcf00bb910706d2e8f8.mp4 592d22a220fc730420865d2d95e68dc3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 Moving Image A series of visual representations imparting an impression of motion when shown in succession. Examples include animations, movies, television programs, videos, zoetropes, or visual output from a simulation. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data mov Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:52:53 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madness/Enchantment: Don Quixote and the Contest of the Real Description An account of the resource Video recording of a lecture delivered on August 30, 2024, by Annapolis tutor Nicholas Bellinson as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bellinson, Nicholas Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2024-08-30 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In copyright. <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource moving image Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp4 Subject The topic of the resource Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de, 1547-1616. Don Quixote Quixote, Don (Fictitious character) Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Bellinson_Nicholas_2024-08-30_ac Friday night lecture Tutors Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 Hyperlink A link, or reference, to another resource on the Internet. URL <a href="https://youtu.be/dcxOD61TXK8?si=JcqrX2VOcjlB9BqQ">https://youtu.be/dcxOD61TXK8?si=JcqrX2VOcjlB9BqQ</a> Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource <a href="https://youtu.be/dcxOD61TXK8?si=JcqrX2VOcjlB9BqQ" target="_blank" title="The Womb of Time: Drama as Pregnancy in Shakespeare and Elsewhere" rel="noreferrer noopener">The Womb of Time: Drama as Pregnancy in Shakespeare and Elsewhere</a> Description An account of the resource Video recording of a lecture delivered on September 12, 2025, by Annapolis tutor Nicholas Bellinson as part of the Formal Lecture Series. <br /><br />Mr. Bellinson offers the following description of his lecture: "What kind of relationship to time underlies the urge to attend the theater? Shakespeare points to this question in various plays through the metaphor of time's pregnancy. Over and over, his characters stage this very relationship to time, as we will see in four plays: <em>Othello</em>, <em>Hamlet</em>, <em>As You Like It</em>, and <em>Love's Labour's Lost</em>. We will then ask what philosophical attitudes arise when we consider time to have or not to have the metaphorical capacity for pregnancy." Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bellinson, Nicholas Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2025-09-12 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">In copyright</a> Type The nature or genre of the resource moving image Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource YouTube video Subject The topic of the resource Pregnancy in literature Time in literature Time--Philosophy Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Othello Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Hamlet Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. As you like it Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616. Love's labour's lost Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Bellinson_Nicholas_2025-09-12 Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/32d77ec78240e4de991cd212908d7d62.mp3 0501e171bd517860577a06d8d0f99641 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 wav Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:54:27 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Nietzsche contra Wagner, Wagner contra Nietzsche Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered by Karol Berger on February 15, 2019 as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Berger, Karol, 1947- Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2019-02-15 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Berger_Karol_2019-02-15 Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/1a97fb10e2121d3f43ebecbb1b9f880c.mp3 52cee81253de3cf4d78527d9f60c3b0c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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.) 00:53:46 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Universalisms Partially Applied: On Locke's and Kant's Racisms Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 14, 2008, by Robert Bernasconi as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bernasconi, Robert Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2008-11-14 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 tape the lecture that I shall give in Annapolis; make a recording of my lecture available online." Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Subject The topic of the resource Slave trade Race--Philosophy Race relations--Philosophy Locke, John, 1632-1704 Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804 Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context LEC_Bernasconi_Robert_2008-11-14_ac Friday night lecture https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/e47061388ee04bdbd9ab6c5e47b069d4.mp3 e5568267171d0615dc6ee5b51fa16152 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 cassette tape Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 01:46:33 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Towards "A New Birth of Freedom" - Tragedy and Comedy, 1786: Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 17, 2004, by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Berns, Gisela N. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004-09-17 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online. Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Relation A related resource <a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1081">Typsecript</a> Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 74602 Subject The topic of the resource Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805. Don Carlos Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Nozze di Figaro. Tragedy Comedy Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9cae239fd936f165c16d0335905789ad.pdf 33cb3fa41963bab899212dea436d4df6 PDF Text Text Towards "a new birth of freedom" --Tragedy and Comedy, 1786: Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro Gisela Berns St. John's College, Annapolis To the memory of Oskar Seidlin The year is 1786. In Annapolis, delegates from different states, among them James Madison from Virginia and Alexander Hamilton from New York, convene to discuss matters of commerce under the Articles of Confederation, with the possibility for h larger issues left open. Like the rehearsal for the performance of a great play, what _ as come to be called the Annapolis Convention concludes with a recommendation for a Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia the following year (Morris, 161-9; Kammen, 19-22). Conscious of the enormity of the task before the Founding Fathers, Madison, in Federalist 14, asks: Is it not the glory of the people of America, that, whilst they have paid a decent regard to the opinions of former times and other nations, they have not suffered a blind veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to overrule the suggestions of their own good sense, the knowledge of their own situation, and the lessons of their own experience? To this manly spirit, posterity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the American theatre, in favor of private rights and public happiness. In the same spirit, Friedrich Schiller, in his Prologue to Wallenstein, speaks of the struggle for freedom at the end of the century as a time where "actuality itself becomes poetry" and "art, upon its shadow stage I May strive for higher flight, indeed it must, I Or yield in shame before the stage oflife" (WP, 61-9). That these lines, from 1798, have in mind not only the French Revolution, of which Schiller, in 1792, had been made an honorary citizen, but also the American Revolution, is clear from two interesting facts: one, to this day a large lithograph of the Battle of Bunker Hill hangs at the entry to l �Schiller's study in Weimar. The other, in a letter of 1783, possibly meant to confuse the authorities, Schiller toys with the idea of emigrating to America. Undecided whether, once there, he would practice medicine, get involved in politics, or teach philosophy, he concludes: "But tragedies, for that matter, I shall never cease to write - you know my whole being hangs on it" (To Lempp, June 19, 1783). Living in political exile, under the constant threat of persecution for his revolutionary ideas, Schiller, in 1783, turns from the stormy prose of his earlier plays to the noble iambic pentameters of a dramatic poem in grand style, the tragedy of Don Carlos. In tune with the political events of the New World, the completion of Schiller's pan Carlos coincides with the Annapolis Convention of 1786, its first performance in . \ Hamburg with the Philadelphia Convention of 1787. (An added nice touch: On this date, September 17, 1787, the Convention came to agree on the new Constitution to be sent to the States for ratification) (Farrand, 641-9). * * * Set in the historical world of 16th century Spain, under the iron hand of the Inquisition, Schiller's Don Carlos presents the clash of two worlds, the world of Philipp II, despotic ruler over a vast empire, and the world of Don Carlos, his heart aglow with the dream of liberating mankind from such unnatural rule. Serving the King's world, Count Lerma represents the court, Duke Alba the military, Domingo the church. The inspirat)on for the Prince's world, Marquis Posa, his childhood friend, emerges as the mastermind behind an intricate plot, using all major characters of the play in his grand cosmopolitan scheme for the creation of a new paradise on earth. Not a historical figure, Marquis Posa, in the play a knight of Malta, might have been modeled on the Marquis de Lafayette, in 1776 fighting for the Independence of the United States of America (Dokumente, 121). Spanning the years between the two friends, Schiller, at the outset of 2 �the play, was more Carlos's, at its completion more Posa's age. In the Prince's appeal to his father for the command of the army to Flanders: "23 years, I And nothing done for immortality!" (DC II, 2, 1148-9). Heinrich Heine, in his T~e Romantic School, fills out the picture by speaking of Schiller as "himself that Marquis Posa, who is, at the same time, prophet and soldier, who fights for what he prophecies, and, under the Spanish cloak, carries the most beautiful heart that ever loved and suffered in Germany" (Heine, 148). Vowing to use the "portrayal of the Inquisition" to "avenge prostituted mankind" and "strike to the soul of a type of man the dagger of tragedy, so far, has only grazed" (Dokumente, 134), Schiller begins and ends his Don Carlos with the title hero in conflict with the religious authority, at the beginning with Domingo, the King's confessor, to be present at every tum of the dramatic action, at the end with the Grand Inquisitor, blind to all human feeling and demanding the death of the King's son in the name of the sacrifice of God's only son on the cross. (Due to the censorship of Schiller's own time, both the Grand Inquisitor and Domingo had to be omitted in some of the early performances of Don Carlos) (Dokumente, 158-63). One character to heighten the tension between the play's two worlds is Elizabeth of Valois, the King's young Queen. Once betrothed to Don Carlos and in her heart still his, she also shares his political dreams and sympathizes with Marquis Posa's plans for him. To complicate matters, the King has his eye on Princess Ebo Ii, one of the Queen's Ladies in Waiting. She, however, is secretly in love with the Prince. Unbeknownst to Philipp, Domingo, his solicitor, and Alba, his henchman, use the King's love affair to further their own political ends. * * * In a discussion of different genres of poetry, Schiller, in his On Naive and 3 �Sentimental Poetry, considers the characteristics of tragedy and comedy and their relationship to each other. Of the opinion that, in tragedy, a great deal of interest is created simply by the subject matter that, in comedy, has to be supplied by the art of the . . poet, Schiller reflects: Not the sphere from which the subject matter is taken, but the forum before which the poet brings it, makes the same tragic or comic. The tragic poet must beware of calm reasoning and always interest the heart. The comic poet must beware of pathos and always entertain the mind. ... If tragedy, therefore, takes off from a more significant point, one has to concede that comedy heads for a more significant goal and, if it ever were to reach it, would make all tragedy superfluous and impossible. Its goal is one with the highest man strives for, to be free of passion, always to look about and into himself clearly and calmly, to find everywhere more chance than fate and to laugh more about absurdity than to rage or weep about malice (Schiller, V, 724-6). * * *· With a comparable constellation of characters, but the one clearly a tragedy, the other, at least on the face of it, a comedy, Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, both completed in 1786, in~ite a closer look at the differences between them. Both set in Spain, but Don Carlos in the 16th, The Marriage of Figaro in the 18th century, Schiller's historical tragedy, affecting the life of mankind as a whole, takes place at the court of Philipp II, Mozart's comic opera, affecting but a few individual lives, at the castle of Count Almaviva. Thus, the difference in atmosphere, Don Carlos remote and grand, The Marriage of Figaro contemporary and intimate, contributes to the one being a tragedy, the other a comedy. Against the background of these differences of time and space, the comparability of the two sets of characters appears even more striking. King Philipp and his Queen have their counterparts in Count Almaviva and his Countess, Carlos, the young prince, in Cherubino, the young page, Marquis Posa, the political mastermind, in Figaro, the domestic mastermind, Princess Eboli; the King's favorite, in 4 �Susanna, the Count's favorite, Count Lerma, the court councilor, in Bartolo, the lawyer, Duke Alba, the defender of the realm, in Antonio, the gardener, and last but not least, Domingo, the King's confessor, in Basilio, the priest masquerading as the Count's music master. The only figure in Don Carlos with no counterpart in The Marriage of Figaro is the Grand Inquisitor. Given the difference between tragedy and comedy, what this list suggests is outrageous! How could one ever compare these two sets of dramatic characters? Yet, that is exactly what I intend to do in this lecture. The result, I hope, will be a deeper understanding of both tragedy and comedy. * * * A clue to both Don Carlos and The Marriage ofFigaro, their opening scenes contain already the whole plot to unfold in the rest of each work. Highlighting its title, Schiller's Don Carlos, opening in the royal gardens at Aranjuez, presents the title hero in conversation with Domingo. In his unsuccessful attempt to pry into the Prince's thoughts, the priest touches on Carlos's troubled relationships with his father, with his new mother, and with the political world around him. The scene ends with Carlos's dire premonition of doom and the role of "suspicion's venomed serpent sting" (I, 1, 122-7) in bringing it about. Highlighting its title, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, opening in a room between the Count and the Countess's apartments, presents the title hero with Susanna, the couple to be married, in a lively duet, each singing in the same key, but Figaro's music more plodding, accompanying his measuriilg the space for their bed, Susanna's music more fluid, accompanying her showing off her wedding cap. A delightful school for marriage, this duet, after an orchestral introduction of equal eight measures for both Figaro and Susanna, has Figaro sing twelve, Susanna only six measures. Trying to get Figaro's attention, Susanna starts singing his music, but at her speed, only to move him to 5 �switch over to her music. Like in a good marriage, they end up complementing each other in a merry medley of parallel, oblique, and contrary motion, and yes, they do sing her music. Even so, there are obstacles. The Count, intent.on seducing Susanna, Marcellina, Bartolo's old servant, intent on holding Figaro to a marriage contract for his unpaid debts. While the opening duet was in G Major, the opera's key of marriage (I, 1), the duet spelling out the obstacles is in B-flat Major, its key of intrigue (I, 2). In order to get from G Major to B-flat Major one has to darken G Major tog minor, its parallel minor, and then to brighten g minor to B-flat Major, its relative Major. The first operation keeps the tonal center, but changes the key signature, the second operation keeps the key signature, but changes the tonal center. The intricate musical path from G Major to B-flat Major, one of the most frequent moves in this opera, points to the weight of the obstacles to be overcome. Like Schiller's opening of Don Carlos, Mozart's opening of The Marriage of Figaro ends on a note of warning about the venom of suspicion. * * * Our glimpse of the intricacies of Mozart's opening duet invites a moment of reflection on the difference between opera and drama due to the element of music. More stylized than drama, opera enriches the spoken word by multiple layers of meaning through the musical elements of melody, counterpoint, and harmony. Within these, different articulations of time and space, that is, different rhythms, working with or against different meters, provide added insights into dramatic characters and situations. Consonance and dissonance, used in various combinations, are powerful means for underscoring dramatic tension and resolution. The correlation of dramatic themes with musical keys, separated from and connected with each other through the circle of fifths, allows for interesting cross-references not only between different dramatic characters, but 6 �Key to the Keys in Mozart's TheMarriageofFigaro The opera's overall key is D-Major �also between different dramatic moments in the operatic plot. The Major or minor mode, either dominating a whole scene or the one marking critical points within the context of the other, throw light or shadow over the opera's musical l~ndscape. As befits a comic opera, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro is mostly in Major. The two pieces in minor, the openings to acts three and four, are tinged with comic irony and thus belie their dark shadows. The opening of act three, at the same time the opening of the second half of the opera, overlays one line in minor with another in its relative Major, only to let its parallel Major win out for both lines. We shall come back to the details of this at a later stage. * * * Before embarking on the comparison between Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, a word ought to be said about Beaumarchais's play of the same . title. A sequel to his The Barber ofSeville, Beaumarchais's The Marriage ofFigaro provides the opera's dramatic plot. First performed in 1784, the play is a highly charged attack on the social and political mores of the day. Even more aggressive than Schiller's vow to "avenge prostituted mankind" and "strike to the soul of a type of man the dagger of tragedy, so far, has only grazed", Beaumarchais's Preface speaks of the theater as "a giant that wounds to the death all it strikes." Seeing the vices of human nature disguised "in a thousand forms under the mask of the ruling mores", he asserts: "to rip off this mask and show them naked, that is the noble task of the man who devotes himself to the theater". Labeling his The Marriage ofFigaro as "more infamous and more seditious" than his The Barber ofSeville, Beaumarchais, sarcastically, exclaims: "Oh, how I regret - not having made this moral subject into a rather bloody tragedy" (Beaumarchais, 27, 28, 30). 7 �* * * The difference between Beaumarchais's play and M_ozart's opera is, however, not only due to the element of music. Lorenzo Da Ponte, Mozart's librettist, certainly follows the play's main line, but changes its tone from a highly political to a deeply personal one. Personal thoughts and feelings, brought to the fore by omissions, additions, or simply alterations of style, create an atmosphere where the characters' expression of themselves is at least, if not more, important than their dramatic interaction. With a rather checkered career, from ordained priest in the Veneto, to Court poet in Vienna, to teacher ofltalian language and literature at Columbia College in New York, Da Ponte, as librettist of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, adds a nice touch by poking fun at himself in the figure of Basilio, always played in clerical garb, but with the role of music master at the castle of Count Alma viva. * * * To pick up the thread back into our comparison, let us remember that Schiller's Don Carlos presents us with the conflict between centuries, portrayed in Philipp II and Marquis Posa, Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro with the conflict between classes, portrayed in Count Almaviva and Figaro. In the one we are given the political goal of liberating mankind from the oppressive rule of a mighty monarchy under the iron hand of the Inquisition, in the other the personal goal of pursuing a marriage without the interference of a lecherous aristocrat bored with his wife. The one stuff for tragedy, the other stuff for comedy. A note at the outset: since there are five acts of Schiller's Don Carlos to be compared with four acts of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, it seems more fruitful to go back and forth between comparable clusters of scenes rather than to adhere strictly to the more formal boundary of acts. 8 �Even though both works start early in the morning and end late at night, Don Carlos starts in a garden and ends in a closed room, The Marriage of Figaro starts in a closed room and ends in a garden. Implicit in the theme of the garden is, of course, the story of the Garden of Eden. Imbued with the awareness of Good and Evil, and the selfknowledge arising from it, the theme of forgiveness, in Don Carlos finally denied, in The Marriage of Figaro finally granted, is a powerful and moving reminder of that story. A latter day Garden of Eden, complete with the fall of man and God appearing in judgment, the royal gardens at Aranjuez, reminding the Queen of her native France (I, 3), . become the setting for a passionate rendezvous with Don Carlos. Not willing to accept the fate of having lost her to his father, he falls at her feet: "Let them, from here, come drag me to the scaffold! I One moment, fully lived in paradise I ls not atoned too dearly for with death" (I, 5, 638-40). The King, arriving shortly thereafter, finds the Queen alone, without her Ladies in Waiting. Bearing out Carlos's earlier warning about "suspicion's venomed serpent sting" (I, 1), Philipp, in the presence of his courtiers, questions his wife's virtue. Alba's staunch: "Like God's own cherub before paradise I Duke Alba stands before the royal throne" (I, 6, 879-80) only aggravates the emotional tension of the scene. Having been caught with Barbarina, the gardener's daughter, Cherubino, the "little cherub", stumbles in on Susanna to ask the Countess to intercede for him with the angered Count (I, 6). Flustered by Susanna's presence, the young page, in E-flat Major, the opera's key of unhappy love, gives voice to the first stirrings of his heart. Aflutter for all women, he confesses speaking of his love to nature, to the mountains, to the meadows, to the winds, and finally to himself. Compared to the unhappy rendezvous between Don Carlos and the Queen, past, present, and future weighing heavily on their hearts, and presaging tragedy for both of them, this charming interlude between Cherubino and Susanna is the more charming, as the Countess is not there and, therefore, there are no constraints on the boy's outpouring of feelings. The transfiguration from Beaumarchais's 9 �prose text to Da Ponte's rhyming verse pulsates with shimmering light in Mozart's music: the breathless first stanza (the experience oflove) repeated after the second stanza, climaxing on the word "desire", and the third stanza (the experience of love taken out to nature and back to the self) trailing off dreamily. A farcical version of the King's coming upon his wife, with Don Carlos fled from the scene only minutes before, the Count's coming upon his wife's chamber maid, with Cherubino taking refuge behind a chair, leads to a series of hilarious moments: Interrupted in his amorous advances to Susanna by the arrival of Basilio (the nominal "King" of the place), the Count has to hide behind that same infamous chair, with the young page barely able to jump into it from behind, the Countess's gown spread there coming in handy as protective cover. Roused from his hiding place by Basilio's suspicions about Cherubino and the Countess, the Count, in a dramatic B-flat Major, the opera's key of intrigue, calls for the boy's dismissal from the castle (II, 7). The subsequent discovery of Cherubino in the chair, and the Count's realization that the "little serpent" (p. 96) must have overheard his courting of Susanna, make him convert the boy's dismissal into a pardon to join the army. All fired up by Marquis Posa's grand plans for him, Don Carlos vows to ask his father for the comm~nd of the army to Flanders (I, 9). Like a parody of this solemn scene, both at the end of act I, Figaro's send-off-march for Cherubino, in C-Major, the opera's key of resolve, makes mockery of the page turned soldier against his will. The irony is that neither Don Carlos nor Cherubino ever reach their destination. Don Carlos, because Philipp, suspicious of his motives, denies the Prince's request, Cherubino , because Figaro, teeming with intrigue, means for the page, dressed up as Susanna, to go to a rendezvous with the Count in her stead. * * * 10 �After his unsuccessful audience with the King (II, 2) the Prince follows a secret invitation to what he mistakes for the Queen's apartment. A counterpoint to his meeting with the Queen, in the royal gardens, this meeting with Princess Eboli, in the royal palace (II, 8), comes close to an expulsion from paradise. Believing Carlos to be in love with herself, the Princess tries to elicit a confession from him, only to have him own his secret love for another. Disappointed in Carlos's love, and an object of Philipp's lust, Princess Eboli confides in Domingo, the King's solicitor with her (II, 11 ). The plan hatched between the two of them, with Duke Alba in the wings, is for her to break into the Queen's jewelry box in the hope of finding letters there from the Prince (II, 12). Like a release of the Queen's unspoken sorrow, in act I of Schiller's Don Carlos (I, 3-4), the Countess's first aria, in act II of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro (II, 10), strikes a tragic note. Echoing Cherubino's E-flat Major, the Countess calls on the god of love to restore her loss or to let her die. The orchestral accompaniment's constant slipping in and out of harmony with her tune painfully expresses the vulnerability of her feelings. In his earlier attempt to see the Countess Cherubino had entrusted Susanna with a canzonetta of his (I, 6). In contrast to the young prince who stumbl.es from one tragic encounter, with the Queen, to another, with Princess Eboli, the young page, trembling but happy, gets to sing his canzonetta before the Countess (II, 11). That he is here to be dressed up in Susanna's clothes to go to a rendezvous with the Count --this brainchild of Figaro's, of course, taking place in G Major (II, 12)-- will make for uncomfortable, but also rather comical moments. Like a come-down from tragedy to comedy, Susanna accompanying Cherubino on the guitar is a comical version of Princess Eboli accompanying herself on the lute awaiting Don Carlos. A far cry from the hopeless, wavering harmonies of the Countess's aria, Susanna's playful upward figures on the guitar fully support the boy's melody. Now part of an intrigue, however innocent, Cherubino's encomium on the painful bliss of love, is in B-flat Major, the dominant not only of his, 11 �but also the Countess's (II, 10) first aria. Listening to Cherubino's lovely song, the Countess is lost in her memories of the young Count, from their early days of courtship. Like the King's appearance in the royal gardens, with Don Carlos barely fled from the scene (I, 5), the Count's arrival at his wife's locked door, with Cherubino barely escaped into a closet, unleashes a storm of suspicions (II, 13). Singing in C Major, G Major, and back to C Major (with Susanna's counterpoint from the sidelines), husband and wife engage in a battle of wills over the opening of the closet, the Countess protesting Susanna, the Count suspecting the Countess's lover to hide there. The flare up of temper is the more ludicrous as the Count, not too long ago, had found himself in the same compromising situation as Cherubino now (I, 7). The Count's idea of leaving the room, to fetch some tools for breaking into his wife's closet, but relocking the doors against any escape, gives Susanna and Cherubino a · few precious minutes to find a way out. With more than one marriage at stake, their frantic little duet is sung in a hilariously funny G Major (II, 14). Instead of Don Carlos fleeing out of the garden, leaving footprints and losing his handkerchief, noticed by the gardener and later reported back to the King by Duke Alba (III, 3), Cherubino, ready to jump even into the fire to save the Countess, finally jumps from the balcony into the garden. A fall indeed, but a fall to undo the Fall! A follow-up on the King appearing in the gardens of Aranjuez, the confrontation between Philipp and Elizabeth, coming to demand justice for the break into her jewelry box and the removal of letters and a medallion of the Prince, ends with her finding them in the King's possession and, after a deadly argument over her rights, swooning and bloodying herself in the fall (IV, 9). Very much in the same vein as these scenes from act IV of Schiller's Don Carlos, the Finale of act II of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro (II, 15), echoing some of the more menacing strains of the Overture, moves at a high pitch of emotions. With a noticeable exchange of F Major for G Major, it progresses from E-flat Major (unhappy 12 �love) to B-flatMajor (intrigue) to G Major (marriage) and via C Major (resolve) through F Major (standing one's ground) to B-flat Major (intrigue) and back to E-flat Major (unhappy love). As if modeled on the tense altercation between King and Queen: King: Then blood may flow for all I care -Queen: So far it's come -- oh God! King: I know Myself no more, no longer pay Respect to custom and the voice Of nature and the pacts of nations (IV, 9, 3785-9), the Count, with his sword drawn, is ready to kill the page hiding in his wife's closet. Demanding the key for it, he threatens the Countess with expulsion from his house. To an insistent call of horns in the background, the opening of the closet door, revealing Susanna, throws not only the Count, but also the Countess into confusion. Shifting from E-flat Major to B-flat Major, this second stage of the Finale brings the Count down on his knees, asking for his wife's forgiveness. A more genuine version than his earlier pardon for Cherubino, the Count's confession of guilt, over an altered seventh chord on E-natural, containing G-flat, giving way to his expression of repentance, over a plain seventh chord on E-natural, containing G (mm. 303-6, p. 187), dramatically prepares for the arrival of Figaro and the musicians to play for his wedding with Susanna. With the move heard most often in this opera, back and forth, Figaro's arrival, once more, turns the music scene from B-flat Major to G Major. Taken to task for his anonymous letter about the Count's upcoming rendezvous, Figaro, echoing his own music from the opening duet with Susanna, but now in a pivotal C Major, deftly avoids the issue by pointing to the theater practice of ending a farce with a wedding. The sublime trio of Figaro, Susanna, and the Countess, begging the Count to fulfill their wishes, is undercut by his counterpoint, calling for Marcellina to insist on her marriage contract from Figaro. To make matters worse, the gardener, showing up with a crushed flower pot, 13 �bitterly complains about the fall of a man from the balcony. To save the day, Figaro, exchanging F Major for G Major, claims to have jumped from there himself and, in the fall, musically expressed by a painful chromatic descent, to have sprained his ankle. An ironic reminder of Figaro's earlier F Major stunt (I, 3), offering to teach his master to dance, the Count cries out: "Enough of this dance!" (mm. 581-2, p. 211). Yet, like Don Carlos, fleeing out of the garden, Cherubino, falling into the garden, had lost something. Now in B-flat Major, Figaro, with a bit of help from the women, identifies the papers found in the garden, as Cherubino's commission still in need of the official seal. Returning, once more, to E-flat Major, the Finale comes to a furious climax, with Marcellina, Bartolo, and Basilio joining the Count in his opposition to Figaro, Susanna, and the Countess, over the contested marriage contract between Marcellina and Figaro. Providing no way out, on either side, the first half of the opera ends with all the voices in unison on E-flat, and all the instruments, except for the flute and the clarinet, on E-flat or G. The flute and the clarinet, with their B-flat, the dominant of E-flat, seem rather weak over and against the clamor of all the others on E-flat and G. Translated from the musical into the moral language of the opera: "Intrigue", however dominant throughout, is likely to get lost in the final struggle of "unhappy love" for the fulfillment of "marriage". * * * Bearing out Schiller's claim that the tragedy of Don Carlos would have to tum on "the situation and the character of King Philipp" (Dokumente, 142), the King, after the judgment of his wife in the royal gardens (I, 6) and the rejection of his son in the royal palace (II, 2), more and more emerges as a tragic figure. An older Carlos , warped in the harsh school of political life, he feels exploited by schemers like Alba and Domingo (II, 10-13; III, 3-4). Appealing to Providence for a human being, for a friend that would give 14 �him truth, Philipp, in the center of act III, which, at the same time, is the center of the play as a whole, comes upon the name of Marquis Posa, specially noted for his services to the crown (III, 5). In a riveting sequence of scenes, Medina Sidonia, the admiral returning from the loss of the Armada, is shunned by all the courtiers except Don Carlos (III, 6). The King's entry, ignoring his son, but after a long silence, pardoning the admiral with: "God is over me -- I've sent you I To contend with men, not storms and rocks -- I You're welcome in Madrid" (III, 7, 2878-81 ), presents us with a moving answer to his own appeal. A variant to his earlier rejection of Don Carlos, asking for the command of the army to Flanders: "You speak like one within a dream. This office I Requires a man and not a youth -- " countered by the Prince's: "Requires merely a human being, father" (II, 2, 1174-6), Philipp's overlooking his son who, together with himself, seems to be the only human being in the room (III, 7), constitutes the tragic core of the play. Farthest from their conscious mind: "You see two hostile stars that through I The course of time do touch but once I In shattering head-on collision I And then forever flee apart" (I, 2, 541-5), this kinship between father and son, nevertheless, shows itself in many ways. Both Philipp and Carlos lay claim not only to the love of the same woman, but also to the friendship of the same man. Throughout the play, in crucial moments of decision or recognition, they both use the same characteristic formulations. Called to a special audience with Philipp, Marquis Posa, envisioning himself as sculptor to impart life to the rough stone, reflects on the opportunity of using the King for his own political purposes (III, 9). With Philipp as strangely impressionable listener, the Knight paints a picture of mankind, free from oppression and ready to govern itself: "Man, sure, is more than you supposed. I The bonds of his long slumber he shall break I And once again demand his holy right." (III, 10, 3186-8). Despite the revolutionary tone of Posa's political panegyric, the King is captured by the spectacle of a man who fearlessly speaks his mind. That, in the end, he will insist on employing him as spy for 15 �both the Queen and the Prince is sad proof of an inhuman world under the iron hand of the Inquisition (III, 10). With his eyes on the future of mankind, and his own role in bringing it about, Marquis Posa, losing sight of the present, plays a dangerous game. Using Don Carlos and the Queen, but also, unbeknownst to them, the King, as pawns in his grand plan for the liberation of Flanders, the Knight betrays his own ideals (IV, 3-6; 12-13). On his first introduction, the Queen had welcomed him with: Many courts You've come to in your travels, chevalier, And many countries and men's customs you Have seen -- and now, they say, you have a mind Within your fatherland to .settle for yourself, A greater prince in your own quiet walls Than is King Philipp on his throne -- a free man, A philosopher!" (I, 4, 512-9). True to the first part, the invocation of Homer's Odyssey (Od. I, 1-3, (Berns, Greek Antiquity, 21 and 115, note 4), but not to the second, the closing myth of Plato's Republic (Rep. X, 620c-d), Posa's cosmopolitan moves smack of the idealist who, for the sake of his cause, turns fanatic and ruthlessly tramples over lives (Schiller, Briefe iiber Don Carlos; Seidlin, 34-40). Acting like a god, accountable to no one but himself, Posa, now the King's trusted minister, shares his plans neither with the Prince (IV, 6) nor fully with the Queen (IV, 3). In his growing desperation, Carlos confides in Princess Eboli and, in the act of asking her for access to the Queen (IV, 15), is arrested by the Knight himself (IV, 16). Confronted with the choice of killing Eboli or sacrificing himself, Posa, after a moment's hesitation, chooses the latter (IV, 17). In his farewell to the Queen (IV, 21 ), he counters her "I fear you play a risky game" with "I've lost it... I've lost it for myself1' (IV, 21, 4213-7). A tell-tale sign of the difference between the two friends, Carlos, on hearing of Posa's influence with the King, 16 �had uttered: "Now I have lost him ... I have I Lost him. Oh! Now I am all forsaken" (IV, 13, 3973, 3977-8). His mournful: "He loved me, loved me dearly ... That I I know. Yet should not millions, should I The fatherland not be more dear to him than one?" (IV, 13, 3963-8) will resurface in Philipp's reaction to Posa's betrayal of himself: "I've loved him, loved him dearly ... like a son .. .This youth I For me brought up a new, more glorious morning ... I He was my first, my very first love .. ." (V, 9, 5048-52). Planning for the Prince to escape that very night, Posa, in his farewell to the Queen, entrusts her with his legacy for him. With more and more overtones from the Passion of Christ, he describes his vision of a future paradise on earth, a world worthy to have died for. The Queen's rejoinder: "No! No! I You threw yourself into this deed I You call sublime ... A thousand hearts I May break, but what is that to you, as long I As you may feed your pride?" (IV, 21, 4379-87) leaves him utterly stunned. Too late, his last words to her: "My Queen! -- Oh God! but life is beautiful" (IV, 21, 4393-4) throw a new, richer light into the soul of this stem idealist. Hoping to confound the King, long enough for Carlos to escape, Posa had written to William of Orange, confessing his love for the Queen and his fear of being discovered before he could get away to Brussels (V, 3, 4672-96). Well aware of the King's order to intercept all letters to Flanders (II, 15, 2465-8), he had counted on Philipp's belief in the villainy of human nature (V, 3, 4676-8). What he did not know, however, is the King's reaction. As if in answer to Carlos's earlier: "Oh, force those eyes I That never yet shed tears, to learn to do so, I While you still have time, or else -- or else I You may need to make up for it in some I Dark hour to come" (II, 2, 1080-3, MacDonald, 337), Philipp, on learning of Posa's betrayal, is said to have wept (IV, 23). This scene, in perfect symmetry to Carlos's warning, is the more breathtaking, as it is witnessed but from outside the closed doors of the King's chamber. The stupor of the courtiers assembled there, is broken by Princess Eboli, rushing in, demanding to tell the King the truth about the Prince's letters (IV, 24). With Alba and Domingo gaining the upper hand, however, the 17 �truth comes too late. * * * Compared to the tragic figure of the King, in Schiller's Don Carlos, the figure of the Count, in Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, is no more than a comic braggadocio. While Philipp's affair with Princess Eboli remains off-stage, in the hands of Domingo (II, 10-13), the Count, taking things out of Basilio's hands, courts Susanna more and more openly (I, 2, rec., pp. 38-40; 6, rec., pp. 76-77; III, sc. 2, pp. 249-50; 16, rec., p. 257). In striking contrast to Figaro and Susanna's G Major duet, at the beginning of the opera (I, 1), the duet between the Count and Susanna, at the beginning of the opera's second half (III, 16), overlays the Count's a minor with Susanna's C Major, both using the same key signature, but different tonal centers. A rare event in this opera, the Count's minor, already undercut by Susanna's Major, is openly contradicted by her text, however much it rhymes with his. Their final agreement on a rendezvous, in a triumphant A Major, the opera's key of selfish passion, uses the Count's tonal center, but a new key signature for both of them. To make matters worse, it is further compromised by Susanna's utterly . confusing "Yes!" and "No!" answers to the Count's arixious questions. Reminiscent of Philipp, brooding over suspicions, roused by the Prince's letters (III, 1-4; 1O; IV, 7-10), Alma viva, by himself, vents his innermost feelings (III, 17). Singing in D Major, the key ofrevenge, but also the overall key of the opera, the Count, in a stormy recitative and aria, echoing the more majestic strains of the Overture, rages about the audacity of his servant, up-staging him in a conquest of love. A match for each other, his fury recalls Figaro's earlier posturing in F Major, the opera's key of standing one's ground. Professing a more playful art form than Posa who, in anticipation of his audience with the King (III, 10), had envisioned himself as sculptor, imparting life to the rough stone (III, 9), Figaro, reacting to Susanna's news about the Count's intentions, had 18 �vowed to teach his master to dance to his music (I, 3). Unlike Posa's visionary plan for rebellion (IV, 3), Figaro's fancy of overturning all machines by using the art of "punching here and teasing there" sounds like fun as well. A farcical variant to Philipp's distraught remark about Count Lerma, the old court councilor, likely to find his wife in his son's embrace (III, 2, 2518-44 ), Figaro's discovery of Bartolo and Marcellina, the old councilor and his former servant, to be his parents (III, sc. 5, pp. 271-2; 18) barely avoids the fate of Oedipus and gives rise to an incredulous merry-go-round with the terms "mother" and "father" throughout the different voice ranges (III, 18). The sextet, like Figaro's earlier and Susanna's later arias, in F Major, clears the way not only for the marriage of the young, but also of the old couple. Much toned down from Beaumarchais's play, where Marcellina's bitter harangue over men's exploitation of women still meets with Bartolo's sarcasms, Mozart's opera, even though in g minor, falling short of G Major, brings the case to a more or less satisfactory conclusion (p. 295). One by one protesting their happiness, the scene ends with a flourish of dissonances gloating over the Count's defeat (mm. 17-9, p. 296). Apprised of the Count's offer of a dowry for Susanna's favors, the Countess, once more, laments the loss of her love (III, 19). Transcending her earlier E-flat Major, the opera's key of unhappy love (II, 10), to C Major, its key of resolve, this beautiful aria, at first, C Major encompassing a core of emotions moving from g minor to G Major, reminisces about the past. But, unlike the Queen, who, in her rendezvous with the Prince, had evaded his insistent questions concerning her love (I, 5, 712-20), the Countess, in the final part of the aria, trusts her hope in the future. A reflection of the Count's a minor overlaid by Susanna's C Major (III, 16), the Countess, after an initial wavering between C Major and c minor, on the words "to change the ungrateful heart", twice overshoots her C Major triad, landing on A, only to cadence with that triad, the A yielding to the dominant G, and finally, on the word "heart", coming home to a triumphant C. 19 �A happier version ofPrincess Eboli's theft of letters from the Queen, the Countess and Susanna, together, write a letter, secretly to be given to the Count during Figaro and Susanna's wedding (III, 20). Superseding Figaro's plot of sending Cherubino, dressed up as Susanna, to the rendezvous, the Countess has decided to take on that role herself. At the rallying point for the opera's finish, the little duet between the Countess and Susanna, an exquisite moment of friendship, has one goal, the Count's change of heart, and therefore one music, though still in B-flat Major, the opera's key of intrigue (III, 20). Stating time and place for the rendezvous in the garden, the Countess leads, Susanna follows. After gradually closing the gaps between giving and taking dictation, the two women, on the words: "well, and the rest he'll understand", start singing together. With a partial reversal of roles, but now overlapping in the process, Susanna and the Countess read over their letter. By singing the same music, but in staggered lines, that is, in different places at the same time, or in the same place at different times, they, as it were, enact the rendezvous with the Count. Compared to Princess Eboli's desperate attempt to open the King's eyes to the truth about the letters she stole from the Queen (IV, 24), Susanna's slipping the letter, written together with the Countess, into the Count's hands during the wedding ceremony, intends to do exactly the opposite. Adding to the contrast, Marquis Posa's lie about his love for the Queen, confided in a letter meant to be delivered into the King's hands, will be the cause of the Knight's murder (V, 3), Figaro dancing with Susanna and laughing about the Count pricking his finger on the needle used to seal the letter, in the end, will teach the schemer not to consider himself fool-proof (III, 22). Sung in C Major, the opera's key ofresolve, the wedding ceremony, at the end of act III, officially seals the marriages of Figaro and Susanna as well as Bartolo and Marcellina, but leaves the problems between the Count and the Countess unresolved. * * * 20 �After the Prince's precipitous arrest, in act IV of Schiller's Don Carlos, Marquis Posa visits him in prison to account for his action (V, 1). Shocked by Carlos's assumption of having been sacrificed for the greater political cause, Posa, too late, realizes his arrogance in using a friend like a pawn in a game. With a pentameter, short by one foot, he confesses: "My edifice I Collapses -- I forgot your heart" (V, 1, 4524-5). In counterpoint to Posa, it is Carlos who, all through the play, speaks and acts most often from the heart. Reminiscent of the pathos of Christ, in the garden of Gethsemane: "Come, let us sit down -- I I'm weary and feel weak" (V, 3, 4114-5, cf. Matthew 26, 38), the Knight outlines his plans for the Prince's escape, to fight for the cause of humanity from Flanders. A conclusion to Carlos's earlier: "Now I have lost him," (IV, 13, 3973) referring to his friend, and Posa's: "I've lost it.. .I've lost it for myself'(IV, 21, 4214-7), referring to his political power play, their exchange in prison: Carlos: God! Then I'm lost! Marquis: You, why you? Carlos : Unhappy man, and you Are lost with me. This monstrous Fraud my father can't forgive. No! That he never will forgive! Marquis : Fraud? Who would tell him It was fraud? Who, can you ask? Carlos: Myselfl (V, 3, 4701-8) leads to the Knight's solemn: "Prepare yourself for Flanders! I Your calling is the kingdom. I To die for you was mine" (V, 3, 4717-9). Carlos's: No!No! ... I want to take you to him. Ann in arm we'll go to him. Father, I'll say, a friend has done this For his friend. It'll move him. Trust me! He's not without humanity, my father. Yes, sure, it'll move him. 21 �His eyes will shed warm tears, and you And me he will forgive -- (V, 3, 4718-28) is answered by a shot through the prison's wrought-iron door and Posa's death. Part of the tragedy is that neither Posa nor Carlos know that the King, to the awestruck horror of his courtiers, did weep -- but at the discovery of the Knight's betrayal of himself. (IV, 23). * * * At the start of act IV, the last act of Mozart's opera, to be mostly compared with act V, the last act of Schiller's dramatic poem, Barbarina, the gardener's daughter, in love with Cherubino, but here on an errand for the Count, laments the loss of the pin that had sealed Susanna's letter (IV, 23). In confirmation of the rendezvous, later that night, the seal was supposed to be returned to the letter writer. Sung in f minor, the darkest key in the opera, and the only other minor besides the Count's a minor, at the start of act III, the opening of the opera's second half, the little girl's "I've lost it..." bewails more than the loss of that unfortunate pin. Echoing the Countess's earlier "Where are the beautiful moments ... " (III, 19) Barbarina's sobbing "ah, who knows where it might be" is set in mock tragic style. Compared to the tragic loss Marquis Posa and Don Carlos mourn, this is, at best, tragicomedy. Figaro, coming upon the scene with Marcellina and being told of the Count's commission, quickly finds a pin in Marcellina's bonnet and sends the girl on her way. His reaction to the disturbing news: "Mother -- I am dead .. .I am dead, I say" (rec. p. 342) not only sounds like a comical take-off on Marquis Posa's death, but also like a re-enactment of the scene between Achilleus and Thetis, in book I of Homer's Iliad (I, 348 ff.). Outdoing Achilleus, who complains to his mother about Agamemnon having taken his girl, Figaro is angered with Susanna as well as with the Count. In Bartolo's phrase, from his earlier revenge aria (I, 4), Marcellina's "the case is serious" (p. 342) 22 �advises Figaro of his right to be on his guard and entertain suspicions, but no more. Her use of" a right", recalling the Count's "right of the first night" to be acted on presently with Susanna, has an ominous ring in this opera. Yet, the fact that Bartolo's aria, in D Major, was in its overall key as well, suggests caution in taking the theme of revenge too narrowly. A late repercussion of Beaumarchais's play, Marcellina's aria in act IV, defending Susanna against Figaro's suspicions, pits the free and easy lovemaking of animals against the cruelty of men (IV, 24). A revision of her cat fight duet with Susanna, in A Major, five numbers from the beginning of the opera, this aria, in G Major, five numbers from its end, not only makes G Major, the opera's key of marriage, triumph over A Major, its key of selfish passion, but also adds a human touch by letting Marcellina express her feelings in coloraturas reminiscent of Handel, the style in vogue when she was young. Her insistent rhyme between "liberty", for the animals, and "cruelty", for men, whether true to life or not, hints at the tragedy hidden behind the comedy. Unaware of the women's change of plan, from Cherubino to the Countess, dressed-up as Susanna, to go to the rendezvous with the Count, Figaro swears to take revenge for all husbands (I, 26 cf. p.343). With an aria in E-flat Major, the opera's key of unhappy love, and the call of horns in the background, the newly-wed husband rails against the heartlessness of women. As if to give the lie to this tirade, Susanna, in F Major, the opera's key of standing one's ground, sings a beautiful aria about her expectation of the fulfillment of love. Unlike Princess Eboli who, after her theft of letters from the Queen, and her affair with the King, had been punished with exile to a nunnery, Susanna, after writing a letter together with the Countess, changing clothes with her, and fooling the Count about agreeing to a rendezvous, revels in the loveliness of the evening (IV, 27). Reminiscent of Cherubino's first song (I, 6), his heart aflutter for all women, and speaking of his love not only to nature, but also to himself, Susanna's aria, describing the romantic resonance 23 �between herself and the balmy night, more maturely, is meant for but one beloved. Even so, I suspect that her words have more to do with her own feelings than with Figaro. * * * In his devastation over the betrayal of Marquis Posa, the one man from whom he expected truth (V, 9), the King is further crushed by his son's confession that he and Posa were friends, nay brothers: "Yes, Sire, we two were brothers, brothers by I A nobler bond than nature's crafting" (V, 4, 4791-2). Taunting Philipp with his paltry attempt at friendship with a man in love with the whole of mankind, Carlos exclaims: Oh no -- that was no man for you! That he himself knew well, when he Rejected you with all your crowns. This finely stringed lyre broke Within your iron hand. You could Do naught but murder him (V, 4, 4816-20). With a deeper understanding of Posa's character than Carlos could fathom, Philipp's disappointed love turns to savage hatred: "Let him have died a fool. And let his fall I Bring down his century with his friend ... I He sacrificed me to his idol, mankind, I Let mankind, therefore, pay for him" (V, 9, 5075 - 86). No match for these dark scenes with the King, in act V of Schiller's Don Carlos, the Count's flare-up of temper, vowing to be revenged on Figaro for upstaging him in a conquest of love, lies as far back as the early scenes in act III of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro (III, 17). In keeping with tragedy, Schiller's play, towards the end, turns darker and darker, in keeping with comedy, Mozart's opera lighter and lighter. A farcical counterpart to Domingo, the King's confessor, present at every turn of the dramatic action, Basilio, the meddling priest, masquerading as music master at the castle of Count Alma viva, finally gets to confide his own personal Credo (IV, 25). Rather unmusical, with plain quarter notes stalking all over the place, and cheap sound 24 �effects thrown in here and there, his aria, no surprise, is in B-flat Major, the opera's key of intrigue. Created in the image of Mozart's learned librettist, Basilio recounts a dantesque scene, where Lady Flemma, his Muse (alias Vergil) presented him with the smelly hide of a donkey to ward off the vicissitudes of life, be they stormy weather to hide from, or wild beasts to repel with the nasty cover. That cover I take to be Basilio's clerical garb. Emerging from the cover of Domingo, the Grand Inquisitor, at the end of Schiller's Don Carlos, asserts his authority (V, 10-11 ). A perverted form of Teiresias, the blind prophet in Sophocles's Antigone (Berns, "Idealism us'', 71-2; "Idealism", 51-2), who urges Kreon to restore the dead to the dead and the living to the living, the Grand Inquisitor demands the dead to be called back to the living and the living to be surrendered to the dead. In his outrage over the murder of Marquis Posa, a sacrifice to mere passion rather than the greater glory of the church, the Grand Inquisitor condemns Philipp's illicit involvement with this heretic. The reason behind the summons of the Grand Inquisitor had been the King's indecision whether to let Carlos escape or have him die. His question: "Can you create for me a new religion I That would defend the bloody murder of a child?" (V, 10, 5265-6) the old priest silences with: "To expiate eternal justice I The son of God died at the cross" (V, 10, 5267-8). Philipp's retort: "I outrage I Nature -- this mighty voice as well I You want to stifle?" elicits only: "Before the faith I No voice of nature counts" (V, 10, 5270-4). The King's final: "He is my only son - for whom I Pray, have I gathered?" meets with the Grand Inquisitor's inhuman: "For moldering decay rather than I Freedom" (V, 10, 5276-8). In order to facilitate his escape, the Queen had asked Carlos for a final farewell, in which she could impart Marquis Posa's legacy to him. Midnight approaching, he _ was supposed to come in the mask and monk's attire of Charles V, whose ghost the guards had seen more than once and let pass reverently (V, 6; 9). As if in keeping with his earlier notion of political life as a masked ball, the masks of conventional inequality 25 �belying the natural equality of the faces hidden beneath (I, 9), Carlos had agreed to play this role chosen for him by the Queen. Their meeting, holding each other in a solemn embrace, comes to a close with the Prince reaching for his i:nask. In the background, without their notice, the King, together with the Grand Inquisitor and some of the courtiers, had entered the dark room. The Prince's: "I go to challenge Philipp I To open combat... I Let this have been my last I Deceit" is answered by Philipp's: "It is your last!" and the Queen's dead faint in Carlos's arms (V, 11, 5361-6). The play ends with the King's (coldly and quietly to the Grand Inquisitor): "Cardinal! I've done my part. Do you do yours". * * * Even though both works start early in the morning and end late at night, Schiller's Don Carlos starts in a garden and ends in a closed room, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro starts in a closed room and ends in a garden. Beginning and ending in D Major, the key of revenge, but also the overall key of the opera, the Finale of act IV is, at the same time, the Finale of the work as a whole (IV, 28). With a symmetrical sequence of D Major, G Major, E-flat Major, B-flat Major, G Major, D Major, yet with the middle apparently disturbed, the Finale of act IV, gives us a panoramic review of the opera. Two by two, its major characters pass before our eyes, with the others hidden in the shadows of the garden, ready to emerge at more or less opportune moments. Instead of Don Carlos, asking Princess Eboli for access to the Queen, and, in the r process, being arrested by Marquis Posa (IV, 15-16), Cherubino, on his way to Ba_barina, stumbles in on Susanna, or so he thinks, sitting in the evening breeze under the pine trees, as agreed upon in the famous rendezvous letter. The lady sitting there is, of course, the Countess, dressed up as Susanna. Unlike Don Carlos who, at the end, appears in the mask of Charles V, the historical exponent of the Holy Roman Empire, Cherubino, at the 26 �end, is himself again. Even when dressed up as a girl, at various points in the opera (II, 12; III, 21 ), it was never his face that was disguised. Deathly afraid that the Count would find her in this compromising situation and still tum the co!11edy, in Beaumarchais's words, into" a rather bloody tragedy", the Countess tries to repel the amorous advances of the young page who, taking her for Susanna, complains: "And why can I not do what the Count, shortly, will do with you?" (p. 384). In hilarious, multiple confusion, the kiss meant for Susanna, is intercepted by the Count showing up at this moment, the slap in the face to pay for it, by Figaro, sticking his head in to see what is going on. Different from the tragic consequences of Princess Eboli stepping in for the Queen, or Marquis Posa for Don Carlos, the Countess, stepping in for Susanna, or Figaro for Cherubino, has uncomfortable, but never more than comic consequences. Changing from D Major, the overall key of the opera, to G Major, its key of marriage, the dalliance between the Count and the Countess, the husband taking his wife's soft skin for that of her chambermaid and meaning to further his affair by slipping a diamond ring on her finger, is more heartrending than apparent to either eye or ear. With a drastic switch from G Major to E-flat Major, the opera's key of unhappy love, the scene turns to Figaro musing on his role of the new Vulcan of the century, lying in wait to catch Venus and Mars in his net. Coming upon Susanna, dressed up as the Countess, he means to lead her to the compromising scene as well. Doing better than the Count, with his wife's soft skin, Figaro catches on to Susanna's voice, but, for the fun of it, takes advantage of the dark and proceeds to court his lady. After a sally of slaps in the face from Susanna's hand, and his confession of having recognized her voice, their E-flat Major, happily, but still cautiously, slips into B-flat Major. As if in answer to the Count's earlier: "What is this comedy?", meaning Figaro's appearance with the musicians to play for the wedding (I, 8, p. 100), the young couple, expressing their newly won delight in each other, finish with a frolicking "Let's put an end to this comedy, my darling" (p. 411). For the last time returning from B-flat Major to G Major, Figaro's act of 27 �shamelessly courting the Countess is stopped in its track by the irate Count. Deaf to the entreaty of the whole cast, emerging from the bushes, he, with a dozen savage "No"s, bluntly refuses any pardon for Figaro. More genuinely thai:i in the Finale of act II, the Count is brought to his knees by the quiet voice of the Countess, once more speaking in her own person. His plea for forgiveness, with an unstable rising 6th, from '5' to .~ followed by an even more unstable rising 7th, from S'to ~is answered by her stable I\ A rising fifth, from 1 to 5, which, even more stable for being sung twice, comes to a cadence on words reminiscent of the marriage vow. Compared to Schiller's Don Carlos, where the only moment of forgiveness, Philipp's pardon for Medina Sidonia, the admiral returning from the loss of the armada, is tucked away in the very center of the dramatic poem (III, 7), Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, from act to act, presents us with more and more genuine forms of it. A touching reminder of the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Cherubino, cursed by the Count as "little serpent" (p. 96), but made fun of by Basilio as "little cherub of love" (p. 79), in the end, is openly paired with Barbarina, the little girl who wanted him for a husband, and in return for the favor, promised the Count to love him like her kitten (III, 21, rec.). In contrast to the close of Schiller's Don Carlos, with the Queen in the arms of Don Carlos, in a dead faint, and the King collaborating with the Grand Inquisitor, all the characters in Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, except for Basilio, by the Finale, are paired more or less happily. Basilio, a far cry from Domingo, grown to monstrous height in the figure of the Grand Inquisitor, at the end of the opera, simply has melted into the crowd. Count and Countess reunited, at least for now, the confusion felt by everyone gives way to a sublimely beautiful chorus of universal contentment. Very different from the last scene of Schiller's Don Carlos, where the icy silence, surrounding the Grand Inquisitor, fills the dark room more and more with horror, the last scene of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro erupts into a happy rush of revelers, off to a grand feast, the fireworks in the background lighting up the night over the dark garden. 28 �A moment of suspense, the transition between the solemn G Major of the Count and Countess's reunion and the exuberant D Major of the happy crowd at the end, once more reminds us of the pain lived through to reach this point. W~th a halting descent, pianissimo and in unison, except for the flute and the oboe, hovering above, a dominant 7th chord on A, over the words "this day", lands us in d minor instead of D Major. A scream of dissonances, however fleeting, an inverted 9th chord on G-sharp, the seventh degree of A, highlights the grammatical link "of' in "this day a/torments, of caprices, and of madness", expressed again in a tensed minor. The completion of the sentence: "only love can end in happiness and joy" finally allows for the transition from the darker d minor to the brighter D Major. Like the effect of a Deus ex machina, in Greek tragedy, forcing a solution to unsolvable human predicaments, this transition makes for the happy ending, but does not do away with the painful personal and political problems of the opera. A skeptical reminder of the contrary to fact condition in Schiller's: "If comedy ever were to reach its goal, it would make all tragedy superfluous and impossible," the all-too-happy rush from the dark garden to the lit up castle, musically expressed in hurtling towards a cadence, has a hollow ring to it. Knowing full well that "his whole being" was set on "writing tragedies", Schiller himself (with the possible exception of Wallenstein's Camp) never wrote a comedy. More in tune with Socrates's notion, at the end of Plato's Symposium, that a poet of tragedies should be able to write comedies as well, Mozart, in this comic opera, subtitled "The Mad Day", lets the serious shine through the ludicrous, and thus creates a sublime version of that rare marriage between tragedy and comedy. A lecture (with music) delivered September 17, 2004 at St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland. 29 �REFERENCES Schiller, Friedrich. 1974 5 . Samtliche Werke, ed. Gerhard Fricke und Herbert G. Gopfert, Hanser, Milnchen. _ _ _ .Don Carlos, Vol. II, pp. 7'.'"219. _ _ _ . Briefe iiber "Don Carlos", Vol. II, pp. 225-67. ____ . Uber naive und sentimentalische Dichtung, Vol. V, pp. 694-780. Schiller, Friedrich. 1976. Don Carlos, Erlauterungen und Dokumente, ed. Karl Pornbacher, Reclam, Stuttgart. Schiller. 1998. Five Plays, translation by Robert David MacDonald, absolute classics, London. Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus. 1979. The Marriage of Figaro (Le Nozze di Figaro) in Full Score, Dover, New York. Beaumarchais. 1977. Le Mariage de Figaro, ed. Pol Gaillard, Bordas, Paris. Heine, Heinrich. Die romantische Schule (1833), in Samtliche Werke, Vol. VII, Hesse, Leipzig. (Unless otherwise noted, translations are my own.) 30 �Berns, Gisela N. 1985. Greek Antiquity in Schiller's "Wallenstein", Studies in the Germanic Languagers and Literatures, Vol. 104, Universitv of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill. - - - -. 1990. "Moderner und antiker 'Idealismus': Schiller's Don Carlos und Sophokles' Antigone", in Zeitschrift far deutsche Philologie, Vol. 109, Sonderheft: "Schiller Aspekte neuerer Forschung", ed. Norbert Oeller, pp. 41-76. (An earlier English version: '"Idealism'; Ancient and Modem: Sophocles' Antigone and Schiller's Don Carlos", in The St. John's Review, Vol. 39, Number 3 (1989-90), pp. 51-9. Jamison Allenbrook, Wye. 1983. Rhythmic Gesture in Mozart: Le Nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp. 71-94. Farrand, Max, ed. 1966. The Records of the Federal Convention of 1787, Vol. II, Yale University Press, New Haven. Kammen, Michael, ed. 1986. The Origins of the American Constitution, A Documentary History, Penguin, New York. Morris, Richard B. 1985. Witnesses at the Creation: Hamilton, Madison, Jay and the Constitution, New American Library, New York. Seidlin, Oskar. 1960. "Schiller, Poet of Politics'', in A Schiller Symposium, ed. Leslie Willson, University of Texas, Austin, pp. 31-48. 31 �NOTES For the deepest commentary on Don Carlos see Schiller, Briefe iiber Don Carlos, and Oskar Seidlin, "Schiller Poet of Politics". For a beautiful, comprehensive study of Mozart's The Marriage ofFigaro, see Wye JamisonAllanbrook. 32 � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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. 33 pages Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Towards "a new birth of freedom" - Tragedy and comedy, 1786 Schiller's Don Carlos and Mozart's The marriage of Figaro. Description An account of the resource Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 17, 2004 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Berns, Gisela N. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004-09-17 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online. Type The nature or genre of the resource text Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource pdf Relation A related resource <a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1080">Audio recording</a> Language A language of the resource English Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 74317 Subject The topic of the resource Schiller, Friedrich, 1759-1805. Don Carlos Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 1756-1791. Nozze di Figaro. Tragedy Comedy Friday night lecture Tutors https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/50e88d199c529ac41487bf8d699c11e1.mp3 aaa30ff6feb7f52b3200cacf8a1a071a Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Description An account of the resource Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>.  <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5&amp;sort_field=Dublin+Core%2CDate&amp;sort_dir=d">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://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 cassette tape Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 00:54:21 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Berns, Gisela N. Title A name given to the resource Time and nature in Lucretius' De rerum natura Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1974-03-08 Description An account of the resource Audio recording of a lecture delivered on March 8, 1974 by Gisela Berns as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context Bib # 10010 Subject The topic of the resource Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura Philosophy, Ancient Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Annapolis, MD Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available St. John's College Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource sound Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3 Relation A related resource <a href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/1088" title="Typescript">Typsecript</a> Friday night lecture Tutors